by Maggie King
Vince rolled his eyes and went on with his story. “So I asked, ‘What woman?’ and Wade says, ‘Roxanne. The one who got herself stabbed out in the pahkin’ lot.’ Then I had to listen to Wade and Tanya sing Roxanne.”
I smiled as I imagined the duet’s rendition of the song originally performed by The Police. “Yes, Tanya likes to sing. She did Feelings for us.”
“Thankfully, they only knew a few lines. When they finished, I said, ‘Didn’t that happen a few months ago?’ When Wade nodded, I asked him if he was in the bar at the time.”
“‘Sher was. Someone always tryin’ to take that one home. Not my type. Too loud. I like my women quiet. Roxanne was one of them nasty drunks. Woman could start an argument in an empty house. And sometahms she and some poor sod would leave together. One guy, I heard she blackmailed him, threatened to tell his old lady on him. Some of these women are downright violent. We all ‘member that Bobbitt dame’.”
I recalled Lorena Bobbitt, a Virginia woman who gained notoriety years earlier after separating her husband from his penis. “Ah ha! Motive. Did he mention the guy’s name?”
“No, and I couldn’t grill him without blowing my cover.”
That bar was an easy place to be anonymous or to use an alias. It was easy enough for me. The Cheers lyrics sprang to mind: Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. Sometimes, maybe. But not always.
“Maybe she blackmailed other guys as well,” I said.
Vince shrugged. “Anyway, he said everyone noticed the guy those women told you about. Noticed because most of the regulars avoided Rox. They didn’t want their old ladies mowing them down with guns or cutting off vital parts. The fact that this guy was chatting her up indicated that he was new and didn’t know her. They were placing bets on how soon they’d wind up leaving together.
“And, like you heard, apparently the same guy came back another time and Wade’s wife told him about the stabbing. And he never showed up again.”
“So, how are we going to find this guy who was flirting with Rox?”
Vince laughed. “Not an easy task.”
“Especially with that generic description: dark hair and baseball cap. I never saw so many baseball caps in one place. Of course, someone up to no good would try to fit in as well as possible. Still and all, I maintain that Brad and Nina did it. Susie said that Rox was mad as a wet hen after talking to Brad.”
Vince smirked. “I doubt that her being mad as a wet hen gives us the proof we need.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I put my hand out, palm forward, to stem his words. My sparkling nails caught the light like a Christmas tree. “Stupid proof.”
We sat in silence for a few moments. “Well, after tonight I’ve come up with ideas for an upcoming book. In fact, Lucy gave me an idea the other night—redneck baby boomers having torrid sex.”
“Need a research assistant?” The invitation in Vince’s blue eyes was unmistakable. “Shelby.”
“Sure thing, Ricky. Research is the best part of writing. For starters, want to join me in a shower?”
We stood and I took his hand. We walked upstairs.
ELEVEN
NICHOLE ST. CLAIR’S e-mail asking me to call her didn’t surprise me. I figured—hoped would be a more accurate way to put it—that she wanted to continue the aborted conversation of the day before at the Hamlin Group, away from the cautious Sandy.
“Hi Nichole, it’s Hazel. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Do you remember me from the RWRC place? I temped there for a while and I remember you volunteering. I looked a little different back then. And my name was Nichole Irving.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember. You did seem familiar.” Nichole was right about looking different back in the days when she’d worked for the Richmond Women’s Resource Center. I tried to reconcile her Goth persona—black hair, black clothes, miles of black makeup—with this present-day ethereal creature, a study in pale tones.
“Back then, everyone was all aflutter about your solving a murder. When I saw you yesterday I figured you were investigating Rox’s death. Maybe Nina asked you to do it. The sex in the workplace bit was kind of lame. I mean really, our place?”
“Well—”
“It’s okay, I won’t tell your secret. Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I should have known better than to bring up Evangeline’s name. She’s suing the Hamlin Group for wrongful termination. Rox fired her because she was falling asleep at work and messing up the accounts.”
That squared with what I’d learned from Nina. “That sounds like a good reason—”
“She had a note from her doctor. She has arthritis really bad and has to take a lot of meds. They make her sleepy. The rest of us would nudge her awake but we couldn’t be at her desk constantly.”
According to advertisements for arthritis medication, drowsiness was only one of a host of unwelcome side effects. And Evangeline’s obesity had to contribute to her health problems.
“Anyway, the Hamlin Group doesn’t like to talk about it because of the lawsuit. Sandy was really mad at me yesterday for even saying Evangeline’s name. After you guys left she reamed me a new one.”
Nichole took a breath before rushing on. “There was a huge scene the day Rox fired her. You could hear them all over the office, with Evangeline yelling about something she had on Rox and she’d let the Board know about it. And Rox said she had her own information on Evangeline that she was all too willing to share. Look, Evangeline is disabled and probably can’t get another job. Plus she’s in her sixties. She can’t collect unemployment because Hamlin fired her. She lives with her mother, who’s about ninety and really mean.”
I ignored the sixties remark. “Tell me more about the scene. And did you ever find out what Evangeline had on Rox?”
“I did, but—why don’t I let Evangeline tell you about it? They don’t know this at work, but Evangeline and I go out for pizza every Monday. I bring her books and stuff. Gets her away from her mother. She’ll tell you all about the lawsuit and working for Rox. She and Rox used to go out drinking sometimes, so she has lots of stuff to tell.”
That sounded promising. Stories over drinks could be gold.
“Evangeline isn’t the least bit shy about talking about any of this. She’d love a new audience. You’ll find that it’s not what you think at all.”
Did she know what I was thinking? She was one up on me, because I didn’t know what I was thinking. “But why would she talk to me? She doesn’t know me.”
“I’ve seen your books in her house. So she must like you. Everyone likes you.”
Doubtful. I had my fans, but more than a few looked down their noses at what they deemed my drivel with no redeeming social value. Thankfully, scores of folks were fine with non-redemptive drivel.
“Hasn’t she been cautioned by her lawyer to keep her mouth shut?” I didn’t want to show up for a meeting with the woman, only to have her zip up her lips.
Nichole laughed. “If she has, she’s ignoring the cautions.”
Evangeline could be a person I needed to talk to. She might not be doing herself any favors with her reckless, no-holds-barred attitude but she could certainly put some momentum in this investigation.
“I mean, I know she seems like a suspect, but she couldn’t possibly have killed Rox. She can’t move.”
As I had with Nina, I kept my skeptical thoughts about Evangeline’s physical challenges to myself. I said, “You said Rox had something on Evangeline. Did you find out what that was?”
“No. I tried to ask Evangeline about that in a roundabout way, but she claimed Rox was just bluffing. Oh, well . . . I know: Come to Italian Delight on Monday about six. Act like you just happened to be there and sit with us. Please say yes. It would be a treat for Evangeline to meet you.”
“Can I bring someone with me?”
“Of course. Who? Eileen?”
“Maybe, I’m not sure.” I had Trudy in mind, because so far she hadn’t played an active role in the
investigation.
“Just don’t let anyone in the Hamlin Group know about this. I need to keep this job. Getting older, you know.”
I rolled my eyes at that one. The woman must be all of thirty, thirty-five, tops.
Nichole went on. “Plus, my mom lost her job last year and hasn’t found a new one. So my salary helps a lot. But I just feel so bad for Evangeline.”
Before I pressed the red button to end the call, Nichole said, “Did you know that the RWRC folded a few months ago?”
“Yes, I did. I was still volunteering there. So sad.” We spent a few minutes discussing the RWRC’s rise and decline.
I told Nichole I’d see her on Monday at the appointed time and place. Then I called Trudy and told her about my visit to the Hamlin Group and to the Moonshine Inn. When I invited her to Italian Delight for pizza and a chance to interview an emerging top suspect, she readily agreed. I said I’d pick her up about five forty-five.
I sent an electronic version of the report I’d given Trudy to the rest of the group, including the upcoming visit to Italian Delight. Their consensus had it that “we have a lunatic and we have a flirty guy in a bar—two persons of interest. But how do we find them?”
How indeed?
•••
Vince decided the weather was cool enough for yard work, so he ventured outside. After making sure he donned a hat to protect himself from the sun’s rays, I continued working on my new novel.
Just as I was wondering when Nina would call with a report on her visit with Rox’s former neighbors, I saw that she’d left a voice mail. When I called her back, Nina launched into an account of a friendship that had gone off the rails.
“At one time Rox and her next door neighbor, Teresa, drank together. Then, according to Teresa, Rox got all high and mighty when she started going to AA, so Teresa sought out new drinking buddies. She remembers a guy Rox was seeing for a while last year. He wasn‘t around for long, a few weeks, a month maybe. Teresa never met him and didn’t even know his name because, like I said, she and Rox were on the outs. But she thought they might have met in AA. Apparently the guy had a red Harley.” I thought about how much Vince had admired my snug Harley Davidson tank top the night before.
Nina continued. “According to Teresa, Rox and the Harley rider had some loud fights, real doozies. One night Teresa heard some commotion outside, breaking glass. She thought they might be re-enacting that scene from Body Heat. You know the one, where William Hurt and what’s-her-name—”
“Kathleen Turner,” I offered. I’d seen Body Heat a number of times and enjoyed the remake of my favorite film noir, Double Indemnity. Who could forget that scene with William Hurt smashing the glass door of Kathleen Turner’s house while Ms. Turner stood in the hall inside, sizzling with seductiveness? They satisfied their lust right there in the hall. Now that kind of scene goes well for my type of books or for a Body Heat-type of movie. In real life I’d be worrying about slivers of glass getting embedded in private parts. I winced.
“Right, Kathleen Turner,” Nina said. “Anyway, Teresa says it wasn’t long before the Harley roared off so she figured it was a quick sex scene. But a few minutes later the police arrived, and when Teresa went outside to see what was going on, she saw that Rox’s windshield was smashed. So that accounts for the breaking glass.” The romance writer in me would have preferred if the glass breaking heralded a re-take of one of the cinema’s steamiest sex scenes. “Another neighbor told Teresa that Rox claimed she didn’t know who did it. Put it down to random vandalism.”
Likely story, I thought. Did she feign ignorance to avoid pressing charges? I marveled at the number of assaults and property damage Rox and Nina and even Foster endured without pressing charges.
“What time of night was this? Or was it daytime?” Not that it mattered, but I asked anyway.
“Don’t know for sure. It was dark, anyway. Teresa said it was around the time of the summer solstice because she’d been to a solstice party the night before. So I guess about this time last year. And would have been later than nine or nine-thirty if it was already dark.”
About the same time the lunatic threw his tantrum at the Hamlin Group. So it had to be the same guy. Not that lunatics were in short supply.
“Did Teresa say what the guy looked like?”
“No, she only saw him from a distance. Well, she did say he was bald. Anyway, the next morning she saw a windshield repair van in front of Rox’s house.”
“Did the lunatic show up again?”
“No. Teresa was definite about that.” Likely Teresa coveted some excitement in the ‘hood and kept her eyes peeled.
“And Rox married Brad when? In December?”
“Yes, December,” Nina said, and switched subjects: “So did you make it to the bar?”
“We did.” I told Nina about my various conversations, including the one involving the man who’d seemed interested in Rox. “He made me think of the guy you told me about, the one in the parking lot. I’m not sure why, because baseball caps and longish hair aren’t exactly distinguishing features. It’s not like he was hanging around bankers.”
“Damn, I wished I paid more attention to him at the time,” Nina said in a regretful tone. “By the way, what’s going on with the ARS? Did Sarah find out anything?”
I told her about Sarah’s plans to approach the former executive director when she returned from vacation.
“Maisie?”
“Yes, Maisie Atwater.”
“She’s funny. You’ll enjoy her. And she’s been there for a long time so you should be able to find out something useful.”
I didn’t share my upcoming pizza get-together with Evangeline on Monday. Since the lawsuit was supposed to be so hush-hush I figured it best to keep the meeting under wraps.
TWELVE
ON SUNDAY, VINCE and I lingered over coffee after a late breakfast. Vince did most of the cooking but on Sundays I fixed omelets with whatever was on hand.
“So now there’s this Harley-riding lunatic to hunt down, in addition to the guy from the bar.” I sighed. “It would sure make it easier if they were the same guy.”
Vince snickered. “Don’t expect efficiency in a criminal investigation. You know, it’s interesting that this Teresa’s memory is so clear when she’s a drunk.”
“She may not always be drunk. Oh! I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before—Kat’s in AA and may have known Rox. Maybe even the lunatic . . . Teresa thought maybe Rox met him in AA.”
“It’s worth a shot. Give Kat a call.”
“I haven’t seen her at the gym lately. She’s usually there on Saturdays, but I didn’t see her yesterday. Maybe she’s on vacation.” Kat worked as a personal trainer at the gym where Vince and I worked out. She specialized in post-menopausal women. Yesterday was the first time this post-menopausal woman had been there in a week and I was starting to feel sluggish—a clear signal that a trip to the gym was in order. I hoped I wouldn’t have to make a return visit to the Moonshine Inn, but if I did I’d have to squeeze myself into tight garments again. Not the time for a weight gain.
While Vince cleaned up, I went to my den and called Kat.
I’d known Kat Berenger for many years. She was Carlene Arness’s step-sister, and she’d been at the Murder on Tour book group on the night Carlene died eight years earlier. After that night, she’d never returned to the book group or to the intermittent film group, but I still saw her at the gym and we often had coffee next door at Starbucks.
Kat had accumulated many years of sobriety in AA. I knew there were a number of meetings in the Richmond area but I imagined that the recovering community was small enough that Kat might have run across Rox and the lunatic. I hoped to get a name for the lunatic as I hated labeling people, no matter how deserving.
The disease of alcoholism figured prominently in Lucy’s and my families. Some members made it into recovery and others weren’t as lucky. Fortunately, Lucy and I had escaped the clutches of the insidiou
s disease. I simply had no taste for anything alcoholic.
When Kat answered my phone call, I heard ambient noise in the background. “Where are you?” I asked.
“Macy’s at the Chesterfield Towne Center. How are you?”
“Pretty good. Look, do you have time for coffee sometime today?”
“Absolutely.”
“I need to pick your brain about some AA people.” I grimaced at the unsavory visualization my unfortunate turn of phrase conjured up.
“AA people? You know we’re anonymous.”
“Yes, I know. But this is important. I’ll explain when I see you.”
“Okay, how about the Barnes and Noble café in half an hour?”
I looked at the clock. Eleven-thirty. And still in my jammies. “How about an hour? Twelve thirty?”
“No problem. I can always find more stuff to buy. See you then.”
•••
I found Kat sitting at a round table by the window in the Barnes and Noble café, waving gaily at me. Surely she was visible from space with her electric blue top and skintight pants, the color of the carnation pink Crayola crayon. Her signature leopard print was evident in her flats and oversized satchel bag. She’d piled her mass of blonde curls on top of her head. I felt downright dowdy in my black top and denim capris.
After a quick hug, Kat tossed her Macy’s bag on the table to save our place and we approached the counter. I limited my order to coffee in my usual ceramic mug and refrained from indulging in one of the tempting pastries. Kat opted for iced green tea and also eschewed the food selection. We weren’t big money makers for the mega chain but surely the price of our drinks compensated a little.
Once seated, I said, “I haven’t seen you at the gym lately. Of course, I haven’t been there much myself.”
“I’m just back from vacation. Myrtle Beach.” She stroked a tan arm. “Like it?”
I thought her skin was taking on that look of an old leather handbag. I murmured a “Very nice,” but added, “You need to be careful in the sun, Kat.”
