by Mary Maxwell
“I just heard something very suspicious,” my aunt wheezed, pressing one hand to her chest. “Simon Wargrave’s soon-to-be ex-wife was the beneficiary on his life insurance policy. Makes you wonder why he didn’t take her name off of the paperwork after they got divorced.”
Gina stopped working and put her spatula into the bowl of icing. “I can answer that,” she said.
Dot’s mouth dropped open. “You can?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Gina. “My neighbor’s good friends with Denise Wargrave. Although most people in town think that Denise and Simon are divorced, they’re still legally married. They decided not to mess with the official paperwork after they split up.”
“So I was right!” Dot said confidently. “That’s super suspicious! Who ends a marriage, doesn’t get legally divorced and then leaves their estate to the ex?”
“Simon and Denise,” Gina answered. “Not to mention plenty of other folks.”
“Name two,” said my aunt.
“Give me a second,” Gina replied, drumming her fingers on the countertop. “There’s, uh, the teller at the bank and her husband. I think maybe her name is Lacey or Lucy. Anyway, they decided that their marriage was no longer working, but they have so many legal and financial ties that they decide not to actually go all the way and get divorced because it seemed like too much of a red tape inconvenience.”
My aunt mumbled something about the decline of civilization. But before I could ask her to explain the remark, Gina to reveal local residents with unconventional marital arrangements.
“I’ve got another one for you,” she said. “When I was at the store this morning buying sprinkles for the Halloway birthday cake, I got into a conversation with Darcy, the woman that owns the bakery supply place on Grand.”
“That’s Darcy Trammell,” my aunt said. “I love that woman! She’s one of the sweetest souls in town.”
“I totally agree,” Gina said. “But she also deals with more dirty laundry than the housekeeping staff at the Hilton.”
Dot giggled; it was a wicked, shrewd sound. If anyone knew about good gossip in Crystal Bay, it was my sweet, sassy aunt.
“So what was it?” I asked. “You said Darcy passed along some juicy rumors.”
“She totally did,” Gina said. “One of her other customers told her that Simon has been carrying on hot and heavy affairs with two married women.”
My aunt gasped. “Are you talking about one of those ménage à trois thingies?”
Gina shot a look at Dot. “Heavens, no! He was sleeping with them separately. But they’re both married.”
“Oh!” Dot said. “Maybe those two women have arrangements with their hubbies like Simon and Denise. It could be that they never officially got divorced, so it wouldn’t be cheating.”
“Nope,” Gina said confidently. “They’re both still married, still live at home, still carry on like they’re as innocent as babes in the woods.”
My aunt’s face lit up with a glittering grin. “Well, in that case,” she said, “we need names, complete details and photographic evidence, if it’s handy.”
“Can’t help you with that,” Gina said. “But I do have one name.”
Dot leaned closer. “Is it Monica Gotschall?”
“No,” Gina said. “One of Simon’s current bedmates in the weeks before his death was Sarabeth Innskeep.”
My aunt scowled. “Never heard of her. Who’s the other one?”
“I’m not surprised by that,” Gina replied. “Mrs. Innskeep and her husband are fairly new to town. They retired early from cushy corporate jobs in Milwaukee. They’ve still got a place up there for spring and summer, but they—”
“Who else was he boinking?” asked Dot.
Gina frowned. “I wasn’t finished telling you about Sarabeth and Simon.”
“Well, I was finished listening,” Dot said. “If I don’t know the woman, I don’t need to clutter up my noggin with that particular basket of chatter.”
“Okay,” Gina said. “I can see your point.”
“And?” Dot said impatiently. “The second floozy?”
“I only have her nickname,” Gina said. “I’m still working on finding out her real identity.”
“What good will a nickname do?” asked my aunt.
Gina smiled. “Simon called the other woman Baby Girl,” she said. “I heard that—”
“Baby Girl?” I cut in, feeling an instant chill when I remembered Jason Baxter telling me about seeing the suspicious guy at the Beachcomber Motel.
“Yes, that’s her nickname,” Gina continued. “She and Simon were sweet on each other way back in school, but life took them in different directions when they graduated. But when she was at the mall one day a few months ago, she spotted Simon. He was in the food court. She was shopping for bras. I guess she went over and—”
“Sorry to interrupt again,” I said. “Are you sure it was Baby Girl?”
Gina nodded. “Does that ring any bells?”
“I heard the very same thing a couple of days ago.”
“Do tell,” Aunt Dot said.
“Let me see if I can get more info about her,” I said. “Right now, it’s just hearsay from a witness that I was talking to.”
Gina frowned. “A witness?”
“I’m asking a few questions around town about Simon’s murder,” I said. “It’s the old 911 operator in me. I’ve always enjoyed solving puzzles and mysteries. When I heard the news about Simon, it was impossible to resist doing a little amateur detective work.”
“Okay, sure,” Gina said. “But are you being careful?”
I nodded. “Always. No worries at all.”
“That’s right,” Dot said. “The only thing we have to worry about Liz is her approaching change in status from cute and perky thirtysomething to entry level spinster.”
“Aunt Dot!” I protested. “I’m hardly a spinster!”
“When was your last date?” she asked.
I answered honestly. After she heard that it had been months, she covered her face with both hands.
“Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie!” she droned sadly. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be joining all the other spinsters at IHOP every Wednesday for the all-you-can-eat fish stick special and pitiful stories about cat toys and the latest Swiffer gadgets.”
CHAPTER 26
Darcy Trammell’s bakery supply company was in a nondescript building just inside the entrance to Crystal Bay Business Park. The development was also home to a moving company, a handful of commercial warehouses, a machinery rental outfit and several small wholesale businesses that catered to various tourist-related ventures.
Although I’d never visited the headquarters of Crystal Bay Baking Essentials, I chatted with Darcy whenever she delivered orders to the Big Dipper.
After parking the car and popping a breath mint, I went through the front entrance and found Darcy sitting at a desk near the front door. When she saw me, her relaxed expression suddenly fell.
“Oh, no!” She sounded worried. “Did I leave something out of the order I dropped off earlier in the week?”
“Not at all,” I said. “And if that had happened, you know that my aunt would’ve been on the phone in a heartbeat.”
She laughed and brushed a cascade of jet-black bangs from her eyes. “Well, that’s for sure! She did that a couple of times before you moved back. I can’t remember why I was so ditzy, but I accidentally forgot a couple of items on two back-to-back deliveries. Even though I had the items in stock, and it just took a half hour to dash back here and get them, your aunt kept talking about those isolated mishaps like it was the end of the world.”
I shook my head. “That’s Dottie for you. She’s like a PayDay bar—sweet and salty!”
“No joke,” Darcy agreed. “How’s she doing today? I don’t think that I’ve ever seen her so stressed out. I bet you’re all glad the TV show thing is over.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We all survived the visit from the
Cuisine TV crew, but now we’re anxiously waiting for their decision about whether or not Aunt Dot made the cut.”
Darcy shot me a look. “Oh, c’mon, Lizzie! How can they not pick her?”
“I know, but anything can truly happen. She could get a spot on the show and take the top prize, or they give her one of those squishy soft rejections that leave you feeling completely in the dumps.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But wouldn’t Dottie just get right back up?”
I smiled. “Instantly! I mean, she was back at work less than a week after giving birth to all of her kids.”
“Not surprising,” Darcy said. “She really is an inspiration.”
“That’s true; either an inspiration or a total pain in the keister!”
We shared a laugh that filled the drab office with sunshine. Then Darcy asked if I was stopping by with another Big Dipper order.
“Actually,” I said, “it’s not about the shop at all. I heard something that I wanted to confirm with you.”
She held up her phone. “Couldn’t you have saved the drive?”
“For sure,” I said. “But it’s a little bit of an unusual subject, so…”
Her smiled reappeared. “Ah, so it’s something hush-hush?”
I nodded.
“Is it about the cute guy that I saw you with the other day?”
“What?” I felt my heart skitter in my chest. “What cute guy?”
“At the police station,” she said. “Really handsome with brown hair. You guys were in an office, having what looked like a fairly serious conversation.”
“Oh!” I felt my face get warm. “That’s Detective Shaw. And you’re right; he’s a good-looking guy. But we’re not…uh, you know.”
“Married yet?” she teased. “Because I definitely sensed chemistry.”
“While we were having a conversation?”
She smiled. “Yes, Liz. And I only caught a little glimpse. I was visiting a friend who works for Chief Winslow. We were walking past the office where you were talking, and it was totally obvious.”
“That’s so funny,” I said, “because we’re so totally not dating.”
“Not yet,” Darcy said.
Before our chat became any more awkward, I asked if we could discuss Simon Wargrave.
“Oh, the poor man,” she said. “I still can’t believe the news.”
“I know. It’s tragic.”
“Not everyone would agree with that assessment,” she said. “Simon had plenty of enemies.”
“And I also understand that he had a fair share of friends,” I said. “The kind that come with a few adult benefits.”
“Oh! You heard about the newest soap opera in town, huh? I call it The Many Loves of Simon Wargrave. Although now that he’s been killed, it seems somehow sacrilegious to joke about the man’s love life.”
“I’m not trying to joke about it,” I told her. “I wanted to know if you had any idea who he was involved with.”
She frowned. “Were you close with Simon?”
“No, not at all,” I said. “But I’m conducting sort of an unofficial investigation to see if I can learn anything that might help the police.”
Darcy narrowed her eyes as she processed my response. Then she apologized and explained that she didn’t know much about the situation.
“I heard that Sarabeth Innskeep was one of the women,” I said. “Is that true?”
She giggled nervously. “This seems a little…well, I feel bad discussing it now that Simon’s not here to defend himself.”
“Why would he need to defend himself?” I asked.
“Oh, you know,” she replied. “The whole thing is kind of tawdry.”
“But if it’s true,” I said, “then it’s true.”
She smiled. “You’re right. But I didn’t have first-hand knowledge about both of the affairs.”
Her answer made me smile. “Does that mean you do have first-hand knowledge about one?”
She exhaled loudly and folded her arms over her chest. “Hmmm, this is making me feel so weird.” She paused to clear her throat. “Kind of like I’m dancing on someone’s grave.”
I offered a smile. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. In fact, that’s the last thing that I’d want to do. Maybe we should just drop it.”
Darcy smiled. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Lizzie. It just feels…” She stopped again, shuddering a little and then dropping her arms. “I will tell you this,” she said. “I never saw Simon with Sarabeth. I only heard about that deal from a couple of my neighbors. But I did see Simon slobbering all over some redhead in Milton’s Tap Room down in Coral Glen.”
“Okay,” I said. “Can you tell me what you saw?”
She winced. “It was so gross, Lizzie. Simon’s not the…uh, Simon wasn’t the most gorgeous man on the planet. I mean, that double chin had its own area code. The thing wobbled when Simon talked, just like a bowl of Jell-O.”
I smiled. “No denying that,” I said. “Simon was on the husky side.”
“Way on the husky side,” Darcy said. “And that afternoon, when I was delivering a bunch of swizzle sticks to Milton’s, he had his tongue so far down that poor woman’s throat that his double chin was—” She stopped suddenly. “I can’t even describe it to you. It was just so totally disgusting.”
“Any idea who he was smooching?”
Darcy shook her head. “I never even saw the woman’s face,” she said. “I can only confirm that she had red hair, a huge diamond-and-emerald ring on her left hand and a low-cut dress that let everyone see she was a fan of plastic surgery.”
“Oh?” I pointed at my chest. “Fake bosom?”
She giggled. “Silicone and cash,” she said. “Silicone and cash.”
CHAPTER 27
My mother came into my apartment carrying two dark green duffel bags. From the grimace on her face and the rumbling moan, I figured the bags were heavier than anything she carried during a typical day.
“I’m pretty sure that I tore something,” she grumbled, dropping the bags in the middle of my living room. “I hope you’ll cover my medical bills if I end up in the hospital.”
“I have some Tiger Balm,” I said, following her the kitchen. “What did you tear?”
“Is that a brand of vodka?” She scrunched her nose. “I’ve never heard of Tiger Mom.”
I smiled. “First of all, it’s called Tiger Balm,” I explained. “And, second, it’s an analgesic ointment. Maybe a little like Icy Hot. It might make your muscles feel better if you tweaked something.”
She made a beeline for the merlot on the counter beside the coffee maker.
“Not a muscle,” she said, pulling the cork from the half-filled bottle of wine. “My new skinny jeans.”
I looked at her pants. They looked fine to me, but I suspected the breach might not be visible from my vantage point.
“Can you tell if it’s bad or not?” I asked.
“Well, I can definitely feel a little breeze,” she said. “If that’s what you mean by ‘bad or not.’”
“I have an extra pair,” I said. “We’re about the same size.”
She reached over and pinched my cheek. “Aren’t you funny? We haven’t been the same size since right before you lost all that baby fat in eighth grade.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “But—”
“It’s fine, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m going right home from here, so nobody’s going to see any of my lady parts.”
“Well, thank goodness for that! I’d hate to think of you being embarrassed.”
She scoffed. “Me? I don’t care if someone sees that my pants are split. There are much more important things to worry about, Lizzie.”
“Such as?”
“Well, for one,” she answered, “I’m not worried about it, but I am curious why you asked me to bring all of these old yearbooks over. Are you trying to find out how photogenic I was in high school?”
“Uh-huh,” I said with a wink. �
�That’s it exactly. I want to see how foxy my dear old mother was when she was a teen rebel.”
She frowned. “Very funny. You know that I was a good girl back then.”
“And you still are,” I said. “I’m just teasing.”
“Like I couldn’t tell,” she replied. “But what gives? Why the yearbooks?”
“Just a hunch,” I said. “Since you went to high school in Jacksonville with Simon, I thought maybe I could identify his married girlfriend. I heard that she might’ve been from Jacksonville, too.”
She thought for a moment. “Are we talking about who Simon was involved with right before his death?”
“Yes,” I said. “According to the rumor going around town, he’d been spending time with two different married women here in town.”
My mother sighed. “So common,” she said. “But so trashy. I never understand why people cheat on their spouses.”
“I know, but it happens all the time.”
“Not in my house,” she said. “When your father and I got married, we pledged to be completely faithful.”
“And that worked until—”
“Don’t you dare say her name,” my mother hissed. “If that witch hadn’t cast her spell over your father, he’d still be right here with us.”
“It wasn’t her,” I said. “And I know it wasn’t you, Mom.”
She started flipping through one of the yearbooks. “Then what was it?”
“Midlife crisis,” I said. “You and Dad got married at such a young age. That’s easy for some people to do. I mean, it’s a breeze for them to stay together forever. But for other people, especially couples that get together when they’re still essentially teenagers, making it through decade after decade can be a lot more complicated and difficult.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what isn’t complicated or difficult,” she seethed. “That’s keeping a promise. People say it’s hard to do, but it takes a lot more time and trouble to go the other route.”
“What other route?”
“To shatter someone’s heart,” she said. “To walk out on your family. To leave behind everything that you claimed meant the world to you.”
