Welcome to Temptation/Bet Me

by Jennifer Crusie

  “I killed him,” Rob said.

  “Clea will be so grateful,” Rachel said.

  In the green light from the dashboard, she saw Rob’s face change from panic-stricken to panic-thoughtful.

  “There you go,” she said. “Always looking on the bright side of life.”

  At eleven-thirty Phin was in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the drumming rain and waiting for Sophie to call, when the phone rang. He picked it up and said, “If this is an apology, you better be naked.”

  “It’s not an apology,” Wes said. “I’m at the Tavern. Pete Alcott just ran over Zane Black.”

  “Oh, Christ,” Phin said. “I suppose Zane was too drunk to move out of the way.”

  “Too dead,” Wes said. “He appears to have been murdered first. Ed’s going to do a preliminary right away and an autopsy tomorrow.”

  “I’ll meet you at the infirmary,” Phin said. “Maybe Ed’ll decide Zane died of a heart attack.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Wes said. “There’s a bullet in his back.”

  Zane didn’t look good dead. He was damp and pasty and slack-jawed and squashed as he lay on Ed’s table under the unforgiving fluorescent light.

  “He was wearing your letter sweater,” Wes told Phin when he came in.

  “He can keep it,” Phin said.

  “A lot of people didn’t like this guy,” Ed said from behind the table.

  “Nobody liked him,” Phin said. “But I didn’t think they’d kill him because he was an asshole.”

  “You taking this down, Duane?” Ed said, and Wes’s deputy nodded. “Starting at the top of the head, there’s a contusion on the left temple with wood fragments in it.”

  “Somebody hit him with a club?” Wes said. “What about the bullet hole?”

  “Getting to that.” Ed pointed to Zane’s eyes. “Somebody also sprayed a corrosive at him. See the red patches around the eyes? Probably Mace, but not necessarily.”

  Mace. Sophie.

  “And there are bruises on his throat where somebody choked him,” Ed went on.

  “That would be me,” Phin said. “He was still alive after that.”

  Ed looked at him with the contempt he deserved. “Thought you’d gotten over that temper.”

  “He annoyed me severely,” Phin said.

  Ed nodded and went on. “Then there’s the bullet hole in his shoulder. A .22. Which appears to have been fired at close range from behind and below.”

  “Close range? Somebody shot him in the shoulder with a popgun?” Phin shook his head, incredulous. “Why? To get his attention?”

  “And there are also several cuts and scrapes on his arms and hands,” Ed finished. “And his ankle is swollen. Looks like a bad sprain.”

  “That’s not funny,” Wes said.

  “No, but it’s true,” Ed said. “And here’s something else you’re not going to like: None of that would have killed him. But he was definitely dead when Pete and somebody else ran over him.”

  “ ‘Somebody else’?” Wes looked annoyed.

  “Looks like two different tire tracks to me. Pete’s truck and somebody’s car.”

  “Then what did kill him?” Phin said. “The combination of wounds?”

  “I’ll do the autopsy tomorrow,” Ed said. “My best guess right now, given the state of his clothing, is that he drowned.”

  Wes scowled. “Very funny.”

  “No. His clothes are damp clear through. He spent some time in the water.”

  “It’s raining like hell out there,” Phin said.

  “No,” Ed said. “He’s been underwater, not just rained on.”

  “River or bath?” Wes said, and Ed said, “What am I? A magician? After the autopsy, maybe; when the lab report comes back, definitely.”

  “That’ll be Monday, at least,” Wes said gloomily. “Probably later. It’s Labor Day.”

  “Okay, then,” Ed said. “Here’s a guess: The river. That would make sense with all the scratches, that he fell through some brush.”

  “Yes, but who’d do all this?” Phin said. “If you tried to kill somebody by shooting him almost point-blank and missed, you wouldn’t drop the gun and reach for the Mace. You’d shoot him again. And if that didn’t work, you wouldn’t pick up a club. And you sure as hell wouldn’t drown him.”

  “More than one attacker?” Wes shook his head. “Okay, Zane pissed off everybody in town, but I find it hard to believe they all decided to get even in the same two hours.”

  “Maybe they, like, planned it,” Duane said.

  “Conspiracy?” Phin snorted. “You couldn’t get four people in this town to agree to kick him on the shin on the same day, let alone kill him.”

  “I heard he caused a ruckus at the Tavern,” Ed said.

  “A ruckus, yes,” Wes said. “But nothing to make anybody shoot him.”

  Phin thought about Georgia, white with rage and shame. “Maybe.”

  Ed pulled the sheet back over Zane’s body. “Could you two go argue someplace else? I have to operate on this guy in the morning.”

  Phin looked back at Zane lumped on the table under the sheet and felt a confusion of sympathy, regret, distaste, and exasperation. Zane had done nothing but make trouble since he’d come to town, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. And now here he was, with people who didn’t like him arguing over his body, and nobody to mourn for him. “Clea’s his next of kin. Somebody should tell her.”

  “That’ll be me,” Wes said, standing up.

  “Want some company?” Phin said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Wes said.

  Sophie had showered and was knocking back her second cider and peach brandy when the squad car pulled up. She’d been okay until they’d unwrapped Zane, and then he wasn’t a fish-covered bundle anymore, he was Zane, cold and stiffening with his eyes wide open, wearing Phin’s letter sweater. They’d left him propped on the slope behind the Tavern in as lifelike a position as they could manage, but as they’d pulled away, Davy had said, “Damn. He fell,” and Sophie had gone green again.

  Davy looked out the screen door now. “It’s Wes. And Harvard. The gang’s all here. Suck it up, Soph. You’re a Dempsey.”

  “Right,” Sophie said, and hit the brandy again.

  Phin didn’t look happy to see her, and he didn’t say much. Wes asked to see Clea, and when Amy went up to check Clea’s bedroom, she was there, alone. That was so strange as to make anybody suspicious, but Clea’s performance after that was so good that even Sophie had to give her points. She didn’t play the grief-stricken widow, but she looked shocked, stunned, and all the other appropriate emotions on being informed that somebody she’d once slept with on a regular basis was now sleeping permanently.

  “I can’t believe it,” Clea said. “He was always having those blackouts, but I thought that was just for attention.” She put her hand to her eyes as if to block out the pain, and Sophie saw Davy’s face twist just for a moment. He can’t still care about her, Sophie thought, and then Wes took her attention again.

  “Uh, we’re pretty sure it wasn’t a natural death, Clea,” Wes was saying. “He was assaulted before he died.”

  “Assaulted?” Clea blinked up at him, her china-blue eyes opening and closing like an expensive doll’s. “But why?”

  “We’re working on that,” Wes said. “Right now we’re just trying to get some information. When was the last time you saw him?”

  “At the Tavern.” Clea sniffed. “He was so awful, and I couldn’t stand it anymore so I had Rob bring me here.”

  “And you didn’t see him after that?” Wes was patient but not stupid.

  “I saw him,” Davy said. “About nine. I followed him back after that mess at the Tavern, but he was being a real butthead, so I left him alone. He took that sweater and went out the back door and headed out past the dock.”

  “Toward the Old Bridge?” Wes said.

  Davy shrugged. “Toward something. He wasn’t wandering. He was going somewhere,
although he seemed a little . . . sluggish.”

  “Sluggish.” Wes nodded. “Like he’d been hit?”

  “Or he was drunk.” Davy shook his head. “I didn’t get close. He pretty much walked through the house and out again.”

  Wes turned to Sophie and she thought, I have the blood of a thousand felons in my veins. I can lie to the police.

  “Did you see him, Sophie?” Wes asked. Sophie shook her head and hugged Lassie to her. She hadn’t seen him. That thing with the staring eyes hadn’t been anyone she knew.

  “I came back with Phin.” She swallowed and said, “I can’t believe he’s dead. I hate this.”

  “I know,” Wes said, and Phin told him, “We came back to the farm about nine-thirty and I was here until almost eleven. We didn’t see him at all.”

  “You left before eleven,” Wes said, and Phin turned to look at Davy and said, “Yep.”

  “I came and got Sophie,” Davy said. “That dumb dog had jumped in the river again and was mud all over. So we put him in the bathtub and washed him off.”

  Phin got very still, and Sophie remembered her lie to him, that she’d forgotten something she had planned with Davy.

  Next time she moved a body, she was going to make sure all the stories were straight.

  “So the last time anybody saw Zane he was heading out the back door,” Wes said. “About . . .”

  “Nine-thirty maybe,” Davy said. “Phin and Sophie came in after that, so before they came in, he left.”

  Sophie risked a look at Phin and met his eyes. He wasn’t buying any of it.

  “One other thing.” Wes looked at Sophie. “Anybody here have Mace?”

  “Mace?” Sophie blinked at him and clutched Lassie harder. Rachel. “Mace. No.”

  “Okay.” Wes nodded. He began to ask Clea about Zane’s life in Cincinnati, and Davy faded up the stairs as Phin crooked his finger at Sophie. “Could I see you a minute, please?” he said, and she went out on the porch with him.

  Lightning split the sky and the thunder followed it as the rain pelted down. “What happened?” he said to her over the storm, and she thought, I wish I could tell him everything. But he’d have to tell Wes to protect his job and his family of politicians, and there was no way she was going to betray her family of felons. For the first time, she wished she didn’t have quite so much family.

  “Nothing. Davy and I washed the dog and that was it.”

  “You’re lying,” he said, not angry, and she shrugged. “Where’s your Mace?”

  “I don’t have any Mace.”

  “You said, that first night at the Tavern—”

  “It was a joke,” Sophie said. “I don’t have Mace.”

  Phin leaned down to her. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side.”

  She felt the tears start. “I know,” she whispered, and he kissed her until she stopped crying.

  “Yell if you need me,” he said when Wes came out, and then they left.

  When Sophie went back inside, Clea had gone back upstairs, and Davy was there.

  “Her mourning was pretty much over when Wes left,” Davy said. “What did Harvard want?”

  Sophie said, “He told me to yell if I need help.”

  Davy leaned in the doorway and looked out into the stormy darkness. “He didn’t believe a word we told Wes, and he never said a thing. He’s got money, right?”

  “No,” Sophie said. “Forget him. Somebody killed Zane. Concentrate.”

  “Forget Zane, he’s dead.” Davy came to stand in front of her. “You concentrate. Harvard has money, right?”

  Sophie flopped back against the couch. “No. He owns a bookstore but it can’t make much, stuck out here. Don’t even think about running a con on him.”

  “His shirts are Armani,” Davy said. “And he drives a classic Volvo.”

  “His mother probably bought it all. Forget it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Amy said. “Zane—”

  “He could take care of you, Sophie,” Davy said, ignoring Amy. “He’d be good at it. He wants to do it. I’ve changed my mind. You can have him.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I don’t need anybody—”

  Davy nodded. “Yeah, you do. You’re tired and you’re not happy and you’re still putting your butt on the line for us. It’s time we set you free.”

  “Sophie doesn’t feel that way,” Amy said. “Sophie always says, ‘Family first.’ ”

  “He is family,” Davy said. “He’s her family—”

  Yes, Sophie thought.

  “—and she’s not going to lose him because you and I are screwups. We’ve been dragging her down long enough.” Davy nodded to Sophie. “It’s time somebody took care of you, Soph, and that’s Harvard. He was in real agony there, trying not to care tonight, covering your ass.”

  “Sophie?” Amy said. “He’s wrong, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this. I’m going to bed.” Sophie stood up and then said, “Oh, damn, no I’m not. We have to do something with that shower curtain.”

  “You could just let Sophie run her own life,” Amy said to Davy. “We did just fine after you left. We take care of each other.”

  Davy looked at her with contempt. “Oh, yeah, you take care of her. That’s how she ended up making videos of other people’s weddings and sleeping with a therapist and moving a dead body.”

  “Excuse me?” Sophie said. “The shower curtain.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Amy said, ignoring Davy. “I got us into this, and I can get the shower curtain out.”

  When she was gone, Sophie said, “We’re not going to put it back in the bathroom, right?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Davy said.

  “You’ll take care of it, just like that.” Sophie folded her arms. “You know, while I was standing out there trying not to throw up, you were making Godfather jokes. That worries me.”

  “Well, somebody had to be cool,” Davy said. “Would you just forget that? We have your future to fix now.”

  “That wasn’t your first dead body, was it?”

  “I’ve never killed anybody, if that’s what you’re asking,” Davy said.

  “I’m letting Amy go to L.A. because you’re out there,” Sophie said. “But if you’re mixed up in—”

  “You’re not ‘letting’ Amy go anyplace,” Davy said. “She’s twenty-five, she can go anywhere she wants.” He scowled at her. “Just not L.A.”

  “If you’re there to watch out for her, I won’t worry,” Sophie said. “Unless you’re getting rid of bodies—”

  “I’m not going to be there,” Davy said.

  “What—”

  “Okay,” Amy said as she banged through the screen door, the shower curtain bundled in her arms. “I’ve got it.” She looked at Sophie. “What do we do with it?”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Davy took the curtain from her and looked back at Sophie. “For once, I’ll take care of all of it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Sophie shook her head, sure nothing was ever going to be fine again.

  “So what’s the plan?” Phin said to Wes as they headed back to Temptation in the rain.

  “Look for a gun, a club, and a can of Mace and a car with some Zane in its tires,” Wes said. “Try to figure out why the angle of that shot was so awkward. See if we can find somebody who will admit to seeing Zane after he left the farm but before Pete ran over him so we can narrow the time of death. And start checking alibis of anybody who might have a motive.” He looked over at Phin. “Did Sophie come clean about the Mace?”

  “Come on, Wes, you don’t suspect Sophie.”

  “She might not kill him, but she’d use the Mace if he attacked her,” Wes said. “Hell, that’s why she carries it.”

  “But he wouldn’t have attacked her,” Phin said. “They’d known each other for years.”

  “Women are usually attacked by men they know,” Wes said. “I’d bet anything the Mace was self-defense. It’s su
ch a lousy offensive weapon, it almost has to be.”

  “If it was self-defense, she’d have said so,” Phin said. “No reason to lie. Maybe it was Amy’s.”

  “I asked. She said no.”

  “Maybe Amy’s lying.”

  “No,” Wes said. “She isn’t. Not about the Mace, anyway.”

  “About something else?”

  Wes shrugged. “Oh, yeah. There’s something big there. I haven’t quite got it yet.”

  “I have to say,” Phin said. “I don’t think anybody we’ve talked to tonight has told you the whole truth about anything.” Including me, damn it.

  “Welcome to the wonderful world of law enforcement,” Wes said.

  Phin had a hard time sleeping, and things got worse when he woke to an increasingly stormy Sunday morning. The word had spread fast, and everybody in Temptation wanted to talk, even though the store was closed, but it was the strangers that got to him. The Cincinnati Enquirer, the Columbus Dispatch, the Dayton Daily News, and even some of the smaller papers, had sent reporters who’d slopped through the continuing storm, hoping for something juicy about the murder of a news anchor. “This is southern Ohio,” Phin told one of them. “Nothing of interest ever happens here. Go away.” But they stayed to dig dirt and gather gossip and by the end of the afternoon, Phin was sure they’d all have the scene at the Tavern at the very least and probably a line on the movie, too. None of that was good, but the worst was the original fact: Zane was still dead.

  By late afternoon, Wes hadn’t come by, which meant he was swamped, and part of being a best friend was the automatic obligation to dig out swamps. Phin turned the lock on the front door, but then he saw Davy with his jacket over his head against the rain, climbing the steps. He unlocked the door, and Davy shook out his coat and said, “Heard you had a pool table.”

  Phin said, “The last guy who said that got killed.”

  “Yeah, they said you were good,” Davy said, and Phin let him in, wondering what he wanted and not caring much unless it was going to help solve the Zane mystery and get life in Temptation back where it belonged.

  When Davy saw the table, he said, “Hello. Beautiful piece of furniture.” His voice held real admiration as he walked around the table, and Phin tried not to like him for it. “Late nineteenth century, right?”