A Rip Roaring Good Time

by Jeanne Glidewell

  "My point exactly. Do you realize how ridiculous you and Lexie would look right now if you'd been successful in convincing the detectives to raid the Piney residence? The investigating team would never have taken any evidence you two brought them seriously again. For that matter, they'd have sloughed off a written, signed, and notarized confession if you and Lexie had managed to get one from Georgia or Lori. Detective Johnston could decide whether or not to take our suspicions to the investigating team, or not. He might even decide he should take it straight to Chief Smith, providing we hand this matter over to him."

  I felt strongly that we'd be wasting our time trying to get any credible tip taken seriously, even if it was Wyatt, a Rockdale detective with sixteen years of service under his belt, who brought it to the chief's attention. It took a lot of begging, complaining, pleading, whining, and worst of all, having to give Rip a lengthy foot massage, before I was able to get my husband to commit to helping Lexie and me put our plan into action. I could convince Rip to tap dance on a table at Applebees if I promised him a foot massage in exchange. And, sorry to say, I wasn't above using that weakness against him.

  A couple of hours later, Lexie remarked she'd been too weary to prepare a decent supper and offered to take the two of us, Stone, Wendy, Andy, Wyatt, and Veronica to supper. We begged off with the excuse that I was experiencing a rare migraine and Rip's hip was throbbing so bad he wanted to rest with his feet up all evening. I hadn't had a real migraine in years but Rip's hip was aching nearly 24/7 now, so we didn't have to tell a complete prevarication to get the inn to ourselves for a couple of hours.

  * * *

  I was pacing back and forth across the parlor and Rip was sitting in an ornate, intricately-carved ivory chair, nervously spinning his cane in his hand. As a police officer, Rip had experienced many more nerve-racking confrontations than the one we were preparing for at that moment, but seldom had the outcome meant so much to him on a personal level.

  He stopped spinning his cane and looked at me as he asked, "What ruse did you use to convince Mattie to drop everything and rush over here to the inn?"

  "I didn't use a ruse," I said. For a second I feared I'd have to pick Rip up off the floor. I can only imagine what he was thinking, and unfortunately, it probably wasn't much off the mark. "I told her the absolute truth."

  "Swell." With a sigh, Rip pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped perspiration off his bald head. And then he asked me, as he was in a habit of doing, "Do I even want to know?"

  "I merely told her we were almost certain we'd determined who killed Trotter Hayes. She asked who we thought killed him, of course. So I told her we were so excited we wanted to tell her all about it in person. Obviously, I didn't let on it'd only be you and me at the inn when she arrived, or that she was the individual we suspected of having committed the murder. She sounded apprehensive as it was when she agreed to head right over."

  "And when she gets here and asks who you've discovered the killer is, what are you going to tell her?" Rip asked.

  "Oh, yeah, I didn't think about that aspect of it. But maybe I can act confused, like maybe I'd downed too many Miller Lites before I called her and asked her to come over."

  "Oh, God." Rip groaned, and then asked, "What the hell was I thinking when I let you talk me into this lunacy? I suppose it's just that I really wanted a foot massage. And I should know by now it's never worth the price I end up having to pay for it."

  When I didn't respond, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "I guess it's too late to back out now. So, remember, Rapella, we want to go about this as judiciously as we can. Kind of tiptoe around the subject until we see how she reacts to it. In other words, we don't want to accuse her of anything. We want to try to entice her to offer the information voluntarily."

  "I'll be subtly tactful, Rip. I'm nothing if I'm not diplomatic. You know how I am better than anyone."

  "Yes, I do. And that's what concerns me."

  "Don't be silly. Well, it's six-thirty, so I expect Mattie to be here in about twenty minutes."

  As if on cue, the phone rang. I expected it to be Mattie, telling us she was going to be late, or if she had a hunch we'd figured out that she was the perpetrator, she might be begging off altogether. Instead it was Georgia Piney.

  "Hi, Rapella, is Lexie there?"

  "Not at the moment, dear, but I'd be happy to take a message," I replied.

  "No bother. This is Georgia. When I went to put away the blue bowl you two brought by, I took a closer look and realized it wasn't my bowl after all. My bowl was already in the china hutch, and even though they look very similar, mine is not an Anchor Hocking as I'd suspected. Please tell her I'm sorry. I should have taken the time to check it out when you two ladies were here earlier today. I feel badly that I just assumed it was mine."

  "Oh, don't worry about it, sweetie. You know Lexie. She'll understand. Would you like us to run by and pick it up tomorrow?" I was relieved to hear Lexie's prized possession was going to be returned to her.

  "No, that's all right. You've made enough trips out here on my account. Lori's delivering Lexie's bowl to the inn right now. She should be there in about ten minutes, give or take. I wanted to use it as an excuse to get her out of the house. She's been totally withdrawn this week. Worse than normal even, you know, with the timing of the murder, and all."

  Before Georgia hung up, she reminded me to apologize to Lexie for her. I passed on what the phone call was about to Rip and went to sit down in the ivory chair that Rip had just vacated. He was now playing his own rendition of "Chopsticks" on the piano, and after about the seventh time he repeated the tune, it began to grate on my nerves. I considered asking him to give it a rest, but didn't. I was still in his debt for going along with Lexie's and my plan and didn't want to push my luck.

  Rip stopped halfway into his eighth playing of the simple tune and said, "If Lori gets here first, take the bowl and send her on her way so she won't be here when Mattie arrives. I don't want her mixed up in this. Lori's under enough emotional strain. And getting Mattie to admit her part in the murder is going to be a delicate enough conversation as it is."

  Georgia's comment over the phone about the "timing and all" had intrigued me. Before I'd taken her call, I'd been playing solitaire on the iPad to calm my nerves. When Rip went back to torturing my ears with his piano playing, I Googled Tori Piney's obituary and was astonished to discover that she'd died exactly ten years to the day of the surprise party. Because of the coincidental "timing" as Georgia put it, Tori's death had to be taking a toll on both of the Pineys' state-of-mind, I realized.

  Could that traumatic milestone anniversary have triggered a violent reaction in her identical twin? I asked myself. Could it have been enough to make Lori want to kill the man she held responsible for Tori's death? Could Georgia have no idea what lengths her surviving daughter would go to exact justice for her deceased one?

  It was reasonable to believe that at the time of Tori's suicide, her twin had vowed to avenge her sister's death. Because the two sisters shared a room, the odds were good it was Lori who found her dead twin's body there. Could Lori have gotten a hold of some cyanide in the same way her sister had and decided to use it for retribution against Trotter Hayes? And wasn't it possible she'd thought to hide some of it years ago, in the event she ever got a chance to give Trotter Hayes a dose of his own medicine, so to speak?

  When the doorbell rang, I was suddenly not sure which of the two girls on their way to the inn was the real killer. And I was now in a quandary about how to find out. Puzzled, I went to the front door, which led through a vestibule and right into the parlor. The opening into the vestibule was situated about fifteen feet from where I sat. I slowly opened the door and was shocked to see Alice Runcan standing on the doorstep with a gaily wrapped present in her hands.

  Alice smiled, but her smile quickly changed to one of surprise. "Hey! Ms. Ripple, I didn't know you knew Wendy's family. How are you feeling? I was so disappointed the waitr
ess job at Zen's didn't work out for you."

  "Yes, me too, Ms. Runcan. The gout in my big toe is still giving me fits. What can I do for you? I'm afraid we have company coming shortly."

  "I was so shook up at the party, I grabbed my birthday gift to Wendy as I walked out the door. It was so nice to be invited, and I didn't want my old friend to think I hadn't thought enough of her to bring her a present." Alice's smile had returned.

  "I know Wendy was very happy to see you at the party, too, Alice," I replied politely. And then to hurry her on her way I added, "Thanks for dropping off your gift. I know Wendy will be touched that you made the effort to get it to her. Have a wonderful evening, my dear."

  "It had been years since we'd seen each other. It was wonderful to see her, Mattie, Rayleen, Joy, and Tro-ot-ot-ter for the first time in years. In fact, it brought ba-ba-ba-back a lot of mem-mem-mem─"

  "Memories?" I asked. Alice's sudden speech impediment caught my attention. It had appeared to me to be triggered by nervous lying the first time I'd spoke with her, and I wondered if this were the case today as well. Now I wasn't so anxious to see her on her way.

  "Yes."

  "I'll bet seeing another one of the three musketeers show up at the party with Trotter was kind of a shock to your system, wasn't it?"

  "Uh-uh-uh, I wa-wa-was ─"

  "Didn't it take you back to the homecoming dance all over again?" I asked. "Having both of your best friends stab you in the back like that had to hurt, even if it had been years ago since Trotter humiliated you the way he did."

  The unsettled expression on Alice Runcan's face morphed into one of pure hatred. There was an evil glint in her eyes, and I knew I'd touched a nerve. I decided to work on that nerve to see if I could make it jump. With the sudden disappearance of the stuttering, she was furious when she nearly spat at me as she said, "It was Trotter's fault! He lied to them just like he lied to me! He's what caused the three musketeers' friendship to dissolve and all three of us to go our separate ways. I haven't had a really close friend, male or female, since. All I do now is work at the diner, work at all the Baptist Church's events, and work at trying to get ─ "

  Alice stopped talking suddenly. She had the look of a rabid raccoon in a trap, practically foaming at the mouth. I took another stab at that adversely affected nerve by finishing her sentence for her. "By trying to get another man to show interest in you? Like, say, Detective Russell for example? Too bad he was only interested in the photos you took of Lexie standing over your victim, instead of being interested in spending time with you."

  The frayed nerve burst like a frozen water pipe. Alice was snarling with fury. I thought back to my conversation with her in the diner. I'd wondered then if she'd been tested for schizophrenia. Now I was almost positive she really did have some kind of mood or personality disorder. Alice Runcan had many different sides to her. She could be the taskmaster boss at her own business, the devout Christian at her church, the kind friend delivering a birthday gift, the shameless hussy throwing herself at a potential suitor, or, as I now suspected, a cold-blooded killer. I didn't think Alice even realized what personality she was exhibiting at any given time.

  I took the package out of her hands and set it on a small table in the entryway. Then I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the parlor, as I said, "I'll bet just seeing those two together made you want to kill that son-of-a ─"

  "You're damn right it did! It was like he was rubbing my nose in it. Taking perverse pleasure in reminding me of that night he snubbed me and made me feel like I would die of embarrassment." As Alice ranted, I signaled to Rip to turn on the voice recorder on his cell phone. I'd watched Lexie do it with her phone before we went to see Georgia, and I'd shown Rip how to do the same thing with his.

  Alice was on a roll now, needing no more provoking on my part. She exclaimed, "Yeah, I killed him! I should have done it years ago, but I fought off the temptation. After I heard what happened to Tori Piney, I went to visit her sister. I knew Lori was a potential ally in wanting retribution against Trotter Hayes. She told me her sister had found the key to her father's safe in the desk drawer in his workshop and found a tin container marked 'cyanide' inside it. Lori said her father was devastated when Tori used that cyanide to kill herself, and he always felt responsible for his daughter's death, even though she and her mother blamed only Trotter. Lori was so emotionally distraught the day I visited her that I was able to talk her out of some of the cyanide crystals she'd hidden in an old jacket pocket in her closet. Later, when she'd given it more thought, she asked me to return the poison. Said she wanted to have it destroyed before it could cause any more pain."

  "But, you lied to her. Didn't you?" I asked.

  "Of course I lied! Do you think I'm stupid, or something? I told her I'd given it more thought too and already destroyed the cyanide."

  "I'm curious. Did you know about Joy's abortion?"

  "Abortion? No, what are you talking about?"

  "Oh, nothing. It's not important. But how did you know Trotter would be at the party?" I asked the clearly disturbed young lady. Alice's face was flushed, the vein in her throat was throbbing in double-time, and even her dilated eyes didn't seem to be blinking at the same time.

  "I didn't. For all those years since Tori Piney's death, I've carried the small tin of cyanide around in my purse."

  "And gloves, I assume?"

  "No, I picked up a pair of the caterer's latex gloves when I went into the kitchen and hid in the pantry, after telling Trotter he could get a mixed drink if he asked Lexie for one. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist."

  "And he wanted a Crown and Coke, apparently?"

  "Trotter Hayes was a partier and on the verge of being an alcoholic. I doubt he cared what the drink contained as long as it had alcohol in it. Drinking some silly spiked punch was not his style at all though. He stepped right into the trap I'd set for him." Alice was now showing obvious pride in her cunningness in devising such a devious scheme. I found it quite nauseating.

  "Lucky for you, huh?" I said, as I glanced over at Rip, who was taking in the conversation silently. I was flattered that he felt I had a good handle on the situation and didn't need his assistance. When I caught Rip's eye, he said, "Don't forget Mattie's due here any second."

  The mention of Mattie's name seemed to make her magically appear in the doorway, like a David Copperfield illusion. I'd almost forgotten she was coming over. She'd walked into a situation she hadn't expected and had a puzzled expression on her face.

  Mattie Hill really was on our side, and I couldn't have been any happier to discover that before I'd launched even a hint of an undeserved accusation at her. The relief that flooded through me at that moment was indescribable. I was so thankful Wendy's best friend wasn't a killer. And I was even more thankful I'd been stopped short of wrongly accusing her of being one. I believe divine intervention occurs at critical times in our lives, and I felt certain this was one of those times.

  I was also grateful I hadn't accused Lori Piney of killing Trotter, either. God knew she and her mother had been through enough grief as it was, without having me sling false accusations at her when she was only being kind enough to return Lexie's beloved family heirloom to the inn.

  "Go on with your story, Alice. How did the little tin container that had held the poison not get detected by the thorough frisking that the detectives subjected all of us to?" I tried but couldn't resist adding a snide remark. "I'm guessing you enjoyed having that handsome Detective Russell's hands roaming all over your body."

  "You really do think I'm an idiot, don't you? If you go in the kitchen right now, you'll find the tin box buried inside the flour canister on the counter. First, with the latex gloves on, I wiped my fingerprints off it with some rubbing alcohol I found in the pantry. I figured the tin, with traces of the poison still in it, would eventually be discovered. But I also figured it would only serve as further evidence it was Lexie Starr who killed Trotter."

  "So you deliberately s
et out to frame Lexie from the beginning?" I asked, incredulously. I was sickened by the fact the nut job was actually boasting about her cleverness in framing an innocent person with her vicious crime. How could anyone be so mentally deranged that they'd do something so wicked and then wallow in their accomplishment? I wondered.

  "Of course, I did. I had to steer the investigation toward someone besides myself, didn't I? So, anyway, I had previously researched the fatalness of the cyanide and decided I probably didn't have enough to kill anyone. And that's why I took the cake knife off the table and slashed his throat. Then I quickly tossed the gloves in the trash and hurried back to be in position to take the photo. Michael, er, I mean, Detective Russell, told me the chief of police was convinced that Lexie had disposed of the gloves just before the lights came back on since the trashcan was just a couple of feet from where the worthless prick fell with her standing right next to him."

  "How did you know there'd be a knife handy for you to use to finish the job?" I asked.

  "I'd seen Lori place it by the cake earlier, before they turned the lights off, and was relieved to find it still there in the dark. I'd only hoped to have the photos to be able to prove I was nowhere near his body at the time. Lexie Starr leaving her blood on the knife and walking up to Trotter when she did were just unexpected strokes of good fortune."

  "Well, Alice, those unexpected strokes weren't very fortuitous for my friend, and now your recorded confession is not going to be such a stroke of good fortune for you, either." The callous killer showing such delight in having the blame placed on Lexie instead of herself had rubbed me the wrong way, and now I was going to take even greater delight in turning her over to the police.

  Looking as if she'd just been struck in the face with a cast-iron skillet, Alice's personality disorder took a turn for the worse. She sneered at me when she said, "I ain't going down for this, lady. If you think I'm going to jail for killing that jackass, you're in for a rude awakening. I've got a church bazaar to attend next Monday, and a restaurant to run, for starters. And, I don't believe they serve vegan cuisine at the state pen."