“Why are we talking about this smut?” Alistair interrupted.
“Because you asked about it,” Jimmy said. He turned back to me. “Go ahead, Jessie.”
“Now, where was I?” I held up an index finger. “Oh, yes. I was explaining the happy ending. Adelé Nightingale insists on happy endings. So don’t you worry, Mr. Pritt. Willow shall overcome. She will gain the respect and regard of her fellow ranchers, and she will keep her beloved ranch. Willow LaSwann will prevail!” I raised my fist in the air, skipped a beat for effect, and sat back. “Unlike your niece, Darla Notari.”
Alistair’s face dropped about a mile.
Woman C said something to the director about cutting to a commercial.
“Later,” I heard him say.
“What’s this about a niece?” Jimmy asked as we got back on track of our prearranged script.
“Alistair’s niece, Darla Notari,” I said loud and clear. “You remember Officer Notari, Jimmy? She was on the police force here in Clarence before she took a job in Georgia.”
Of course Jimmy remembered. I had explained the whole nine yards of motive, means, and opportunity to him an hour earlier.
“Darla Notari.” He adopted a reflective pose. “She was killed in the line of duty, wasn’t she? About a year ago?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Darla Notari was killed exactly one year ago, last Saturday night.”
Alistair gasped, and I turned slowly to face him. “You must have been quite upset about it?”
Watching Alistair Pritt squirm was what was upsetting. And I was very uncomfortable speaking in such brash terms about his niece. But I thought about Miriam Jilton. And I recollected my goal—to infuriate the man who killed her.
“The timing is interesting, isn’t it, Jimmy? Darla Notari was killed exactly one year to the day before Miriam Jilton.”
Jimmy agreed that it was interesting.
“It’s also interesting how similar the two women were,” I said. “They remind me of each other.”
“Why does Darla Notari remind you of Miriam Jilton?” Jimmy was quite adept at following our invisible script.
“They were both such outstanding citizens, both so good at their jobs.” I glared at Alistair. “They were both stellar, and they were both murdered.”
“I covered Darla Notari’s funeral,” Jimmy continued relentlessly. “Channel 15 travelled down to Atlanta, as did half the police force. We went down to pay our respects. The public had a right to know about such a tragedy. A fine public servant like that? Someone who devoted her entire career to helping others. Someone who—”
“Stop it!” Alistair flung out his hands and knocked over his water glass. “Stop talking about her!”
Someone behind me again asked the director about a commercial break.
“Not on your life.” The director twirled an index finger at the cameraman. “Keep filming or you’re fired.”
The cameras kept rolling, as did Jimmy. “You want us to stop talking about Miriam Jilton?” he asked Alistair.
“No, you idiot! Stop talking about Darla.” He pointed at me. “How dare you even utter her name. Pornographer! Smut-monger! Murderer!”
“What!?” Jimmy said.
Alistair turned on him. “She’s a murderer, you idiot! You know it as well as I do. Why are you protecting her?”
“Protecting who?” Jimmy played dumb.
“Jessie Hewitt, you idiot!” Alistair pointed at me again. “She killed that Jilton woman in cold blood!”
“Blood!” I said loudly, and both heads snapped toward me.
“What!?”
I thought fast. “The murder scene was very bloody.” I kept thinking. “Exceedingly bloody. Whoever shot Miriam Jilton made a big huge bloody mess all over my car.”
Alistair sprang out of his chair. “You lie!” he screamed.
Woman A tried to get him to sit back down, but he was far too wound up. “She’s a pornographer!” he yelled at Jimmy. “She’s a murderer! And now she’s a liar!”
“How so?” Jimmy asked calmly.
“There was no blood, you idiot! She was strangled!”
I remained silent and let Jimmy do the dirty work. “Darla Notari was strangled?” he asked. “I always thought she was shot.”
“No, you idiot! Miriam Jilton was strangled!”
While I waited for Alistair to catch his breath, I chatted with Jimmy. “Now here’s another point I find interesting,” I said.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The police haven’t released the details on how exactly Miriam was murdered.”
I looked up at Alistair. “And so.” I paused. “The million-dollar question is, how do you know she was strangled?”
He stumbled backward, tripped over his chair, and fainted.
“Now!” the director shouted. “Now, cut to commercial!”
Chapter 38
“Can I give you a lift home?”
I glanced up from the prone figure of Alistair Pritt and into Jimmy Beak’s smiling face.
When pigs fly, I thought to myself. I said no thank you and tried to stand up, but somehow the skill escaped me. Joe the cameraman rushed over, and between them, he and Jimmy got me to my feet.
I thanked the guys for their assistance and planned my escape route. Alistair required a wide berth, as did A, B, and C. All three women had unceremoniously dropped their clipboards and other apparatus and were kneeling beside him, taking turns slapping him. I got past those obstacles, avoided the water Alistair had splattered, and picked my way toward the outskirts of the studio.
The going was slow since I was still a bit unsteady on my feet, and the entire floor was strewn with a variety of wires, cables, and other assorted junk. The human obstacles were even worse. Everyone and his brother—or at least every employee of Channel 15—felt compelled to get in my way and hinder my progress.
They patted me on the back and said things like “Off-the-charts ratings!” and “Justice is served!” and “Interview of the century!”
And then there were Jimmy and Joe to contend with. The two of them kept following me and insisting I needed a lift home. “You still don’t have your car,” Jimmy said. “And your fiancé’s too busy with his warrants to come get you.”
“We’ll bring you home, and then we can have tea,” Joe the cameraman suggested. “Do you happen to have that green tea your mother serves?”
“I prefer Earl Grey,” Jimmy informed me.
Needless to say, I was quite relieved when I saw Russell Densmore rushing toward me.
I waved to my knight in shining armor. “You-who,” I sang. “Over here, Lieutenant.”
Why was he ignoring me?
I tripped over a cable and landed in his path, and he stopped short.
He helped me to my feet, but his eyes were still focused on something behind me. “Are you okay?” he asked absently.
“I will be once you drive me home.”
Russell’s gaze finally met mine. “I’m sorry, Jessie,” he said. “You did great, but I can’t help you right now. I’m in charge of Pritt.”
“Bu—bu—but.”
He spoke to Jimmy. “Can you take her down to the police station?”
“No problemo.”
“Bu—bu—”
“That’s okay with you, isn’t it?” Russell looked at me. “The Captain will be there as soon as he’s done at Pritt’s place.”
The lieutenant didn’t wait for an answer, but moved off toward A, B, and C. The three women were now standing over Alistair, nudging him with the toes of their pumps.
I glanced sideways at Jimmy, who had yet to stop smiling.
***
Wilson offered me a hand as I stepped out of the Channel 15 News van and onto the curb at the police station. “Has hell frozen over?” he asked.
“You left me no other options,” I said. “Shame on Russell for choosing to guard Alistair instead of me.”
About then Joe popped out from the backdoor of the van, camera rolling.
“Beak!” Wilson shouted, and my chauffeur emerged from the driver’s side.
“No film?” Jimmy asked.
“Like, duh! You just had the interview of the century thanks to this woman.” Wilson wrapped an arm around me. “Get out of here.”
Jimmy looked at me. “I promise to make it real positive,” he said. “The public has a right to know.”
I shook my head and reminded Jimmy we had a deal.
“What is this deal?” Wilson asked. “You never did say.”
“Oh, nothing,” Jimmy and I sang in unison. He winked at me, waved Joe into the van, and off they drove.
“Yep,” Wilson said as the van disappeared. “Hell has frozen over.”
***
And speaking of startling and shocking, Wilson gave me a great big bear hug right there in front of the police station. Right there in front of—I surveyed our audience from over his shoulder—at least half the Clarence police force.
“Where did all these people come from?” I asked.
“Where did that scarf come from?”
“Why aren’t you at Alistair’s?”
“What’s the deal you made with Jimmy?”
But the answers to our questions would have to wait, since the crowd would not. They circled in to congratulate me on a job well done.
At some point, I did manage to learn why Wilson was with me and not searching Alistair Pritt’s house. Apparently he had left Tiffany Sass and the forensics team to finish up that detail.
“Sass is thorough,” he said as the last few cops gave me the requisite pat on the back. “I predict we’ll have evidence out the yin-yang.” He elbowed his way back toward me and the crowd gave us a little space. “Between that and what you pulled off tonight, we got him. You did great, Jessie.”
“But I didn’t get him to say why he killed her.”
Wilson assured me I had done enough. “That business about the blood was inspired.”
I shrugged modestly. “I knew Alistair would love catching me in a lie.”
Wilson tugged at my new scarf. “One more vice for the Queen of Smut.”
I blinked twice.
“What’s up?”
“Sex!” I shouted. “We need sex!”
I do believe the man actually blushed. And the cops surrounding us laughed out loud.
“Nooo!” I said. “Not we, we.” I slapped Wilson’s chest. “Not Wilson and me, we. I’m talking about Willow LaSwann and Kipp Jupiter!”
Wilson ignored the puzzled expressions surrounding us. “This have something to do with Willow’s well?” he asked.
“Nooo!” I waved my hands impatiently. “Forget about the well. This has nothing to do with the plumbing. The plumbing is meaningless.”
“It is?”
“It’s my title, Wilson! It’s all wrong.”
“But I thought we liked
A Singular Seduction
.”
“Not anymore. Don’t you see? Singular implies just one. Just one sex scene!” I gave him a meaningful look. “One,” I repeated, and he finally caught on.
“All wrong,” he said.
“But how about
Seduction in the Shadows
?” I held up an index finger. “Now that has possibilities! Every haystack in Hogan’s Hollow must cast a shadow somewhere! Shadows here, shadows there, shadows everywhere!”
“But what about Willow’s secret?” Wilson asked. “About being a woman?”
“It’s not just her secret anymore. It’s their secret!” I jumped up and down. “Willow and Kipp will both—both!—be hiding her true identity from the townsfolk.”
“You mean Kipp knows she’s a woman?”
“Oh, yes! He’s going to catch her right away. He’ll discover her secret before page ten.” I started. “No!” I was back to bouncing. “Before page five!”
“But how?”
I stopped bouncing.
Wilson grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Think, Jessie. How will Kipp find out she’s a girl?”
I slumped, and it was a good thing he was holding onto me.
“I don’t know,” I said in despair. “How?”
He was thinking. “I got it!” he shouted, and everyone and his brother jumped.
“You do?” we asked.
He glanced around and seemed startled that we still had an audience. “Don’t you people have work to do?” he asked the cops.
“Later,” several people said. “The story, Captain,” several others added. They pointed at me. “Jessie’s waiting.”
Wilson turned back to me. “Willow will be two people,” he said. “Willow and Will. She’ll pretend to be twins.”
I scowled. “Willow has a brother?”
“No! Don’t you know what pretend means? Willow LaSwann will pretend to be both herself and her brother Will. And Will will be the one who supposedly inherited the ranch from their-slash-her Uncle Hazard. And Kipp Jupiter will think there’s two of her-slash-them. And—” He stopped abruptly. “It’s too convoluted, isn’t it?”
I smiled into the baby blues. “Heck, no,” I said. “It’s inspired.”
“It is?”
I reminded him convoluted plot twists were Adelé Nightingale’s middle name and dove on in. “Willow will be forever changing in and out of men’s and women’s clothes to keep up this twins pretense. And that’s how Kipp will learn the truth. He’ll catch her in Will’s clothes, but she’ll have forgotten to bind her bosom. And, well, you get the picture.”
Wilson considered the possibilities. “Once Kipp knows the truth about Willow, they can get together, right?”
“Correct.” I kept thinking. “But for some reason—as yet to be disclosed—they’ll still need to rendezvous in secret.” I batted my eyelashes. “And you can trust Adelé Nightingale on this, Captain Rye. There is nothing quite like secret sex to get the libido flowing. Maxine Carlisle devotes two chapters to that topic!”
“
Sensual and Scintillating
,” Wilson told his colleagues. “
The Sex Scene Handbook
.”
“
For Today’s Romance Writer
.” I tapped my head with all ten fingertips. “I have got to get home, Wilson. The sex scenes are racing through Adelé’s head.”
“What about Auntie Abigail?”
“Auntie Who?” I asked impatiently. “Surely I’ve mentioned Uncle Hazard was a confirmed bachelor?”
For some reason Wilson was smiling as he moved me backward toward the nearest patrol car. He held onto the top of my head and guided me into the vehicle. At least he put me in the passenger seat, and not behind the bars in the back.
“Get her to the corner of Sullivan and Vine,” he told the patrolman in the driver’s seat. He twirled an index finger over his head, and the cop beside me flicked a switch on the dashboard.
I barely had time to register the flashing blue lights and siren before we peeled out.
Epilogue
“I can’t believe it,” Frankie Smythe stared at the red light in front of us. “I cannot believe it!”