I put a pillow under my head and stretched out. My toes needed a pedicure. Maybe tomorrow.
Then there was Earl Norton, always ready to jump every woman he came across. He would have been mighty attracted to Tallulah of the silver stilettos. Suppose he’d found her stranded by the side of the road, picked her up, and forced her out to the farm for his own private reasons? Then killed his aunt because she’d seen him there that day. No, I shook my head. Didn’t make sense. Earl lived out on the pike; nothing unusual about him being around any day, any time. But supposing he killed Violet to get his hands on her farm? Not impossible, but somehow I doubted it. I sensed a larger hand in all of this, a schemer, not just a guy hung up on sex.
Speaking of sex, what about Saxby Winthrop? He’d have enjoyed Tallulah. But trap her into going out to an old abandoned farmhouse? Not likely. And from the way he adored his momma, I didn’t think he’d murder another ol’ woman. Even if Violet had seen him, he had a ready-made excuse for being out there. He was inspecting a property up for sale. Besides, he might be a sleaze, but he didn’t strike me as a killer. Never raised a hand to me either, just his …. Well, some things were best forgotten.
That left only two other possibilities that I knew of, or that Matt had ever mentioned. The two men the police had called persons of interest, Senator Lott and Trey Gregson. Actually, they had the most to gain by Tallulah’s death. Her silence. And then Violet’s.
Problem was, I hadn’t met the senator. I’d seen him around town on occasion, but the likes of me never got close enough to shake his hand, never mind exchanging folksy words. He usually kept to his horse ranch behind its locked gate. Had to have a security system. Probably a bodyguard. A great man like that.
I definitely needed a pedicure. Pale pink this time, soft and summery.
So only one person remained on my list of possibles. Trey. And Trey was a man I could get to.
Time for that beer.
In the morning, all wound up, I called Matt at the station. We hadn’t spoken since last Sunday, when I dissed him in front of Detective Bradshaw. I suspected he’d been avoiding me as a result, and who could blame him? So I wasn’t too surprised when Deputy Zach said the sheriff wasn’t available but he’d make certain he received my message.
This was the first time that had happened, and I rang off a tad disappointed. On the other hand, Matt took his work seriously. He wouldn’t refuse a call unless he really was tied up with something.
Anyway, keeping my cell handy, I drove to the Clip Joint for that pink pedicure. Afterwards, I was halfway home, trying to figure out what to do with the long day stretching ahead, when close behind me, a siren screamed for attention.
I glanced out the rearview mirror into flashing blue lights. A police car rode my tail, so I pulled over to the curb and stopped. The cruiser wailed to a halt, the driver’s side door swung open, and Matt stepped out. As he came striding toward me, I lowered my window.
“License and registration, please.” No smile. No greeting. No warmth.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Your license and registration, ma’am.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Is this some kind of game? I’m sorry for what I said on Sunday, but I did apologize.”
“If you don’t comply, I’ll have to ask you to exit the vehicle.”
“I can’t freakin’ believe this.” I rummaged through my purse for the billfold. After a brief scramble, I found it, yanked out the license, and handed it to him.
“Registration?”
“Just a New York minute, Officer.” I unlocked my seatbelt, stretched across the front seat, and opened the glove compartment. “Here it is.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be right back with your documents.”
Through the mirror, I watched him stride toward the cruiser. My, he did look fine in those snug uniform pants. While he examined my docs or whatever, I sat there squirming, wondering how to get past this coldness and onto my wire entrapment plan. As Daddy was known to say, the odds sucked.
Without wasting much time, Matt marched back, documents in hand, and peered into my side window. “Here’s your license and registration, Miss Ingersoll.”
“Are they in order, Officer?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He handed me another slip of paper. “This is for you as well.”
My mouth gaped open. “Don’t tell me that’s a ticket? What did I do wrong?”
“Your left rear brake light is out. I suggest you have it repaired as soon as possible so you won’t be stopped again.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Have a good day, ma’am.”
He strode back toward the cruiser, but this time, I didn’t bother to admire his tush. Instead, I stared at the large, square handwriting on the slip of paper.
Tony’s Bistro. Tonight at seven. Be there.
The nerve of him. As I looked up, he went sailing by in the cruiser, grinning from ear to ear. I gave him the finger. Too bad he zipped by too fast to see it.
Well, I had absolutely no intention of eating meatballs or anything else with Sheriff Rameros. So why at six was I standing in the shower all lathered up with lemony-scented body wash? I told myself it was in the name of civic duty. A murder case needed my input. My off-key chorus of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” I can’t account for.
Anyway, for Tony’s, faded blue jeans would be perfect, along with a black, low-neck top and black high-heeled sandals that showed off the new pedicure. Too bad my feet would be under the table. To keep the look casual, I went light on the jewelry, just swingy silver earrings and my watch. Light on the makeup too.
I was still humming when I left the house.
A Eureka Falls institution, Tony’s had been born a ma and pa restaurant and now the original owners’ son and daughter-in-law ran it. The menu never changed, which suited everybody just fine. The interior didn’t either. High-backed booths in dark wood, red and white checkered cloths and old-timey oil lamps on the tables made Tony’s as cozy a getaway as could be found around these parts.
Seated in a back booth, Matt stood and came over to greet me, grinning like he’d swallowed the canary. “Thought you’d be a no-show.”
“You think I’d let a little roadside hazing stop me?”
“Wasn’t sure. This is kind of a test. To see how flexible you are.”
“Funny, I have something like that in mind for you.”
“Sounds like we need to talk.”
Taking me by the elbow, he led me to the booth. We’d no sooner settled in opposite each other when Tony Junior hustled over, beaming a welcome and carrying a bottle of red. “Good evening, Sheriff.” A little bow. “And lovely lady.” He held up the bottle so Matt could read the label. “With our compliments.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Tony. We’re both driving,” Matt said.
“A glass for each of you, then? This is our finest cabernet.”
Matt nodded at me. “All right?”
No cold brewski then, darn it. “Wonderful.”
Before Tony left us, Matt said, “Put it on my tab, Tone.”
“But, Sheriff—”
“I insist.”
Tony shrugged. “Very well. You’re the boss.” He hurried off.
“Are you always so honest?”
“Tony pays his taxes and runs a good, clean business. He doesn’t owe me a thing. Taking freebies here and there isn’t the way I run my department.”
“A knight in shining armor?”
One eyebrow rose a fraction. “Is that a joke?”
“No, no, no. I meant it.” I leaned across the table to squeeze his hand. “You’re a standup guy, like somebody else I know.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Sam? High praise, indeed.”
Oh. Lord, I’d said the wrong thing again.
Tony returned with two glasses of cabernet, hovering by our table to see if we were pleased. We sipped and nodded.
“Cin cin,” he said. “I’ll be back wi
th menus.”
As soon as Matt and I were alone, I tried for damage control. “What I meant was you take your job seriously. That’s no joke. Not at all. In fact,” I twirled the stem of my glass, wondering how he’d react to what I was about to say, “your job is why I wanted to see you tonight.”
“That right?” He eyed me, his look curious but wary.
“I have a proposal for you.”
He took a sip of wine, half choked on it, and laughed. “The answer is yes.”
Pretending I didn’t understand his meaning, I took a deep breath. “Okay then, here goes. I want to wear a wire. Get Trey Gregson alone and tell him I know all about the senator’s affair with Tallulah. Split the secret wide open. Get him so heated up he’ll blow.” A quick glance across the table told me Matt’s lips were clamped together, not a promising sign, but at least he wasn’t interrupting. I took a swallow, gulping it in my hurry. “If Trey doesn’t open up, I’ll threaten blackmail. Say I was in the cabin the day Tallulah was killed. That I hid in a back room, saw it all. Swear I’ll go public, call CNN, the New York Times, you name it.” I chuckled. “Definitely the Eureka Falls Star. That should get his juices flowing.” I leaned in over the oil lamp. “What do you say?”
The answer was painted on Matt’s face in big, bold letters. NO.
“It’s out of the question. Out of the question. No way are you going to take a chance like that.” His jaw firmed into concrete.
It was “no” through the antipasto. (I left the pickled mushrooms.)
“No,” through the linguini with Alfredo sauce. Though it’s not nice of me to say so, that sauce tasted better than my grandma’s cream gravy. Tony made his with truffle oil, whatever that was.
And though I argued my head off, “positively not” through the espresso.
“You play dirty pool,” I told Matt. “You already said yes to my proposal.”
Too feeble. He rolled his eyes. “I foolishly had something else in mind.”
Not wanting to go there, I asked, “Is ‘no’ your final answer?”
“Absolutely. Having you killed while trying to learn why someone else was killed won’t solve the problem. Far from it.”
“So you do think Trey is guilty?”
He set his espresso cup down with far more force than necessary for that little bitty piece of china. “God, you’re maddening. Never have I said Gregson was guilty or anyone else for that matter. Guilt hasn’t been established in the case.”
“My point exactly.”
He finished his coffee and pocketed his credit card. “I think the subject has been exhausted. Now, if you’re ready, Miss Ingersoll, may I escort you to your car?”
“So that’s it?”
He sighed and nodded.
Out in the restaurant’s parking lot, I unlocked the Lincoln then turned to him. “Dinner was way beyond good, Matt. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, Honey. For some reason, being with you, even when you’re impossible, is a delightful experience.” His smile gleamed in the moonlight. Then he moved in closer, blocking the light, giving me one of those warm, full kisses of his that I’ll admit I always enjoyed.
With his “Drive carefully, sleep tight,” ringing in my ears, I drove home through the quiet streets, relieved he hadn’t asked to spend the night but disappointed he’d turned down my entrapment idea. Now I only had one choice left. Though I didn’t want to go over Matt’s head—really, really didn’t want to—I’d have to call Detective Bradshaw in the morning.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bradshaw barked his name into the phone. When I told him what I had in mind, he said, “I’d like to discuss this with you. I can be at the Eureka Falls station by eleven.”
“Oh no, not the station. If you can come to my house, I’ll explain everything there. And please don’t let Sheriff Rameros know I called.”
A pause. “Very well. I’ll see you at eleven.”
High on success, I hung up feeling like I could fly. Then, a minute later, my mood took a nosedive. What on earth did I think I was doing, playing games with the big boys? Palms damp, belly in a knot, I paced around my living room until my heart went back to its regular steady beat. It wasn’t too late. There was still time to get out of this, but though scared, I knew I wouldn’t.
With no weapon, no DNA evidence, no meaningful clues, only a sneaky affair as a motive, the odds were against any break in the case. So far, anyway. But a confession of guilt would change the odds, and Detective Bradshaw must think so too, or he wouldn’t have dropped everything to meet with me.
At eleven on the dot, my chimes rang, and I raced to the front door. Bradshaw stood there as stern-faced as ever and not alone. By his side was a thin, forty-something woman with a face as serious as his.
“Miss Ingersoll, this is Detective Kotowski. Margery Kotowski.”
She reached out, pumping my hand in a tight, no-nonsense grip that told me she’d never air-kissed anybody in her whole life.
“Welcome. Come in,” I said, waving them into the living room. They sat in the club chairs, refused coffee, and listened to my idea without interrupting.
When I finished, Bradshaw asked, “How well do you know this Trey Gregson?”
“Well, we’re not friends, if that’s what you mean. We’ve met a few times. I sold him a condo a few days ago. That would give me an excuse to check back, bring him a new owner’s kit or a housewarming gift, that kind of thing.”
He glanced over at Detective Kotowski, who nodded. “It might work.”
He rubbed his chin and stroked his faint stubble. “Why don’t you want Sheriff Rameros to know?”
“I ran the idea past him yesterday. He’s totally against it. Said it’s too dangerous.”
“He’s right. It is. If Gregson’s our man, there’s no way of knowing exactly how he’ll react. Anyone who can kill twice … and what little evidence we have points to a single suspect … won’t hesitate to kill a third time.”
He stared across at me, stone-faced, not sugar-coating a thing, laying out the odds. Scared now, not quite as cocksure as earlier, I asked, “You’ll be listening, won’t you? You’ll hear any signs of trouble.”
“Listening, but not necessarily forewarned. He could pull a weapon on you, a knife, a gun. We’ll know only if you say something, or scream. We’ll break in at that point, of course, but ….” He shrugged.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my denim skirt. Yeah, I was scared but not ready to back down, not with Tallulah and Violet’s killer walking around scot-free.
“This won’t be a lark,” Kotowski said, telling me something I already knew. “You have to go in with a full awareness of the danger.”
“I understand.”
“Do you, Miss Ingersoll? Do you really?”
“My father’s a gambling man. Gambling runs in my blood.” Good Lord Almighty, where had that come from? I hated gambling.
“That’s brave of you and foolhardy as well.” Bradshaw drummed his fingers on the chair arms, making up his mind. He turned to his partner. “What do you think?”
“She could be our best break so far.”
Coming out of the blue, Bradshaw’s next question startled me. “You and the sheriff, are you involved?”
“You could say so. To some degree.”
“I see. That explains a lot.” He went back to finger drumming. “Rameros won’t be happy when he hears about this, and that’s unfortunate. But my job is to bring the case to a conclusion … if possible.” He shrugged. “Who knows, you may make that possible. So, ergo, you’re on, Miss Ingersoll. Now,” he leaned forward in the chair, “you know this guy’s schedule. When do you see this going forward?”
“Well, the senate’s in session right now, so Trey and the senator spend a lot of time in D.C. But they’re almost always in Eureka Falls on weekends.”
Bradshaw slapped his hands on his knees. “Okay. Today’s Friday. Tomorrow then. Now, let’s get to work. There’s a lot to be done.” He upped his
chin at Detective Kotowski. “Why don’t you go over the preliminaries with her?”
She nodded, needing no more prodding than that. They worked well together, and my guess was they had for some time. For a second or so, I wondered if they ever played good-cop, bad-cop, but as she began her instructions, everything except the business at hand flew out of my mind. “What you’ll be doing, Miss Ingersoll—”
“Please, call me Honey.”
She smiled. “What you’ll be doing, Miss Ingersoll, is acting as a CI, a confidential informant. But with a difference. Typically, a CI tries to entrap a subject into committing a crime. What the popular media call a sting operation. Your aim will be to secure the confession of a previously committed crime. It’s perfectly legal as long as one party—you, in this case—consents to allow the recording.” Eyes narrowing, she peered at me. “You okay with that?”
I nodded, aware of a bead of icy sweat trickling down my spine.
“Your approach to the subject will be the make-or-break factor. In other words, how good an actress are you?”
“Well, I’m not given to boasting, but I was voted second best actress in my high school graduating class. So if you’re asking can I hide my feelings, the answer is yes.”
“Excellent. That’s vital. Should the subject sense you’re nervous or fearful, he’ll be wary. So, guard against talking faster than normal, or looking around constantly or showing agitated body movements. Just be your usual self.” She tilted her head, sending me an eyeball-to-eyeball stare. “Think you can pull that off?”
“I surely can.” I wasn’t sure at all.
She wasn’t through. “Don’t initially jump into the situation. Establish some camaraderie. Be friendly, charming, disarm him. Lead up to what you’re there for as naturally as possible. But if you think time is running out, go for it. Confront him with what you know. To get started, you have a built-in subject.”
“His new condo?”
Murder on Pea Pike Page 20
