As I locked up the front entrance, shut off the lights throughout the store, and walked from the storage room’s exit into the tiny parking lot behind the building, I contemplated my next move. Should I let the matter drop? Noah had already told Poppy and me all he knew. Maybe he didn’t truly need to be present tonight.
No. Noah had to pull up his big boy boxers and show me that he had truly reformed. When we dated in high school, I was always the one who gave in and tried to be the way he wanted me to be. But I was no longer that girl, and now it was his turn to do the changing.
Having settled that matter in my mind, I needed to figure out what to do about Noah’s nonresponse. I had forty-five minutes to do that, pick up the pizza, and get to Boone’s place. At least I didn’t have to run back to the house to check on Gran, because she and her friend Frieda were on a senior bus trip.
A couple of times a month, the Shadow Bend Savings and Guaranty Bank organized an excursion for the golden-oldies crowd. One of the bank employees arranged for the group to attend a play or go shopping or—as in this trip—travel to one of the gambling boats. They weren’t due back until nine, so there was plenty of time before I had to get home.
After some thought, I decided to phone Noah rather than text him again. That way, if he answered, I’d know, and I wouldn’t have to guess whether or not he saw my message. I wasn’t sure what hours his medical clinic was open, so it was possible he was still working. Because I was reluctant to deal with his staff—who knew how they felt about me after all the years Noah and I had been on the outs?—I tried his cell first.
He picked up on the first ring. “Dev, I was just going to call you.”
“Oh.” Why did his voice cause my heartbeat to accelerate? A friend, which is all he was, shouldn’t have that effect on me. “Then you saw my text?”
“I only read it a few seconds ago,” Noah said. “My last patient walked out the door at six fifteen and I don’t carry my phone while I’m in the examination room. I figure if anyone wants me, they’ll call the clinic.”
“Right. Good to know.” I stalled, unsure what to say next. Why did this feel so uncomfortable? Was it because I really wanted Noah to come to the meeting? Would that prove to me he had really changed?
“Anyway,” Noah said, interrupting my thoughts, “I’m free this evening, and if it’s all right with St. Onge, I’d be happy to join you guys.”
“Great.” Now all I had to do was clear the way with Boone. “I know he’ll want to thank you for all your help.” I crossed my fingers that Boone would be in a reasonable mood and see things my way.
“Yeah, well.” Noah’s tone indicated he was unconvinced. “So, I’ll see you at seven thirty.”
“Yep,” I agreed, then added, “There’ll be food, so don’t worry about dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Noah said. “Can I bring anything? How about I get something for dessert? That new place that opened up next to the tearoom is supposed to have terrific pies.”
“Perfect.” I sure wished he would quit being so doggoned nice. This new Noah was making it very hard to resist falling for him again.
After we hung up, I stopped at the local pizza joint and picked up the two unbaked pizzas I had ordered earlier. I’d asked for them uncooked so that once everyone arrived at Boone’s we could pop them in the oven and wouldn’t have to worry about them getting cold before we were all present and ready to eat.
With the pizzas safely ensconced on the passenger seat, I drove to Boone’s. He lived in the old-money part of town, in a neighborhood full of stately hundred-year or older residences. This was where Noah had grown up and where his mother—the Medusa of Shadow Bend—still lived. Because Mr. and Mrs. St. Onge had made it clear to Boone’s grandmother that they preferred their contemporary home, she had left Boone her Prairie-style house.
Boone loved the place and had lavished it with his cash and attention. And although he had kept the original structure intact, he had enlarged and remodeled the master bathroom, converted one of the four upstairs bedrooms into a walk-in closet, and added a detached garage out back.
If anyone questioned his decision, Boone always replied that vintage was wonderful, but there was no need to go overboard in the quest for authenticity. After all, he liked reading Jane Austen, but he had no desire to live in England’s Regency period, when people bathed only once a week and there was no deodorant.
I parked in Boone’s empty driveway. I was never comfortable when I was forced to leave my Z4 on the street, vulnerable to all the idiot drivers just waiting to sideswipe it. I had minimal auto insurance and a sky-high deductible, which meant I’d never be able to afford to have the car repaired if it got dented. And call me shallow, but it would kill me to drive around in a beat-up vehicle.
I frowned as I got out of my BMW and glanced at the house. The grouping of multipane windows that was the focal point of the second floor was typically lit up, but tonight it was dark. Not a good sign. Boone claimed the windows were the one distinctive touch on what otherwise would have been a rather characterless façade, and he always made sure they were illuminated.
It took several rings of the bell before Boone opened the front door. He greeted me without his usual exuberance, silently let me into the foyer, and hung my jacket in the coat closet. Then, finally, the old Boone emerged; he inspected me from head to foot—I was wearing my customary store uniform: jeans and a red sweatshirt with DEVEREAUX’S DIME STORE embroidered across the chest—and tsked. “Girl, where is your sense of style?”
I narrowed my eyes in mock outrage and retorted, “I must have left it in my other purse.”
Instead of his usual snappy comeback, Boone shook his head, took the pizza boxes from the small table where I had placed them, and led me into the kitchen. I followed, biting my thumbnail. Boone reminded me of a deflated balloon, and I wasn’t sure how to pump him back up.
“How are your parents doing?” It was lame, but it was the only thing I could think of to say.
“Better, now that I’m out of jail.”
“Are they still talking to each other?”
“So far.”
As Boone placed the cartons in the refrigerator, he glanced at the wall clock and said, “I wonder where everyone else is. Tryg is always punctual.”
“Actually, I needed to talk to you alone, so I asked Tryg and Poppy to come at seven fifteen.” I pulled out a wooden slat-back chair from the matching square-leg table and sat down. “Have a seat.”
“Is Jake coming then, too?” Boone joined me. His forehead was wrinkled questioningly, but his voice was flattened by dejection.
“No.” I took a deep breath. This was so hard. Knowing how much Boone disliked Noah, I felt as if I was kicking a puppy that already had a sore paw. “Jake is in St. Louis. Saturday he left me a message that he was cleared for duty and had to report in right away because they had an urgent case they wanted him on.”
“Oh.” Boone scrubbed his face with his fists—clearly, he was still exhausted—but then a tiny spark appeared in his eyes and he asked, “Then who helped you yesterday?”
“Noah Underwood.” I put my hand over Boone’s and watched as a variety of emotions chased across his face. “He’s changed, Boone.”
“No. He hasn’t.” Boone shook off my fingers. “He was always willing to do whatever it took to make himself look good in your eyes.”
“Except stand up to his mother,” I murmured almost involuntarily.
“Exactly. When push came to shove, Dr. Dreadful let you down.” Boone got up and poured us each a glass of merlot.
“That was more than a decade ago.” I could hear the pleading in my voice and didn’t like it. “He explained what happened back then, and I’ve decided to give him a chance to prove he’s the guy he claims to be.”
“If that’s what floats your boat.” Boone handed me the wine and sat back down. “I guess I shouldn’t say anything. After all, it’s your tacky little cruise ship.”
“Thanks fo
r understanding.” I let the sarcasm drip from my words. “Be nice.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult.” Boone’s expression was stubborn.
“You don’t have to.” I snickered. “It just comes naturally.”
“Well, I don’t trust him.” Boone crossed his legs.
“Whether you trust Noah or not, he’s the one who found out all the information about the Whitmores yesterday,” I pointed out.
“I’m sure I already know everything he discovered.” Boone pursed his mouth in a pout.
“Fine.” I hated arguing with Boone, mostly because as a lawyer he was so much better at it than I was. “I don’t want to go over the whole thing until the others arrive, but do you know the name of the woman Colin Whitmore was boinking when Elise caught him?”
“No . . .” Boone drew out the word. “Elise said she was saving that as an ace in the hole if Colin gave us any trouble with the divorce settlement.” Boone frowned. “She said that keeping the little slut’s identity a secret was extremely important to her cheating husband.”
“Well, Noah found out who the woman was.” I explained how he had obtained the information and ended with, “And it looks as if this Willow Macpherson had an excellent motive for murdering Elise. It certainly was as good, if not better than, the one the police think you have. So learning her identity was an important discovery.”
“All right, I can see how that could be useful.” Boone wavered. “And it was good of Dr. Dull to pitch in and use his connections for me.”
“So, it’s okay if he comes tonight?” I pounced at the opening Boone had given me. “And you’ll be civil and not call him names?”
“Fine.” Boone’s lips turned up. “But this is a temporary truce. Don’t expect Dr. Dreary and me to become BFFs anytime soon.”
“Fine,” I agreed. “I gave up asking for miracles a long time ago.”
When Poppy and Tryg showed up a few minutes later, it was no surprise that they arrived together. Judging from the secret glances, sly remarks, and little touches they exchanged, I was fairly certain that they were on their way to becoming an item. Boone, on the other hand, seemed taken aback, and I wondered why. Poppy nearly always inspired men to lust, and Tryg was exactly her type—rich and successful.
While the newly hatched couple took off their coats and Boone hung them in the closet, I nipped into the kitchen and turned on the oven. Once it was preheating, I met the trio in the library. This was my favorite room in Boone’s house. Its large windows were framed in whiskey-colored draperies that pooled on the shiny hardwood floor. An oak table holding a crystal vase full of fresh lilies and tulips was positioned behind a nutmeg leather sofa, and an assortment of brass lamps was scattered throughout the space.
Tryg and Poppy shared the couch, and Boone sat on a matching club chair to their right. I sank into the identical seat on the other side of them and checked my watch. Noah was due any minute, a fact I should mention to Poppy so she didn’t blurt out something awkward when he walked in. Not that she would deliberately try to make him feel uncomfortable, since she was one of his fans, but because she was one of the few people close to me who would be happy to see Noah and me resume our former relationship.
Before I could speak, Boone wrinkled his nose and said, “Poppy, I suppose you’re aware that Dr. Do-Good is joining us this evening.”
She opened her mouth, glanced at me, then closed it and nodded. “Sure.”
“And she thinks it’s a good idea,” I said, shooting her a grateful look, then turning to Boone and admonishing, “You promised to stop calling him names.”
“Which I will.” Boone adjusted the creases in his khakis—even depressed, he managed to be immaculately dressed and groomed. “To his face.” He smiled sardonically. “Unless, of course, you love him so much you can’t bear to hear a word against him.”
I started to protest, but the doorbell rang and Boone jumped to his feet. I debated following him out to the hallway, then decided it might be a good idea to let the two men have a couple of minutes alone to sort out past grievance and readjust their attitudes.
While Poppy and Tryg cooed at each other, I focused on the muffled conversation going on in the foyer, but I couldn’t hear a single word. The voices faded, and I could tell the men were walking toward the kitchen—probably to put away the dessert Noah had brought.
A few seconds later, Boone ushered Noah into the library. Instantly, Noah’s smoky gray eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a sizzle that started in my chest and traveled due south, where it burst into flame.
Boone frowned at me. Had he read my mind or a more embarrassing part of my body? His mouth tightened; then, after he introduced Noah to Tryg, he asked, “What can I get everyone to drink?”
“A martini straight up,” Poppy and Tryg answered in unison.
“Wine for me,” Noah said, stepping over to the brimming bookcases built into three of the four walls and running his fingers across the spines. “Whatever is open is fine.”
Boone and I retreated to the kitchen, where I put the pizza in the oven and set the timer for twenty minutes. Then, while Boone made the martinis, I poured Noah a glass of merlot and topped off Boone’s glass, as well as my own. When I brought the wine to Noah in the library, I discovered that he had taken the desk chair from the corner and placed it next to where I had been sitting.
Noticing that Poppy and Tryg were preoccupied with each other, I leaned close and whispered to Noah, “Thanks so much for coming tonight. It’s very sweet of you to give up your free time. There are probably a million places you’d rather be than here making nice with Boone.”
“Maybe.” Noah’s silky voice filled my ear and his warm breath feathered my cheek. “But there’s no one I’d rather spend an evening with than you.” He took my hand, his thumb caressing my palm, and I felt goose bumps form on my arms.
“Uh.” Why was I having trouble breathing? Instead of the flippant reply that I had intended to make, I croaked, “Me, too.”
Okay. Where had that come from? I had to get my mind on Boone’s problems and remember that Noah wasn’t anything more than a friend. Luckily, before I could make any other awkward remarks, Boone came in with the martinis and we got down to business.
Poppy took a sip of her drink and asked, “How should we do this?”
Tryg sat forward. “Let me summarize what the police have, and we’ll go from there.” He took a notepad from the breast pocket of his polo shirt and read, “The authorities arrived within five minutes of Boone’s nine-one-one call. He was immediately escorted from the living room and placed in a squad car. After the house was searched and no one was found, the EMTs examined the victim. The coroner was summoned, and she pronounced Elise dead.”
“What did they find at the scene?” Boone asked, sitting back in his chair. “No one would tell me anything. I only know that they didn’t find the weapon, because they kept asking me where I had hidden it.”
“The back door had been jimmied and the house had been ransacked,” Tryg answered. “The police believe the killer was searching for something that Elise had hidden, because containers were opened and flung aside. In fact, a can of varnish was spilled on the kitchen floor. The crime techs are checking it for evidence.”
“Did you go in the kitchen, Boone?” I asked.
“No.”
“Good.” I smiled at him, then asked Tryg, “Was Colin Whitmore able to say if anything had been stolen?”
“No.” Tryg shook his head. “He claimed he couldn’t tell.”
“Because Elise had been getting rid of his stuff,” I speculated, then added, “but the pawn shop owner says he heard that nothing was missing.”
“He’s probably basing that info on the fact that he’s the local fence and no one has tried to sell him anything,” Poppy guessed.
“Interesting.” Tryg shrugged. “Unfortunately, since I was only able to get a copy of Boone’s arrest report and nothing else, I can’t say if the police suspect that or n
ot.”
“Well, the fact that her husband was furious with Elise for getting rid of his belongings is something that we need to make sure the cops know about,” Poppy informed Tryg. Then she asked him, “Is Colin even a suspect?”
“That’s hard to say.” Tryg sighed. “They don’t seem to have taken a hard look at him. Then again, I haven’t seen any paperwork other than Boone’s arrest report. And, of course, none of the officers is sharing information with their prime suspect’s lawyer.”
“So, that’s it?” Boone whined. “That’s all you were able to find out? What have you all been doing while I was rotting in jail?”
“Boone . . .” Tryg raised a brow at his client. “We talked about your attitude not helping matters.”
“You may call it bitching,” Boone snapped. “I call it motivational speaking.”
“Boone was never one to suffer in silence,” Poppy told Tryg.
“Why should I?” Boone screwed up his face. “I’d much rather moan, whimper, and complain.”
While I was happy to see Boone acting more like his snarky self, I thought it was time we all focused back on the case, so I said, “As I mentioned earlier, Noah learned quite a bit about the Whitmores.”
“Right.” Tryg nodded. “Let’s turn the floor over to Dr. Underwood and let him tell us what he found out.”
“Call me Noah.” Noah smiled at the attorney. “I like to leave all that doctor stuff at the clinic.” When Tryg nodded, Noah turned to Boone and filled him in. After he finished up, he asked Poppy and me, “Did I leave anything out?”
“Nope.” Poppy took another sip of her martini. “Not that I can think of.”
“That about covers it,” I agreed. “But I did hear an interesting tidbit today from the one of the knitters at my store. It seems that not only did Elise cripple Colin financially; she was also trying to get him fired.”
“No shit?” Poppy bounced on her seat. “How could she do that?”
“I have no idea.” I took a swallow of wine. “I’ve been wondering that same thing myself.”
Nickeled and Dimed to Death Page 11
