Murder on Pea Pike

by Jean Harrington

  “Good morning, I’m looking for International Properties,” I said to the gorgeous receptionist.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She pointed a crimson nail at a bank of hammered bronze elevators against the far wall. “IP is in our penthouse. That last car will take you directly there.”

  “Oh, good. Like I always say, an express is better than a local, don’t you agree?”

  She gave me a blank stare. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Another ma’am. Maybe it was the black suit.

  I rode alone to the top floor and stepped out onto a hall carpet so thick my patent leathers sank in halfway up the heels. Straight ahead on a sleek dark door, International Properties, LLC, was printed in gold and below, in slightly smaller letters, C.T. Ames, President. In the anteroom, another supermodel sat behind yet another information desk. This one had a glass top that allowed visitors to ogle her legs, should they be so inclined.

  Busy on the phone, she glanced up and raised a forefinger for me to wait. When the call ended, she asked, “May I help you?”

  “Yes. Mr. Ames, please.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  Uh-oh. The hurdle I’ve been expecting.

  “No, but I’ve come all the way from Eureka Falls just to see him.”

  “Sorry, but—”

  I plucked a business card from my purse and handed it to her. We were alone, but I lowered my voice anyway. “Mr. Ames and I were involved in a murder case last week. We really need to talk about it. There’s been a new development.”

  “A murder?” Her full, pouty lips parted. “That’s a highly unusual reason to—”

  “Oh, I know, but if you give him that message, I’m sure he’ll spare me a few minutes from his busy schedule.”

  “Well, for a murder, he just might. I’ll go ahead and ring his personal assistant for you.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

  Ma’am. I give up.

  While she murmured into the phone, I took a seat and flipped through a copy of Forbes magazine, settling on a piece titled, “What Is Your Financial Future?” Lordy, wouldn’t I love to know? But it was hard to concentrate on tomorrow, what with wondering about today. After Mr. Ames practically ran away from me in the Eureka Falls Police Station, I couldn’t be sure he’d give me even a moment of his time. The uncertainty had my pulse revved up a bit, but I had no intention of leaving without speaking to him. The woman I’d found shot to death was from Fayetteville and so was he. A shaky connection, but the only one I had. As a person of interest in a murder, a murder, I had questions and every right to ask them.

  Besides, to be honest, I was curious about something else. Why did Mr. Ames buy the Hermann farm from Ridley’s and then go to Winthrop’s for Sloane’s acres? Not for a minute did I believe it was because I had accidentally knocked him out. And now, Violet Norton’s farm, which happened to sit next door to those very Sloane acres, was sprouting uncut diamonds.

  The office phone rang. Mr. Ames saying he’d see me now? I glanced over at the receptionist, hoping … but no. In that oh-what-a-delightful-surprise kind of voice, she cooed, “Wonderful to talk to you, Senator. For you, sir, he’s always in. Oh, I’m just fine. So nice of you to ask. I’ll ring him immediately, sir.” Smiling, pink in the cheeks, she worked her keyboard. “Mr. Ames, the senator is on line one.”

  The senator. I set the magazine on the coffee table and strolled over to her desk.

  “Excuse me.” Still pink-cheeked, she looked up. “Honest to Betsy, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Was that our handsome Senator Prescott Lott you were just speaking to?”

  She sent the closed corporate doors a quick glance over one shoulder before nodding. “Yes, ma’am. The same.”

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” I gushed.

  “Oh, I couldn’t agree more. So charming. So down-to-earth.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He never has his aide put me on hold. Always places the calls himself. How many important people do that?”

  I shook my head.

  “He’s the only one I know of.”

  “Imagine.”

  “Exactly. The man has my vote forever.” As she leaned over to whisper a little more, her low-cut top gaped open. We were wearing the same style bra, though the straps on mine weren’t under nearly the same strain.

  A little more girl talk and I returned to my chair to try and figure out the meaning of what I’d just heard. Interesting that Senator Lott did business with IP. Placed all the calls himself too. A good way to keep them quiet.

  One of the mahogany doors at the rear of the reception area swung open. A short, balding man with gold-rimmed glasses stepped out and strode over to me. Was he or wasn’t he? They looked much alike, yet not quite the same. Unsure, I stood and held out a hand. “Mr. Ames?”

  “Yes.” His handshake was so brief, I knew he hadn’t wanted to touch me. You’re Miss Ingersoll?”

  “Yes, Honey Ingersoll. We met last week, remember?”

  He sent me a tired, I’ve-done-this-before kind of smile. “No. We’ve never met, Miss Ingersoll.”

  “But you—”

  “You met my brother, Charles. I’m Chester Ames.”

  Ah. “His twin.”

  “Very perceptive.” He managed another weary smile. “People are constantly making that mistake. It stopped being amusing years ago.” He checked his watch, though I could have told him it was two fifteen. “How may I help you?”

  I guess this was what some folks would call a city type of question. Kind of cold with no invitation to step into his office and no polite request to please take a seat, ma’am. He wanted to brush me off like lint on his Sunday coat. All right, I could play a game with those rules. So I went all wily on him, like folks do when a stranger comes down the pike.

  Using big words, I said, “I’m just paying a neighborly call, Mr. Ames. After Charles bought a Eureka Falls property last week, I learned that a nearby parcel is going on the market. It’s an outstanding opportunity, so I thought I’d give him, and you, the chance to acquire it.”

  Not certain the Sloane family’s land was even on sale, I was way out of line here. Risking my realtor’s license, too. But the possibility of a link between Tallulah’s murder and the fact some rough acres nobody had wanted for years were now sought-after property made me press on.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Ingersoll. Charles is not employed by this firm.”

  “Oh, my goodness, how embarrassing.” I allowed my jaw to go slack. “Don’t tell me I’m plumb wrong.”

  He sent me one of those snippy smiles, the kind that tells someone she’s stupid without saying a thing. “Charles occasionally consults for us, but that’s the extent of his involvement.”

  “Since you’re kin and all, I imagine he told you what happened in Eureka Falls.”

  He hesitated. “He told me something of it, yes.”

  “Then you know why I want to reach him.”

  “You did business together. Didn’t he give you any contact information?”

  “A cell phone number and a P.O. box address is all.”

  “That’s perfectly legal, Miss Ingersoll, when a piece of real estate is sold for cash.”

  So he knows the terms of the sale, does he?

  I stiffened and drew myself up to my full five-feet-five inches. And that was without heels. “If it hadn’t been legal, Mr. Ames, I wouldn’t have sold him the Hermann farm.”

  He bristled at that. Had he been wearing a pair of work pants, I do believe he’d have given them a hitch. “Is there a problem concerning the sale?”

  “Glory be, of course there’s a problem. We’re both persons of interest in a murder case. That’s another reason why I need to talk to him.”

  “Whatever he has to say, he’ll tell the police.” His voice took on a hard edge. Too bad. I wasn’t about to leave yet.

  “Just before the victim was killed, she told me she was
from Fayetteville. Charles may have known her. It’s a slim chance, but—”

  “Impossible. Charles hasn’t lived here in thirty-five years.” Then he clamped his lips together as if he’d already said too much.

  “That’s strange. His P.O. box has a Fayetteville address.”

  “I’m a busy man, Miss Ingersoll, so you’ll have to excuse me. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “There is one way you can.”

  Half turned on his heel, he glanced back and frowned. “How?”

  “Would you kindly have Charles call me? He has my number.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” With a brief dip of his head, he stomped past the reception desk, hurried through the mahogany door, and slammed it behind him.

  I picked up my purse, said goodbye to the supermodel, and left International Properties, sure Chester would tell Charles I’d been looking for him and equally sure Charles would never call.

  No matter. I’d learned a lot today. For one thing, if Charles knew Tallulah any better than I did, that was what my daddy would call a long shot. For another, IP had regular dealings with Senator Prescott Lott. And, while letting on that he was acting for himself, Charles Ames secretly bought up properties for his brother’s business. Then, to thicken the pudding, Violet Norton’s farm up there on Pea Pike, with the Hermanns’ and the Sloanes’, was sprouting diamonds.

  Something was afoot, maybe legal, maybe not, but darned interesting. I couldn’t wait to get back to Eureka Falls and tell Sam and Matt what I’d found out.

  As soon as I got to the car, I plucked the cell out of my purse and checked voicemail. Four were from Ridley’s Real Estate. The first three were Mrs. Otis with routine office details. On the fourth, Sam’s voice came roaring through the line. “Where the hell are you, Honey? I’m worried sick. Return this call as soon as you get it. The police are swarming all over town looking for you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Thrilled that Sam cared enough to worry about me, I raced home, practically floating on air the whole way. Though I drove five miles over the limit, no sirens wailed along the highway and no blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror. I’d almost decided Sam had spun me a yarn when, on the edge of town, a familiar cruiser slid into traffic behind the Lincoln. It hugged that position until we both reached Ridley’s parking lot. Matt Rameros and I stepped out of our vehicles at the same time, my door slamming shut in echo to his. He didn’t waste a minute stomping over to me.

  “Where’ve you been?” he demanded in a voice without a trace of Mexicali warmth. “I told you not to leave town without telling me first.”

  “I was on personal business.”

  He stood, legs apart, both hands on hips, the right cradling his holster. “I also told you not to do anything stupid. Don’t you listen? The state police have been here looking for you. They’re not happy you couldn’t be found.”

  “I went to a jewelry store in Fayetteville, I didn’t—”

  “Jewelry store?” His dark eyes smoldered, angry hot. “At a time like this—”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’ve got that straight. I don’t.”

  “Well, if you’d just listen up for a second ….”

  He blinked as though I’d smacked him right between the eyes. “You get an engagement ring or something?” He stared at my left hand, looking so upset I smiled, even though I didn’t want to.

  “Would you care if I did?”

  “I’m asking the questions. So what were you doing there?”

  “Do I have to answer that?”

  “No. I’m asking as a friend.”

  I pointed to the hand covering his holster. “Some friendly chitchat we’re having. You’ve been cradling that gun since you stepped out of the cruiser.”

  “Reflex action.” He let go of the Glock and folded his arms across his chest.

  I sighed. “Better, but not by much. Why are you holding yourself like that?”

  “My crossed arms indicate that I’m keeping a barrier between us.”

  “Whatever for?”

  With an exasperated swipe of his hand, he tilted his uniform hat farther back on his forehead. “Otherwise I might wring your neck. Or …” his ruddy face flushed.

  “Or what?”

  “Kiss you.” Without checking to see if anyone was watching, he grabbed me and pressed my back against the Lincoln. His mouth came down hard, crushing my lips against his. Then, softening, his mouth opened, and his tongue darted out, tasting, wanting, the surprise of his move stripping away my protest, along with my breath.

  He let me go, finally, and stood panting in front of me.

  I blew out a breath and sucked it right back in. Ignoring my trip-hammer heart, I glared at him. “I ought to have you up on charges.”

  “Yes, you should.” He took off his hat and ran a shirt sleeve across his forehead. “My deepest apologies, Honey. I thought you were in some kind of trouble today, and that made me a little crazy. It won’t happen again.”

  “No?” A stab of disappointment shot through me. It had been a long time since a man had kissed me like that, as if he wanted me, body and soul. Though I’d vowed to keep my life free of men and their demands, how could I not respond? After all, I wasn’t dead. Far from it. Besides, I liked Matt. I liked him a lot, and seeing him so remorseful, I couldn’t stay vexed. To show there were no hard feelings, I put a hand on his arm and squeezed.

  He glanced at it. “No rings,” he said softly.

  “Not a single one.”

  “Am I forgiven?”

  “Of course. What’s a little kiss between friends?”

  His face fell. “You know something, Honey, I’ve got a lot of friends. Josie, Zach, Mrs. Otis, to name a few, and I’ve never kissed a one of them, not once, and for damn sure not like I just kissed you.” He jammed his hat on his head. “Now, let’s go in and see your boss. You’ve had him half nuts all day too.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  While Matt got on his cell phone to notify the Arkansas State Police that a person of interest in the Bixby murder had been located, I went over to give Mrs. Otis a hug.

  “My goodness,” she declared. “Wait till Mr. Ridley sees you. He’s been beside himself all day.”

  With that music ringing in my ears, I knocked on Sam’s office door, and at his quiet “It’s open,” I peeked in, not quite knowing what to expect.

  He looked up, dropped his pen, and leaped to his feet. “Honey. You’re all right!”

  “ ’Course I am. What’s everybody so upset about, anyway?”

  He came charging around the edge of his desk, coming to a halt a foot or so away from me. I could have reached out and touched him, but I didn’t dare. One touch and I wouldn’t have been able to stop.

  “When the police tell you not to leave town without notifying them, that’s what that means. Instead, you skip off to Fayetteville, and nobody knows where the hell you are.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?” He stepped in closer, so close I could see every lash fringing his eyes. “Do you realize I’ve had cops in and out of here all day?”

  “That couldn’t have been good for business,” I murmured.

  “Screw the business. I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere with a bullet in your head.”

  If he meant to kiss me, now was the time, and I swore he came close to grabbing me and sending me on a trip to the moon. But, like in a Grade B movie, someone knocked on his office door and the moment shattered like a piece of cracked glass.

  “Come in,” he yelled.

  Darn. Matt’s timing sure was off.

  Wrong. Matt was out in the main reception area, pacing around, his cell locked to his ear. Sam’s visitor was none other than his fiancée, Miss Lila Lott.

  A stunning Lila Lott, smiling her perfect smile, her perfect hair dark and glossy to her perfect shoulders, her perfect designer dress hugging, not too tightly, her perfectly toned curves
.

  “Darling!” Arms open wide, Sam rushed to embrace her. I closed my eyes, opening up only when he said, “Honey Ingersoll, this is Lila Lott.”

  She held out long, tapered fingers beautifully manicured with colorless polish. In comparison, my ruby reds looked kind of shouty. Thank the Lord I hadn’t let Mitsy at the salon put little razorbacks on the pinkies like she wanted to.

  After wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt, I shook her hand. It was cool to the touch. What about her feet, say, on a cold winter night? Well, that I’d never know, but I couldn’t help noticing she was everything I was not. Sleek and polished as a gem, the kind of girl life’s down and dirty had never touched. I’d lay odds she’d never been punched in the face by a thuggy boyfriend.

  “May I call you Honey?” she asked.

  “Why I’d surely be delighted if you would,” I answered, sweet as all get out. Then I waited. And waited. In vain. No sweet words came flying my way saying, “Do call me Lila.” It figured. In her eyes, I was only Sam’s employee, not someone she cared to have as a first-name acquaintance. I suppose I could have turned the question around and asked if I could call her Lila. But I wasn’t sure what a well-bred lady would do at such a time, so I didn’t bother. Or dare. The truth? Dare.

  Basic greetings over, she wasted no time switching her attention back to Sam. I couldn’t blame her. “Darling, I was hoping you’d be free to join me for a cocktail. It has to be five o’clock somewhere.” She gave a little carefree laugh.

  I wanted to kill her.

  “You know I never need an excuse to be with you. But you’ve caught me at an awkward time.” He glanced up as Matt strode in. “We’re expecting the state police any minute now. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”

  Matt nodded. “Yes, but you’ve already spoken to them, Sam. So feel free to leave, if you wish. I’ll keep Honey company until the officers arrive.”