It's Your Party, Die If You Want To

by Vickie Fee

  “Fog?” Dave said, exasperated. “What the hell is she talking about?”

  I explained what happened at Bryn’s office with the fog and the voice mail.

  “Dave, Bryn told me she was going to call you,” I said. “But she wanted to talk to Pierce about it first. I bet he talked her out of it, probably afraid the publicity would make him look foolish.”

  “Well, I think maybe I should go have a little talk with Bryn and Pierce,” Dave said.

  “Hah, of course you do,” Di said. “You’re willing to talk to anybody and suspect everybody except Lucinda Grable.”

  “If I don’t have all the facts in this case maybe it’s because some people are withholding evidence,” Dave said.

  “And maybe there’s some evidence you just refuse to look at,” Di said. “Maybe you’re a little too comfortable with the evidence against Jasmine and you’ve stopped looking elsewhere.”

  If we were in a cartoon, steam would have been coming out of Dave’s ears at this point.

  “So now you’re telling me how to do my job? It so happens that Ted and I are still working like crazy, tracking down leads—every real lead. Not that I owe you an explanation.”

  “Oh, so you don’t owe me any explanations, but I owe you an explanation about every single move I make and everybody I happen to talk to.”

  Dave walked over to the door and grabbed his hat off the dining table.

  “Everything having to do with this murder investigation is my business,” he said, turning to face Di. “And I will question anyone who sticks their nose into the investigation or harasses witnesses. And I will lock up anybody who tries to play detective for interfering in a criminal investigation—and that includes you two,” he said before leaving.

  As soon as Dave had gone, Di took off her shoe and hurled it at the front door.

  “Oooh, he makes me so mad,” she said, clenching her fists. “I can’t believe he’s more concerned about our talking to Lucinda than about her putting a freaking tarantula in my car. He’s such a . . .” Di searched a moment for the right word before giving up and walking over to the kitchen.

  She stood on tiptoe to reach into the cupboard above the fridge and pulled out a bottle of rum. She then grabbed two cans of Diet Coke from the refrigerator and two glasses from the cabinet beside the sink. She sat a can and a glass on the little table beside my chair. She fixed her own drink, adding three fingers of rum before slamming the rum bottle down next to my glass.

  I was reluctant to have a drink before driving home, but decided I could do with just a splash to steady my nerves.

  “I wonder if Dave will even question Lucinda about the Godzilla-sized spider she had Mitzi put in your car,” I said.

  “I bet he does,” Di said, taking another swig. “She’ll deny it, of course. And he’ll believe her—unless he just happens to spot a spiderweb the size of Tokyo in her hotel room.”

  Di plopped down on the sofa before adding, “Lucinda’s definitely up to something, but I guess it would be a pretty big coincidence for her to use the same rare poison to kill Morgan that Jasmine just happened to have growing in her greenhouse.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “I told Nell the same thing when we visited Jasmine on Sunday. . . . Wait a minute! Who says it has to be a coincidence?”

  “What do you mean?” Di said.

  “Morgan was all hot to manufacture Jasmine’s anti-aging cream, right? So she could have told Lucinda about it, could’ve even told her the secret ingredient.”

  “That’s true,” Di said. “If Morgan thought she’d gotten her hands on something better than Botox, she certainly would have bragged about it.”

  “We should probably mention this to Dave,” I said.

  “You can tell him anything you want,” Di said. “I’m not talking to that man until I hear an apology.”

  Chapter 21

  I hung out at Di’s a bit longer before heading home. Larry Joe had made it home from his meeting and was making himself a sandwich when I walked into the kitchen from the garage.

  “Hey, honey,” I said.

  He put down the knife he was using to slather peanut butter on bread long enough to give me a quick hug and kiss.

  “Wasn’t it a dinner meeting tonight with the Jaycees?”

  “Yeah, but they served salmon, which I don’t much care for. You know I’m a catfish kind of guy. So I’m still hungry.”

  “You been working late or hanging out with Di?”

  “A little of both. Actually, we had an accident—but don’t worry. We’re both fine. In fact, there wasn’t any noticeable damage to Di’s car.”

  Larry Joe sat down at the table with his sandwich and a glass of milk and I filled him in on the spider incident and the car going into the ditch, which I figured he’d hear about anyway. Then I gave him a very abbreviated version of our conversation with Dave.”

  “I agree with Dave,” Larry Joe said.

  Why does this not surprise me?

  “So you don’t believe Lucinda is involved, either?” I said.

  “I don’t know. I don’t give two hoots about Lucinda,” Larry Joe said. His face was red, but I could tell he was trying not to raise his voice. “I care about you. I think Dave’s right that this spider business was intended as a warning. I want you to heed that warning and keep your distance from anything having to do with Lucinda and the whole murder business. Dave wears a gun and a badge—let him handle the rough stuff.”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “I mean it,” he said firmly. “We’ve been down this road before. You had the very best of intentions when those Farrell boys got killed, but you still ended up with a rifle pointed at your head. You have to promise me to stay clear of this whole mess. If you don’t, I swear I’ll enlist my mom and your mama to follow you around until Dave wraps up this investigation. And you know they’d do it.”

  It was an ugly threat. The thought of being stalked by my mother and mother-in-law forced me to quickly promise I’d stay clear of trouble.

  “Okay,” I said. “If I should happen to hear anything, I’ll just pass the information on to Dave. What he does with it is his business. At least my conscience will be clear. Besides, the Halloween fund-raiser is the day after tomorrow and I’ve got a hundred things to do.”

  “And Morgan’s funeral is tomorrow afternoon,” he said.

  “Oh, poo. I’d forgotten all about Morgan’s funeral,” I said. “Make that a hundred and one things.”

  Larry Joe put his plate and glass in the dishwasher and followed me into the den. We switched on the TV to watch the news. Just after a recap of national news headlines, footage of a reporter talking to Pierce Davenport came on.

  “Reporting from Nashville, I’m Ross Kelp here with Pierce Davenport where a campaign fund-raising dinner for the governor will be held tonight at seven o’clock. Mr. Davenport, I won’t keep you, because I see guests are already making their way into the reception hall for the cocktail hour. But word on the street has it that longtime state senator Rick Cromwell will not seek reelection and that you plan to run for his senate seat. Can you confirm this for us?”

  “Well, Ross, Senator Cromwell hasn’t officially announced his retirement, so that kind of conversation would be premature. I can tell you that if my party were to ask me to run for an elected position, I’d certainly give it careful consideration.”

  “I heard Cromwell’s in poor health,” Larry Joe said. “Sounds like we may have a senator from Dixie in the state house next time around.”

  “I’d be more excited if was someone other than Pierce Davenport,” I said.

  After the commercial break, one of the Memphis reporters came on screen, broadcasting live from Dixie.

  “Look, honey,” I said to Larry Joe, who was scrolling through e-mail on his phone. “They’re in front of Sindhu and Ravi’s hotel. You can see Dave and Ted in the background.”

  A reporter holding a microphone said, “Celebrity ghost hunter Lucinda Gra
ble, who hails from Dixie originally, has been staying at this hotel in her hometown. Tonight she had quite a scare. According to witnesses, a dark-colored SUV with tinted windows tried to run down Miss Grable as she was walking across the parking lot around nine o’clock tonight.

  “Her assistant, Mitzi Tanner, said Miss Grable was too upset to speak with us. And Delbert County Sheriff Dave Davidson said he had no comment at this time.

  “The couple behind me, Dell and Sandra Bowen, say they witnessed the incident. Mrs. Bowen, can you describe for us what you saw?”

  “Yes, sir. Me and Dell had just gotten back from having dinner with friends. We were getting out of the car when all of a sudden, one of them big SUVs revved its engine and raced across the parking lot going straight at some lady. She screamed and jumped off to the side, falling on the pavement. He never slowed down and just kept going on out of the driveway.

  “Of course, we ran over to see if the lady was okay. It was only then we saw who she was. We just love Lucinda’s TV program. Don’t we, Dell?”

  Dell nodded.

  “Did you get a glimpse of the driver or the license plate?” the reporter asked.

  “No, sir,” she said. “It all happened so quick. And all we were thinking about was checking to see if the lady was okay.”

  “Did Ms. Grable seem injured?”

  “I don’t think nothing was broken. But she was scraped up some. I reckon she’ll be pretty sore tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bowen. Reporting live from Dixie, this is . . .”

  I muted the sound.

  “I’m going to call Di.”

  “Don’t you two start scheming,” Larry Joe said. “Remember your promise.”

  “I just want to know if she saw the news report.”

  I walked to the kitchen to retrieve my cell phone from my purse. Larry Joe walked past me, announcing he was going to bed and giving me one more look of admonishment.

  I hit speed dial.

  “Hi, Di. . . .”

  “I saw it, too,” she interrupted.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.

  “That it’s a shame she wasn’t badly injured?”

  “How about that Lucinda was never in any real danger. That she staged the whole thing?”

  “Actually, that thought had crossed my mind,” Di said.

  After a short conversation with Di, I went upstairs to bed. Larry Joe woke up just enough to mumble something unintelligible as I crawled under the covers.

  Chapter 22

  Before I fell asleep, I had decided I would stop by the sheriff’s office on my way to work the next morning to tell Dave my theory that Morgan could have shared the name of Jasmine’s secret face cream ingredient with Lucinda, giving her the perfect opportunity to set Jasmine up for murder. And while I was at it, I’d give him my take on Lucinda’s phony somebody-tried-to-run-me-over drama—not that he was likely to listen.

  Dave saved me the trip by showing up on my doorstep a little after seven AM and caught me still wearing my bathrobe.

  I invited him in and he followed me to the kitchen, where I offered him a cup of coffee.

  “No thanks, Mrs. McKay. I just have a couple of questions for you.”

  I’ve learned from experience that whenever Dave calls me ma’am or Mrs. McKay, it means it’s official sheriff’s business, not a social call.

  I poured myself another cup of coffee. “Sure, what would you like to know, sheriff?”

  “Where were you around nine last night?”

  “Let me see. I got home from Di’s about eight-thirty or so.”

  “Was Larry Joe at home then?”

  “Yes, he was. He’s already left for work this morning, but you can call and ask him yourself. After I got home, Larry Joe and I sat in the kitchen talking while he ate a sandwich. For the record, it was peanut butter. Then we went into the den and watched TV. I’m guessing this line of questioning has something to do the incident at the hotel we saw on the news.”

  Dave nodded and then had the nerve to ask, “Mind if I take a look at your SUV?”

  Oh, he makes me so mad.

  “Help yourself. It’s parked in the garage. You can have a CSI team go over it if you like, to look for traces of Lucinda’s blood. Please tell me she bled.”

  “I’m just doing my job, Liv,” Dave said.

  I turned my back to him and opened the fridge to get some milk for my coffee. I hoped the blast of cold air would cool the anger I felt flushing my face. I was sitting at the kitchen table, clanking the spoon noisily against the mug as I stirred my coffee when he came back into the kitchen.

  “Can you eliminate me from your inquiries, or should I call my attorney?”

  “I know you and Di don’t have much use for Lucinda, but an attempt was made on her life. I have to investigate.”

  “Oh, honestly,” I said in complete disbelief of Dave’s gullibility where Lucinda was concerned. “Nobody tried to kill her. It’s obvious Lucinda staged the whole thing to deflect suspicion off herself.”

  “Obvious, huh?” Dave said. “Enlighten me.”

  “Why would Lucinda venture out without her security guys? Have you asked yourself that? I’m not even sure she goes to the bathroom without an entourage. I haven’t seen Lucinda go anywhere by herself since she got here. Now suddenly she’s wandering around by herself after dark?”

  “I have been asking the questions. You and Di just don’t want to believe the answers.

  “Lucinda was going out to meet her personal trainer to fool around. We confirmed he’s been staying at a nearby hotel. She gave her staff the slip because she says she believes that one of them has been selling information about her love life to the tabloids. I know Nell and Sindhu believe Lucinda was involved in Morgan’s death, but they both have alibis for last night. Sindhu and Ravi were at the elementary school for their daughter’s play—lots of witnesses, and two of Nell’s neighbors were at her house watching their favorite talent show on TV. Everyone from the retreat—Billy and his crew, Bryn, Winette, and the Wythe sisters—have alibis. In fact, you and Di have the weakest alibis in the bunch, so don’t push your luck,” he said, red-faced.

  “You forgot to mention Jasmine, Sheriff. She has an airtight alibi, being locked up in your jail and all,” I said.

  “That she does. But Dylan doesn’t happen to have an alibi,” Dave said coolly.

  “So Jasmine and Dylan are cold-blooded killers, while Lucinda is just a sweet, innocent darling?”

  “The driver may or may not have intended to kill Lucinda. He or she may have just wanted to deflect suspicion away from Jasmine by making it look like there’s still a killer on the loose,” Dave said. “Isn’t that your theory about Lucinda, that she staged the attack to deflect suspicion from herself? Good day, Mrs. McKay,” Dave said before stomping out through the front door.

  Larry Joe had taken a tie and jacket with him when he left for work so he wouldn’t have to come by the house on his way to the church. I followed his cue and dressed for the day in the navy blue pantsuit I planned to wear to Morgan’s funeral.

  I had just stepped out of my car in front of the bakery when Nell hollered to me from the salon door.

  “Hey, Liv. Wait up.”

  She started walking toward me in a hurry, and I met her on the corner.

  “I s’pose Sheriff Dave asked about your whereabouts last night, too?”

  “Yeah. He stopped by first thing this morning.”

  “He came to my place last night. I guess that makes me suspect numero uno,” she said. “I was fortunate to have an alibi, since I didn’t know I’d be needing one.”

  “Me too. What do you make of this attempt on Lucinda’s life?” I said.

  “I think it’s a bunch of hooey,” Nell said. “It’s funny how murder and mayhem seem to follow her around like a hungry hound. What about you?”

  “I tend to agree. I can’t help but wonder if our diva staged the whole thing.”

  �
�She’s good at arranging things, all right,” Nell said. “Sindhu had spotted her going out to meet some beefcake guy at about the same time the past few nights.”

  “Dave said she was meeting up with her personal trainer for some hanky-panky, but she was trying to hide it from her entourage because she thinks one of them has been selling information about her personal life to the tabloids,” I said.

  “Hah. I bet she feeds information to the scandal sheets herself, or maybe lover boy is the one doling out the information.”

  “If someone did try to run her over, her boyfriend could be the one who let that someone know what time she’d be in the parking lot.”

  “You know Dave thinks that someone is Dylan,” Nell said. “I guess the sheriff wants to lock him up along with Jasmine so he’ll have a matched set. I don’t think anybody except Dave actually believes Jasmine is guilty. Even Bryn Davenport, who’s always seemed a little snooty to me, called and offered to contribute to Jasmine’s defense fund. After the Residential Rehab fund-raiser we may need you to help us plan a fund-raiser for Jasmine, unless Dave comes to his senses.”

  “I hope Dave catches the real killer, whoever that may be,” I said. “But at the moment I can’t think about another fund-raiser. I’ve got an endless list of things I need to do before the mystery dinner tomorrow night.”

  As soon as Nell walked away, I realized I had forgotten to tell Dave what I’d meant to tell him this morning before he dropped by and ruined my day.

  I called the sheriff from my mobile, but it went straight to voice mail. Either Dave was busy or he wasn’t taking calls from me. Either way, I left a message briefly laying out my theory that Morgan may have shared the name of Jasmine’s secret face cream ingredient with Lucinda, giving her the perfect opportunity to frame Jasmine. It would be up to Dave to follow up, if he could find the time between kissing Lucinda’s backside and trying to find a way to arrest Dylan.

  I finally made it from the sidewalk into the bakery to make sure pastries would be delivered to each of the event sites first thing in the morning. I wanted all our volunteers hopped up on caffeine and sugar and ready to work.