"We need to blindside him," Constance explained to both Sydney and Eleanor. She glanced over her shoulder, looking down the stairs and toward the foyer. It was empty. "He won't be expecting the three of us to be looking into this case, so we have to catch him off guard and get him talking."
"Right!" Sydney exclaimed. "Good cop, bad cop!"
"No," Constance scolded as she put her hands on her hips. "You're grieving. Your job is to go into the reading room, sit across from him and start balling your eyes out. Can you do that?"
"I can," Sydney said eagerly.
"Good." She then turned on Eleanor. "That's when you come in. You wait until Mr. Tibbs asks Sydney what the matter is. Sydney will be too hysterical to reply, but luckily you will appear and tell him all about the divorce that Sydney is going through and how —”
"I'm not getting divorced," Sydney cut in seriously. "Me and Stanley have never been happier."
"I know!" Constance threw her hands in the air. "It's an act. We're trying to lure him into a false sense of security here."
"Ohhhhh," Sydney nodded, her eyes wide and curious.
"When he asks what is wrong, Eleanor will tell him about the fake divorce. She will ask him for advice, seeing as he is a divorce lawyer, and he will give some. And Eleanor, feel free to use some of that so-called charm that you're always telling me about."
"Check," Eleanor smirked.
"And that's when I come in," Constance continued. She couldn't hide her smile, feeling just a tad thrilled over how brilliant her scheme was. "He's feeling closer to you and Sydney. He's liking the way that you make him feel. He's open and vulnerable. We have him right where we want him. I then offer him my condolences that his friend, Mr. Christie passed away. He'll tell me that he didn't know him, I'll say I know that they had a drink together at the bar and that they got into a fight and how awful he must feel that the last thing he said to his friend was heated and he'll open up to me and confirm what their fight was really about. Simple as that."
"And you think this will work?" Eleanor asked with a contemptuous smirk.
"Without a doubt."
And that was that. With the plan now confirmed – for the third time that morning – Constance turned on her heel and headed down the stairs and toward the reading room where she knew Mr. Tibbs to be. Within a matter of minutes, she would have unearthed the biggest piece to the puzzle yet. She could hardly wait.
***
The reading room was a small study-like space with a collection of comfy armchairs, a large bookshelf packed to the brim with worn, over-read books and novels – mainly mystery novels and true crime – and a large stone fireplace that was a lifesaver in winter. Although the room was often busy, especially during peak season, come this morning it had but one occupant.
Mr. Tibbs was exactly where Constance had planned on him being; seated in the single arm chair by the fireplace. Although there was no fire to speak of as it was far too nice a day for that, the position of the chair also gave the reader the most access to the natural light pouring in from the window. Mr. Tibbs had one leg crossed over the other and was engaged in reading the same shabby book he had been on the first day she had seen him.
Constance stood on one side of the doorway, hidden from view, and Sydney and Eleanor stood on the other. When it was confirmed that Mr. Tibbs was alone, Constance nodded to Sydney, and Sydney, seeing the nod, smiled broadly and hurried into the room to begin the plan.
She made for the couch to the right of where Mr. Tibbs sat. She plopped herself down on it and the smiled at Mr. Tibbs. Constance clenched her jaw, her only relief coming from the fact that Mr. Tibbs ignored her entirely. Sydney then looked back at Constance, waved, and then begun her performance.
If it weren't for the smiling and the waving that came beforehand, Sydney's act of distress would have been rather convincing. She curled herself up on the couch, hugged her knees to her chest and began to wail. They were loud, obnoxious wails too, broken only by deep, throaty sobs in which she wiped away actual tears. She rocked back and forth, she punched the arm of the sofa. She was Meryl Streep in the throes of the performance of a lifetime.
And Mr. Tibbs? He glanced at Sydney, scowled as if annoyed by her antics, and then went back to his book. He even twisted his body slightly so as to be facing away from Sydney.
Constance gaped at Sydney and then at Eleanor. All her planning, all her scheming and never once, not for a second, did she consider the possibility that Mr. Tibbs wouldn't engage Sydney.
As Sydney continued to wail, Eleanor indicated to Constance to get her attention. She mouthed 'What now' and Constance shrugged. She had no idea. But after a moment more of watching Sydney carry on, now drumming her fists on the couch as if she were a toddler being denied her favorite treat, Constance waved Eleanor in. They had a plan, it wasn't going as hoped, but there was still a chance it would work.
"There, there," Eleanor cooed as she approached Sydney. She sat down on the arm of the chair and draped her own arm around Sydney's shoulder. "It's going to be OK."
"No it won't!" Sydney screeched. "My darling! My angel! My world is leaving me! Stanley asked for a divorce!"
Constance glanced at Mr. Tibbs, still ignoring the scene as if it weren't happening less than five feet from where he sat.
"Oh, nooooo," Eleanor moaned as she patted Sydney on the back. "Whatever will you do?" No actor, Eleanor's words came out wooden and forced. Not that it mattered, for Mr. Tibbs wasn't paying them attention.
"Well first I need a good divorce lawyer," Sydney confirmed through the wailing. "And not even that! I just need some advice!" She howled to the rooftops. "Any advice will do!"
The two women paused and looked at Mr. Tibbs. He didn't react
"Hhhmmm," Eleanor said as she pursed her lips together. She then lit up like she had a brilliant idea. "Mr. Tibbs," she called across the room. "Yes, hello!"
Mr. Tibbs sighed, folded his book and looked across at the two women. A more put-out man you could not find. "Yes?"
"I don't know if you heard but... well my friend here is in dire-straits and I was wondering if you might be of some assistance?"
"Me?" Mr. Tibbs sneered. "What do you want me to do?"
"Well, aren't you a divorce lawyer?" Eleanor pressed. Her eyes flicked in the direction of Constance. Constance ducked further behind the wall in case Mr. Tibbs noticed.
"No," Mr. Tibbs said defiantly.
Sydney shut up shop immediately; tears and screech's stopping as if they had never been. Eleanor tilted her head and frowned as if confused. And Constance, not able to help herself, leaped from her hiding place and scurried across the room.
"Yes, you are!" she demanded before she could help herself. "You're a divorce lawyer." So much for her brilliant plan.
Mr. Tibbs spun in his chair, looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "What's going on here?"
"Sheriff Nevil informed me as such. Unless you lied to a police officer?" She reached Mr. Tibbs, put her hands on her hips and glowered down at him as if daring him to argue.
"Oh!" Mr. Tibbs looked taken aback, before composing himself. "I mean yes, silly me." He shook his head and hit his forehead. "I am a divorce lawyer, sorry. It's a new profession and I guess that I just ah.... I must have forgotten. Sorry."
"You forgot?" Constance asked disbelievingly.
"I did. That's why I'm on my way to L.A. Taking up a new practice." He spoke quickly, his eyes darting around the room. He was lying, that much was obvious. But why?
"And my friend, Sydney here? You weren't going to come to her aid?" Constance pushed.
"I... I..." he looked flummoxed, his eyes darting over Constance's shoulder and toward the exit. "I was reading. I didn't hear her."
Suddenly, Sydney jumped from the couch and rounded on Mr. Tibbs. With her hands on her hips, she glared at the him, leaning over the couch and getting right in his face. "You thought you could get away with it, didn't you!" she boomed.
"Get away with what
?" Mr. Tibbs exclaimed, cowering back into the couch. "I don't know —”
"We know you had a fight with the victim shortly before his death! We know you two got into a struggle! It would have been only too easy to do away with him!"
Constance's face dropped as she watched Sydney. The dimwitted receptionist had for reasons unknown decided to enter “bad cop” mode. And what was worse, with Eleanor seeing what Sydney was doing, she too decided to get involved.
"I'm sure it was nothing," she purred. She lifted herself from the couch, slipped under Sydney and positioned herself on the arm of the couch right beside Mr. Tibbs. Then she wrapped one arm around his shoulder while walking her fingers up his navel and toward his chin. "I'm sure it was just a little accident. A big strong man like you," she crooned.
"What is going on —”
"Twenty-five years without parole," Sydney hollered. "That's what's going on. Unless you tell us how you know the victim and what the two of you were arguing about!"
"It was nothing!" Mr. Tibbs said in a panic. "I don't know him, I swear!"
"Sydney, Eleanor!" Constance gasped. She went to pull Eleanor off the couch, only for her arm to be whacked back by Sydney.
"You can tell us," Eleanor whispered into Mr. Tibbs' ear. "I won't tell anyone your dirty secret."
"I don't know him," Mr. Tibbs said aghast. "It was just a coincidence that... that... that's all! And as for the drink – so what? Two travelers getting a drink together..."
"And the argument!" Sydney pushed. She had one leg up on the couch, leaning over him.
"It was nothing! Just a... it was..." He stuttered, his eyes darting from Sydney to Eleanor. For Sydney they held fear. For Eleanor they were a mix of confusion and possibly lust.
Constance leaned forward, eyes wide. The method was working. Sure, it wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but if she got the answer that she was after, then so what.
"Speak!" Sydney screamed. As she did she waved her fists in the air, then yanked Mr. Tibbs book from his lap, turned and threw it into the empty fireplace.
And that was it. This act above everything else seemed to snap Mr. Tibbs from the moment. Whether he had suddenly come to his senses, or the sight of his book being thrown into the fireplace by the hotel's receptionist was too much to bear, he seemed to suddenly wake as if from a dream.
"That's it!" he said loudly. He pushed Eleanor off him and then stood with such force that Sydney toppled backwards and fell into the couch across the room. "This really has gone too far." He went to storm from the room, only to catch sight of Constance watching the whole thing. "I suggest that you get your staff in order." And then he did storm from the room.
And all Constance could do was watch on in horror as Mr. Tibbs disappeared around the corner and out of sight. Her perfectly thought out plan was a failure, as was Sydney's bizarre and nearly effective impromptu interrogation.
The link between the Flanders not being married and Mr. Tibbs being a divorce lawyer was defunct and useless. And although she was certain that he and Mr. Christie had been involved in some sort of argument at the bar, she was no closer to knowing what it was about. The only thing she had learned about Mr. Tibbs was that he didn't appreciate his book being tossed against the wall.
Ultimately, the whole thing was a failure.
"Well," Sydney came up beside Constance, broad smile on her face. "I think that went rather well, don't you?"
Chapter Ten
The Spring Fair was only seven days away, and there was still so much to do.
First, there were the stages that had been set up for the “Best in Town” competition. Although the majority of the stages had been built already, they still needed to be painted and decorated. Unfortunately, this was to be done by the Elementary School as part of a class project, and as Mrs. Norbet had been sick all week, she hadn't gotten around to organizing her students yet. So that needed to be taken care of.
And then there was the issue of the supplies promised by Mr. Trunch of the Lone Aisle Supermarket. Where the food-stalls at the fair had all been organized already, most were still waiting on supplies that were meant to be donated by the town's only supermarket. For some reason, Mr. Trunch was dragging his feet in doing this and would need a good kick up the butt.
As well as these things, the cotton candy machine had broken down overnight – rumors of the firemen stealing it to their station and spending the night using it as if it were their own was squashed and ignored – and a new one would have to be located and ordered.
On top of all of this, the sound system wasn't working the way it should. This meant that electricians from Denver were going to have to be called out to take and look and possibly replace the entire set-up. If this happened, then the stages would have to be moved and rearranged to account for the new speaker layout and if that happened... well Constance didn't even want to think about it.
In short, there was still a lot to do and so little time to do it in. Now usually Constance would relish in such a set of circumstances. She loved nothing more than being down in the fourth quarter with little time to spare. That was when she shone the brightest. Unfortunately, with everything that was happening at The Lone Peak she wasn't able to take the reigns as she would have usually liked. She was forced to delegate, and this only led to more delays.
The only solution to the problem would be to put the solving of the murder on hold until after the Fair, but that wasn't even a solution. By that time the Denver police would have swarmed on in and shut her hotel down entirely. As much as she hated to admit it, the Fair came second in her laundry list of problems.
But just because it came second, didn't mean it was to be ignored entirely. Following her botched interrogation of Mr. Tibbs, Constance hopped to it and hurried on down to the Fair where she was to meet her chef Gustavo. He was doing an inspection of the cooking space he would be using and had asked her to be there in case he needed anything.
Constance really wanted that first place prize – as did Gustavo – so this was one appointment she wasn't going to miss.
"Well?" she asked as Gustavo looked the make-shift kitchen over with a thoroughness that she usually admired but was finding rather annoying when considering the circumstances.
"Hhhmmm," Gustavo mused as he shoved his head into the oven for a second time. To do so he was forced to remove his outrageously sized chef's hat; something he almost never did.
The kitchen was one of five, set up right out the front of one of the stages. It featured a small bench for chopping and preparing; a portable gas stove top and oven for cooking; and a sink for washing and cleaning. By no means was it fancy, but it was practical.
"Well?" Constance asked again with a little more verve. She wanted Gustavo to know that she was in a hurry, without having to say so.
"It's bellisimo!" he announced as he pulled his head from the oven and shoved his hat back on. "It is Impiraressa and will be more than adequate come the cook-off." He gave his hand a flourish.
"Right..." Constance said dryly. With that all sorted now, she could get back to the hotel and start concentrating on more important things, like who killed Mr. Christie.
Offering Gustavo a final smile, Constance went to exit the make-shift kitchen when she spied across the grounds none other than Sheriff Nevil. He was making his way through the stalls, checking up on everything, and chatting merely as he did so. And not only this, but he was also wearing his street clothes.
Constance's eyes went wide when she saw him, and before he looked up and spotted her across the way, she dropped down to the floor and pressed her back against the oven. If the police chief wasn't on duty, then that would make him all the more intolerable. When considering the conversation the two had had the previous night, and the way he usually acted around her, Constance had no desire to be bumping into him.
"Donna?" Gustavo frowned down at Constance. "Is something the matter —”
"Will you get down!" Constance hissed. She grabbed Gustavo by the bree
ches and yanked him to the ground. "He didn't see you, did he?"
"Who?"
"Sheriff Nevil?" she hissed again. Although the police chief was at least five hundred yards away, she whispered as if in fear of him overhearing.
"I don't...." Gustavo frowned. He went to stand to take a peak, only for Constance to grab him by the shoulders and force him back down again.
"Don't," she warned.
"OK..."
It was only then that Constance realized how ridiculous she was being, as if the sight of her literally forcing her chef to cower behind an oven with her snapped her to her senses. She rolled her eyes at her own antics and sighed, taking her hand off Gustavo's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Gustavo," she offered.
"It really is more than okay," the chef assured her. "I once knew this woman in Sicily who was such an Auguri that all the men in the region would —”
"It isn't," Constance cut him off before he could regale her with one of the many made up tales he had of a country he had never so much as set foot in. "I'm just a little stressed at the moment and I guess it all just came to a head. You're lucky you got to see it," she offered a weak chuckle.
"I see," Gustavo nodded. He then ran his finger through his mustache, helping to curl it at the tip. "I hear that you and the two Bella's are working on solving that murder all by yourselves?"
"How did you know that?" Constance frowned. Although she, Sydney and Eleanor hadn't exactly been subtle, they also hadn't been broadcasting it to everyone and sundry. It really wouldn't be a good thing if the murderer found out and tried to stop them.
"Everyone knows," Gustavo said with a shrug. "Although to be honest, I know not why you are bothering. Surely the police are more capable at handling such things?"
"Yeah, I'm not so sure about that..." Constance peered around the oven where she caught sight of Sheriff Nevil. He was held up at a stall that was offering one of those games where you throw a ball at a bunch of set-up pins. She watched with distaste as the police chief tossed the ball and missed the stall entirely. The ball sailed through the air and hit an unsuspecting worker on the back of the head, sending him to the ground.
Murder at the Lone Peak Page 8
