by Linda Wiken
“Back to Alison,” Connor said, after finishing a bruschetta and licking his fingers. So much for the Mr. Cool Radio DJ image, although his dark hair, usually forming a salute above his forehead with the help of hair product, had a bit too much length to look stylish. And his deep brown eyes, his most enduring feature in J.J.’s estimation, looked veiled and tired. Maybe this latest murder involving someone close to them all was just a bit too soon after losing his girlfriend in a brutal attack.
“As I was saying, I tried phoning her and was stonewalled by her aunt. Apparently, she is staying with Alison. She said she’d pass on the message that I’d called but Alison never called back. My immediate concern is that we probably shouldn’t go nosing into Alison’s private life without her knowing,” J.J. admitted. “We’ve learned over time that she likes her privacy and I’m sure she’ll get upset if we do so. I’d hate to think she might even drop out of the dinner club if we really got her mad.”
“Agreed,” Beth said, determination ringing in her voice. “Besides, I think the unknown factor here is James Bailey. He’s the victim, after all. I think it would be okay to look into his life, if we’re able. For instance, who had it in for him?”
“We know it’s not Alison so how do we find out more about his life?” J.J. looked around at everyone. “For starters, what did he do?”
“That one is easy,” Beth answered. “We do know, from Alison, that he was a firefighter and I think she once said he was stationed at a fire hall at the far southern end of the city. At least, I’m assuming he still was at the time of his death.”
“Does anyone have any contacts there?”
Connor stretched out his long legs in front of him and leaned back into the love seat. “I can ask around the newsroom and see if he’s been connected to any stories.”
“Great.” J.J. liked the idea of having a radio announcer in their group. Always handy to have a media “in.”
“How about checking to see if he has a Facebook page?” Evan asked.
J.J. nodded, grabbed her tablet off the counter, and opened Facebook. She groaned when at least a dozen James Baileys were listed. “Who would have thought? That’s not a very common name.”
“Maybe not in the real world but, in the Facebook world, you never know.”
“You keep talking while I search through these names.”
No one did. They watched while she worked through the list and finally shook her head. “I can’t find him. Who doesn’t have a Facebook page these days?”
“Alison doesn’t,” Evan reminded them all. “Maybe firefighters also are told to keep a low profile.”
J.J. shook her head. “I somehow doubt it. My brother’s a firefighter in Rutland and he’s larger than life on Facebook, although there’s no mention of his job. What’s to keep secret? Of course, he could be going under ‘James B’ or some such abbreviation.”
“Let’s get back to the real world,” Connor suggested. “I’ll find out if he has a profile of any sort. Maybe he’s a hero or did something like rescue a cat out of a tree.”
“I might point out,” Beth interjected, “that would give someone a reason to love, not hate, him.”
“Point taken. Maybe there’s something more sinister, like firefighters running illegal gambling in their back room at nights.” He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “What? You wanted something in the hate category. Gambling debts cause lots of hard feelings.”
J.J. laughed. “You never know. Maybe we should take a leisurely Sunday drive over to the fire station, when we find out which one is his, and talk to some of his buddies?”
“Sunday is already booked,” Evan said. “Michael and I are taking in the Home Renovations Show at the arena. We’ve been meaning to build a small extension out back but keep putting it off every year. However, this is the one.”
“An extension? Sounds exciting. What’s it to be?” Beth asked.
“To Michael, it’s a library, but to me, it’s a sunroom. We’ll have to see how that can be combined.” His grin had a sly look to it.
“Anyone else?” J.J. asked, looking at the others, who shook their heads. “Okay. Being shelved for now.” I wonder what Devine’s doing Sunday?
CHAPTER 6
J.J.’s phone woke her early the next morning. She glanced at the clock radio on her bedside table and groaned. Seven A.M. She’d overslept. That didn’t happen very often. No time for a walk this morning, she thought as she grabbed the phone.
“J.J., it’s Alison. I hate to bother you, especially at this hour of the morning.”
It sounds like she’s crying. What’s happened now?
“It’s all right, Alison. What’s wrong?”
“I just found out some things about James’s past that have totally floored me. And, to the police, these give me an even stronger motive to kill him.”
“That’s awful. Do you want to talk about it?” Silly question since she’d obviously called to do just that.
“I think I need to otherwise I’ll explode. Do you mind if I come by before you go to work?”
“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be dressed, and the coffee will be on.”
It took J.J. less than fifteen minutes to do both and she’d started pacing by the time Alison arrived. One look at her face and J.J. knew whatever the news, it was bad. She gave Alison a quick hug and then pressed a coffee mug into her hand. She let Alison choose a seat in the living room and decide when to talk.
“I understand you called yesterday. My aunt wasn’t very forthcoming about it. She always did try to keep me wrapped up in cotton batting.”
“She did?”
“Yes. You may not have known because I don’t often mention it, but my aunt and uncle, Pam and Hector, raised me along with their own three kids—all boys, I might add—after my parents were killed in a train accident when I was seven. We lived in Middlebury. They’re a sweet couple but as I said, cotton batting. She’s here for as long as I need her, or rather as long as she feels I need her.” She sighed and glanced around the room she’d seen often.
J.J. had the feeling Alison was trying to figure out how to say what was on her mind. She waited.
Alison shifted in her chair and looked at J.J. “It seems that my less-than-idyllic marriage was even more so.” Alison blew on the coffee and then took a sip, her hands shaking slightly. “Not only had he withdrawn at the end, he also wasn’t who he said he was.”
“What do you mean?”
Alison took a deep breath. “I’m told that he was living a double life.”
“And that means?” J.J. asked, feeling a knot in her stomach.
“It means, he had another wife, in Rouses Point, New York.”
That’s the last thing J.J. had expected to hear. She sat speechless. This was the stuff of fiction or at least of other people’s lives. She wasn’t quite sure what to say to Alison but she didn’t get the chance anyway.
“They’d been married for one year, and for part of that year, we were still living together as husband and wife.”
“When did you two marry?”
“Six months before he married her. We’ve been separated for a year now.” She stood up and started pacing. “He had two wallets, two driver’s licenses, one in the name of James Bailey and the other as Jeffrey Bailey. That was his middle name. I can’t believe I never twigged. I’m a cop, for frig sake.” She stopped in front of J.J. “Why wasn’t I in the least bit suspicious?”
“Because you didn’t want to be. And, you love the guy.” J.J. give her a brief hug. She had some questions but didn’t want to get Alison more upset; best leave them for another time.
Alison went back to pacing. “Loved, past tense. The last of that love disappeared the night he didn’t come back. It seems like an eternity ago now.”
“I don’t know what to say, Alison, except I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. There’s really nothing you can say. Now that I know the facts a lot of things are starting to fall into place and make sense
. The main problem is, if the detectives believe I knew about this, I have a stronger motive for killing him.” She moaned as if she’d just thought of that fact, plopped down on the love seat, and covered her face with her hands.
“But,” J.J. said in a louder voice to get her attention, “that also means his other wife had just as big a motive. And she could just as easily have known and killed him because of it. In fact, she’s more likely to have done it. I don’t think a cop would be foolish enough to commit murder.”
“Thanks.” Alison managed a weak smile. “But cops do in fact commit robberies, beat on their partners, and murder their spouses. That badge doesn’t make us pure.”
“Maybe not but I’ll bet it makes you smart enough not to hide the body in your own SUV. And, I’d bet that statistically, compared to other professionals, the numbers are lower.” J.J. wasn’t sure where that came from but she was willing to try anything to make Alison feel better.
Alison grimaced. “I think I should suggest that Lieutenant Hashtag hire you.”
J.J. was pleased to hear Alison calling the lieutenant by his nickname. Things were looking up. “I’m the last person Lieutenant Hastings would hire. All he wants to do is lock me away so I won’t meddle in his investigations.”
Alison sobered. “You’re right and that’s probably why I shouldn’t have told you any of this. I know you guys and I know you’ve probably already met to try to figure out how to help me. Right? And I appreciate it, I really do. But it is a police investigation and we’ve got some smart detectives. I believe they’ll get to the bottom of this.” She reached for J.J.’s hand. “I have to believe that.”
*
• • •
J.J. sat at her office desk still in a daze. She glanced at the clock. Almost noon and she felt like she’d accomplished nothing this morning. What to do next? Alison had said not to mess with it. As a cop, she had to tell them that, but surely by giving her the second name and town where James also lived, it meant she really wanted them to try to find out some details. J.J. tried calling Beth but was told by a server that Beth was too busy to come to the phone. She knew Connor was still on air so she ran downstairs to Evan’s office, but the door had a Closed sign on it. Frustration.
Back at her desk, she tried calling Devine but his phone went to message. So, she left one, asking him to call back.
She had to walk off some of her pent-up agitation at lunch so she headed to Rocco G’s, just a block away from the lake, hoping that merely the sight of Rocco and one of his amazing espresso creations would help her regain her balance. He smiled when she walked in but was busy dealing with a lineup at the counter. She found an empty table right by the window and sat down to watch the heavy foot traffic along Claymore Street while waiting. The next thing she knew, Rocco set an espresso down on the table in front of her.
“I’m hoping you’ll like my new secret ingredient,” Rocco said with a flourish of his hand. “Okay, I will tell you since you are my most appreciative customer and friend. I sprinkle in fresh shavings of eighty percent cacao along with a pinch of chili pepper and stir.”
He waited until J.J. had taken the requisite taste and made appropriate sounds of appreciation before adding, “Bene. Now, tell me, is there something else you’d like?”
“What would you recommend for lunch today?”
“I have a black fig, mozzarella, and basil salad that will knock your socks off.”
J.J. started laughing. That was such an un-Rocco expression. “Sounds great. I’ll try it.”
He gave her a small salute and she watched as he walked back behind the counter. He’d proven to be a good friend and she knew she could rely on him to cheer her, just as he had in the past.
He returned shortly with a lunch-sized portion of the salad and some slices of warm focaccia along with a tiny bottle of olive oil for dipping.”
“You know, September is fig time in Sicily so we must celebrate here in Half Moon Bay, also. The focaccia is from my good friend Mario’s oven. Buon appetito.”
She ate with pleasure, surrendering to the sweetness of the fresh figs, along with the slight crunch of its seeds. She took a closer look at the plate. Surely, she could mimic this at home. Or she could ask for the recipe. Try it first, then, if need be, ask, she decided.
She was smiling as she paid her check. “Thanks, Rocco. That was exactly what I needed.”
“You come back real soon and maybe it won’t be quite so busy. We can sit and talk.” He reached out and squeezed her hand.
She nodded and headed back to work, much calmer but still wanting to talk over Alison’s news with someone. Fortunately, Evan was seated at his desk with his door open, an invitation to whoever might be passing to stop in.
She lightly knocked on the door as she walked in. “Hope you’ve got a few minutes because I want to talk.”
“Are you holding down the fort?” Evan gestured upstairs.
“I have some free time, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good, because I’m hoping you’ll come on an errand with me. We can talk on the way.” He straightened his purple and pink polka-dot bow tie.
“What’s the errand?”
“Well, I have to drop off a selection of carpeting at a client’s house and it’s just around the corner from Alison’s. I thought we could stop in for a visit. I’ve been thinking about her and wondering if we should be stopping in to see her more often.”
“Nice thought, Evan. I did see Alison briefly this morning and she wasn’t in very good shape. Maybe we could stop off and pick up some Champlain chocolates to bring.”
“Great idea. I’ll just lock up and meet you out at my car in, say, ten?”
J.J. ran upstairs to the office and checked for any messages. Nothing was pressing, so she grabbed her purse again and switched off the light, looking forward to another ride in Evan’s new toy.
After they picked up the chocolates, J.J. debated telling Evan what she’d learned earlier in the day but thought Alison might want to fill him in. He pulled into the driveway and sat a few seconds before shutting off the car.
“Does it feel weird to you, being here at the spot where it all happened?”
“Yes, so let’s not dwell on it.” She led the way up the walkway. “It was smart of you to pick up that small box of chocolates for the aunt, too. Maybe we can bribe our way inside.”
Pam opened the door. Not at all what J.J. had expected. She looked to be in her mid to late fifties, with black hair gracefully streaked with natural signs of aging, the figure of a younger woman, and a stylish maize-checked shirtwaist dress.
“I’m J.J. and this is Evan. He’s one of our dinner group, also. And these are for you.”
Pam smiled as she accepted the small box from Evan. “I’m Pam, the aunt, and Alison is in the kitchen. Go right in. I’m just going for a little nap. Thank you for these.” She was already munching on one as she climbed the stairs.
J.J. and Evan found Alison in the kitchen. She’d changed into jeans and a bulky pullover. She’d tied her hair back with an elastic but had not put on any makeup. She looked like a teenager, a very sad one.
“Twice in one day, that’s a treat,” Alison said as J.J. hugged her.
“And, Evan. Thank you, my friend,” she said, accepting the box of chocolates from him. “My favorite and I’m sorry but I’m not going to share.”
J.J. laughed. “I sure wouldn’t.”
“How’s it going, Alison?” Evan asked. He couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice.
Alison looked at J.J. “Does he know?”
J.J. shook her head. Evan looked from one to the other. “What?”
Alison heaved a sigh and explained about James being a bigamist. When she’d finished, Evan looked stunned.
“I cannot believe the guy. And that’s just what you need, another shock right after, well, after the other one. I cannot believe someone would do something like that to you. A bigamist. How is that even possible?” Evan sta
rted pacing. “If he were here right now, I’d punch him out.”
That brought a smile to Alison’s face. “My hero.”
Evan looked startled then smiled, too. J.J. was trying to picture how that would turn out—mild, short Evan punching out equally short but muscular James—she’d seen photos of him—when the doorbell chimed.
Alison glanced above.
“Your aunt may be in a chocolate thrall,” J.J. said. “I’ll get it if you like.”
“No, I’m fine,” Alison said as she headed to the front door.
J.J. stood at the kitchen door hoping to hear who was there but Alison had stepped out onto the front porch. Was it the cops? After a few minutes, Alison reentered the house and walked to the kitchen, followed by a man and a woman. J.J. couldn’t quite read the look on Alison’s face but she knew this wasn’t good news.
The woman looked as different from Alison as possible. She had short dark hair styled in a pixie cut and her petite figure was highlighted by the clinging black knit top and skinny jeans. Her eyes were brown but puffy and red when she removed her sunglasses.
Her companion, on the other hand, was a startling contrast. Tall and blond with the body of a football player, he was bound to attract attention whenever he entered a room. However, at that moment, he looked like he was casing the place. No one smiled or said anything for a few seconds. Alison took a deep breath and made the introductions.
“These are my good friends J.J. Tanner and Evan Thornton.” She waved her hand in the direction of the newcomers. “And this,” Alison continued, “is Jessica Bailey and Brad Patterson. James’s other wife and her brother.”
“Not James,” the other woman said, almost in a shout. “I told you, he wasn’t called James. He was Jeffrey.”
J.J. thought she looked extremely uptight, like a wire about ready to snap at any moment. This was not good.
“That was his middle name,” Alison said, her voice monotone.
“And you’re not using his last name.” It sounded like an accusation, coming from Jessica’s lips.
