“Happily,” he said. “Well, it’s been very nice talking with you ladies, but I’ll have to excuse myself; it looks as if my wife needs rescuing.”
“He’s got some damn nerve bein’ married,” he heard Rita complain as he walked away.
“Everything all right, hon?” Gil asked Claire as he came up next to her and put his arm around her waist.
“Whoa, the husband!” Brad said, holding his hand up in a defensive posture. “We were just talkin’ here, just talkin’.”
“Yes,” Claire said, “we were talking about Kathleen Sands.”
“Is that so? So was I.”
“With those women?” Brad asked. “They didn’t treat your friend very well, especially Rita. She didn’t like having somebody better-looking around. Fact is, she probably don’t like your wife much, and probably ain’t never even met her. Am I right or am I right?”
“Well, you’re right that we’ve never been introduced,” Claire said.
“After having met Rita,” Gil said, “I think he may be right about the first part, too.”
“Sure I’m right,” Brad said, smiling. “I’m usually right about women.”
“Is that so?” Gil asked. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Kathleen lived, would you?”
“Naw. Wish I did, though. That would mean I went home with her, ya know? Am I right?”
“When you’re right,” Gil said, “you’re right.”
“I need a refill on my coffee,” Brad said. “It was nice talking to you, Mrs., uh . . .”
“Claire,” Gil said.
“Right, Claire,” Brad said, “nice talkin’ to ya.”
“Did I interrupt something?” Gil asked as Brad walked away.
“If you hadn’t been surrounded by your fan club,” Claire said, “you would have noticed a long time ago that I needed help.”
“My fan club was telling me about Kathleen Sands.”
“And what about the lady with her finger on your chest?”
“You saw that, huh?”
“I did.”
“That was Rita.”
“Ah, the one who probably doesn’t like me. She’s a little overdressed for this, don’t you think? Or should I say underdressed, the way her boobs are hanging out?”
“What about Brad’s chest hair?”
“I wonder why those two aren’t together?” Claire asked.
“They probably don’t like each other as much as they like themselves.”
“Speak of the devil,” Claire said. “She’s glaring at you right now. What did you do to her?”
“Told her I was married.”
Rita was across the room, staring daggers at Gil and talking animatedly to Carlos Delgado. He was listening intently but every now and then would look over at Gil and Claire.
“What do you think she’s telling him?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know, but we’re about to find out. Here he comes.”
Judy Belmont stood apart from the crowd the whole time but watched as Claire and the man she was with got acquainted with the others. Judy knew that Brad Trager was probably hitting on Claire. He had hit on most of the women in the group, except for her and one or two others.
She surmised after a while that the man was Claire’s husband. They made a rather nice-looking couple. He had a full beard and wavy hair. His glasses did make him look a little bookish, but not unattractive. Claire Hunt had it all—a successful television career, a nice husband, probably a beautiful house. Judy wondered how much of the money she spent with the Home Mall show had helped pay for Claire’s house, and her clothes.
As usual, nobody wanted to talk to Judy. She had never fit into this group, but she kept coming to the meetings only because Whitey insisted. She would rather have been with the women in her shopping club. She looked at her watch and decided she’d been there long enough. Time to go home and tell the exciting news to Whitey. She had seen Claire Hunt in person!
Chapter 30
“Imagine getting kicked out of a Gamblers Anonymous meeting!” Claire said, opening the car door to get in.
“And what about my problem? Who’s going to help me now?”
“Oh, we got trouble; we got trouble in River City. And that starts with t and rhymes with p, which stands for pool.”
“Enough with the show tunes,” Gil said as he got into the car. “Slot machines—remember, I’m addicted to the slots. I thought I was pretty convincing.”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why aren’t you starting the car?”
Gil sat hunched over the wheel, keeping his eyes on the stairway alongside the church. It was getting dark and he didn’t want to miss the person he was waiting for.
“One of those women knew more than she let on.”
“Which one?” she asked.
“Her name was Francine.”
“Which one was she?”
“One of the three with Rita, sniffing out a single man’s blood.”
“You took your sweet time telling them you were married.”
“They probably wouldn’t have bothered with me at all if they knew I was spoken for.”
“Well, what does she look like? Was she pretty?”
“She looks like my aunt Virginia must have looked at her age.”
“I never knew your aunt Virginia.”
“Well,” Gil said, “let’s just say I don’t think your friend Brad tried to add her to his list of conquests.”
“Conquests,” Claire repeated, shaking her head.
“There she is!” He opened the car door and prepared to run after the woman.
“You’re going to scare her,” Claire said, opening her door.
“Let me do it.”
“Okay, but hurry.”
He watched Claire approach the woman.
“Francine?” Claire called.
“Oh my,” Francine said, putting her hand to her chest, “you startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. My name is Claire Hunt. You were talking to my husband earlier, Gil?”
“Oh, yes,” Francine said, “I’m afraid we attacked him, didn’t we? He is a very nice man, though.”
“Yes, he is,” Claire agreed.
“You’re not mad, are you?” Francine asked, looking suddenly concerned. “You’re not going to hit me or anything?”
“Of course not, don’t be silly. Gil and I just wanted to talk to you about Kathleen Sands.”
“That poor woman. I’m sorry, but I was under the impression—wasn’t she a friend of yours, or your husband’s?”
“Not really.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
“Could we buy you some coffee and explain?”
“I’m afraid I’ve had enough coffee for one night.”
“Something to eat, then?”
“You know, a hot fudge sundae would be nice,” Francine said. “How about Steak ’n Shake?”
“That sounds great.”
Chapter 31
They drove to the nearest Steak ’n Shake, which was on Lindbergh Boulevard. They parked side by side, since the lot was empty. It was after dinner and before the date crowd hit, so they easily found a table. The black-and-white-tiled floor and chrome fixtures evoked memories of a fifties diner. Claire and Francine both ordered hot fudge sundaes, while Gil opted for one of Steak ’n Shake’s famous strawberry shakes.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt, but I thought you told me you knew Kathleen Sands.”
“I’m afraid I lied, Francine,” Gil said, “and since I wasn’t totally honest with you, I think that entitles you to call me Gil.” He smiled apologetically.
“All right, Gil,” she said, “but if we’re going to start over, I also think I deserve an explanation—along with my ice cream—don’t you?”
“You certainly do,” Gil said, and looked at Claire.
“You go ahead,” Claire said, trusting her husband to tell as little or as much as he saw fit.
“I knew you looked familiar,” Francine said excitedly when Gil got to the part about Claire working for Home Mall. “I’ve seen you on TV.”
“Have you bought anything?”
“Oh, no, I just watch . . . you know, window-shopping, sort of. It’s fun.”
Gil went on with his explanation and Francine listened intently, hanging on every word. By the time he was done, they had their desserts and were digging into them.
“I understand everything now,” Francine said. “This must be very hard on both of you.”
“It is,” Gil said.
“What can I do to help?” she asked, her tone betraying the fact that she was puzzled.
“We’d like to know where Kathleen Sands lived. We’ve looked in the phone book, and apparently she’s not listed, or she didn’t live in St. Louis.”
“Oh, she lived in St. Louis; I know that much.”
Gil was hoping she’d know more.
“Couldn’t you ask the police to give you her address?”
“We tried that,” Gil said.
He had bitten the bullet that morning and called Detective Holliday.”
What can I do for you, Mr. Hunt?” Holliday had asked. Gil thought, Uh-oh, last time we saw each other, it was Gil and Jason. Now we’re back to Mr. Hunt.
“Well, I was hoping we’d be able to, uh, smooth over the meeting your partner and my wife had yesterday. I understand it didn’t go very well.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Holliday said. “I’ve got a pretty angry woman on my hands, Mr. Hunt.”
“Well, so do I, Detective, but I was hoping cooler heads would prevail.”
“Meaning ours?”
“Hopefully.”
“Mmmm, why do I think you’re leading up to asking me for something?”
“Just an address.”
“Can’t do it.”
“You didn’t even ask—”
“You want the address of one of the victims,” Holliday said, “probably the Sands woman.”
Gil remained silent.
“Am I right?”
“You are.”
“See? Can’t do it, not with the mood my partner is in now. Besides, you shouldn’t be meddling, should you?”
“I’m not meddling.”
“Well, I don’t think I can help you today, Mr. Hunt. Do you understand?”
“Sure,” Gil said, “I understand.” But it was only after he’d hung up that he realized Holliday had said “today.” If the detective was going to help him, how would he know when?
Now Claire was making a dent in her hot fudge sundae, but not attacking it with the same gusto as the other woman. “The police won’t give us her address. They don’t want us . . . asking questions.”
“Why not?”
“They say they don’t want amateurs meddling in their investigation,” Gil said.
“Haven’t they ever heard of Hart to Hart?”
“I’m sorry?” Claire stopped eating.
“The TV show, Hart to Hart? Jonathan and Jennifer? That’s who you two remind me of. I think it’s wonderful. You guys could be Hunt to Hunt. ”
“Well ... thanks,” Claire said. “We think we’re pretty wonderful together.”
“That’s why I’m trying to keep her out of jail, Francine,” Gil said.
She put down her spoon then and stared at them with big cow eyes. “That’s so romantic.”
“And maybe you could help me do it,” Gil said. “Do you know where Kathleen Sands lived?”
Francine stared at both of them a moment longer, then picked up her purse, opened it, and took out a small address book.
“We exchanged addresses and phone numbers her first night. I was the only one who would give her the time of day.”
“Why was that?” Claire asked.
“Because of Rita,” Francine said. “She just thinks she’s the beauty queen of GA. As soon as Kathleen walked in, Rita took an instant dislike to her and got all the others to go along.”
“What a shame.”
“It was,” Francine agreed. “Kathleen was nice, but she just didn’t really know how to make friends. There’s only one other woman in the group like that.”
“Who?” Claire asked.
“Judy Belmont.”
“Did we meet her?” Gil asked.
“I doubt it. She was standing in a corner all by herself. I don’t think she gets along with anyone outside of her shopping group.”
Gil and Claire exchanged a glance and then Gil repeated, “Shopping group?”
Chapter 32
As soon as Judy Belmont entered the house, she knew something was wrong. She could feel tension in the air, and Whitey was just sitting on the sofa, as if he’d been staring at the door, waiting for her to come home. In front of him, scattered across the coffee table, were envelopes and papers. Quickly, she recognized them as credit-card bills.
“Whitey—”
“The mail came late today,” he said, “so you couldn’t hide these from me.”
“I can explain.”
“Explain what? That you’ve been spending money faster than I can earn it?”
He snatched up the credit-card bills and held them in his fist. Standing up, he shook them in her face. She flinched. Although he’d never struck her before, she expected him to now.
“They’re all from that TV shopping show! Look at these. Home Mall: forty-seven fifty. Home Mall: fifty-five ninety-five. Horne Mall: ninety-eight eighty-nine.”
Judy wrung her hands. “I’m always careful to stay under a hundred dollars,” she said weakly.
“An item? What about the total? What about two thousand dollars total, Judy?” A vein stood out like a purple scar on his neck.
“Well . . . they were things we needed.”
“Who told you we need all this stuff?”
“Claire Hunt, from the Home Mall. ”
“I knew it,” he growled.
“And you’ll never believe it, Whitey, but she was at the meeting tonight.”
She was surprised by his reaction. Suddenly, he calmed down and seemed to forget the bills.
“What?”
“I was surprised, too,” Judy said. “I was close enough to touch her, Whitey, but I didn’t. I mean, she’s from TV—a famous celebrity. I couldn’t just walk up and touch her.”
“What was she doing at your Gamblers Anonymous meeting?”
“I don’t know,” Judy said, “but her husband was with her. I think he has the problem, not her. She’s much too smart to get hooked on gambling.”
“Smarter than you, you mean?”
She put on that hurt look of hers. “Well, I’m sure she’s smarter than I am, but I haven’t gambled in months, Whitey, you know that.”
“Sure I do. But you’ve replaced gambling with this TV shopping thing! Judy, this is just as bad as when you used to sneak off to the boats.”
“No it’s not!” she snapped back. “That was gambling, and you said I couldn’t gamble anymore, and I haven’t!”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she stormed past him into the bathroom and slammed the door. He could hear her crying all the way down the hall. Dropping the bills onto the coffee table, he didn’t notice when some of them slid to the floor. The TV was off, thank God. Judy always had it blaring, when she wasn’t off at the mall with her friends, that is.
Claire . . . what were she and her husband doing at a GA meeting? This bothered Whitey. It was bad enough that this Claire was always talking Judy into buying things. What if she showed up at the next meeting and Judy started talking to her? What could this woman convince her to do if she actually talked to her—face-to-face?
Whitey walked into the kitchen and looked at the calendar, where they had all of Judy’s meetings written down. The next scheduled one was in five days.
That gave him less than a week to decide what to do.
Chapter 33
Gil was the first one out of bed the next morning. He wanted
to talk to Claire before she left for work, and he thought breakfast would be the perfect time.
“You made me eat that hot fudge sundae last night,” Claire playfully complained over her tea. “Now I’ll have to watch what I eat all day.” She bit into an English muffin slathered with peanut butter.
“I made you eat it?”
“Whose idea was it to go to Steak ’n Shake anyway?”
“I think it was Francine’s,” he said around a mouthful of muffin covered with butter and jelly.
“Yes, well ... what did you think of everything she said, now that you’ve slept on it?”
“She certainly knows everyone’s business over there.” Gil said. “And thank goodness she does, because now we’ve got Kathleen Sands’s address and can check it out today.”
“More relatives,” she said, shaking her head. “I still haven’t recovered from talking to Mary Dunn’s sister.”
“Well, I guess you’re excused, since you have to go into the station—but only if you have a note from your mother.”
Claire reached across the table and smoothed a piece of Gil’s hair down around his ear. “Did I ever tell you it’s your sense of humor that makes you so sexy?”
He kissed her hand. “What about my abnormally large muscles? And my handsome, rugged looks?”
She laughed. “See what I mean? You’re so funny!”
He faked a hurt look.
“But seriously,” Claire said, “maybe we should go together.”
“We can meet afterward and I’ll fill you in. Meanwhile, let’s talk about this Judy Belmont and her shopping group.”
“Could it be the same group Buxton told you about? What did he call them? Oh, yeah, the Shopping Fools.”
“Well, if it’s not the same, it’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“What do we do about it?”
“That’s simple,” Gil said. “We’ll have to talk to Judy Belmont.”
“How do we find her?”
“We’ll try the usual methods first.”
“Usual methods?” She grinned. “We’re starting to develop usual methods? You make us sound so professional.”
Murder Is the Deal of the Day Page 12
