Dogs, Lies, and Alibis

by Wendy Delaney

  Since when did everybody think that was supposed to be my job?

  “I resent that!” Marietta called out, following her mother as far as the foyer.

  “She’s right, you know.” As much as I hated to admit it. But when it came to dispensing unsolicited advice, Gram was usually spot on. “You should sit down and relax.”

  Because Barry Ferris was sure to be arriving any minute, and we all knew it.

  Groaning, Marietta dropped into the nearest kitchen chair. “You don’t understand.”

  She had clearly forgotten that she was speaking to someone who had invested over thirty years at Marietta Moreau University. I hadn’t started out as a quick study, but after developing my own relationships with most of the men who had breezed in and out of her life, I understood plenty.

  The tea kettle began to rumble to a boil, so I turned off the stove and pulled a couple of mugs from the cabinet. “Sure you don’t want some tea?”

  “No!”

  Fine. Then, she could sip on some liquid courage and keep her mouth busy in the process.

  A minute later, I delivered two glasses of the fumé blanc that we had never gotten around to opening last night, and took the seat next to her.

  Knowing that my mother hated to feel rushed, I gave her a heckuva lot more time to breathe than I had given the citrusy wine I was sipping.

  “I imagine he’s been trying to call you,” I said after she finally tasted her drink.

  “I wouldn’t know. I turned off my phone.”

  Very mature. “He’s still going to want to talk to you.”

  “Well, I have nothing to say to him right now.”

  “That’s too bad.” Because I could look out the back window and see a dark blue Nissan pulling into the driveway.

  Tracking my gaze, Marietta twisted in her seat. “Crap! I should’ve never let you talk me into coming straight home.”

  It hadn’t been that much of a hard sell. Probably because, in her heart of hearts, she knew it was time to take her own advice and have an honest conversation with the man.

  I patted her shoulder. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure he just wants to…” Apologize?

  I didn’t know that he had anything to apologize for.

  It wasn’t like my mother had told him about every man she’d ever been with. Then again, none of them lived here in town and still looked as gorgeous as Renee Ireland.

  “Maybe he wants to clear the air,” I said, making my way to the back door.

  She bolted upright at the same time that Gram came down the stairs wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old pullover sweater—her typical gardening attire.

  “Now, what’s going on?” she asked, frowning at her daughter standing white-knuckled in front of the table as if she were waiting for her horror movie closeup.

  “Barry’s here. After I let him in, maybe you could take me home to give them some privacy.” Please.

  “Nobody’s going anywhere,” Marietta commanded.

  Gram waved her off. “Says you. I’m going to have my tea and then go out and pull some weeds. Char, you may borrow my car if you’d like.”

  Goody.

  “Okay, then, let’s get this over with. Ready?” I asked my mother.

  She finger-fluffed her already perfect hair. “No, but let him in.”

  I swung the door open. “Hi, Mr. Ferris.”

  His lips drew back into the bleakest of smiles. “Is it that bad that we’re back to ‘Mr. Ferris’?”

  “Of course not.” I just had a hard time calling a former teacher by his first name. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.” He fixed his gaze on Marietta. “I only need a few minutes of your time.”

  That sounded like my cue to leave, so I stepped around my mother to grab the tote sitting behind her on the table.

  That’s when she clamped her hand around my wrist. “Let’s go into the living room, where we can be more comfortable.”

  “What are you doing?” I whispered as she led the way to the sofa.

  “I’m in need of your assistance.” She pointed at the end of the sofa, where I sat last night. “Sit there, please.”

  “You don’t seriously want me here for this.”

  Batting her long eyelashes, she smiled saccharine sweet. “It’s just for a few minutes.”

  “Mom, this is a very bad idea.”

  Ignoring me, she waved her hand at the chair to my left. “Have a seat, Barry.”

  When she turned on the table lamp between us and opened the blinds, he gripped the armrests as if he were bracing for impact. “Given the way this looks, I guess I should have had that drink.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, shimmying onto the sofa next to me. “We’re just going to have a little chat.”

  My mother had a summer tradition of trotting her little girl out for impromptu games of Truth or Dare with the men in her life, so I’d had plenty of experience with these chats. This typically led to them getting kicked out of her house the same night, so this didn’t bode well for Mr. Ferris.

  While Gram and I had both been concerned about Marietta rushing to the altar with my former biology teacher, I didn’t want to play any part in her decision if she suddenly opted to call off the wedding.

  Despite what he told me yesterday, I was quite sure that Mr. Ferris would be quick to agree with me.

  I pushed off the sofa and headed for the kitchen. “I’m not doing this.”

  “You most certainly are,” Marietta said, calling after me. “So, get back in here and sit your butt down.”

  Pouring another glass of wine, I bristled at the parental tone of her command. “You gave up the right to talk to me that way a long time ago, lady.”

  Gram looked up from the magazine she was reading at the table. “What’d you say, honey?”

  “Nothing. Just muttering to myself.”

  She picked up her mug and rinsed it out in the sink. “How’s it going in there?”

  “It’s a little tense, but they’re adults.” At least one of them was. “They can handle it.”

  “It’s a little early, isn’t it?” she asked, giving the wine glass in my hand a long look.

  “It’s not for me. It’s for Mr. Ferris.”

  “Poor guy. You’d better make it a double.”

  * * *

  I ordered a double for myself an hour later, when I stopped off for a late lunch at Eddie’s. Only it was in the form of grilled chicken on a boring field of greens—nothing remotely as tantalizing as the cheesy calzone Rox was chowing down on while Eddie gave her a break from tending the bar.

  “Oh, that was heaven,” she said on a sigh, savoring the last bite of cheesy bliss. “Exactly what I’ve been craving.”

  I stabbed a dry strip of chicken with my fork. “Trust me, I can relate.”

  She put her feet up on the chair between us. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be a cheese tease.”

  “Not a biggee. After not being able to eat in your first trimester, you should enjoy.”

  “Yeah, but if I keep indulging my cravings, I’m going to be as big as a house.” Rox glanced down at her growing belly. “I’m already well on my way.”

  “Stop it. You look gorgeous.”

  “Hardly, but speaking of gorgeous, I heard your mom showed up at Colt’s service in all her glamorous glory.”

  News around town traveled fast.

  “She was in the same graduating class as his mother, so I guess Marietta wanted to be there to pay her respects.” At least that’s what she seemed to want everyone to believe.

  “Hmmmpf,” Rox grunted, wiping the grease from her fingers.

  “Yeah, I don’t buy it either, but I have bigger fish to fry right now.”

  She stared at me from the other side of the table. “Oh, honey. You’re not still having problems with Steve, are you?”

  “No, everything’s fine.” Of course, I had yet to talk to him about what I’d witnessed at the funeral reception. “At the moment
. But he’s not going to like what I have to tell him later tonight.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “You’re pregnant, too.”

  “No! Nothing like that.”

  “Then, what is it?”

  “It’s about something I saw at Tolliver’s.”

  “You mean something that could make a difference in the case against Little Dog?”

  Pushing my salad away, I nodded.

  She leaned back in her chair. “Holy cow. This could be huge.”

  “I know. I don’t have any proof of anything,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but I think I’ve stumbled onto something Colt was involved in that might have gotten him killed.”

  Rox’s eyes widened as they locked on mine. “So, spill. What?”

  “I can’t get into any detail. Not while there’s an active investigation, but I think there’s a connection between the robbery at the Pembrokes’ and Colt’s death.”

  “You’re the third person to come in here and say something like that to me.”

  “You’re kidding.” Although I could see for myself that she was telling me the truth. “Who?”

  “That guy Seth that works at the feed store, and Glenn Ferguson.”

  That Seth would talk to Rox about his former coworker came as a shocker, but my breath caught in my throat at the mention of the second name. “Glenn Ferguson was in here talking about the robbery?”

  “Yeah, he and some prospective client came in for lunch on Tuesday. I figured since the man was friends with the Pembrokes, he was entitled to focus more on the break-in than Colt, but still… It seemed a little cold to use it in his sales pitch.”

  “Not only cold, but weird.”

  Rox sat quietly, looking at me as if I had suddenly sprouted horns. “Uh…I guess.”

  “You don’t think it’s weird that he’s using the break-in at his friends’ house to sell someone a car?”

  “A car? Honey, he was trying to sell him a security system.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “DO YOU WANT to know what I found out now or after dinner?” I asked while Steve cut into the steak I’d grilled for him on my balcony barbecue.

  He aimed a glare at the dog nuzzling his elbow. “Being a little pushy, aren’t you?”

  “He thinks it should be time for him to eat, too. But it’s not, so Fozzie, sit.”

  After the fur ball reluctantly dropped to the floor between us, Steve gave me a sidelong glance. “I was talking to you.”

  “Me, pushy? I like to think of myself as being giving. As in someone who can provide you with some important information.”

  “More like someone who’s been poking her nose where it doesn’t belong.” He popped the bite in his mouth and started to work on his baked potato.

  “Hey, I stuck around for that reception. You didn’t, so trust me. You’re gonna want to hear this.”

  Steve grunted something unintelligible with his mouth full.

  It sounded like I doubt it, but I preferred to believe that his guttural utterance could have contained a crumb of curiosity, so I decided to strike while that tiny iron was at least lukewarm. And while I had an audience hungry enough to stay at my table.

  “There’s obviously a connection between the break-in at the Pembrokes’ house and Colt Ziegler’s death,” I said while Steve swallowed. “And it has everything to do with Glenn Ferguson.”

  Steve pointed his fork at me, his gaze as sharp as a butcher’s blade. “I already know that he sold the party store that Town Car last year, so I’d like you to drop this right now.”

  Not a chance. “I bet you didn’t know that he’s the one who recommended Boynton House Painting to his buddy, Malcolm Pembroke. You know, the company that employs Rusty Naylor—the thief who pulled off that robbery the night of Mr. Pembroke’s retirement party.”

  Steve leaned close. “Enough. Drop this.”

  “But you haven’t heard the half of it, because Glenn Ferguson engineered the robbery for the sole purpose of selling the Pembrokes a security system.”

  A few silent seconds ticked by before the crease between Steve’s eyebrows softened. “This is your important information?”

  “Yes, and it’s good information, so I’d appreciate it if you’d take it a little more seriously.”

  “Duly noted.”

  That’s it?

  The only heat I saw in his reaction came at the mention of Rusty Naylor’s name.

  Crunching on my salad, I stole glances at Steve. “Glenn Ferguson is now using that robbery to peddle security systems.”

  “Hey, he’s a salesman taking advantage of an opportunity.”

  “I think he created that opportunity with this real estate pissing contest he seems to have going with Malcolm Pembroke.”

  “Now what are you talking about?”

  I stabbed one of the few bites of steak in my bowl. “According to Rox, not only did Ferguson buy that electronic surveillance company last year, he’s acquired all the vacant land between his wife’s party store and his dealership.”

  “Not a crime, Chow Mein.”

  “But it feels like he’s trying to show that he can play with the bigger boy in town. Maybe even tried to cut that boy down to size a little by siccing Rusty on him.”

  “Okay. Interesting theory. Now can we drop this and talk about something else?”

  “I don’t see how it got Colt killed, though, unless he left something incriminating in the limo.”

  Steve didn’t respond.

  Since he seemed a little too intent upon finishing his salad, I thought I must have struck a nerve. “Colt left something behind, didn’t he? That’s why Georgie caught him trying to break into the car hours later.”

  “I’m not going to say it again. Drop it.”

  I sucked in a breath, my pulse pounding as I felt a piece of this wretched puzzle click into place. “And because he failed, he had to pay a price.”

  Steve threw down his napkin and pushed away from the table. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Don’t leave,” I said, following him to the door. “You didn’t finish.”

  “Trust me, I’ve had enough.”

  Whimpering, Fozzie echoed my sentiment as we watched Steve stride down the third-floor hallway as if he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

  “That didn’t end well, did it, boy?”

  I reached down to stroke his back, but Fozzie turned tail and disappeared inside my apartment.

  I didn’t take the rejection personally. I knew that Glenn Ferguson wasn’t the only opportunist in my acquaintance.

  “Not people food,” I reminded the dog I found staring at Steve’s plate. “Just because someone doesn’t finish something here doesn’t mean that it’s going to end up going down your gullet, so if you plan on remaining my guest you’d better learn the house rules.”

  Inching closer to the table, Fozzie licked his chops.

  Taking my seat to finish my boring salad, I pulled Steve’s plate closer and sliced off a bite of steak. “Besides, I cooked this to perfection, if I do say so myself. Not that any male around here would appreciate that.”

  Fozzie sat and nuzzled my arm.

  A few seconds later, he rested his head against my leg.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, you con artist. Did your prior owner teach you how to milk your mark for everything she’s worth?”

  With a doggie sigh, Fozzie dropped down to the floor.

  I pushed the salad away. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Will you accept my apology?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Fine. I’ll sweeten the pot.”

  With Fozzie hot on my heels as I took the dishes into the kitchen, I tossed a marbled slice of steak into Fozzie’s dog bowl.

  It disappeared in an instant, so I cut off another little piece, and then another until the piece of steak I thought I’d be nibbling on tomorrow had disappeared.

  “Happy now?”

  After giving my fingers a bi
g lick, he trotted to the door and woofed.

  “Fine.” I retrieved his leash and he smiled back at me when I clicked it on.

  Yep, one of us was clearly happy. The other was becoming too easy a mark.

  * * *

  I had hoped to see Steve’s truck when I brought my grandmother home from church, but just like two hours earlier, his driveway was empty.

  “Does Steve have Sunday morning practice with the peewees?” I asked, following Gram into the house.

  “Not that he’s mentioned. Why?”

  Because my heart still hurt with the way he left last night. “Just curious.”

  Closing the door behind me, I hoped the coffee I smelled was because Gram had her brewer on a timer and not because—

  “Good morning,” my mother chirped. “Hope you’re hungry, because I’m making breakfast.”

  Gram gave me a wary glance as she set her handbag on the kitchen table. “Any idea what this is about?”

  I shook my head and followed the coffee aroma into the Marietta Moreau Twilight Zone, where I saw a sight I had never before seen: my mother wielding a spatula.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked her.

  “I just thought it would be nice to have breakfast with my two favorite girls.”

  Not only was Marietta Moreau decked out in full hair and makeup before noon, she was preparing food in something other than a toaster.

  This sighting could only mean one thing: She had some big news for us.

  She pointed the spatula at the coffee pot. “I made the coffee strong, just the way you like it. At least I think so. Taste it and see.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, filling two cups.

  Since my mother was staring at me the way Fozzie had been fixated on Steve’s steak, I girded my loins and took a sip of inky brew that was surprisingly palatable. “It’s good. Best I’ve had today.” Also the only coffee I’d had today.

  Marietta beamed. “I’m so glad you like it.”

  Since she seemed to be waiting for me to make the next move, I pointed at the covered frying pan smoking on the stove. “Everything okay over there?”

  “The omelet!” Marietta pulled off the lid, revealing a crispy blob that could double as a Frisbee. “It’s ruined, and I had so wanted this breakfast to be special.”