Doreen guffawed. “If Hastie’s Diner is a resort, then the Wade On Inn is a five-star hotel.”
“Harmon used to take me to Hawaii,” Ethel mused. “He took me to all kinds of nice places to keep me in the dark.”
“Who’s Harmon?” I asked, endeavoring to change the subject.
“Ethel’s gorgeous-to-a-fault dead husband,” Doreen answered. “And she certainly was in the dark.”
Spencer mentioned he would like to take his wife to Hawaii and began interrogating me about places to stay and things to do.
“You might want to check out the beaches,” I suggested brilliantly.
Chapter 7
“What happened to your hair?” Gina Stone asked as she swept by me with her drink tray.
Ahhh. It was good to be home. Or at least back at The Stone Fountain, where the Korbel was cold, the music was stellar, and Wilson was waiting. I breathed deep and soaked in the sweet sounds of The Rolling Stones, and by the time I thought to answer Gina, she was long gone.
Her husband Matthew was another matter. He stood riveted at his station behind the bar. “Jessie?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “Is that really you?”
I mumbled something about it being my publisher’s idea, and fielded the same question from a few others, as my friends and I maneuvered our way toward the far end of the bar.
Candy was locating our usual barstools, and Karen and I were having a friendly dispute over the musical talents of Carl Wicket versus Mick Jagger, when I spotted Wilson. I stopped dead in my tracks.
For there at my friendly neighborhood pool table was Wilson Rye, hovering ever so intimately over the voluptuous young body of Tiffany Sass. Their left hands were outstretched together, guiding the cue they shared, while their right hands gripped the lower end of the stick, down near Tiffany’s curvaceous right hip. Mick Jagger may not have been getting much satisfaction, but my beau certainly was.
“Oh boy,” Karen whispered.
“Gosh,” Candy contributed as I took off my pince-nez and dropped them into her outstretched hand.
I glared full force at my soon-to-be ex-beau, but Wilson didn’t even flinch.
At least my pool-playing buddies Kirby and Gus recognized me. But then again, they were not lucky enough to be groping Tiffany Sass, which must have been distracting indeed.
Gus glanced at Wilson and Tiffany, and then at me. “Oh boy,” he agreed with Karen.
Kirby saluted me. “Play a game?” he asked.
“I would love to, Kirby,” I said. “That is, once Captain Rye wraps things up.”
Ahhh. It seems Wilson did recognize my voice. The cad did a quick double take, and lickety-split, popped his happy torso into vertical position.
He cleared his throat and spoke to Tiffany as she struggled to stand upright. “We’re about done here,” he told her.
“Oh really, Wilson?” I said. “It looked to me like you were just getting started.”
Everyone within earshot made a great big effort to direct their attention elsewhere, but Tiffany remained unfazed. She smoothed down her blouse and actually looked me in the eye.
“Oh hi, Jessie,” she said, all perky-like. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your new hair.” I curled my lip as she continued, “The Captain was showing me a few tricks.”
“Yes, Tiffany,” I said. “I noticed that.”
I grabbed the cue stick from my dumbfounded beau and stepped up to the table as Ms. Sass settled her pert young derriere onto my damn barstool.
Poor Kirby. Even in the best of circumstances his lack of pool-playing talent rivals Melissa Purcell. And that night he couldn’t help but be distracted by my new hairdo and foul mood.
I wasn’t in my best form either. I mean, I had already shot pool for hours. And how was I supposed to concentrate with my soon-to-be ex-beau hovering over Tiffany Sass? First, at the pool table, then at the bar, and by the time I had finished my game against Kirby, they were cozying up together in one of the booths. Even with Karen and Candy chaperoning from the opposite side of the table, Wilson was barely managing to keep his middle-aged hormones in check.
Testimony to my infinite maturity and self-control, I refrained from screaming and walked over.
***
“That accounts for one of your hands,” I mumbled as Wilson glanced up and gave me the glass of champagne he had waiting for me.
I was busy glaring, and he was busy pretending not to know why, when Lieutenant Densmore joined us. No doubt Tiffany would have offered to sit on the Captain’s lap to make room for us all, but Wilson stood up.
“You two go on home,” he told Russell and Tiffany. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Tiffany scooted herself out of the booth, and I watched my beau watch his staff depart.
Only when the Sass ass was out of sight did he turn to me. “All of us sitting together like that would have attracted attention.”
“Tiffany does seem to attract attention,” I agreed and took the seat opposite Karen.
When Wilson sidled in next to me, I pushed myself farther into the corner. He stared at my hair, but made zero comment. The man is not a complete idiot.
Candy broke the silence. “We’ve been talking about Lester Quinn, Jessie. It’s so sad.”
“Quinn? As in Elsa and Mackenzie?”
“The husband and father,” Karen said. “Candy found out he was shot a few years ago. Right at the Wade On Inn.”
“He was killed,” Candy elaborated. “Mackenzie doesn’t remember it, but she told me about it.”
I scowled at Wilson. “Did you know about this?”
He nodded and reminded me about the shoot out Fritz Lupo had been involved in years earlier. “Lester Quinn was the guy who ended up dead. Elsa and Mackenzie, who was about two at the time, witnessed the whole thing.”
“Wilson!” I practically shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me the details before?”
“The less you knew, the less chance you would go in there with pre-conceived notions.” He tilted his head toward Candy. “And our brilliant friend here did a good job discovering the details all on her own. I take it you got sick of hanging around the pool table?” he asked her.
“I got sick of Spencer Erring,” Candy answered. “Mackenzie was lots more interesting. And guess what?”
She sat forward and waited until we asked what.
“Mackenzie used to talk with Angela Hernandez all the time! Did you know that, Wilson? She’s taking Spanish in school, and she used to practice with Angela. They talked about boys. In Spanish!”
Wilson also sat forward. “What boys?”
“Gosh, we didn’t get into the details.”
“My guess would be Bobby Decker the wannabe cowboy,” I said. “I think Mackenzie has a crush on him. And apparently he and Angela Hernandez were an item.”
“What!?” Karen seemed shocked. But one glance at my beau informed me he was less so.
“You knew about this, too?” I asked.
“Preconceived notions,” he reminded me. “But yes, Bobby Decker used to brag about sleeping with Angela. He’s changed his story now that she’s dead.”
Karen took a large gulp of her Corona.
“Bobby’s also the person who found both the bodies,” I said, and she emitted a slight squeak. I tapped Wilson’s hand. “And we all know from personal experience what Captain Rye thinks of the poor souls who happen to find dead bodies on their property.”
“I suspect them.” He was studying Karen. “You have something to tell me about Bobby Decker?”
“She danced with him.” That was Candy.
“She likes the music,” I added.
“Especially Isabelle Eakes and The Cornhuskers,” Karen said. “So when Bobby asked me to dance, I said sure.”
“The Cornhuskers?” Wilson asked.
“I love their stuff.” She twisted her Corona, and I noticed she was blushing. “Bobby didn’t tell me he found the bodies, but he did say he lives nearby.”
“And?” the rest of us asked in unison.
“And.” She continued admiring her beer. “And he invited me out to see his place sometime. To show me his guitar.”
“His guitar?” I said.
“Hey, I don’t plan to take him up on it.”
“Why not?” Candy asked. “Bobby’s kind of cute.”
“Bobby Decker is a suspect,” Wilson reminded her before glancing at me. “And his trailer makes my place look like the Taj Mahal.”
I grimaced at that downright frightening notion. Wilson’s little cabin—or shall I say shack—on the banks of Lake Lookadoo might have spectacular views, but the furniture is anything but. Ditto on the plumbing.
I spoke to Karen. “Do not go there,” I said sternly. “Trust me on this.”
She shrugged. “Whatever he lives in now, Bobby’s family used to own everything out that way. Something like four hundred acres, including the Wade On Inn.”
“No way,” Wilson said. “Decker’s family never owned the Wade On Inn. Elsa’s family is solely responsible for that hell-hole.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But the Rice family owned it back when it was still a working mill. Bobby’s mother was a Rice before she got married.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Wilson was clearly impressed with this new info. “Are you willing to keep dancing with the cowboy?”
“Hey, I like the music.”
He turned to Candy. “And you’ll keep talking to Mackenzie Quinn?”
“I’ll see what she knows about Bobby and Angela, okay?”
“And anything else she cares to mention,” Wilson suggested. “Mackenzie Quinn seems like a good kid. Amazing, considering the environment she’s grown up in. She’s been doing her homework in that bar since grade school.”
“It hasn’t done her any harm,” I said. “According to Elsa, she’s a straight-A student.”
“But they live there, too, Jessie. The Quinns live on the third floor over the hotel, which gives that poor kid a bird’s eye view of everything that goes on out there.”
“Do you think one of them saw the shootings?” Karen asked.
“Not that they’re telling me.” Wilson groaned. “No one out there has told me much of anything.”
“They like to keep to themselves,” Candy said.
“They protect each other,” Karen added.
Wilson raised an eyebrow. “They also kill each other.”
Chapter 8
“Puddles!” Candy exclaimed, and we all jumped. “I’m sorry, Wilson, but I have to go.” She stood up as I explained her puppy-sitting arrangement with Peter Harrison.
“Well then, let’s go rescue Mr. Harrison,” Wilson said. “I mean Puddles,” he corrected himself. “I haven’t met him yet.”
Karen told him he was in for a treat, and the four of us walked home to retrieve Puddles from a weary and worn Peter Harrison.
The poor old guy. As if spending an entire evening with Puddles weren’t exhausting enough, he also had the added shock of seeing me in my new look for the first time. Luckily Wilson was there to catch him when he just about fainted.
But Peter quickly recovered his jolly smile, made some excuse about being a bit tired due to the lateness of the hour, and swore to Candy that her puppy had been no trouble at all.
“Only one piddle all evening,” he said brightly.
Puddles made up for lost time the moment we got him out to Sullivan Street. As the puppy rounded the fire hydrant for the third time, Wilson reminded us we still had a lot of ground to cover.
“I know it’s late,” he said. “But what else did you ladies notice tonight?”
“Karen noticed the bouncer.” Candy bent down to tell Puddles what a good boy he was. “She danced with him, too.”
We started walking down Vine Street, deserted at such a late hour, and Karen described her conversation with Henry Jack the Bible-toting bouncer. “He goes to some new church,” she told us. “The Zion Tabernacle of Praise and Prophecy.”
“You know this how?” Wilson asked.
“Umm, Henry might have invited me to go to church with him.”
Wilson chuckled. “Is there anyone out there who didn’t ask you for a date, Ms. Sembler?”
“Hey, I’m a good dancer.”
“When Henry wasn’t flirting with Karen, he was thumping his Bible at me,” I said. “Apparently his pastor, a guy named Muckenfuss, has ordered Henry to wipe out sin at the Wade On Inn.”
“Muckenfuss?” Wilson asked.
“Isn’t it great? I guarantee an evil Lord Muckenfuss will make an appearance in my next book. Especially since he has Henry convinced that all pool players are going straight to hell.”
Speaking of hell, about then we passed 209 Vine, and I glanced up at the second floor window. The lights were out in Ian’s office. That lumpy couch must have been comfy enough after all.
“Something up there?” Wilson asked, and I shifted my attention back to Puddles, who had managed to twist his leash around one of Candy’s stilettos.
“Maybe Henry Jack killed those people,” she said as she struggled to disentangle herself. “You know, if he thought they were sinners?”
Wilson bent down to hold Puddles, and Candy freed her foot. He glanced up at Karen. “You willing to keep dancing with him?”
“Oh sure,” she said. “I’m way better at dancing than I am at gambling.”
He stood up. “Don’t tell me you were all betting?”
“It was fun,” Candy answered as we turned toward home. “Jessie taught us what to do.”
Wilson frowned at me for good measure and asked how my evening went. “Tell me everything, Little Girl Cue-It.” He put an arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. “Except how you managed to get your hair that color.”
I reminded my soon-to-be ex-beau that my disguise was his idea, and that I did not appreciate being addressed by my childhood nickname. “Only Daddy got to call me that.”
“The Wade On Inn?” he prompted, and I told him it wasn’t at all what I expected.
“Everyone seemed so sweet and innocent.” I began counting the regulars off on my fingers. “Bobby Decker the wannabe cowboy with his shucks here and jeepers there, Elsa the adoring mother, Mackenzie the stellar student.” I waved my hands. “Quirky old ladies, yuppies, poor Melissa Purcell just hoping to play better someday. I swear it seemed almost wholesome.”
“Excuse me?”
“Of course, my favorite was Avis Sage.” I smiled at the thought of Mr. Sage after all these years. “What a sweet old man.”
“That sweet old man is my prime suspect.”
“What!?” my friends and I said in unison, and even Puddles yipped at the idea.
“We’re talking about the little old black guy?” Karen asked. “The one who’s no bigger than Kiddo here?”