“But she has motive, and he has opportunity.” What more did Steve want?
He reached for the door handle. “Nice work, Nancy Drew, but that’s where you have a problem.” He opened the passenger door and climbed out of the Honda.
“Wait a minute!” I scrambled out of my seat, staring at him over the hood of the car. “What’s the problem?”
“You said it yourself.”
I’d said a lot of stuff today, none of which he appeared to be taking seriously.
He cocked his head. “Your big news?”
“About Dr. Straitham having an affair?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
I wished he would. “Uh …”
“Let’s just say he was playing doctor somewhere else at the time.”
Chapter Fifteen
On our drive home from the senior center, Gram chirped about how much she’d enjoyed our date while Steve’s revelation about Dr. Straitham reverberated in my brain, and my mood felt as flattened as the dead raccoon we’d passed back on 5th Street.
Within ten minutes of parking Gram in front of her TV, she was snoring. I could either hang around and listen to her snore while I waited for my mother to come home and play kissy-face with Barry Ferris on the front porch ….
Shoot me now.
Or, I could wrap my butt around a barstool at Eddie’s.
I left Gram a note, grabbed my car keys, and pulled into Eddie’s parking lot seven minutes later.
By the number of cars in the front lot, the usual weeknight bowling league crowd had assembled. I was a little disappointed that I didn’t see Steve’s pickup in the parking lot. It also wasn’t in his driveway, despite the fact that he’d left the senior center before me.
The image that Arlene planted in my head two hours earlier flooded back to me, only it wasn’t a bendy Suzy doing bedroom gymnastics. Another nimble blonde took center stage in my overheated imagination, bringing the picture of Heather working up a sweat with Steve into sharp focus.
I slapped my head to knock myself back to reality. “Stop it!” What did I care that he’d gone back to his skinny assed, former girlfriend with the perfect hair?
Good for them if they were getting counseling and working things out.
And having great sex in the process.
“Stop it!”
I slammed my car door and headed for the main entrance, the parking lot gravel crunching under my feet.
The side door leading to the kitchen opened, and Rox appeared holding a plastic garbage sack in her hand. She narrowed her eyes at me. “What’s your problem?”
“You don’t want to know.” Not about Heather and Steve. It was high school all over again, and I refused to rekindle any more residual angst than I already had.
Rox tossed the garbage bag into a scarred green dumpster and dropped the lid with a clang. “Come in and tell Roxie all about it.” She held the kitchen entrance open for me. A warm wave of yeast, onion, and garlic venting from the pizza oven rolled over me as I stepped through the door.
“You look cute.” Her big brown eyes widened. “Been on a date?”
“With my grandmother. It was Tango Tuesday at the senior center.”
“Oh. It’s Tequila Tuesday here.”
Sheesh, couldn’t it be just plain Tuesday in this town?
A cacophony of bowling balls scattering white pins in the adjoining building serenaded us as I followed Rox to my usual barstool.
“It’s a league playoff night so Eddie’s minding the lanes,” she said as she stepped behind the bar. “I make better margaritas than him, anyway. Want one?”
“Heck, yeah.”
Less than two minutes later, she served me a fishbowl-sized margarita along with a frown chaser. “Okay, so talk to me. What’s the problem?”
Where did I start? I had an unofficial murder and a former prime suspect with an official alibi, a mother with the hots for my biology teacher, and a best friend screwing with my head while he screwed around with his hard-bodied ex-girlfriend.
“It’s just been a rough night,” I said as I stirred the slushy margarita with a flamingo pink plastic straw.
“At the senior center?” Rox chuckled. “Yeah, that’s a rough crowd all right.”
“Maybe I’m not a tango kind of girl.”
Leaning on her elbows, she watched me sip my margarita. “Seems to be plenty in town who are, especially since Jake showed up there.”
“He’s very good.”
“That’s what I hear,” Rox said with a sly grin.
The sexual innuendo came through loud and clear. “You know something. Rumor mill or something more substantial?”
“Hey, this is a bar. Get a couple of drinks in some of the ladies on the senior circuit and—”
“What exactly have you heard?”
She eyed a couple of middle-aged men in matching bowling league shirts entering the bar. “You know, the usual younger man, older woman-type scuttlebutt.”
“Oh. You mean Suzy.”
Rox stared at me, wide-eyed. “Huh? Is he fooling around with her, too?”
Too? “I don’t know. Who are you talking about?”
“I don’t have any names.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve just heard some speculation about his services there at the center.”
“Like full service services?”
Rox shushed me. “From what they said about him satisfying his customers, I’d say so.”
Maybe that’s why Arlene had a burr up her butt. She knew Jake would be more than willing to remove it, for the right price.
So, in addition to dance classes and water aerobics, the senior center now offered matchmaking and escort services? What the hell? And where did Virginia Straitham’s involvement begin and end?
If she had her finger on the pulse of the goings on at the center like I believed she did, Virginia would be very aware of Jake’s extracurricular activities. From there, it wasn’t much of a leap to think that someone who could be bought might take on the occasional job of a more mercenary nature. Especially if that someone were ambitious and had a moral compass that didn’t point true.
I took a big gulp from my fishbowl to douse the fire of the Warren Straitham flambé I’d been cooking up the past week. It had seemed like a winning recipe. But flambés can be tricky. Apply heat to the wrong mix of ingredients and the fireball could singe your eyebrows.
Despite what Steve might think, I’d be the first to admit that I’d created a bit of a mess with Dr. Straitham. But I’d only been on the job for a week, so I cut myself a little slack.
Rox reached for a bar towel. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
Lately, everything in my life seemed to be making me wonder.
“I mean, really …” she glanced at me as she wiped away an invisible wet spot on the polished oak separating us. “Who’s in charge of this guy?”
I intended to find out.
“What do you actually know about Jake?” I asked.
“Not much. I think he’s from Port Townsend. Been living here since last year some time.”
If Jake wasn’t in town for the first murder, he would have been only a half hour away. Close enough. I made a mental check mark.
It wasn’t as if the hospital was locked down much tighter than the courthouse, so someone light on his feet could have danced right into Trudy Bergeson’s room, done the deed, then done the boogie before anyone was the wiser. I made another check mark.
Arlene had mentioned that Jake was ambitious. Ambition and success usually went hand in hand. But rarely a day went by when the evening news didn’t lead off with a story about how ambition had led someone to make a dangerous and often deadly choice.
Check, check, and check.
I had yet to see anything to indicate that Jake was dangerous, but I’d only seen him on the dance floor. Not exactly a danger zone—at least I hadn’t thought so before I tangoed with Steve.
“You have a funny look on your face,”
Rox said, staring at me.
“Funny ha-ha or odd-looking?”
“Odd.” She sucked in a breath. “Oh, no! I forgot about your diet.”
“What diet?”
“Honey, I need to take those guys’ order, but did you eat tonight? I bet the tequila is going straight to your head.”
I leveled my gaze at her. “Do I look like I’ve missed a meal?”
“It’s just that I heard the news—”
“That Dr. Straitham put me on a diet.”
Backing away, Rox shrugged. “It was a slow news day. Maybe I should call Steve to come pick you up.”
Hell, no! “I’m fine,” I said, waving her off.
I just needed to lose thirty pounds, string more than two hours of sleep together, and figure out if someone was working in a deadly partnership with Virginia Straitham.
Fortunately, Jake taught a midday aerobics class at the senior center. An hour with him might be just what the doctor ordered.
* * *
I woke up out of a margarita-induced haze to the sound of my mother giggling on the front porch.
Heaven help me. I could hear Barry Ferris’ voice like he was in the room with me. No wonder my grandfather had camped out in the den to wait up for me every time I’d had a date.
“Mmmmmm ….”
Now, it was kissy face time.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he asked when he came up for air.
Yes, and it was way more than I wanted to know.
I glared at the clock. Three-sixteen. I could lie in bed until I couldn’t take it anymore, or—since I had crossed that threshold at three-fifteen—I could give up any illusions I had of nightmare-free slumber, make a pot of coffee, and look out the window to see if Steve’s truck was in his driveway.
I’m a dessert first kind of girl, so I drew the curtain back and took a bit of twisted consolation when I spotted the Ford pickup parked next to his unmarked, Port Merritt PD Crown Victoria and knew he was sleeping in his own bed.
Now, if I could just purge the sounds of my mother sucking face with Mr. Ferris from my brainpan, I could be a happy, dessert first kind of girl. That was, if it weren’t for the fact that this was supposed to be my first day on my new diet. Oh, and I had a noon-hour aerobics class with a potential murder suspect.
Marietta must have tiptoed up the stairs while I made coffee, because when I passed her room to take a shower, I heard giggling. I prayed to God she was alone. If she was screwing Mr. Ferris on my bed, I’d have to set a match to it and bring in a shaman to do a ritual cleansing of my room.
After I showered and dried my hair enough to clip it back, I listened at her door. Nothing but light snoring.
All the Digby women snored.
We tended to have sparse eyelashes, cellulite, and we snored. Marietta never revealed her shortcomings early in her relationships, so I knew she had to be sleeping alone this morning.
Grateful for small mercies, I celebrated with a cup of coffee, then I squeezed into a belted, short-sleeved khaki pantsuit I’d found on a fifty percent off rack in San Francisco. It seemed as lackluster as I felt, so I tied a moss green animal print scarf around my neck to add a little color. Marietta had brought the scarf home with her from shooting a low-budget movie in Thailand the year I’d gotten married. Not my favorite thing, but if she never saw me wear the clothes she bought me, she got a little pissy.
No one wanted to see a pissy Marietta Moreau, least of all me, so the scarf was an easy fashion choice this morning.
I slipped on a pair of butterscotch brown leather sandals, refilled my travel mug with extra strength French roast, and headed for Duke’s.
Aunt Alice was standing behind a white mixing bowl on the butcher block table when I stepped into the kitchen. She glanced at the clock mounted above a vintage red and white Coca Cola sign. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s not even light out.”
“I had an early wake up call,” I said, omitting any mention of my mother. “Thought I might as well come in and make myself useful.”
Scratching the bald spot in the middle of his crew cut, Duke frowned at my khaki pantsuit. “In that? What’re you doing? Going on safari?”
“Cute.” I set my travel mug on the stainless steel counter behind me. “What do you want me to get started on?”
“Bake me a couple dozen cinnamon rolls, and I’ll consider it a down payment on the patty melt I’ll be making you later,” he said with a wink.
I knew the wink had nothing to do with the patty melt. Instead it told me that he was grateful to lighten Alice’s load.
“I’m on a diet. It’ll be a salad.” Maybe. If I had time to eat after aerobics class.
Duke chortled. “Okay, a salad. We’ll see how long this diet lasts.”
I didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. “It’ll last.” At least long enough to convince everyone that I was following Dr. Straitham’s advice.
Wincing, Alice eased herself down on her stool. “I can make the damned cinnamon rolls. Go fill up the salt and pepper shakers if you want something to do.”
I met Duke’s gaze from across the kitchen. His lips flatlined as he shook his head.
Alice gingerly swiveled on her stool to pull a sack of flour from the rack behind her, and I waved Duke away so that I could talk to her alone.
He grabbed his empty cup and reached for hers. “More coffee, honey?”
“No,” she barked, short and very unsweet.
After the kitchen door swung shut behind Duke, I took the wooden stool opposite Alice.
She reached for the canister of sugar in the center of the table and glowered at me.
I lowered my head, making myself eye level with her. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
“Says you.”
“You look like something hurts.”
“At my age something always hurts, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”
“Clearly, you’re not. I’m going to make a doctor’s appointment for you.”
Dr. Straitham wouldn’t be too thrilled to see me in his office two days in a row. Maybe I could convince Marietta to tag along as a consolation prize for the old hound dog.
“The hell you are!” Alice said, raising her voice.
“Something’s wrong and you need to go to the doctor.”
“I’m not going.” Her watery hazel eyes narrowed.
“I know what you think, but Dr. Straitham isn’t—”
“It’s just a little gas. It’s nothing.”
Lie. Something was very wrong, and she knew it better than I did.
She focused on the egg she had cracked into the mixing bowl and reached for another. “I thought you wanted to make yourself useful.”
I was trying. She wouldn’t let me.
Duke peeked around the corner and met my gaze. “So, what’s the verdict?”
While Alice cracked another egg like she wanted to smash it into Duke’s skull, I shrugged at the loaded question that I didn’t know how to answer without making the situation worse.
“Tell you what, since I can have bran muffins on my diet …” The size of a pea maybe, not the jumbo muffins Duke’s featured, but it didn’t matter. I knew Alice wouldn’t fight me over a few lousy muffins.
“… I’m going to make a couple dozen.” I reached for a stainless steel mixing bowl. “Maybe some banana nut ones, too. Both have good fiber and I can decide which one I want later.”
Alice sniffed and cracked another egg. Her non-response was as good as a green light.
Three hours later, I added a dozen raspberry scones to the bakery shelf, next to Alice’s cinnamon rolls, flanked by all the muffins and cookies I’d baked.
The bell over the door jingled and I met Steve’s gaze.
His brown eyes shifted to the white apron I had on over my pantsuit. “You’re up early.”
“It’s my curse.” Which latel
y wasn’t far from the truth.
He shot me a lopsided smile. “Thought you’d do a little baking before you went out on safari?”
“Everybody’s a comedian this morning,” I said, heading back into the kitchen.
My great-aunt would snap at me like a turtle defending her nest if I offered to help her with the pie crust she was laboring to roll out, so I decided I might as well join Steve for breakfast.
After hanging up my apron, I stepped around Duke on my way to the tureen of oatmeal he’d made an hour earlier.
“Thanks, kid,” he muttered.
I grabbed a small bowl from the shelf over the stove. “If she gets any worse let me know, and I’ll drag her sorry butt to the doctor.”
Duke nodded, staring down at the bacon and eggs sputtering on the grill.
As I ladled some oatmeal into my bowl, I met Steve’s questioning gaze. I couldn’t address any of his concerns about Alice with her sitting behind me in the kitchen, so I took my oatmeal to the counter and sat next to him.
I noticed he didn’t have any coffee. Lucille was busy huddling with Suzy and several of the Gray Ladies at the back table, no doubt getting her daily dose from the rumor mill.
“Did you order?” I asked him.
“Never mind that. What’s going on with Alice?”
“I don’t know.” I stepped behind the counter and pulled out two white mugs, filled them from the pot of coffee Lucille had just brewed, and pushed one in front of Steve. “I tried to get her to go to the doctor but she absolutely refuses.”
“Not everyone enjoys seeing Dr. Straitham as much as you do,” he said, dumping the contents of a creamer into his cup.
I hit Steve with a sideways glance as I took my seat. “Okay, so I was wrong about him. It was an honest mistake.”
“It was one step removed from stalking.”
Lucille squeaked in our direction and reached for the pencil tucked behind her ear. “What will you have, hon?” she asked Steve. “The usual?”
“Fine.” He picked up his coffee mug. “Are you going to leave the man alone now?”
Lucille arched her sandy brown eyebrows, her gossip antennae fully extended.
“It’s nothing juicy,” I said to her between spoonfuls of oatmeal.
Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 01 - Trudy, Madly, Deeply Page 14
