I watched Gabby sip her champagne, and for the first time noticed she was in quite a disarray. Like my first guest of the day, my latest visitor wore a business suit. But while Roslynn Mayweather had been clean, crisp, and pressed, Gabby Yates was anything but. Somewhere along the line she had slipped off her pumps, her hose had a run, and her hair looked something like Karen’s does on an average day.
“You’ve had a rough day,” I said.
“An understatement. And you?”
I offered a brief summary of my trials and tribulations, and Gabby did the same.
“First an emergency session with the school board,” she said. “Then the
Clarence Courier
called, then the mayor. Then I had a three-hour meeting with the state education commissioner. I barely had time to watch Jimmy Beak’s report this evening.”
She gave me a sideways look. “At least the book-banning demonstration kept him out of my hair. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” I mumbled.
“I thought I was home free for the evening, but then our Congressman caught me on my cell phone on my way over here.”
“Wow,” I said. “You really do need some bourbon.”
Gabby held up her champagne glass. “This is quite nice,” she said. “And please don’t get me wrong, Jessie. I love my job—I embrace my responsibilities. But I can’t concentrate on education until this useless tragedy gets cleared up.”
“You care a lot,” I said.
“I didn’t earn my nickname for nothing.”
“The nickname doesn’t bother you?”
“The Dr. Yikes label means I’m doing my job. Just like the Queen of Smut label means you’re doing yours.”
I harkened back to something I had read in the paper, and congratulated Gabby on the latest SAT scores for the county.
She smiled broadly. “I am so proud of our high-schoolers! And our grade-schoolers. Our fourth-grade reading levels are among the highest in the state this year!”
“Thank you, Dr. Yikes.”
“You’re very welcome. But if you really want to thank me, you’ll solve this murder.”
She rummaged around in her purse and pulled out an ID badge. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the photograph.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“From the back of
My South Pacific Paramour
.” Gabby rummaged some more and whipped out a lanyard in Clarence High School’s purple and orange colors. She attached my ID and dangled it in front of me. “Here you go. Your hall pass!”
I grabbed it just as Snowflake got interested. I jiggled it in front of the cat and spoke to Gabby. “You didn’t actually read
My South Pacific Paramour
?”
“Of course I did. But
Windswept Whispers
is your true masterpiece.”
I pointed to
Sensual and Scintillating
. “That one got high marks from Ms. Carlisle also.”
“Please don’t tell anyone I read romance, Jessie. It could ruin my reputation.”
My face fell. “Oh no,” I said. “That kind of attitude is the problem.”
To her credit, Gabby understood immediately. “I’m being a hypocrite, aren’t I?”
“Sorry, but yes. Many intelligent people read romances. But as long as they do so behind closed doors—”
“—people like Alistair Pritt get away with their insults,” Gabby finished for me. “Let’s make a deal, Jessie. I’ll proclaim to the whole wide world, or at least to Jimmy Beak, that I read your books and am proud of it. And you’ll solve this murder.” She smiled slyly. “Deal?”
I smiled slyly. “Deal,” I said and retrieved my hall pass from the cat.
***
The intercom buzzed, and I jumped about ten feet.
“Who’s that?” Gabby looked alarmed.
“Jimmy Beak.” I winced, scowled, and made other unhappy faces, but my guest seemed relieved.
“There’s no time like the present,” she said. “Invite him up, and we’ll discuss my reading habits.”
I glanced at Snowflake. “Jimmy will be much less scary with Dr. Yikes on our side.”
“Scary-schmary.” Gabby pointed to the intercom as she put her shoes back on. “Answer that.”
I buzzed in my next guest. “Come on up, Jimmy!” I said brightly.
“I’m not Jimmy, but thanks,” a female voice answered. “I’m on my way.”
I squinted at Gabby. “Who’s that?”
She shrugged and shook her head, and insisted she should be going. “I’ll track down Jimmy Beak tomorrow,” she said as she stood up. “I know where to find him.” She winked and was gone.
I listened in my open doorway as Gabby made her way down the stairs, and my next visitor made her way up the stairs. They exchanged a greeting on the second story landing, and soon my mystery guest stood before me.
She held out her hand and identified herself. “Dianne Calloway,” she said.
And I fainted.
Chapter 10
A bit melodramatic, you’re thinking?
Well, let me fill you in. Dianne Calloway is Wilson Rye’s former fiancée. Dianne Calloway is a convicted killer. Dianne Calloway bludgeoned her ex-husband to death with a broomstick. So yes, I fainted. I mean really.
In addition, the woman standing before me—make that, standing over me—had fingered Wilson for the murder. Wilson proved his innocence and sent Dianne to prison.
My eyes fluttered open. “You’re out of prison.”
“Duh.”
Snowflake sniffed around my nose and mouth, but the other figure hovering above me had my full attention.
No visible weapons. No purse, even. And definitely no broomstick.
“Are you, or are you not, going to let me in?”
Okay, so clearly “not” would have been the better choice. But I was exceedingly flustered. And by the time I thought of responding, Dianne had already stepped over me.
She found her way to the couch, I struggled to my feet and took an easy chair, and Snowflake sat on my lap. Bless her heart, I appreciated the moral support, but I almost wished she had positioned herself at her safety spot on the refrigerator.
I kept my eyes on Dianne, ready for any sudden movement.
She reached out, I jumped ten feet in the air, and Snowflake flew to the refrigerator.
“Geeeez!” She sat back, a copy of
S and S
in hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t even bring my broomstick.”
“What do you want?” I snapped.
Dianne pretended to be engrossed in
Sensual and Scintillating
. “I could use a bourbon on the rocks,” she said without so much as looking up.
Trust me. I wasn’t that flustered.
I did, however, get up and move to the kitchen. An excellent place, in close proximity to the phone, and the knives.
“What’s that number?” I asked Snowflake as I grabbed the phone. “Nine.” I made a production of hitting the nine. “One.” Another production. “One.” I glanced over, my finger poised to push.
“Okay, okay.” Dianne dropped the book. “I’ll talk to you.”
“Gee thanks.” I put the phone down.
She pointed to the easy chair, but I assured her I was quite content in the kitchen. “I keep my knives over here.”
“Oh, and you’re really prepared to protect yourself with a paring knife?”
I frowned at my knife block. “Maybe.”
“Maybe you need to come up with a better threat.”
“How about, I have Wilson on speed-dial.”
Now that got a reaction. My guest emitted a rather creative string of four-letter words.
“That was educational,” I said when she came up for air.
“Prison was good for something.”
“I enjoy learning new words,” I said for lack of anything better. “I’m a writer.”
“I know who you are. A copy of
Everlasting Encounter
floated around my cellblock for over a year. I read it four times.”
“Thank you.”
“There was nothing else to read.”
I folded my arms and glared, and told Ms. Calloway she had a choice. “You can tell me why you’re here, or I can call Wilson, or I can threaten you with my paring knife. Take your pick.”
“Would you give me a break?” She let out an elaborate sigh. “I was curious about you, okay? Haven’t you been curious about me?”
I swallowed a sigh of my own, mumbled something about regretting this later, and went back to the living room. “Don’t you live in Raleigh?” I asked.
She did. But apparently she was in Clarence for the day, visiting an uncle.
“Uncle John is the only person in my family who’s still talking to me,” she said. “He keeps me posted on Wilson and you.”
My mouth dropped. “You’re spying on us?”
She told me not to flatter myself. “I’m only here to see my uncle.”
“You’re in my home, Dianne. And you’ve already admitted you’re curious.”
“Jimmy Beak certainly thinks you’re curious.”
“Would you please leave?” I said cordially.
I meant my condo, but Dianne pretended to misunderstand. She told me she was due back in Raleigh the next day. “I have rules to follow, you know?”
No, I didn’t know. But I assumed the rules had something to do with parole. “Well then!” I stood up. “You need to go home and get some rest.”
She remained seated.
I swung my arms back and forth toward the door to clarify my intensions.
She remained seated.
“When’s the wedding?” she asked, and I dropped my arms.
She smirked. “You’re stalling.”
“Speaking of which, you can leave now.”
“I don’t blame you for stalling. When it comes to Wilson, you should be cautious.”
I folded my arms and glared. Or maybe I was already doing that.
“Nooo,” she sang and pretended to assess her manicure. “I don’t see you guys marrying at all. And I have excellent intuition about these things.”
“You need to leave,” I said.
She was busy with the smirking, and I was busy trying to quell the nausea, when the phone rang.
“Saved by the bell!” she chirped as I stepped away to answer. “I bet that’s Wilson.”
“Yes, Dianne.” I picked up the phone. “You’re downright brilliant.”
***
“Who’s brilliant?” Wilson asked.
“Umm. Snowflake.”
“You two feel like company?”
“Two?” I blinked at my unwanted guest.
“You and Snowflake. Are you okay, Jessie? Did I call too late?”
I told him that wasn’t exactly the issue and asked where he was.
“At the corner. I’m on my way up,” he said and clicked off.
***
“Shiiiiiit!”
I repeated the sentiment several times and gestured frantically for Dianne to stand up. “Would you get out of here, already!” I said, and the woman finally got the hint.
She stood up and strolled—and I do mean strolled—toward my door.
I rushed ahead, opened the door, and waved both arms. Maybe the air current would move her along.
“You have got to get out of here,” I said in case it still wasn’t clear. “Wilson is on his way!”
“I knew that.” She tapped her temple. “Intuition.”
“Yeah, right.” I pushed her over the threshold. “Even my cat could tell you what’s going on here.”
In fact, Snowflake jumped onto the kitchen counter, presumably to have a better view of the world war that promised to ensue if Wilson Rye found Dianne Calloway on my doorstep.
“He uses the stairs,” I said as I none-too-gently prodded her into the elevator. I pushed the down button and said a little prayer of thanks when the door closed.
“What are you doing pacing around out here?” Wilson was on the top step when I twirled around.
“Oh!” I exclaimed and then caught myself.
“Ohhhh,” I tried again. “Umm, I was acting out a scene from my book.” I waved a hand at nothing in particular. “Trying to get the timing just right.”
“It must be some fast-paced timing,” he said as he stepped inside my condo. “You’re all sweaty.”
***
I laughed nonchalantly, or perhaps hysterically, and was even more giddy when Wilson made a beeline for my coffee table. Surely my supply of
Sensual
and Scintillating
would distract him. It had all my other guests.
But no. He stood over the table, his back to me, and I remembered the incriminating champagne glasses Gabby and I had been using.
“Candy was here earlier,” I lied.
“She give you this?” He turned around with my Clarence High School Hall Pass dangling from his fingertips, and I made a giant leap across the room.
I grabbed the lanyard and whisked it away to the kitchen.
“What is that?” Wilson was following me.
“Oh, nothing.” I rummaged around in my junk drawer looking for a place to hide the stupid thing. “It’s my Hall of Fame badge.” That sounded good. “Roslynn delivered it this morning. You remember? She was here this morning?”
“Your what?”
“My Romance Writers Hall of Fame badge.” I concentrated on maintaining a straight face. “Perpetual Pleasures Press asked Roslynn to present it to me. They didn’t want to put it in the mail. It’s quite an honor, you see.”
“No, I don’t see.” He was struggling to get a view around me. “Especially since you’re hiding it under your hammer.”
I slammed the drawer shut.
He backed off and studied me. I concentrated on looking innocent.
“What is that thing?” He pointed to the kitchen drawer but kept his eyes on me. “Who’s been drinking your champagne?” He pointed to the glasses on the coffee table. “And who was in the elevator?”
“Elevator?” I asked. “What elevator?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m so happy you don’t have a car right now. Whatever you’re up to, you’re home and staying out of trouble.”
I had news for the guy.
But deftly avoiding the what’s-Jessie-been-up-to tangent of conversation, I steered him toward that popular spot on my couch, and pointed out the nearest copy of
S and S
. And lo and behold, he picked up the book.
I winked at Snowflake and headed back to the kitchen. “Champagne?” I asked.
“What I could really use is some bourbon.”
***
He got champagne.
“How was your day?” I asked as Snowflake and I sat down. “Did you find the killer?”
“I found nothing.” Wilson frowned at his bubbly. “There’s no motive. Miriam Jilton was well-liked and a good teacher. Pretty tough, by all accounts.”
“So I hear—” I cleared my throat. “Could a disgruntled student have killed her?”
“Densmore’s looking into it.” Wilson caught my eye and told me there was another possibility involving students. “It has a connection to you.”