He turned and surveyed the musty, cluttered room. Somehow, he sensed June’s presence in the room with him right now, watching his every move. Oh, but that was ridiculous. No one ever questioned him, Giles Dingwerth IV, and if they did, why he would refuse to answer.
Still clutching the candy box, he rushed from the room.
Eighteen
Luther had been watching him now for oh, ’bout twenny minutes, that guy in the black Mercedes. He’d never liked the looks of that guy, not even when he first met him. Didn’t trust anybody couldn’t look him straight in the eye. The other thing was, why was he always driving that white-haired guy here and there? And it was always and all the time, man.
Luther wasn’t entirely sure about this, but he was pretty damn sure this driver picked up somebody’s girlfriend for ’em. He guessed it was most probably the white-haired guy. He’d seen her—that glamorous South-American model, Leila Boulivard, something like that, yeah. Couldn’t be that white guy with the pink Cadillac and the cute blond wife. Naw.
He took a long swig of root beer from the amber bottle beside him. What do you know? There he goes now, driving an empty car. First time Luther had ever seen him do that. He rose from his seat in his office, and peered around the corner at the empty curb in front of the Hotel Charlotte. Yep, empty. Like his root beer bottle. Hey.
The following day…
Brock toyed with the leafy spinach salad set before him just seconds ago. The butterflies in his stomach told him what he needed to know. Why, they’d been there for the last three months, ever since he and Marc separated, ever since he’d decided to start a new life with Angela. Ah, Angela. How he had grown to resent her.
For a moment, he surveyed the bustling lunch crowd at the Café Charlotte, located in the hotel lobby. After all, Marc could be there, couldn’t he? He worked there, didn’t he? He had to eat, didn’t he? Brock surely hoped he wasn’t back on the liquid diet. Marc had gotten so scrawny on nothing but frothy cherry vanilla Slimshakes. Yuck.
He bit into his salad and winced. Onions. He had asked the waiter to please leave out the onions. Please. He wasn’t good with onions, just like he wasn’t good with caffeine and bee stings, and oh my—there he was, strolling into the lobby looking better than ever—it was Marc.
Just in time to ruin the view, along comes that nervy reporter. What was her name? Gumby? A rain cloud dashed Brock’s sunny mood. What if, oh what if Marc had started a new life with Gumby in his absence? He dropped his fork while he watched them embrace. Well after all, Brock thought, he’d been the one to leave Marc, hadn’t he? If Marc had simply moved on without him, it was only what he deserved.
Perhaps he should just leave. Leave without even talking to Marc. Well, either way, he had to know how Marc felt about him. Not knowing was pure torture. Just like his life with Angela had been. That’s right, had been. Angela was so o-v-e-r. He’d spent the last two nights in the hair color room at the shop, camped out on a lumpy cot. It was no use. Marc was the only one for him. Oh look, Gumby was leaving!
He pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his Gucci wallet and slid it under his bread and butter plate. Here comes the waiter now. He would forget about the onions. He felt as fabulous as he looked. Simply put, it was time to go!
Stepping out of the café, he checked his reflection in the lobby mirror. He was pleased. His golden highlights were fresh, only a week old, and he had managed to lose somewhere in the neighborhood of ten pounds since Marc had last seen him. Not to mention his new pleated silk trousers and custom monogrammed silk shirt. A herringbone gold chain encircled his neck. He was looking outrageously fine.
Marc saw him first. But no matter. Brock knew in an instant. He had come home. He recalled a story he’d once heard about an extraordinary, yet restless, butterfly. A man had tried to capture the butterfly, but to no avail. It had escaped. But, the man was advised that if the butterfly flew away and never came back, it had never really belonged to him in the first place, but, if it chose to return, it would remain with him forever.
Now, at this very second, that is how he felt about Marc. He was the restless butterfly that had escaped and had returned of his own free will. Perhaps he needed to leave to return to Marc—this time, forever.
Eugene Hart had seen a lot of things in his life so far, but tonight, well, he believed the news he had received tonight topped the list of “Weird Things I Want to Forget.” For him, that list was growing longer and looser. Not a good sign for a guy who would very much like to retire. Now on his way to his former residence to deliver the divorce papers to his soon to be ex-wife, he had some spare time to analyze the meaning of it all.
For starters, June’s laboratory report had indicated that Mrs. June Dingwerth, a sixty-three year old female and serious diabetic, had ingested a massive, lethal amount of sugar immediately preceding her death. Once again, she had broken her diet. He would have accepted this without hesitation, except for the one troubling issue. June’s question still lingered in his mind like a moldy cobweb in an attic: “Is it safe for me to go home?”
Now, he chided himself for dismissing such a disturbing remark. It should have disturbed him, it should have spurred him to investigate further, but wait a minute—it was all coming back to him. He’d had a word with Giles, and he’d had a word with June too, and asked her if she wanted to talk about her “unsafe” feelings. Asked her why she’d told him that her apparent sudden death, if it should happen, might not be an accident. And she’d said, “I really can’t remember why.”
Upsetting, yes, deeply disturbing; but, all circumstantial. Should he insist on a criminal investigation? The Dingwerths were high profile, influential people. All he had were lots of gut feelings, and no hard evidence. He had discharged June Ding-werth, and she broke her diet yet again, one too many times. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Such events were the stuff of everyday life, were they not?
Speaking of troubling events, here he was now, approaching the curb in front of his house. He still thought of it that way, and guessed he always would. After all, he’d designed the two story brick Colonial with the slate roof and copper gutters, and he was still paying for it, wasn’t he? Gazing at it from the street, he was still proud of it, still attached to it, still felt like it was a part of him; much like the feelings he had for Angela, an admission he would acknowledge only to himself.
He didn’t even need to ring the doorbell. The stained oak door cracked open and Angela appeared. He had forgotten how beautiful he still found her. Gripping the divorce papers in his right hand, he stopped himself from embracing her. Was he crazy?
“Hi there, Eugene,” Angela said. “It’s too cold to talk out here. Come inside for a second?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea with Brock and all of that, Angela. I’ll just…”
“He’s gone.”
“When will he be back?”
“He won’t, Eugene.” She glanced over his shoulder. A tear dripped from her eye and she brushed in away in haste. “It’s…it’s over.”
An awkward pause followed while the doctor considered his next move. The frosty air stung his cheeks, and he ached to escape the bitter wind. Well, and why not? After all, it was still his house. He had a right to be there. “I think I will come in for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
“You can take your coat off.”
Was it his imagination, or was Angela flirting with him? After the day he’d had, he decided, anything was possible.
“Just give it to me,” she continued, “and I’ll put it upstairs on the bed.” Angela turned and winked. “When I come back, I’ll make us both a drink. Still take Scotch and water on the rocks?”
“Sure.” Well, this was a surprise. Surprise? No, it was a major shock, that’s what it was. He watched his wife trot up the wide stairs. Did he want her back? After all they had been through together? Even after Brock? She mixed the drinks now, clad in a gold lameé jumpsuit that hugged all of her well placed curves. Hardly
what one would consider “breakup attire.”
“So sweetie, what brings you by this time of the evening?” She sat across from him and crossed her long legs.
Sweetie? Angela had always had great legs. Still did. He sipped his drink. It was perfect, like those sweet legs of hers. “I brought the divorce papers, remember? You asked me for them a couple of weeks ago. I thought you’d be anxious to have them, so here I…”
Her lips were on his, her arms were around his neck, her long legs encircled his waist, what—what was happening to him? “Angela,” he said between breaths, “what are you doing?”
“Eugene, put your drink down.”
He did.
“What do you mean, she’s not there?” Giles said.
He had nearly finished packing his golf clothes, and was getting ready to tackle his tailored suits. A man had to get married in an expensive suit, didn’t he? And now, here was Rocco, telling him he had returned without his fiancée.
“Rocco, you’re not making any sense. Explain yourself.”
Rocco simply shrugged. “Miss Bolivar is gone. Poof!”
“What is poof?”
“That’s what the desk clerk at the hotel, he tell me. He say Miss Bolivar, she check out in the middle of the night.”
“What is his name? I’ll have him fired!”
“Hmmm…let me remember. It was Marc. Marc Stephen. No, it was Stephens Marc.”
“Well, which is it?”
“Mr. Dingwerth, sir, it does not matter. Miss Bolivar, she is gone.”
“Well, she must have left a message, or a note, or a, a ring…” Giles’ voice trailed off into a whisper. Rocco lowered his head. He dared not look up at this exact moment.
“No sir, she left nothing. Nothing at all.”
“But I’m Giles Dingwerth the fourth!” His voice crackled with emotion. “Rocco, you must do something.”
“There is nothing to do, sir.”
Excitement overwhelmed Gabby at this moment. This luscious scoop would rocket the Gateway Gabette to wuthering heights! Well, maybe not wuthering, but higher, okay? Of course, she’d heard the rumors, just like everybody else that patronized Beauty by Brock. Old man Dingwerth’s Latina mistress dumped him for some better, younger, richer, guy, and he wanted, indeed needed to leave town. Everyone was talking, gossip was swirling, June’s death sure had been convenient, hadn’t it?
And now, Giles Dingwerth IV wanted to pass the Dingwerth Dynasty to his son-in-law, Daniel Hunter. How she managed to get this interview was still something of a mystery to her. One day, Marc called her and it was hers, just like that. She’d never thought she’d find herself sitting in this office ever again, and now, here she was, face to face with the heir apparent, Daniel “The Donut Man” Hunter. “So Mr. Hunter, how does it feel to be the new President of Dingwerth Distinctive Designs?”
Dan leaned back in his leather chair. “Great, Gabby, just great.”
“The Dingwerths have had quite a commotion in their family lately. Care to comment?” By the look on Dan’s face, she knew. She had crossed the proverbial line. Now, she would take a step back.
“No.” He leaned forward and whispered. “We’re off the record now, okay? Here’s what you print. Giles has retired after losing his beloved wife of thirty eight years, his only child June -Dingwerth Hunter is expecting a baby in November, and his son-in-law, Daniel J. Hunter, that’s me, is the new President of Dingwerth Distinctive Designs.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all there is to it.”
“Ho, ho, ho. We both know better.”
“Better is the enemy of best, is it not? It’s been a pleasure. Call me anytime, and I’ll tell you what to print. Now, shall I show you the door, or shall I phone security?”
Dan found he was indeed a changed man. Not because of his sudden promotion, or his pending fatherhood. No, it was Giles himself who had changed him. Giles and his plans, Giles and his schemes, and Giles’ deception opened Dan’s eyes. In Giles, he saw himself, not only in the present, but in the next thirty or so years. He didn’t want to end his career as an imposter. Whatever he would be, he would be the real thing.
Leila disappeared as quickly as she appeared, just like a dream. Dan supposed that’s what she was, and all she was ever meant to be, at least for him, and certainly for Giles as well. Sometimes, he worried about Giles, as depressed and lonely as he had become, but although he didn’t spend as much time at the Cinnabar Club as he once did, he seemed to enjoy his bridge club once a week. He didn’t sell the Dingwerth residence, nor did he leave it much.
And Bunny? Well, besides her pregnancy, her hair color changed immediately. At her very next appointment, she returned to her “natural” blonde shade, Scandinavian Sunset No. 9. Love at first sight? Bunny had always believed in it, from the first day she met Danny. It was just like her mother said it was for her when she first met her Daddy.
Daddy taught Bunny everything she needed to know about getting what she wanted. “Never forget, Bunnykins,” he said while gazing into the distance, “you must always have a Plan.” Bunny replied that she always had a Plan, Daddy. For the rest of her life, Bunny had a Plan. She always got what she wanted—and that Plan never changed.
CRAZY
FOR HER
by Claire Applewhite
Coming in 2014
A SNEAK PEAK at the next novel in the CRAZY Series, Crazy For Her.
Giles Dingwerth is missing….
When his diabetic wife, June Senior, dies from an overdose of her favorite candy, Giles Dingwerth appears heartbroken. For months, he mourns, despite vicious, suspicious rumors to the contrary. But, a man like Giles can get lonely. After his son-in-law, Dan Hunter, becomes the new CEO of Dingwerth Distinctive Designs, Giles has a lot of time and too much money to spend. Before long, some very attractive women find him very attractive.
Giles’ daughter, Bunny, disapproves of Giles’ racy night life. She attempts to control his social activities “for his own good.” One evening, after an especially contentious argument, Giles won’t answer his phone. In fact, as the days pass, it even appears that Giles has disappeared. Bunny becomes frantic. Is Daddy angry, or is he in real trouble?
Bunny must find Daddy. She needs a good detective-someone who knows about being in the wrong places at the wrong times—someone like Elvin Suggs. Suggs will go anywhere. But one question lingers like a bad cold. Is Giles alive?
Claire Applewhite Bio
Claire Applewhite, a mystery and romantic suspense author, is a graduate of St. Louis University. Her published books include The Wrong Side of Memphis, Crazy For You, St. Louis Hustle, Candy Cadillac and Tennessee Plates. She is an adjunct professor at the University of Missouri St. Louis, and has served as a Past President of the Missouri Writers Guild and Board member of the Midwest Chapter, Mystery Writers of America. Her organizational memberships include the St. Louis Metropolitan Press Club, St. Louis Writers Guild, Sisters in Crime, Ozark Writers League and Mystery Writers of America.
Also by Claire Applewhite
The Wrong Side of Memphis
St. Louis Hustle
Candy Cadillac
Tennessee Plates
Crazy for You Page 15
