Between a Book and a Hard Place

by Denise Swanson

  When I walked inside the club, I noticed a new sign pointing to the restrooms.

  GUYS TO THE LEFT. GALS ARE ALWAYS RIGHT.

  I snickered and continued down the hall into the main area. There were only a few die-hard drinkers parked on stools at the bar, a man and woman shooting pool in the back, and a giggling couple in one of the alcoves. Otherwise, the place was empty. Weeknights were usually slow after ten o’clock, and as I had hoped, Poppy wasn’t busy.

  When Poppy looked at me, I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, indicating that we needed to talk in private. After she made sure everyone had a full drink, she told them to yell if they needed her, then grabbed a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses.

  She escorted me to a booth that was far enough away that we wouldn’t be overheard, but near enough to the action that she could keep an eye on her customers. We slid onto opposite benches, and Poppy opened the Shiraz.

  As I watched her pour the ruby red liquid, I recalled the beers I had guzzled at the Mexican restaurant and wondered if consuming more alcohol was a good idea. Back when I had been a hotshot investment consultant, I had been used to martini lunches, cocktail parties, and dinners with wine accompanying every course. But in my new life, I was usually less of a drinker.

  “What happened?” Poppy kept her voice low as she slid the full glass to me.

  I told her about Jake showing up, our stops at the police station, Mom’s condo, Nadine’s place, and the Mexican restaurant. When I got to the part about Jake’s suspicion that Meg was exaggerating her current mental state, I paused for a sip of wine.

  “I knew it.” Poppy’s tone was gleeful. “When Jake left Meg here with us the other night, I saw that she kept checking her watch. I told Boone she was planning something, but he said it was a nervous tic.”

  “Seriously?” I relaxed against the back of the upholstered seat. “I would have sworn she seemed completely catatonic that evening.”

  “Only as long as you and Jake were around.” Poppy scowled. “Once you two were out of sight, the crazy act faded and she just sat there sipping her pop and biding her time.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I demanded. “You never mentioned a word to me.”

  “Jake has to figure it out himself.” Poppy slugged back a gulp of Shiraz. “If I told you and you told him, we both would have looked like jealous shrews with no compassion for the poor lunatic.”

  “Well . . . she did go through an awful ordeal with the kidnapper.” I was trying to be fair. “And Jake thinks she’s just scared.”

  “Maybe.” Poppy finished her Shiraz and poured another glass. “But you didn’t come here to tell me about Jake and his ex.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked, curious. “You and I gossip about men all the time. Speaking of which, what’s the scoop on you and Tryg?”

  Tryg Price, Poppy’s current boyfriend, was an Illinois attorney. Although they saw each other only one or two weekends a month, she’d dated him longer than I could remember her being with anyone else.

  “He’s history.” Poppy crossed her arms. “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”

  “Why?” To the best of my knowledge, she hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks, and she hadn’t said anything about his imminent demise when she’d gotten home from her last visit to Chicago. “What in the world did he do?”

  “I got an invitation to his wedding in today’s mail,” Poppy ground out between clenched teeth. “I knew we weren’t exclusive, but seriously?”

  “Oh. My. God!” I took Poppy’s hands and squeezed her fingers. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. You know me. I’ve never needed a man to make me happy.” She saw the doubt in my eyes and teased, “But a maid would sure cheer me up.”

  “Have you talked to Tryg since you got the invitation?” I was kind of surprised she hadn’t texted me.

  “Yeah,” Poppy muttered. “I called him to see if it was his idea of a joke.”

  “And?”

  “And he said that about six months ago his old high school sweetheart had contacted him on Facebook. She was teaching in some small town south of Chicago and they got together. Turns out, back when they were teens they had never had sex and she still hadn’t. He claims he couldn’t resist the chance to be her first.”

  “Why do men go for that whole virgin thing?” I asked, recalling my own experience in college.

  “Because they don’t have to worry about being compared to another guy and found lacking.” Poppy smirked. “Anyway, Miss Innocent got pregnant, and Tryg claims he had no choice but to do the right thing.”

  “The right thing would have been to use a condom, and barring that, at least be man enough to call you rather than send you an invitation to the wedding.”

  “I knew Tryg was a Colonel Sanders when I started dating him.”

  “Huh?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “A typical male only concerned with the freshest legs, breasts, and thighs.”

  I chuckled and asked, “Where do you come up with that stuff?”

  “The secret to happiness is a good sense of humor.” She giggled, then added, “And a dirty mind.”

  When I stopped laughing, I asked, “Want me to get a gun and shoot him?”

  “As tempting as the offer is”—a smile tugged at Poppy’s Cupid’s-bow lips—“I’ll pass this time.” She shrugged. “I have a few texts and snapshots he’d prefer his bride not see. Since she was under the impression they were an exclusive item, he’s sending me a pair of two-carat diamond earrings and agreed to provide free legal services to me for the next five years. So I’ll call our account square and chalk the experience up to live and learn.”

  “You threatened to blackmail an attorney?” I couldn’t believe she’d gone that far.

  “Hey.” Poppy smiled wickedly. “I had to choose between two evils, beating the crap out of him or extortion. I picked the one I had never tried before.”

  “Who did you assault?”

  “Some drunk who thought paying his bar tab gave him the right to rape me.” Poppy flexed her muscles. “It’s amazing how quickly a stun gun and a baseball bat can sober a guy up.”

  “Men.” I sighed and drank some more wine. “Anyone new on the horizon for you?”

  “No.” Poppy’s gorgeous heart-shaped face turned as red as the sole of her Louboutin pump. “Not really. There is this one guy. He’s not at all my type. We’re too different for even a fling, and he’s in love with someone else.”

  “Who?” I was intrigued. First, Poppy never blushed. And second, she’d always said if the man wasn’t married, then he was available, and third, she never cared about differences before. In fact, she’d often stated that having nothing in common was a plus because then there wasn’t any possibility of becoming emotionally involved.

  “Never mind. Sometimes the stuff in my head gets bored and makes a run for freedom through my mouth. Forget I said anything. Since it’s not going to happen, I don’t want to discuss it.” Poppy waved away my question and changed the subject. “So you talked to the chief. Did he admit that suspecting your dad was stupid?”

  Poppy’s relationship with her father had been rocky since she entered puberty, but something happened last Christmas that had pushed both of them over the edge. She wouldn’t tell me what had caused the final estrangement. All she would say was that it was a difference in their personal philosophy, which I took to mean that her wild lifestyle had clashed with the chief’s unbending view of the world. My best guess was that one of them finally did or said something the other couldn’t forgive.

  “Not exactly,” I said, then hastily added, “But the chief did agree to interview my dad in the back room of the store rather than bring him into the station, in order to keep down the gossip.”

  Damn! I’d forgotten to tell my father that. I quickly dug ou
t my cell and sent him a message. I definitely didn’t want the chief to surprise him and have my father blurt out something he shouldn’t.

  While I was at it, I texted the chief about what Nadine had said about Jett poking around in people’s pasts. Having done my civic duty, I looked up.

  The veins in Poppy’s neck were bulging, and she snapped, “Dad shouldn’t have to talk to Kern at all. They’re close friends. He should trust him.”

  Attempting to distract her before she had an aneurysm, I quipped. “I’m pretty sure your father goes by Reagan’s ‘trust but verify’ tenet.”

  “Yeah.” Poppy blew out a long breath. “I sort of live by that rule myself.”

  “We both do.” I squirmed, trying to get comfortable. “Or we should.”

  “I hate it when I agree with my father about anything.” Flinging her arms wide, she said, “Do you think I’m getting old and conservative?”

  I had just chugged the rest of my Shiraz and nearly choked at her question. When I could breathe, I said, “I’m pretty sure you’re safe for now.”

  “Are you laughing at me?” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not kidding around here. First I don’t do Tryg bodily harm, then I’m attracted to a Goody Two-shoes, and now I’m agreeing with my father.”

  “None of the above is exactly a bad thing.” I put my hands on my hips.

  “Yes, they are.” Poppy put her own hands on her hips, mirroring my position.

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” My patience was wearing thin. “Not assaulting someone, liking a nice guy, and having one freaking thing in common with your dad does not constitute a major life change.”

  “Fine.” Poppy tossed her platinum curls behind her shoulder. She was quiet for a second, and then out of the blue asked, “Since Jake has been so preoccupied with his ex, has that given Noah a lead in the race for your heart, or are they still neck and neck?”

  “Noah’s been fairly busy himself.” I examined my cuticles. I really needed to do something about the jagged mess my lack of manicures had produced. “I thought when he finally hired a second doctor for his clinic, he’d have more free time, but I think all it did was double the amount of patients who go there.”

  “He is a truly dedicated man.” Poppy’s expression was fond. “How about the fire chief? Is he still stopping by with extra pizza?”

  “You know darn well that I fixed Coop up with Ronni,” I retorted, then remembered the heated look we’d exchanged in the Mexican restaurant and felt color creep up my cheeks.

  “Hey, that doesn’t mean he isn’t still interested in you. I haven’t heard they’re engaged or anything.” Poppy grinned, then once again completely changed the subject. “How did Jake take it when you told him the truth about who really discovered Jett’s body?”

  “About like you’d expect.” When I’d told Poppy about my visit with my mother, I’d mentioned that I’d had to come clean with Jake.

  “Ticked off?” Poppy guessed. “Did he go all U.S. Marshal on you?”

  “Not quite.” I shrugged. “He wasn’t happy, but he could see my side.”

  “Too bad your mom spilled the beans.” Poppy scooted closer to the table. “The fewer people who know, the better chance to keep the secret.”

  “True.” I glanced around, but no one was paying any attention to us. “On the other hand, if he’s going to be of any real help figuring out what happened and who killed Jett, he needed to know.”

  Jake made three people I’d told and sworn to secrecy, and although I would never admit it, Poppy was the one I was most worried about leaking the information. Not that she would purposely do anything to hurt my parents, but she tended to blurt things out first and think about the consequences later.

  I truly hoped I hadn’t screwed up the police investigation by keeping my father’s presence at the crime scene a secret or by getting rid of Mom’s disposable cell phone. But if there was one thing I’d learned from my previous altercations with the law, it was to look out for my family, my friends, and myself before helping the cops.

  No matter how much I liked and respected Chief Kincaid, I knew that first and foremost he was a policeman, and his prime concern wasn’t protecting us. He’d do what he needed to do to find Jett’s killer. Even if it meant dragging my parents through the court system.

  A cheer went up at the bar, and we turned to see what looked like a father and son trying to reach the Budweiser tap and help themselves.

  Poppy hurried to her feet, muttering, “The beer can doesn’t fall far from the keg.”

  When Poppy got back from quieting the rebellion, she said, “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

  “Maybe I just wanted a drink with my best friend,” I hedged. I knew in my heart of hearts that Boone would never kill someone. Now that I was here, I realized that I really didn’t suspect Boone. Still, I did want to hear Poppy’s take on the situation and talk to Boone to see if he had any idea what Jett was up to regarding Shadow Bend’s Civil War heroes.

  “Bull.” Poppy tapped the tabletop with her long nails, the shiny black polish gleaming in the low lights of the club. “Spill.”

  “Fine.” I refilled my glass, vowing this was the last one. “Not that I suspect Boone for one little minute, but when I talked to my father about the Civil War connection Nadine mentioned, he said that Boone was extremely proud of his great-great-great-great-grandfather’s part in saving the town from the Yankees.”

  When Poppy motioned me to continue, I added, “And apparently, back when his mother was up for membership in the Confederate Daughters of Missouri, there were some questions raised about her family’s part in the war.”

  “Boone does go on and on about his namesake, Major Boone, dying gloriously in the last battle of Shadow Bend,” Poppy mused.

  “I don’t remember hearing anything about Mrs. St. Onge having trouble being inducted into the CDM.” I frowned. “Do you?”

  “Not a peep.” Poppy shook her head. “But then again, my family was on the other side in the war, so we aren’t involved in the CDM.”

  “After all those years, what could have surfaced to cause a problem?”

  “You know those history buffs.” Poppy rolled her eyes. “They’re always finding some new letter or diary that changes things.”

  “Always?” I teased. Poppy’s tendency to exaggerate was legendary.

  “Often enough to be annoying,” she countered. “Anyway, I can’t see Boone sneaking into a grubby basement and conking Jett on the head.”

  “Of course not. As I said, I don’t suspect him.” I chuckled at the image of a less-than-perfectly-neat-and-tidy Boone. The man hated it when the wind blew his hair out of place. Getting his hands filthy or having a smudge on his shirt would give him hives. “Boone does equate getting dirty with the eighth deadly sin.”

  “It just occurred to me.” Poppy wrinkled her brow. “Noah and Boone were the ones who brought Jett to town. Surely Boone must know what your stepfather was researching and wouldn’t have endorsed him if he was worried about keeping something regarding the major a secret.”

  “Excellent point.” I mulled over what Poppy had said, then grimaced. “Unless Jett either wasn’t completely truthful or stumbled onto something like one of those letters or diaries you mentioned.”

  Before Poppy could comment, there was a commotion by the pool table. We both watched as the woman screamed something at the guy she was playing against, grabbed her cue stick, and brought it down on the man’s forearm.

  Poppy flew from her seat, and I watched as she expertly disarmed the combatant. When the woman tried to smash Poppy over the head with a beer bottle, Poppy grabbed her wrist and did some sort of judo kick. Her victim fell to her knees, clutching her stomach and threatening a lawsuit. Poppy jerked the woman to her feet and ushered her out the door.

  As Poppy slammed the door, she said, “Re
gina, you need to remember that I’m a badass, but you’re just an ass.”

  While Poppy dealt with the woman’s boyfriend, I finished my wine. Just another Wednesday night at Gossip Central.

  Once Poppy returned to the booth, she and I discussed the best way to approach Boone. We didn’t want him to think for a second that we suspected him or didn’t trust him. There was no way we were willing to risk a lifelong friendship on the long shot that in some crazy fit of passion Boone had actually hit Jett over the head.

  Eventually we decided to start with asking Boone what he knew about Jett’s intended research and to ease into the conversation about his mother’s difficulties with the CDM initiation.

  • • •

  The witching hour was well under way by the time I pulled into my driveway. There were no lights on in Dad’s apartment, and I could hear Gran’s snores as I let myself inside the quiet house. Tiptoeing past her room, I could see Banshee’s eyes glowing from the foot of Gran’s bed, and the cat hissed when I walked by.

  I hissed back and headed to my own room. Exhaustion and booze inspired me to forgo my usual nightly ritual. Instead of washing and moisturizing my face, I kicked off my shoes and socks, stripped off my jeans, shirt, and bra, and crawled under the sheet.

  In the few seconds before I entered dreamland, I thought about Jake and wondered how his encounter with Meg had played out. Had she admitted her subterfuge? Did she break character, or continue to pretend to be more emotionally distraught than she really was? Would Jake’s ex continue to come between us?

  CHAPTER 17

  Because Thursday was the slowest day at Devereaux’s Dime Store, Taryn had the day off and we closed at noon. I had almost forgotten Chief Kincaid was planning to reinterview my father, so when he strolled in at ten, my heart skidded into my stomach. He approached me, and after asking me a few questions about my text to him regarding Nadine, he nodded to Dad and discreetly slipped into the storage room. A second or so later, my father followed him.