“So who’s your next suspect?” She forces a smile to come and go. Tilly might be as sarcastic as they come, but for someone like me who hails from the sarcasm capital of the world, she cures my homesick blues. If I had to guess where Tilly was born and raised, I would hands down say Hastings, New Jersey. But it’s nice to know they grow ’em tough as nails right here in Vermont, too.
I lean in close to her ear. “Devin thinks the manager, Richard Broadman, might have had a beef with Perry or vice versa. She thinks he was ripping Perry off.”
“Ooh, Richard.” Her shoulders hike up and down. “You know, I thought he would have called me by now.” She makes a face.
“Don’t take it personally. He’s been dealing with the death of a client. And maybe covering up a murder and a wife. Hey, can I see your phone?”
She hands it over without asking a single question and I quickly look him up.
The screen populates.
“Broadman Managerial Services,” I say, clicking into it.
Tilly peers over my shoulder. “Looks like his office is in Woodley—at the Cross Roads Center. I know exactly where that is. It’s where I got my phone. Hey? I’ve got a pair of thigh-high boots I’ve been thinking of taking out for a spin. I’m riding shotgun.”
“Tilly, it’s spring. It’s almost eighty degrees out today. Those thigh-high boots will melt onto your flesh.”
“Oh, hon.” She bites down on a devious smile. “I’m not planning on leaving them on for long.” She gives a dark laugh before she stops cold as she looks to the door. “Stud muffin alert. Here comes Sexy Wexy. Why do I get the feeling he’s here to see you?” She takes back her phone. “I’ll be indulging a little comfort to myself if you need me.”
Sure enough, Shepherd makes his way over. There’s a gleam in those crystal eyes, and just the sight of him makes my insides explode with heat. His hair is dewy as if he just got out of the shower, and my fingers twitch to touch that scruff on his face. He’s donned a dark dress shirt and a gray tie coupled with a pair of corduroys.
“Bowie, just the person I was hoping to see,” he says as Opal comes over to join us.
“No offense, Shepherd”—she gives his tie a quick tug—“but unless you plan on knitting up a blanket, you won’t be able to stay.” She snaps her fingers my way and her mouth rounds out as if an idea was formulating in her mind. “Unless, of course, you’re willing to pay twenty dollars.” She shrugs my way.
“Fifty,” I counter.
Shep takes a breath and his chest expands to unreasonable widths.
“As good a deal as that might be, I’m afraid I won’t be long.” He looks my way. “I was giving a guest lecture out in Maple Grove and realized I don’t have your number.”
“Oh, isn’t that sweet?” Opal purrs at the thought. “He wants to ask you on a proper date.” She fans herself with her fingers. “Let’s just say I called it.”
Shep purses his lips, his glowing eyes still settled over mine. “So I could call and let you know the front door to your cabin was left ajar and a skunk found its way in and sprayed it.”
“What?” I moan. “There goes my new spring wardrobe.”
Shep winces. “Don’t worry. I chased it away and I’m airing it out. I should probably have your number, though. You know, in the event of a skunk sighting.”
“I”—your average person has a phone, and if he hasn’t figure out that I’m not average yet, I’m about to give him the memo—“don’t have a phone anymore. I fell into a bit of tough times and, well, it was the first casualty. My car was the second.”
Shep’s features soften. “You should have a phone.”
“I know that,” I say. “But—I don’t have a credit card. I had an ex junk up my credit and now no one will touch me with a ten-foot pole. I guess I could get a burner.”
Opal groans, “Everyone knows those are for thugs, dear. I’ll put you on my business plan and pull it out of your paycheck.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say as she heads back to the tea station with a wave. “I guess I’ll get Tilly to take me out to Woodley.” I shrug to Shep. “That’s where she said she got her phone. And she might just be a little anxious to show off a pair of thigh-high boots to one of her senior suitors.”
Shep’s lids hood low and an audible series of gasps emit from somewhere behind me in direct correlation to his bedroom eyes.
“Tilly’s senior suitor wouldn’t happen to be a man by the name of Richard Broadman, would it?”
I bite down on a smile. “Someone’s done their homework. I’m starting to think you’re inching your way out of retirement. Is this going to affect your pension plan?”
His lips curl on one side. “I’ll be by the café at noon to pick you up.”
Tilly zips by. “Sounds like a date.”
I shake my head at him. “Don’t worry, Shep. I know better.”
“Good,” he grunts as he heads out the door.
But does Shep know better?
Something tells me he’s too ornery to care.
Chapter 10
Shep showed up at noon like he promised and whisked me off to Woodley in his truck. He’s dressed to kill in a sports coat, dress shirt, and tie, paired with chinos. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a single fashion misstep this man has made since I’ve been here. But, then again, with a face like that, not too many people notice his clothes.
Woodley County is lined with oaks and maples and still manages to have a small-town appeal despite the big city hub of office buildings and shopping plazas squatting over every city block.
Shep leads us into Woodley Mobile and I pick out a smart phone that can do everything but fly. And just as I’m about to check out, the service member helping me informs me that I can’t just add myself onto Opal’s plan.
“Well, there’s that,” I say to Shep. “I guess I’ll have to come back with Opal.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Shep expels a sigh that either signals his pity for me or his genuine irritation. I’m betting on the latter. “I can put you on my plan. It’s not a big deal.”
“Really? Thank you. I’m good for the money.” That’s most likely not true, but it felt like the right thing to say. And putting me on his phone plan? That’s more of a commitment than I ever got from any of my exes.
“And I know where to find you to get it.” He flashes a short-lived smile, and before you know it, I’m back in the technological swing of things with the rest of humanity now that I have the sum total of human history right at my fingertips.
We take off, and as soon as we hit the fresh air, I step in front of him to block his path.
“Thank you, Shep. You didn’t have to do that. I guess you have a beating heart after all.”
“Don’t go spreading rumors. Besides, Opal doesn’t drive. I was probably going to have to give her a ride. You saved me a trip.”
“In that case, I’ll not only pay what I owe for the phone, I’ll throw in a little extra for gas.”
“It’s on me. Ready to head back?”
I glance a few doors down, and there it is, Broadman Managerial Services.
“No,” he says it flat without missing a beat because clearly my ogling eyes have made my nefarious intentions obvious.
“Yes,” I counter. “We’re right here. I can stop in and tell him I’m inquiring about his services for a friend. And while I’m there, I’ll ask a few questions about his relationship with Perry.”
His brows hike and he looks momentarily amused, handsome as a heart attack in the process, too, but that’s another matter entirely.
“That’s not how an investigation works, Bowie. If he’s guilty, he’ll suspect something. If he’s innocent, he might think he’s being accused of something and leave town. Either way, it could grind the real investigation to a halt.”
“The real investigation that your ex, Detective Grimsley, is conducting—or the unofficial investigation you’re conducting?”
“I’m not conducting an
investigation. I’m simply curious to see if I can help move things along.”
“Great news, Shep. You can. Follow my lead.” I’m about to stomp in the direction of the management company when a tall, handsome, older man with a shock of white hair jogs out of the building and heads a few doors down to a donut shop.
I smack Shep on the stomach and bark out a laugh.
“Looks like we caught him in the middle of a carb attack. Come on.” I motion for him to follow and he gently reels me back by the wrist. “I suddenly have a hankering for a hot apple fritter.”
“We can’t just walk in there. Who eats donuts at one in the afternoon?”
“We do.” I all but drag Shep along as we enter the Donut Dungeon.
Not sure what the owner was trying to achieve with a name like that, but I’m not here to debate the virtues of an inviting moniker. I’m here to nab a killer.
We spot Richard up front picking out his sweet treats while a young girl behind the counter tries to keep up with his demands and shoves them into a box.
Back in Hastings, I helped run the donut shop and a car wash for one of Johnny’s uncles. That’s where the illegal green river flowed and where I tried to sop up a little of that green goop for myself. And here I am on the run in another donut shop entirely. Why does it feel as if it’s all come full circle?
“Follow my lead,” I whisper to Shep just as a fresh-faced teenage boy comes up and offers to take our order. “My boyfriend and I just had a big fight,” I say a touch too loud and garner Richard’s attention just the way I hoped to. “He wanted to buy me a bouquet of roses to make up for it, but I told him the only way to my heart was through a bouquet of donuts.”
Both employees share a laugh before shooting down any hopes of getting a donut bouquet so I settle for a box. Shep and I decided to do a dozen mixed and let the employee pick them out.
“Fun fact”—I say to Shep, but I’m still speaking loud enough for Richard to hear without feeling as if he were eavesdropping—“I dated a guy once who gifted me a pickle bouquet after our first fight.”
Shep’s brows pinch together. “Did you take him back or sue?”
“Ha-ha,” I bleat without the proper enthusiasm. “Hey?” I take a few steps toward Richard. “Don’t I know you?”
He lifts his chin and looks at me from his silver-framed glasses.
“You look vaguely familiar, but I can’t seem to place it.” He leans in as if hoping I’d pop into focus.
“The Starry Falls Manor.” I snap my fingers his way. “Opal Mortimer’s place.”
Shep leans in. “It’s the Mortimer Manor,” he whispers hot in my ear. “Sign fell off last winter.”
The urge to shiver hits hard and I bite down on my lower lip as I resist it. Why is it that anything that man whispers, my body insists on translating into a sweet nothing?
I nod over to Richard. “There was a murder at the Mortimer Manor the other”—I suck in a breath. “That’s right. You were the manager. I think we met. I work at the Manor Café.”
“I’m sorry, I hardly remember you.” Richard takes a full breath as he looks from Shep to me. “I’ve been a wreck ever since. I hope business at the manor wasn’t hurt. I’ve known Opal for a few years. That was nice of her to let us use it as a venue.”
“Business has been brisk,” I tell him. “Poor Perry, though. I heard through the rumor mill he wasn’t getting along with a few people. Do you know if they caught the killer?”
Richard’s cheeks turn a flush shade of pink. “Can’t say that the sheriff’s department found anyone as of yet. The detective said she’d give me a call if there was a break in the case.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s do this again, and I’ll do my best to remember it this time. Richard Broadman.”
“Bowie Binx.” I shake his hand and he shakes Shep’s as well.
“Shepherd Wexler.”
Richard makes an odd honking sound, but judging by the sudden look of glee on his face, I’d guess it was a good thing.
“The Shepherd Wexler?” Richard marvels. “As in S.J. Wexler who pens the Manon Tate novels?”
“One and the same.” Shep sheds a short-lived smile. I’ve learned in the short time I’ve known him that those smiles are hard-won and far between.
Two pink boxes are shoved our way at the very same time and Richard and Shep both ante up at the register.
Richard nods to a booth by the window as he looks to Shep. “If you don’t mind, how about five minutes where I can pick your brain? I’m a big fan of your novels. I’ll admit, I’m a bit starstruck at the moment.”
Starstruck? I’m starting to think Shep is a bigger deal than I understand. And personally, I’m glad I don’t understand it. It’s bad enough he’s got that rugged exterior, those intimidating good looks. If I added another dimension to his mystique, I might just be too intimidated to talk to him.
Oh heck, who am I kidding?
I’ve never been intimidated by a man in all my life.
I glance to Shep and my stomach squeezes tight, letting me know he just might be the exception to the rule.
We take a seat at the booth and Richard wastes no time trying to pull a few upcoming plotlines from the author at hand.
I nosh on a glazed cruller while listening in on their conversation and contemplate the madness I’m hearing.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “You’re telling me that Manon, this main character of yours, is an undercover cop working within the mob? And he’s a made man? Pfft.” I avert my gaze. “That’s not reality.”
Richard grunts as if I had mortally wounded him. “But it’s a work of fiction.”
“You got that right,” I snip.
“Wait a minute.” Shep leans back in his seat. “What do you mean, it wouldn’t happen? I do extensive research for my novels.”
“Well, I’m here to tell you, your research is wrong.” I take another bite of my cruller before freeing the apple fritter from the pink prison it’s in.
“It can’t be wrong.” Shep lowers his lids a notch, those icy eyes pinned right over mine, and I can feel the oven-hot heat radiating from him as he sits dangerously close. “I worked with several ex-mobsters to get the details right.”
I blink over at him. “And they let you get away with that whole wearing a wire to every family meeting bit? I’m telling you, the guy would have been fitted with cement boots after chapter three. I have a feeling the ex-mobsters you spoke with were having a little fun with you. They might squeak to save their necks, but they’re pretty die-hard as far as protecting the organization as a whole. It’s an unwritten code.” I shove the fritter into my face and try to savor every doughy bite.
Richard nods to Shep with a show of enthusiasm in his eyes. “So who’d you get to speak with? I’m a big mafioso buff myself. Anyone newsworthy?”
Shep’s shoulders bounce. “A couple of small-time thugs in for racketeering.”
“Aren’t they all in for that?” I say it mostly to myself as I shake my head. My father was small-time, but he’s locked up nonetheless.
Shep looks to Richard. “Leftie Louis, a guy by the name of Magnificent, and a man that’s known as The Sunday Sinner.”
I swallow the cruller down the wrong pipe and cough up a storm as I buck and writhe just hearing Shep say my father’s somewhat sinful moniker.
An employee brings me a cup of water and I quickly down it all, hoping against hope that when I pull the paper cup away from my face I would have somehow landed back in Hastings, and everything wrong with my life would have been nothing more than a bad dream. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I’m looking right into Shepherd Wexler’s concerned eyes and a part of me is glad that New Jersey is still three whole states away.
I clear my throat as I look to Richard. “There was a rumor floating around the night of Perry’s murder that you felt he owed you something.” I’m paraphrasing from Devin and buffering it with a lie, of course. She didn’t float that rumor until I cornered her at the Tumblew
eed, but Richard doesn’t have to know that.
Richard’s jaw clenches. “And I can only guess who started that rumor, but I don’t have to guess. That pretty little blonde has been spreading those rumors for months.” He pegs Devin with it right out of the gate. “I guess it’s not a rumor if it’s true, though, now is it? Perry had a few side gigs he wasn’t cutting me in on. Sure, I knew about it. Everyone knew. Perry and I exchanged words, but we were men about it. The show had to go on. I thought we had smoothed over that bump. I wasn’t angry enough to gun the poor kid down. I’ve got my finances in order. I didn’t need his. I was doing him a favor, not the other way around.”
Shep offers a mournful smile. “How did you hear about these gigs he was getting on the side?”
“Nicki. His personal assistant, Nicki Magnolia. She does his scheduling and gave me a copy whenever I asked. At least up until six weeks ago. I think Perry asked her to keep me in the dark. I guess you could say, things were strained toward the end there.”
A thick bout of silence fills the air before Shepherd invites Richard to his signing tomorrow night, and Richard lets out a whoop as if he just scored every number in the Powerball.
“Say”—he leans that shock of white hair our way—“your agent wouldn’t happen to be coming to the signing as well, would he? I’ve been thinking about branching out into books.”
“Why yes, she will be there.”
I caught the emphasis he put on she. It doesn’t surprise me Shep has surrounded himself with women. He’s a smart man after all.
Richard takes off and we take our box and hop into Shep’s truck.
“Well, Detective Binx?” He looks my way. “What do you think?”
“I think you have a fan for life. And maybe a stalker at your next book signing.” That vision I had of Shep being attacked by a blonde comes to mind. “You wouldn’t happen to have security with you when you do those things, do you?”
He pulls back the right side of his jacket and exposes a gun holster with the butt of a small black pistol sticking out.
“A leftover relic from your investigative days?” I don’t bother adding a hint of sarcasm to my words.
An Awful Cat-titude (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 1) Page 8
