He smiled through his tears. “Thanks, Gert.” He turned to me. “And thank you, Jules, for bringing her here. I take it you didn’t have to get yourself thrown in jail to see me this time?”
“No, I used my nice words and my inside voice today. Worked like a charm.”
Gertie turned to me, perplexed. “You were in jail, too?”
Pete said proudly, “Someone wanted to keep me company last night, so she had the bright idea of getting herself a cell next to mine. Her evil plan might have worked, only they put her in with the general population and me in a different cell block.”
“Juliet, I thought you were smarter than that,” scolded Gertie, then she smiled. “I would have done the exact same thing.”
I shook my head. “It was definitely an experience. I saw a dude peeing on another dude.”
Gertie guffawed. “That’s nothing. In the sixties, I—”
“Whoa,” Pete interrupted. “I’ve already got enough problems without a bad visual of my grandmother from the sixties.”
“Agreed,” I said. “And I hate to be the one to bring this up, but we need to figure out a game plan for paying your bail. Pete, did your lawyer say anything about how much it might be?”
He winced. “He said it would be pretty ridiculous.”
Gertie interjected, “On Matlock, the judge once set the bail for a murder suspect at two million dollars.”
Pete and I groaned. Old people and their Matlock references. I said, “Surely it won’t be that high. And can’t you get a bail bond and only pay a percentage?”
He sighed. “My lawyer said bail bonds are generally for ten percent. If my bail gets set at a million, that’s still a hundred grand I’d owe. I don’t have anywhere close to that. I’m screwed.”
“Pete, we’ll find a way,” I said.
Gertie turned to me. “You said you haven’t given it up to your rich boyfriend yet. Think he’d be willing to pay for it?”
“No,” Pete said emphatically, pointing at Gertie. He then turned and pointed at me, too. “No!”
I leaned closer to Gertie and murmured, “Talk about selling your soul to the devil.”
“There will be no selling of anything to anyone, you two,” Pete ordered.
I said, “Fine. Look, I’ll talk to Ryder and see if he knows of any other options.”
“Why is he being so nice to me all of a sudden?” asked Pete suspiciously.
“He thinks you’re innocent, Pete.”
“Then why in the hell isn’t he trying to get me out of here?”
“He’s doing what he can. It’s not his case. He promised to ask Cromwell to take a good look at Stan.”
“Your boyfriend?” asked Gertie.
“Stan is not my boyfriend.”
She waved her hand. “I can’t keep all of your men straight.”
Before I could object, the officer returned and said, “Your visit is over.”
I caught the tearful look that passed between Pete and Gertie. It nearly ripped my heart in two. She reached out one of her wrinkled, shaking hands and patted him on the cheek. She whispered, “You hang in there. I love you.”
“I love you, Gertie,” Pete choked out as the officer was putting the cuffs back on him. “You, too, Jules,” he added as he disappeared out the door.
Gertie was unusually quiet on the ride back to her house. I kept trying to start a conversation with her, but it was obvious she didn’t want to talk.
I pulled up in front of her house and asked, “Can I at least take you to breakfast or something?”
She looked over at me and placed her hand on mine. “No, dear. Thank you. I’d like to be by myself for a while.”
“I understand. I’ll come and get you tomorrow morning for the arraignment, okay?”
“I’m not a damn invalid. I can drive myself,” she retorted grumpily. At least the old Gertie was still in there somewhere.
“Okay, then. I’ll see you there.”
I drove back to my apartment, lost in thought. I had no freaking clue how I was going to go about proving Pete’s innocence. The evidence they had on him was bad. However, other people had pretty decent reasons for killing Cecilia, some even more so than Pete. Stan was an obvious suspect, because he got her share of their grandmother’s inheritance in the event of her death. Hollingsworth Industries was a multimillion-dollar company. But what about Cecilia’s mysterious baby daddy? What if he didn’t want to be a daddy? That was the perfect motive for murder—get rid of the baby and the nagging girlfriend both at the same time.
How in the hell was I going to find out who this guy was and also gather information on Stan? I needed to infiltrate the Nashville social scene, but there was no way I could do it on my own. I couldn’t very well use Stan to break into the clique. He wasn’t too popular with the rich folk at the moment, plus I didn’t feel it was right to use him that way, killer or not. To go deep into Cecilia’s socialite world, I needed a wingman—or rather, a wingwoman.
Savannah had called me several times the previous night to find out what had happened to Pete, but I had missed her calls, having been in jail myself. I called her, hoping she would agree to my harebrained scheme.
“It’s about time you called me back!” she huffed into the phone.
“I’m sorry. Last night was insane.”
She asked worriedly, “How’s Pete? Are they really going to charge him with murder?”
“It would seem so. He’s hanging in there, for now at least.”
“Did he meet with the lawyer Carl sent over?”
“Yes, and tell him thank you from us.”
“Oh, sweetie, he wanted to help. I do, too. Is there anything else we can do?”
This was my opening. “Now that you mention it…could we talk about it over lunch?”
“Sure! Want to meet at the club at noon?”
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter 12
“The club” was the exclusive country club that Savannah and the Hollingsworths and all of their wealthy friends belonged to. Stan had taken me there for lunch a couple of times. I would much rather have gone to the seedy diner Ryder took me to last night. However, the club was the perfect place to start my snooping. It would be packed with gossiping socialites, and the topic of the day should be Cecilia.
After changing into the nicest dress I owned, I headed over to the club to meet Savannah. She was waiting for me at the front door. When we walked into the dining room, I could feel people staring and began to hear murmuring.
Once we sat down and ordered our food, I whispered to Savannah, “I feel like I’m being watched.”
She laughed nervously. “It’s not every day that someone goes running off the stage and vomits at a big fundraiser gala…”
I covered my face with my hands. “Great. I’m that girl.”
“Until they find something more interesting to gossip about, yes. Plus, you’re dating Stan, who’s persona non grata to this group after Abigail’s little accident.”
“Casually dating,” I said to clarify. Going out on a “date” last night with Ryder maybe wasn’t exactly kosher, but if Stan turned out to have something to do with Cecilia’s death, our “casual dating” would be over anyway. “I’m not happy with him at the moment. I think I need to take a step away from Stan.”
“Well, it’s about time.”
“Yes, but after his behavior lately, I’m afraid to make a big deal out of breaking things off. I’m hoping that if I don’t return his calls, it’ll kind of fizzle on its own. He left me several messages last night, but I ignored them.”
“I know,” she said exasperatedly. “He was bothering me all evening, asking if I’d heard from you. I don’t think he’s ready for you two to fizzle just yet.” She looked around to see if anyone was listening and lowered her voice. “Juliet, I think you’re right to distance yourself from Stan. Carl and I were talking about it on the way home, and we think…oh, how do I say this without sounding horribly judgmental?”
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I said it for her. “You think Stan may have had something to do with Cecilia’s murder. Pete and I were thinking the same thing.”
Her eyes got wide. “I hate to think that about Stan. I’ve known him for years, but after what happened with Abigail…”
“I know. I’m angry with him for pointing the finger at Pete; and you have to admit, he did have a lot to gain from Cecilia’s death. But I can’t seem to wrap my mind around him committing the act itself.”
“He could have paid someone to do it.”
“True, but it would still bother me to see him locked up. At the same time, I don’t want Pete rotting in jail for something he didn’t do.” I said softly, “I have to try to prove his innocence.”
She gasped. “You want to put your sleuthing cap back on again, don’t you?”
“Yes, and this time I need help.”
Startled, she replied, “Wait, are you asking me? Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!”
“Is that a yes?” I asked, unsure of what butts and biscuits had to do with investigating a murder.
Taking a large, unladylike gulp of her white wine, she replied shakily, “That sounds way too dangerous for me. I’m kind of a scaredy-cat, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
It was true. Savannah always worried about me getting myself into dangerous situations, but also loved the stories resulting from my antics. I tried to downplay the possibility of danger. “Oh, we’ll probably mostly be talking to Cecilia’s friends, and maybe a few people from the 5K. How dangerous could that be?”
“Oh, girl. Her ‘friends’ make the Real Housewives look like nuns. You do not want to tangle with them.”
“That’s why I need you. You know how to deal with their crap.”
She cocked her head to the side and looked thoughtful. “Well…I reckon it would be exciting…”
“So you’ll do it?”
She took another gulp of her wine. “Oh, what the hay! Carl’s going to be out of town for a couple of days for one of his gambling trips. I need something to do.”
“Thank you, Savannah!” I said, relieved. “Now what we need is a game plan. Besides Stan, I have another person I’d like to check out, but I have no idea what his name is,” I said.
“Then how are you going to find him?” asked Savannah.
“That’s where you come in.”
“Do I know him? Who is he?”
Leaning in, I whispered, “The guy Cecilia was cheating on Pete with.”
Savannah’s eyes grew as big as saucers, and her mouth dropped open. “Cheating?” she squeaked. “On Pete?”
“That’s what Pete and Cecilia were arguing about before she died. She had just told Pete that she was leaving him for this other guy,” I explained.
“That little hussy. Pardon my language.”
“Oh, it gets worse. Cecilia was pregnant.”
Both of her hands flew to her mouth. “Shut the front door.” A look of realization dawned on her face, and she immediately cringed. “It wasn’t Pete’s baby, was it?”
I felt a little ill hearing the term “Pete’s baby,” but I shook it off. “No, thank goodness. She told Pete it belonged to the other guy.”
“Whew,” Savannah breathed. “I bet you were glad to hear that. I can’t imagine how it would have affected your relationship with Pete if the baby had been his.”
“I don’t even want to think about it. But if we can’t figure out who really killed Cecilia, Pete will be in jail forever and that really would affect our relationship.”
“So we start now. Someone has to know that Cecilia was sleeping around.”
“I thought you were one of her closest friends. I assumed if anyone would know, you would.”
Savannah shook her head. “Cecilia didn’t open up to me much. I just figured that’s how she was and didn’t ever push it. Abigail might know, though. And I think there was a girl Cecilia kept in close touch with from college. Her roommate…or maybe a sorority sister? Jenny Vaughn.”
“Right. Jenny Vaughn. I’d nearly forgotten about her. They were always joined at the hip in school.” I thought for a moment and added, “Oh, and here’s one for you: did you know that Jenny Vaughn was the one who relieved Stan of his virginity? When he was seventeen…and she was twenty.”
Her mouth formed a little O. “That’s…”
“I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘statutory rape.’ ”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“Yes, Jenny went to Cecilia’s house for Thanksgiving their sophomore year instead of going home. Stan was a junior in high school, and evidently at that point wasn’t a hit with the ladies—except for Jenny, who never met a guy she didn’t do.” I frowned as the rest of the story came back to me. “Then when they got back to campus, Jenny laughed about nailing Cecilia’s baby brother. It was sad, actually. No wonder the man has issues.”
Savannah looked over my shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”
I twisted in my seat and spied Stan sitting at the bar, his back to us. Sighing, I turned around and said, “You know, the quickest way to find out information is to go to the source. Maybe I can figure out a way to get Stan to talk.”
Savannah shrank back in her chair apprehensively. “Oh, no. That is a bad idea. If he did it, and you start sniffing around him, he’ll kill you, too!”
“True, he might. But,” I said, flipping my hair, “if I use my feminine powers of persuasion…”
“Ooh, that’s wrong on a whole lot of levels.”
“I’m just saying that sugar catches more flies than vinegar.”
She winked at me. “Now you’re starting to sound like a real Southerner.”
“Take that back!”
“I’ll convert you sooner or later.”
“Never.” I threw a glance over at Stan again, reminding myself that I was doing this for Pete. “I’m going to talk to Stan.”
“I want to go on the record saying—again—that this is a bad idea.”
“Duly noted,” I replied as I headed his way.
Stan was quite possibly pissed at me after last night. I pretty much broke our date to the gala at the last minute, worked instead of hanging with him while we were there, and left without saying goodbye. Oh, and I didn’t return any of his five messages from last night. I would be pissed at me.
Standing right next to him, I said quietly, going for an apologetic face, “Hi, Stan.”
He glanced my way and said flatly, “Juliet. I thought you dropped off the face of the earth.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” I sighed. “It’s just that…my life got turned upside down last night.”
“What happened? Did your sister get murdered?” he asked petulantly.
I looked down. “I guess I deserved that. I think we need to talk.”
“About what?” he snapped.
He was not going to make this easy, but I had to keep my eye on the prize—Pete’s freedom. I would do anything for him, and that included “selling my soul to the devil,” as Gertie had put it, or at least sitting down to have a conversation with him.
“Not here.” I had a lot of probing questions for Stan, and although it was probably a bad idea, we needed to be alone. I figured I’d be okay if we were on my turf. “How about I make you dinner at Java Jive tonight? I think we could both use someone to talk to.” I had a tentative date with Ryder, but he might have to wait if it meant I could get some useful information out of Stan.
He relented, “Well, I guess it would be nice to talk to someone. No one’s been terribly friendly to me lately.” Ouch. I was one of those people, and even this dinner was more about getting information out of Stan than being a friend to him. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
“Meet me at Java Jive at five.”
I went back over to my table with Savannah and dropped down into my chair. “That went better than expected. I’m cooking him dinner tonight.”
She threw her hands up in disgust. “Alone? Cheese and crackers,
Juliet. That’s crazy talk! What if he tries to hurt you?”
“I have to do this,” I said emphatically. “I don’t know of another way.”
She whispered, “While you were over there talking to a possible murderer, I made myself useful. I spoke to a few people here, and I think I may have a lead on the boyfriend.”
“No way!” I squealed. “What did you find out?”
Looking around to see if anyone was listening, she said, “It seems that Cecilia’s housekeeper has loose lips. She evidently walked in on them one day, and she let it slip to another one of her clients, who of course told her friends.”
“No,” I said, shocked.
“I told you it was worse than a reality show around here.”
“So did you get a name?”
She frowned. “Unfortunately, no. No one heard who it was, just that it wasn’t Pete.”
“Then how do we get the whole story?”
“I say we start with the housekeeper.”
“Let’s do it.”
—
Savannah got the housekeeper’s name and phone number from one of the ladies at the club, and she called and was able to talk the woman into meeting us at Java Jive later in the afternoon. When Savannah walked into the coffeehouse, I could tell she was agitated. She sat down on one of the stools at the counter.
“How are we going to get her to talk?” she asked nervously, tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the counter.
“From what you said the ladies at the club told you, it shouldn’t be a problem,” I replied, putting on a pot of coffee.
“By the way, I told her you were looking for someone to clean here at the coffeehouse. That’s how I got her to come.”
I smiled encouragingly at her. “See? I told you that you could do it. You’re really doing well at this sleuthing stuff. Asking Cecilia’s housekeeper for a quote is a perfect way to lure her into trusting you so she’ll spill her guts.”
Wrinkling her nose, she asked, “Isn’t it a little underhanded, though?”
“Maybe, but I don’t care. Pete’s in jail. I’m not above any tactic if it will get him out.”
Mug Shot Page 11
