Black Beans & Vice (13 page)

Murphy laughed. "Everyone really does wear black in New
York. I'd forgotten how all the Quincy's Gap ladies wear Pepto-
Bismol suits and Beatrix Potter hats."

"The whole Valley is more colorful than your concrete jungle."
James felt defensive of his beloved berg. "And there's a great pizza
place in town now, so I don't think The Big Apple's got much on
us.

"Right. Except for Broadway, the Met, unparalleled architecture, dozens of fabulous restaurants, and the latest trends in fashion, I guess Manhattan can't hold a candle to this place" She gestured out the window with a mocking smile.

James frowned. "If New York is such a utopia, why come back
to the sticks?"

Murphy smoothed her glossy hair. "In all honesty, it wasn't
easy to make friends there. I couldn't enjoy my success in a sea of
anonymity. My family is here in Shenandoah and frankly, I missed
the hustle and bustle of putting out The Star. Now, I own the
paper and a house that I've always admired but could never have
afforded."

"You've got nerves of steel, to move back after insulting half
the town in your infamous book." He'd never before infused such
a beloved noun with that much spite. "Now, how may a humble
librarian be of service today?"

Putting both hands on her angular hips, Murphy sighed in
exasperation. "My novels are works of fiction! When are you ever
going to accept that fact? And I'm here on a professional basis, especially if the rumor about your having a kid with your ex-wife is
true"

"Your sources are correct. I have a son. His name is Eliot Henry."
James felt such pleasure in imparting this information to his former
flame.

Murphy took a step deeper into his office, her posture akin to
that of a stalking panther. "So are you all living together in your
sweet yellow house on Hickory Hill Lane?"

There was no cynicism in her tone; she was genuinely interested in his current circumstances, and it gave him a juvenile satisfaction to leave her thirst for information unquenched. As though
she hadn't spoken, he came around to the front of his desk and indicated she should accompany him out of the library's inner sanctum. "How can I help you today, Ms. Alistair?"

"I'd like to interview you for a piece I'm writing on Ned Woodman," she answered after studying him for a moment. Murphy
knew that his formal tone meant he was through discussing his
personal life.

James shrugged in resignation. "I can't help you there. I only
knew him because he was a councilman and his name and photo
appeared in the paper a few times."

"But you found his body!" Murphy protested. "Surely you must
have some reaction. Do you think his death could be linked to the
presence of the animal rights demonstrators at the festival?"

It wouldn't do for James to be misquoted regarding the demonstrators or the Wellness Village. "What do you mean? He had
a heart attack. It's not like he was murdered by one of the protestors."

"Maybe he was, though we'll never know because his wife refused an autopsy;" Murphy replied breezily. "He's had two previous
surgeries for blocked arteries, so Donna Woodman didn't seem
too surprised by the diagnosis."

Studying her face and the glint in her eyes, James knew Murphy was chasing a tantalizing lead. "You don't think his death was
an accident?"

"He was a councilman, James. When guys like him die young I
always take a second look at their lives. According to my sources,
Ned was acting odd the day he kicked the bucket." Her mouth
curved in a predatory grin. "Those two facts are enough to make
me want to dig deeper. Once you tell me how he looked when you
found him, I plan to investigate his recent political activities."

Apparently, Murphy's success as a novelist hadn't cooled her
interest in dragging skeletons out of the townsfolk's closets. "Sorry, I have no comment. I don't want Ned's family to read a detailed
report of the man they loved lying facedown in a bathroom stall."

"Even though you're not going to help me, I'd like to assure
you that my article will be a tasteful memorial piece," Murphy
promised and then turned away. Over her shoulder she added,
"Unless the councilman did something improper. If so, the community deserves to know the whole truth."

Again, he spotted that glimmer in her eye. It was a hunger, a
lust for bringing secrets to light and for the briefest of moments,
he wondered how far Murphy Alistair would go to get what she
wanted. Was it possible that she'd moved back to Quincy's Gap in
order to reignite their relationship? Why was she so interested in
his living arrangements? Was she capable of nailing a dead crow to
Jane's front door?

A patron requiring assistance in the audio book section interrupted his brief but disturbing musings. After discussing the
merits of the new Baldacci release versus the latest offerings from
Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, the thriller fan checked out
both titles and left the library with a jaunty stride. James envied
the man an afternoon spent in a deck chair, listening to a book
with his eyes closed and a cold drink in his hand.

"I see your old girlfriend's back, Professor," Scott whispered as
both men completed organizational tasks behind the circulation
desk. "She wouldn't listen when I asked her to wait out here so I
could warn you she was on the prowl." The younger man ran his
hands through his hair, his forehead creased in concern. "That's
the perfect phrase for her, Professor. Especially now. She's got that
look about her-like she's caught the scent of wounded prey and
is just waiting for the right opportunity to pounce."

Francis had appeared from the break room in time to hear his
brother's metaphor. "Are you the prey?" he asked James.

"Lord, I hope not!" James answered glumly.

When James left work at five, he stepped out beneath a blue sky filled
with sunshine. Inhaling the scent of fresh-cut grass, he stretched out
his arms as if he could embrace the beauty of the spring afternoon.
Then and there, he decided he would not allow Murphy's return to
affect the good things happening in his life.

In the meantime, he had important issues to consider, such as
what to bring to Gillian's house for dinner. It was her turn to host
the Supper Club meeting and she'd sent a dictatorial email the day
before announcing that dinner was to be comprised of all vegetarian dishes.

"No pizza either!" She'd written. "If Eliot Henry can eat balanced meals at four-years-of-age, then the rest of us can come up
with something creative and colorful to grace our plates. I'll be preparing a sumptuous sushi platter."

James wasn't overly fond of sushi. He liked a few of the identifiable selections, such as California or Philly rolls, but in general,
he preferred not to subject his digestive tract to uncooked fish.
Bennett had replied to Gillian's email by saying there was an afternoon staff meeting at the post office so he'd make it to her place
by six o'clock sharp. With no time to cook, he planned to show
up with a bagged salad. Lucy had quickly volunteered to bring a
sugar-free dessert from the town's bakery, The Sweet Tooth. Like
James, she was a bonafide carnivore and probably didn't want to
bear the responsibility for a vegetarian entree. Luckily, Lindy of fered to make a meatless moussaka casserole, leaving James with
the responsibility of preparing what Gillian called, "a healthy side
dish to bring finesse to the meal."

Wanting his contribution to echo the Greek food theme of Lindy's dish, James checked out two cookbooks from the library. Sitting in Food Lion's parking lot, he flipped through the books until
he found a quick and easy recipe for Cucumber and Feta Salad.

At home, he changed into shorts and a T-shirt, tuned his radio
to the local country station, and sang along to Brad Paisley's latest hit as he cut two cucumbers lengthwise and removed the seeds
with a spoon. After chopping the cucumbers into cubes, he put
them in a bowl, sprinkled them with salt and then added chopped
green onions to the mixture. The next ingredient was a container
of feta cheese-the brand that came packaged with a blend of
black pepper, basil, oregano, garlic, and sun-dried tomato. Lastly,
James drizzled lemon juice and olive oil onto the salad with panache while pretending that he was being filmed for The Food
Network.

"Delicious and nutritious!" he declared to an imaginary cameraman.

Covering the bowl with plastic wrap, James grabbed the bouquet of sunflowers he'd purchased for the hostess and drove off. As
he pulled up in front of the colorful Victorian, he saw Gillian and
Bennett on the porch swing. Clearly, his friends hadn't heard the
sound of his truck engine. In fact, he didn't think they were aware
of much, being far too busy kissing. James smiled as he spotted
Bennett's bagged salad on the welcome mat. It seemed that the
mailman had only arrived a few minutes before James, dumped his salad to the floor, and dragged his girlfriend over to the porch
swing where he could greet her properly.

James cleared his throat as he walked up the path and then
quickly dropped to one knee and feigned the need to tie his shoe
lace. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friends leap apart.

"The whole country knows you two are an item." James stood
up and grinned. "Bennett, you announced your feelings for Gillian
on live television! A million people know your story. Why do you
still try to keep your relationship under wraps?"

Gillian's face was nearly as red as her hair. Looping her arm
through Bennett's she said, "We don't want our friendship with
you and Lindy and Lucy to change. When the five of us are together, Bennett and I want to continue being our individual per„
songs.

"So the moment we're not around, you turn all lovey-dovey?"
James teased.

Bennett squirmed. "Look, my man. We live in a small town.
Plenty of folks have a hard time acceptin' a mixed-race couple. I
figure it's best not to shove it in their faces, you know?"

He picked up his bagged salad and walked into the house,
James following closely on his heels, surprised that Gillian hadn't
contradicted Bennett by declaring that the two of them could
change the world by changing the point of view of a select few.
He'd certainly heard her make similar pronouncements about
dozens of other subjects.

James placed his salad bowl on Gillian's wooden farm table and
studied his friends. "You can't act as if nothing is different. You're
in love. To hell with what people think. Look how long it took you
to find each other. Don't let any more time get away from you!"

Gillian paused in the act of setting the table. She put a hand on
James' forearm. "Are you sure you're still talking about us? I can
sense a struggle going on within you. Has your relationship with
Jane entered into a new phase?"

Flummoxed over the tables turning as well as the accuracy of
Gillian's statements, James was saved from having to answer by
Lucy's arrival. The moment she stepped into the kitchen, Gillian's
rotund tabby, the Dalai Lama, immediately stopped bathing his
hindquarters and growled. Lucy looked down at the bristling feline and hissed in return. "You've smelled my dogs for years now.
Get over yourself, cat."

"You should try to approach the Dalai with respect and gentleness," Gillian suggested. "Animals know when a human dislikes
them and it's hard to change their minds once they view you as a
hostile invader."

"Hrmph. Hostile invader. What am I, an eighties video game?"
Lucy grunted.

Lindy appeared in time to elbow her friend in the side. "You
sound cranky, Deputy." She smiled and then bent down to scratch
the Dalai on the neck. "What's up?"

"I am not cranky, I'm nervous," Lucy answered honestly. "Sullie
starts tomorrow and we're going to be working a shift together. I
don't want to act so smitten that I forget to put the car in park or
put my flashlight in my holster instead of my firearm or-"

"Leave the bakery box open so the Dalai can lick the topping
off the pie?" Lindy asked and pointed at the counter. The tabby's
pink tongue was delicately scraping the whipped cream from the
surface of the pie, his feline mouth curved into a mischievous
smirk.

"Hey! I thought you were gettin' somethin' we could eat without cheatin'!" Bennett protested as Lucy chased the Dalai off the
counter.

Lindy slid her casserole into the oven and set the temperature.
"That's right, chica! We're supposed to be giving up sugar." She
pointed a finger at Lucy. "This guy is already making you crazy!"

Lucy scowled. "I bought one of The Sweet Tooth's new sugarfree desserts. This is a sugarless key lime pie. I figured a fruit pie
would tie in nicely with our vegetarian theme."

James was delighted to hear about the bakery's new offerings.
Though part of him felt the need to abstain from ingesting sugar
whenever possible, the other part argued that if guilt-free treats
were available, why shouldn't he enjoy them?

Gillian wasn't pleased. "Perhaps it's a sign that the Dalai tainted
the pie. Without real sugar, it may be full of chemicals. Why don't
we have a naturally sweet, organically grown dessert? I have some
raspberries and boysenberries in the fridge."