Nickeled-And-Dimed to Death (12 page)

“Not Chaz Bono,” Poppy sneered. “The other kind of chastity. Abstention from all sexual intercourse.”

“Seriously?” I held back a giggle. “She blogged about purity and was . . .”

“Screwing a married man,” Poppy ended my sentence. “Yep, and that’s why it’s such a huge deal. Who’s going to want to read a book about purity written by a woman who was found in a motel boinking her brains out?” Poppy paused, then said, “I wonder if Elise took pictures. Maybe that was what her murderer was after. Without photographs, Willow has plausible deniability, since it doesn’t sound as if Elise blabbed all over town.”

“That’s a very good question.” I dug through my purse until I found a pen, then made a note on the back of an old post office receipt. “Also, with Elise out of the way, Colin and Willow could get married, and that would certainly mitigate the whole situation if the story did get out. Willow could still claim she’d only had sex with one man, and that guy was now her husband. And it could be that she felt that Colin being a widower rather than a divorcé might somehow make the whole affair less tawdry.”

“Maybe, but except for the three of us, it looks like only the motel clerk and the Whitmores knew that the woman Elise left her husband over was Willow,” Noah interjected. “So if she’s the killer, her motive was most likely to keep Elise quiet, not to marry Colin.”

“So, if the motel clerk didn’t tell anyone when it happened, why did he suddenly decide to blab to you?” Poppy challenged Noah.

When he didn’t answer right away, I prodded, “Why
didn’t
the clerk tell anyone about Willow? And, more to the point, why
did
he tell you?”

“It seems that originally Willow had snuck into the motel,” Noah explained. “So the clerk didn’t know who was with Colin. But after Elise branded Willow with the paint, Willow ran out a back door stark naked, just as the clerk was taking a cigarette break by the Dumpster. When Willow realized that the clerk recognized her, she begged him for his T-shirt and his silence. She promised he could guest blog for her sometime if he kept her secret, and she would even acknowledge him in her book as someone who had helped her with it.”

“But?” Poppy urged.

“But the guy decided that cash in the hand trumped possible fame in the future,” Noah admitted. “You’d be surprised what a few crisp hundred-dollar bills will buy you.” He shrugged. “Actually, they probably don’t have to be all that crisp to work.”

“Boone will pay you back,” I promised, thinking again how sweet Noah was being for helping out someone who wasn’t even a friend of his. “Thank you so much everything you’ve done for us today.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Noah shrugged off my thanks. “I meant it when I said I don’t think Boone is guilty, and I’d never want to see someone else in your life go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.”

I felt tears well up at Noah’s words. I never knew he thought my father was innocent. He had more faith in my dad than I did. In what other ways had I misjudged Noah?

“Did you find out anything else about Elise or her husband?” Poppy asked, breaking the silence that had lengthened as Noah and I stared at each other. “Did either of them have any enemies?”

“Not that anyone mentioned.” Noah pushed away his empty appetizer plate. “I did hear that she changed the locks on the house and got rid of all of her husband’s things.” Noah wiped his lips on his napkin. “Whitmore told anyone who would listen that she was selling or giving away stuff that had been in his family for years and was irreplaceable. He also said that he was going to sue whoever bought his belongings for receiving stolen property.”

Yikes!
If the chocolate molds Elise had sold me were Colin’s, I had to figure out a way to get them back to him without admitting that I’d ever had them. I so didn’t want to be named in a lawsuit. Too bad that would mean I had flushed eight hundred dollars down the toilet.

“So Colin could have broken in to the house in order to try to grab some of his heirlooms before Elise had a chance to dispose of them, and when she discovered him, he killed her,” Poppy suggested. Then she pointed at me with her chopsticks and ordered, “Add him to your list.”

While I wrote Colin’s name after Willow’s, the waitress brought three heaping dishes containing our main courses. We spooned the food onto our plates, and once Noah convinced us that he didn’t have any more information about Elise, Colin, or Willow, we turned the conversation to reminiscing about the good times we’d had together in high school.

Half an hour later, Poppy pushed away her empty dish and said, “I need a potty break.”

As soon as she left, Noah stood up, walked to my side of the table, and slid in next to me. Before I could react, he pressed his hard thigh to mine, and I had a sudden desire to crawl into his lap. Regaining my senses, I moved over and plopped my purse between us. His lips twitched and his expression said that I had won that round, but he was far from defeated.

He handed me my scarf and said, “You left this in my car last night.”

“Thanks. I didn’t even miss it.” I tucked the silky rectangle in my pocket.

“You’re welcome.” Casually, he plucked a morsel of chicken from my dish, and before popping it into his mouth asked, “Was the lawyer able to get Boone released on bail?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Tryg said that when someone is arrested, they can be held for twenty-four hours without a case being filed against them. And the twenty-four hours doesn’t start until the actual arrest is made, not when the person was first taken into custody.” I made a face. “Unfortunately, Boone wasn’t formally arrested until right before Poppy and I saw him being led to a jail cell last night. Which means that he can be held until one a.m. Monday morning before they have to give him a chance at bail.”

“How does the whole bail thing work?” Noah asked. “Is there a preset amount depending on the crime you’re charged with, or does it have more to do with how likely you are to flee the country?”

“Tryg said that Boone has to go to court for an arraignment hearing,” I reported. “It’s entirely up to the judge whether bail is granted, and if it is granted, how much it costs.”

“So, Boone has two chances of getting out of jail,” Noah said.

“Yes.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “One, bail is set and in an amount he can afford.” I felt my throat close with either hope or fear.

Noah handed me my glass and urged softly, “Have a drink of water.”

“Thanks.” I took a sip, then continued. “Or two, which is our best hope, that since there’s no real evidence against Boone except his presence at the scene of the crime, the prosecutor will choose not to file. Instead he or she will decide to wait for the police to investigate further before bringing charges against him, and Boone won’t have to go through an arraignment or face a judge.”

“That’s what will happen,” Poppy declared, as she returned and took a seat on the opposite bench. “Once someone other than my father looks over the police report and sees the lack of evidence, they’ll see how stupid it was for the cops to have arrested Boone in the first place.”

“That would be great,” Noah said, but he shot me a look that conveyed he wasn’t convinced of Poppy’s optimistic scenario.

“Yes, it would be,” I agreed. But, like Noah, I wasn’t nearly as certain as Poppy was about a positive outcome, and I fully intended to continue trying to find someone, or several someones, to offer up as an alternative suspect. Right now, Elise’s soon-to-be ex-husband and his mistress were at the top of my list.

CHAPTER 12

I
woke up Monday morning with a nagging question going round and round in my head. If Willow Macpherson had been the Whitmore’s pet sitter, what had happened to that pet after Elise’s murder? No one had mentioned an animal. Not that I would have expected Chief Kincaid or Boone to be talking about the dead woman’s cat or dog.

Still, if it had run away in all the excitement, was anyone even aware it was missing? From what Noah had reported yesterday, I doubted that Colin had gotten custody of the pet. Heck, it sounded as if he barely got custody of his own underwear.

Reassuring myself that even if the cat or dog wasn’t with him, Colin had probably rescued his pet after the police were finished processing the scene, I tried to put the thought out of my head. But the picture of some helpless animal locked, starving, in the house or wandering the neighborhood haunted me through breakfast and as I drove to work.

The dime store didn’t open until noon on Mondays, but I used the morning to fill gift basket orders. I especially liked the privacy when I was designing one of my more erotic creations. Today I had dual baskets to make for a couple getting married next Saturday. One was for the bachelor party and the other for the bachelorette bash. I had challenged myself to find items for both baskets that the pair could use together.

Each basket would also include my trademark: the perfect book for both the occasion and the person receiving the gift. Since the matron of honor and best man had told me that the bride and groom were enthusiastic amateur chefs, I selected
The New InterCourses: An Aphrodisiac Cookbook
for him and
Fork Me, Spoon Me: The Sensual Cookbook
for her. Nestling his volume on a black velvet bathrobe and hers on a red satin nightie, I stepped back to admire my work. The baskets needed something more.

Scanning the potential items, I fingered each possibility. Finally I selected a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, a lacy apron, and high heels for her basket, and a can of whipped cream, a pair of silk boxers, and a chef’s hat for his. As I was deciding which one should get the edible body paint and which should get the lickable massage oil, my phone rang and I dove to answer it.

I was relieved to see Boone’s name on the little screen. I’d been waiting all morning to hear if he was out of jail, and with each passing minute I had felt less and less hopeful that he’d been freed.

“The prosecutor didn’t press charges.” Boone’s weary voice came out of the tiny speaker.

“That’s wonderful.” I sank into the chair behind the old kitchen table I used as a workbench. “So, you were released at one a.m.? Why didn’t you text me right away? I’ve been worried.”

“Sorry.” Boone’s tone was resigned. “The police had a lot of ‘trouble’ finding my paperwork. Tryg had to threaten them with a lawsuit in order to get them to actually let me go.” He sighed. “I think Chief Kincaid had told his officers to keep me on ice while he tried to persuade the prosecutor to change her mind.”

“I wonder why he’s so convinced you’re the murderer.” I didn’t believe Poppy’s claim that it was all about her father’s crusade to punish her by destroying her friends. “Is there anything you haven’t told me about you and Elise or the situation?”

“Listen. Let’s get together and talk about it all tonight,” Boone said, ignoring my question. “We still need to find out who killed Elise, because I’m sure the cops aren’t through with me. But right now, I need a shower, some decent food, and sleep.”

“The dime store closes at six and Gossip Central is dark on Mondays, so how about Poppy and I come to your house around seven?”

“Perfect.” Boone yawned. “Do me a favor and get in touch with Tryg at the B and B. He should be there to hear everything, too.”

“He’s staying in town?” I was surprised that a high-priced attorney would stick around when there wasn’t currently any case against his client. “I thought he’d be heading back to Chicago.”

“He’s still here.” Boone yawned again. “He said he’d hang out for a while. Either he thinks the prosecutor will file soon or he has the hots for Poppy.” Boone snickered feebly. “Probably both.”

“Okay, I’ll call Poppy and Tryg, and we’ll all see you tonight at seven.” Since I needed to explain to Boone about Noah’s assistance but wanted to do it face-to-face, I added, “I might ask one other person to come, since he’s helping, too.”

“Sure,” Boone agreed. “Bring Jake along and pick up a couple of pizzas while you’re at it. I’ve got plenty of beer and wine.”

Boone hung up before I could correct him, which no doubt saved me a lot of dancing around the truth. While I finished up the erotic baskets and put together one of the baskets that Oakley had ordered—his list of requirements had been waiting for me when I checked my e-mail that morning—I planned the evening ahead.

It was clear that I had to get to Boone’s house before anyone else so I could explain the Jake/Noah situation to him in private. That would take at least fifteen minutes, so Poppy and Tryg couldn’t arrive until quarter after. And Noah definitely had to be the last one in the door, so I’d tell him seven thirty.

Having figured out the sequence of entrances, I texted all the people involved and gave them their times. Thank goodness Poppy had thought to ask Tryg for his phone number before we left the B & B yesterday. Once that was accomplished, I did paperwork until it was time to flip on the neon
OPEN
sign, unlock the front door, and greet Hannah, my part-time clerk.

Hannah Freeman was a senior at the local high school. She worked for me four mornings and one afternoon a week as part of her vocational ed program. I admired that she was her own person and didn’t even know the meaning of
peer pressure
.

Here in Shadow Bend, most of the teens tended toward either the preppy or jeans-and-T-shirt look, but Hannah’s style was unique. I called it Hello Kitty chic.

Today she had on hot pink spandex leggings featuring the Hello Kitty face peeking out of a faux pocket on the left thigh and a long black top sporting a trompe l’oeil necklace complete with Hello Kitty charms.

On her head Hannah wore a black knit hat with a white feline face emblazoned on the front. It also had pink ears on the top and braided yarn ending in tassels that dangled down either side of the girl’s cheeks.

After a few seconds of trying to figure it out on my own, I pointed to the cap and asked, “Where did you get that and what do you call it?”

“It’s a critter hat.” Hannah reached to take it off. “Do you want to try it on?”

“Maybe later.”