The Saucy Lucy Murders (11 page)

“I know,” Lexie said. “What did you find at the church when you were cleaning?”

“What did I find?” Lucy stared incredulously at Lexie. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Did you find dust balls?” Lexie said in a loud voice, then leaned toward Lucy and giggled stupidly, like she was drunk.

“Dust balls?” Lucy didn’t get it.

“Come on. Maybe you found blue balls. Or maybe withered balls,” Lexie said a little louder, feeling completely ridiculous. “Possibly hairy balls?”

“What are you talking about?” Lucy nearly shouted and glanced around. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“Lucy, we’ve got to look like we’re having fun.”

“But this is awful!”

“It’s harmless. We need to attract attention. Once we accomplish that, we can stop the nonsense. Either we make this work or we might as well forget about saving me from the bighouse. Do you want to talk to me through bars for the rest of my life?”

Lucy pouted for a moment, hand clutched to her heart again. Finally, she stubbed out her cigarette, stood up, and to Lexie’s absolute surprise shouted, “Smelly balls!” Then she slid back down into her seat and fanned herself madly. “I can’t believe I just said that! I’m losing my mind! The devil is definitely at work here.”

“No, you’re helping with the investigation is all,” Lexie said. She pretended to puff on her cigarette,
then stood and said, “Squishy balls, hot balls—”

“May I buy you ladies a drink?” Lexie recognized the tall, smiling cowboy from the jukebox. He was looking straight at her.

“Sure, thanks.” Lexie exchanged a knowing glance with Lucy. Lucy blew out a breath of air, a relieved look on her face.

The cowboy caught a passing barmaid and ordered another round, then grabbed a chair and straddled it backward next to Lexie. “You ladies from around here?”

“Last I heard,” Lexie said. “What about you?”

The cowboy winked at Lexie and they began to talk. Before long, two more men sauntered up and joined the group at Lexie and Lucy’s table. Lexie pretended to be tipsy, but she kept the conversation at the level of simple flirting.

At an opportune moment, Lexie said to the jukebox cowboy, “Wasn’t it a shame about what happened to Henry Whitehead?”

“And in our fair little town,” Lucy added with a
tsk tsk.

The cowboy from the jukebox, who had identified himself as Bob, put an arm around Lexie. It seemed he had a sweet spot for her and repeatedly asked for her phone number, which she refused to give. “Well, my mama always told me if you play with fire, you’re gonna get burned.”

“What do you mean?” Lexie asked.

“Whitehead was an old horndog. I heard tell he
practically had a revolving door installed on his house to accommodate the gals comin’ and goin’. He wasn’t much on looks or personality, but he went mostly after women who were bored with their men folk. Fed ’em the crap they wanted to hear, like how purty they was, and they fell lock, stock, and barrel for it.” He took a swig of beer and gave a mighty guffaw.

The other men around the table nodded and grunted similar comments.

Lexie and Lucy exchanged knowing glances.

“Well, I guess that’s OK as long as no one gets hurt.” Lexie winked at Bob. Even though he kept asking her to go out with him, she had no intention of doing so. But it didn’t hurt to flatter him a little in order to get more information.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say no one was getting hurt,” one of the men named Charlie said said. “Some of the gals Whitehead was messing around with were married. Eventually one or two of the husbands were getting wise to the bullshit. I know some of ’em were getting downright pissed.”

Lexie twisted her hair around her finger in what she hoped was a fetching manner. “My goodness,” she said to Charlie. “Do you know who, in particular?”

“I heard tell Ernie Howell was pretty hot about all the crap goin’ on,” Charlie said. “His wife Sophie really got messed up with Whitehead. Ernie threatened to go after him with a shotgun and a shovel. Swore he’d had enough of Whitehead foolin’ with his wife and that he’d kill him with his bare hands if he
didn’t back off.”

Lexie froze in place, her blood trickling like water through an icy, alpine creek. Was this the clue she and Lucy had been looking for? Had this Ernie fellow gone off the deep end? Grabbed a knife from Lexie’s place, hoping to implicate her, and done poor Henry in?

“Where does Ernie live?” Lexie knew she had to keep fishing for more dirt, and Lucy gave her an encouraging nod.

“He ain’t around these parts anymore,” Charlie said.

“I heard he and Sophie moved to Denver,” Bob said.

“Denver?” Lucy wrinkled her nose and batted her fan around some more. “What a horrible place to live. Too much traffic and crime.”

Bob lit a cigarette and took a long puff, the end glowing red in the bar room darkness. “I heard Ernie was opening some sort of business down there.”

“What kind?” Lexie asked.

“Not sure exactly.” Bob shrugged. “But I think it had somethin’ to do with magic.”

“Magic?” Lexie folded her arms across her chest. “How odd.”

“Well, he and Sophie’s boys got into all those wizard books that gal from England wrote. And Ernie … he liked all that hocus pocus stuff, too.”

“The move to Denver got Sophie far away from Moose Creek Junction and Henry Whitehead,” Charlie added.

So there was another potential lead waiting in Denver, Lexie thought. It was time for a summit meeting with Lucy so they could make plans for their next fact-finding trip.

“Excuse me everyone. I need to … ah … powder my nose.” Lexie decided nature’s call was a good way to part company with the cowboys. “You coming, Luce?”

She exchanged a quick glance with Lucy who was earnestly discussing the First Congregational Church of the Lamb of God with Charlie. Leave it up to Sister Lucy to turn the investigation into a mission to save roughnecks from their heathenish ways. “Be right there, sis.”

Lexie rolled her eyes and headed toward the ladies room. The blaring music and too many bodies pressed closely together made her dizzy. How could people stand coming here night after night? It would drive her insane.

Lexie headed down the dim hallway to the ladies room. Then with a fizzle and a pop, the lights went out. Just like that. Cloying darkness enveloped her like a heavy winter coat.

D
AMN,” SHE MUTTERED, GROPING FOR THE
wall. Unable to see anything, she wondered briefly if she should stay where she was, or try to go somewhere.

When someone grabbed her arm from behind, she thought it was Lucy who had slipped away from the cowboys. But it was soon obvious it wasn’t her sister when whoever it was started to haul her toward the dim outline of the alley door.

Lexie’s heart hammered like a tribal drum and she struggled in the stranger’s grasp. “Hey, let me go! Whoever you are!”

A meaty hand clamped down hard on Lexie’s mouth, instantly silencing her shouts. She was certain no one had heard her cry out because the dismayed howls coming from bar patrons would have drowned her voice. In the midst of the pub blackout, chaos and commotion ruled.

Panic plunged through Lexie when she smelled
a rank odor coming from her attacker. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She tried to shake free of the sure, steady grip. Her efforts were in vain. Lexie tried twisting from side to side to break loose but to no avail. Her attacker was taller and much stronger. She felt as weak as a rag doll in the spin cycle of a washer.

The more Lexie struggled, the more her attacker increased his hold, until she could barely breathe. He, or she, had glommed onto her like bubblegum to the back of a sneaker.

Panic sank wicked claws into Lexie. For a split second her body became paralyzed, then just as quickly adrenaline flowed—the fight or flight syndrome.

Loving faces flashed before her eyes: Eva, Lucy, her nephew Carl and even old patootiehead Otis.

Do something …

As she struggled with her attacker, feeling his hot, moist breath crawling on her neck, Lexie tried desperately to think of a way to break free.
My heels!
A pain in the butt to wear, they’d already worn saddle sores-from-hell on her feet. Then again, they might just save her butt.

Gasping for breath behind the meaty paw, Lexie brought her heel down hard on what she sensed was her attacker’s instep.

Contact.

The creep gave a surprised, guttural gasp and let Lexie go. She instantly peeled away. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could just barely
make out his bulk blocking the back entrance as he hopped around in pain.

There was no escape in that direction.

Heart slamming against her ribs and hiccoughs rising in her throat, she fumbled along the wall toward the ladies room. At last she located a handle, swung open a door and pushed inside. Darkness pervaded the lavatory stench, but faint blue neon light filtered through a small window inside one of the stalls.

Escape!

Hope flickered through Lexie and she headed for the light. Suddenly the ladies room door flew open, smacking against the cinderblock wall. Lexie squeaked in dismay and quickly locked herself inside the stall.

The creep started slamming against the metal frame with such ferocity Lexie truly believed it would cave in any second. Swallowing her panic, she stood on top of the toilet lid and tried to shove the window open.

It wouldn’t budge.

Sobbing with frustration, she slammed her shoulder against the frame trying to loosen it, ignoring the pain.
Please, please, please,
she cried to herself hoping and praying she could get away before the creep out there tried to make her into a hood ornament. Again she tried to open the window and at last, to her shock and amazement, it wedged upward with a rusty squeak.

A grunt came from under the stall door. Lexie looked down and saw a dark form, dressed in what appeared to be a black hooded sweatshirt, slide in her direction. Quickly she hoisted herself into the open window, squeezed through, and dropped into the alley below.

She fell on the ground with a thud and felt an instant pain in her right ankle that crept its way up her leg like wildfire. After a swift look over her shoulder at the open bathroom window to make sure the creep wasn’t on her tail, she limped through the gravel to the front of the building.

Lexie struggled to control her erratic breathing. She had to find Lucy. Find Lucy and get the hell out of here. She must have been nuts to ever think she could do her own detective work. Nuts or desperate. Now somebody was after her. They must not be happy she was asking questions of the locals.

Could she be getting too close to the truth?

Relief trickled through Lexie when she reached the entrance to MacGreggor’s Pub. Surely her attacker wouldn’t follow her here. After one more glance over her shoulder, she turned around and ran smack into a large body.

Gasping in dismay, Lexie stumbled backward. She yanked the shoe from her throbbing right foot and held the spike heel out like a weapon. “Take a hike, bucko. I’ve had just about enough of your crap!”

Suddenly the lights in the pub flashed on and yellow porch light illuminated the person standing
in front of Lexie. Detective Stevenson. In all his lawman’s glory. And he did not look happy.

Holy crap.

Lexie stared in embarrassment at the high heel clutched in her fingers. She tucked the shoe behind her back, feeling like a complete dork. After a couple of gulps, she swallowed her hiccoughs. “Sorry.” She wet her dry lips with her equally dry tongue. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Obviously.” Gabe folded his arms across his broad chest and inclined his head toward the pub. “What’s going on in there?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He snorted. “Something’s up. Either Mac-Greggor forgot to pay his utility bill or somebody got hammered and flipped off the main power breaker.”

“You’ll have to ask MacGreggor.” Lexie felt as trapped as a bug pinned on a science project board. She cleared her throat uneasily and glanced over her shoulder—still no creep. Looking back at Gabe she asked, “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be back in Westonville by now.”

He ignored her question. “Is Bigfoot chasing you or something? You’re jittery as a field mouse in a snake’s cage.”

Lexie swallowed hard. She’d have to watch herself around Deputy Dog here. There was no hiding anything from him. “I was just out for a stroll.”

“By yourself?”

She nodded.

“And is it a common Wyoming custom to greet everyone you meet on your strolls by shoving a spiked heel in their face?”

“Uh, no. Like I said, I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?”

Lexie shrugged. Darn it. All she needed was Westonville’s finest to discover she and Lucy had been asking around about Henry Whitehead. Stevenson would tell Otis for sure, and their plans would be hosed.

Lord, she felt desperate. When she’d persuaded Lucy to help her with this investigation, it had seemed like the right thing to do. It had made complete sense for them to try and find out who had done poor Whitehead in, especially since Lexie was the last person to see him alive.

Now her plan seemed insane and dangerous. Especially in light of the recent attack.

Lexie leaned against the porch railing to take the weight off her throbbing foot. She hoped Gabe wouldn’t guess how much pain she was in. “One of the cowboys in there just got a little carried away and I didn’t like it,” she lied. “Is it a crime to party a little on a Friday night?”

“For some reason, I get the impression that MacGreggor’s Pub and horny cowboys aren’t exactly your idea of fun.” A muscle twitched along his whiskered jaw. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were snooping around and asking questions about Whitehead’s
murder.”

With a deep sigh, Lexie leaned over and put her shoe back on her throbbing foot, then straightened and stared up at the tall detective. “You know, if you were doing your job, you’d have found out that Whitehead had plenty of enemies around here. Instead of following me around, you’d be checking them out.”