01 - Playing with Poison (25 page)

I didn’t, but nodded anyway.

“Ezekiel was kind enough to consult his planetary tables and study the question extensively.”

“Kind enough for a fee,” Jackson grunted. “How much did he overcharge you this time?”

“When was Stanley born?” I asked.

“At three a.m., on November thirteenth, on the dot.” Audrey announced with confidence. “Ezekiel was simply beside himself. Poor Stanley was destined to be murdered from the moment he was born!” She twirled her right hand over her head. “It was written in the stars.”

I sat back and contemplated the ever-informative Ezekiel Titus. If possible, the man had an even more active imagination than I. Perhaps I should consult him on how I might guide
Temptation at Twilight
to its rightful conclusion.

Audrey interrupted my thoughts. “I’ve been reading up on the latest research on Tarot cards,” she said brightly. “Oh, it’s fascinating, Jessie. Just fascinating!”

I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. “Tarot cards?” I said weakly.

“I’m so disappointed, though. I’ve misplaced my set from college.”

“Ain’t that a doggone shame,” Jackson muttered.

Audrey pursed her lips and gazed over at the bar. “The cards would be real helpful in identifying who killed Stanley. I could do a basic three-card reading for everyone associated with him and find out exactly what happened.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes! I could just ask the simple question about who killed Stanley as I laid out each person’s cards. We’d have the answer in no time.”

She turned to her husband. “Get me a new set for my birthday, Jackson? We can order them off the internet. They’re not expensive.”

Jackson grunted.

“When’s your birthday?” I asked.

She sighed dramatically. “I’m a Libra. So we’d have to wait a whole month that way. And Candy needs our help right now, doesn’t she?”

Alas, yes.

I took a deep breath and tried again. “Let’s just think about exactly what happened here on Saturday, okay? Maybe if we piece together Stanley’s every move, we can come up with something.” I looked at Audrey. “Even without Tarot cards.”

Audrey insisted using the Tarot would be far more straightforward, but I reminded her she didn’t have a deck handy. “So!” I plowed forward. “Stanley showed up here around eight, correct?” I looked back and forth between the two of them.

Jackson glanced over his shoulder at the bar. “I’m not sure when he got here. But he was over there talking to Bryce and Evan when Audrey here hollered at him to come join us.”

“Great,” I said sincerely. This was the most help Jackson had offered all week. “Did he seem upset to you guys?”

Jackson said no, but Audrey fondled her earrings and considered it.

“Think hard,” I said. “If we don’t figure this out, Candy is going back to jail.”

Much to my surprise, Jackson responded again, “Stan seemed about the same as he always did.”

I looked at Audrey. “Do you agree? Did anything seem odd to you?”

She sipped her drink. “You know what was strange, Jessie? Stanley let me read his palms.”

“Arrgh,” Jackson groaned and rolled his eyes while I contemplated banging my head on the table.

“No, Jackson, you know that was odd.” Audrey turned to me. “It was kind of a running joke between Stanley and me. I asked him every time I saw him if I could read his palms, and he would always say ‘No thanks.’ But that night he said ‘What the hell!’ and told me to do my worst.”

“Worst is the way to put it,” Jackson said. “Ask her what she told the guy, Jessie. Go ahead, ask her.”

Audrey bit her lip. “The light in here must not have been good enough to get an accurate reading.”

“What did you tell him?” I asked.

“I told him he had the longest life line I’ve ever seen,” she mumbled and Jackson burst out laughing.

“My brilliant wife told Stan Sweetzer he’d live to be a hundred, if he lived to be a day.”

“But we got interrupted!” Audrey appealed to me. “I couldn’t concentrate as well as I needed to.”

“Interrupted by what?” I asked.

“Well, by Bryce,” she said. “He came over with our drinks just as I was getting started.” Audrey jumped. “Let me read your palms, Jessie? It’s awful fun. And real informative!”

Now, I ask you, how could I refuse awful fun and real informative? Thus I endured my first, and one can hope, my last palm reading. Confident despite her recent failure concerning Stanley, Audrey told me all about my life, past, present and future.

My friends at the bar must have sensed my plight. They sent Gina over with the champagne bottle to refill my glass, and I sipped slowly while Audrey studied what she ascertained to be my heart line.

She traced her index finger across the top of my palm and explained that the ‘feathering’ indicated a difficult childhood filled with much, much, pain. She stopped and looked up at me for verification. My childhood had been pretty darn happy, actually. But I didn’t argue and let her continue on.

“But just look at your head line!”

I looked down at where she indicated.

“It’s so long and pronounced.” She looked up at me, impressed. “You’re very smart. Very intelligent.”

“Oh?” I asked. Believe it or not, I wasn’t feeling all that brilliant.

Audrey went back to my hand in order to study my fate line. Apparently whatever she saw there was most alarming.

“Oh, Jessie!” She kept a firm grip on my right hand and looked deep into my eyes. “I see pain.” She squeezed harder. “Much, much, pain!”

I blinked dumbly until she returned to my palm.

“But now, if I look a little closer, most of the pain is in the past.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, relieved.

“Have you suffered a recent trauma?” Audrey asked eagerly.

“Maybe that’s referring to my divorce?”

“Divorce! It was painful, wasn’t it?”

I insisted my marriage had been far more painful than my divorce and suggested she move on. Meanwhile Jackson waved to Bryce to send over another round of drinks, and I wondered if anything on my palm might indicate my diminishing cash flow.

Audrey abruptly dropped my right hand, my dominant hand as she called it, and took up my left. She traced another line or two on that palm with her index finger.

“Your life right now is also painful, isn’t it?” she asked without looking up. “Oh, but no need to worry. It looks like this new problem is only temporary.”

“Maybe that’s about Stan’s murder?” Jackson had leaned over the table to get a closer look at this telltale palm of mine.

“What about the future?” I heard myself asking.

Audrey kept her eyes on my palm. “Oh my! Oh my, oh my, oh my!”

“What’s it say, Audrey?” Jackson asked.

She looked up at me, thoroughly alarmed. “Now, I don’t want you to be alarmed, Jessie. But you’re in danger!” She hovered over my hand. “You poor thing!”

“Keep looking,” I ordered.

“Oh, but it all works out.” She tapped the middle of my palm. “See here?”

I did not see anything.

“There’s an ever so faint fork in this line.”

I looked harder and must admit I was a wee bit happy to see the fork.

“Everything will be alright,” Audrey assured me. “As long as you make the right choices.”

Bless his heart, Kirby came over to rescue me. “We need you at the pool table, Jessie. Bernie’s got a question.”

I thanked Audrey for her expertise, reclaimed my hand, and scooted out of the booth.

“Don’t you worry, Jessie,” she called after me. “You’re going to re-marry. I saw that in your fate line also.”

I resigned myself to a future of pain—much, much, pain—and followed after Kirby.

Chapter 25

“If you concentrated more on the pool table, and less on Miss Pink’s outfit, you’d probably do better,” Camille Allen was harassing her husband as I approached the table. She saw me and smirked. “You friend’s outdone herself,” she snapped.

“I don’t dress her,” I said quietly and asked what the issue was. “With the game,” I clarified, pointing to the table where Bernie and John the New Guy were waiting for my verdict.

“Scrap,” Kirby said and explained that Bernie had knocked the nine ball into the corner pocket. “He got the eleven, just like he said he would, but then the nine went in, too. He can’t do that, right?”

I agreed. “If you were playing league rules, it would count. But in casual barroom eight ball, you’re required to take out any of your own balls that drop accidently. Sorry, Bernie.”

He shrugged and apologized to John, who put the nine ball back on the table and continued the game.

I returned to my barstool, but could still hear Camille making a scene behind me, as she scolded poor Bernie for making a scene. Yadda, yadda, yadda. The woman yammered on and on, but Candy was busy staring at John and didn’t seem to realize she was the ‘Miss Pink’ to whom Camille kept referring.

Indeed, Camille was in a worse mood than usual, which perhaps indicated she had recently been interrogated by the Clarence police as to her involvement with Stanley. Not that anyone was keeping me posted on these things.

Bryce caught my attention. “Anything new from Audrey?”

“Nothing.” I frowned. “Unless you care to know Stanley’s time of birth, or the results of his palm reading?”

Candy peeled her eyes away from John the New Guy. “Stanley never let Audrey read his palms.”

“He did Saturday night, Sweetie.”

“Audrey told him he’d live long and prosper.” Bryce shook his head. “How’d it go for you, Jessie?”

“Not so well. My past was painful, my present is equally so, and my future will be filled with danger.” I glanced at Karen. “So much so that I’m destined to re-marry.”

She patted my shoulder and poured me more champagne.

I sipped my warmish beverage. “I’m still trying to retrace Stanley’s steps,” I said to no one in particular. “I’m wondering who he spoke with after the Dibbles?”

“Don’t look at me.” That was Karen. “I was home that night, remember?”

I asked Bryce.

“I think that’s when he left, Jessie—when he went to see you.”

“After making a stop at Kiddo’s,” Karen added.

We turned expectantly to Candy, but she was still concentrating on John, who was now shooting a game against Gus. Karen’s attention soon drifted back to her beer, and Bryce wandered off to work on the next batch of Long Island Iced Teas.

Perseverance, I told myself. My neighbors might have shorter attention spans than Snowflake, but I was not ready to give up. Not yet.

I focused on the other end of the bar, half-expecting to see Jimmy Beak walk through the door. No Jimmy—thank you, God—but there were plenty of people down there, closer to the doorway. People who might have seen Stanley leave that night. People I had not yet harassed.

And speaking of people I had not yet harassed, what about the Stones? I had promised Bryce not to bother them, but that was days ago.

“Times change,” I said and stood up, but Karen was the only one who noticed.

“Where to now?” she asked.

I tilted my head toward Matthew Stone. “Wish me luck.”

She grimaced. “You’ll need it, girlfriend.”

“Bryce not taking good care of you?” Matthew seemed pleasant enough as I elbowed my way to his end of the bar. “What’s up, Jessie?”

“Stanley Sweetzer’s murder,” I said.

He slammed down the beer he was pouring, and everyone in the vicinity flinched. Then he whipped his towel at the sink and called over to Bryce, “Take care of things,” he ordered. He stormed out from behind the bar and glared down at yours truly. “I have something else to take care of.”

Oops.

***

“Outside,” Matthew demanded as he guided, or rather pushed, me through the door.

“You’re angry with me?” I asked stupidly as he kept us moving down Sullivan Street.

He stopped short and dropped my elbow. “Have you even thought about how all this nonsense about Stan is affecting the bar’s reputation?” he asked. “Better yet, do you even care?”

I blinked twice and stared at his chest. Matthew was a rather large person, up close like that.

“Answer me!”

I looked up and assured him that I did care about The Stone Fountain. “I don’t house my pool cue just anywhere, you know?”

He put his hands on his substantial hips and glared some more.

“Although I suppose I haven’t been thinking about your business,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Those cops have been over here night after night, not to mention Jimmy Beak.” Matthew pointed to the Stone Fountain sign. “Take a wild guess how many times that’s been plastered on the five o’clock news.”

“It hasn’t been good publicity?”

“Publicity?” he bellowed. “Every night now we get a crowd of looky-loos coming in to gawk at the place.”

“But isn’t that good?” I asked, and the poor guy almost popped an artery. “No, really,” I continued. “I’m not being sarcastic. It seems like the crowds would be good for your business?”

“Good for business? Gina and I spent years making our bar a place people can feel safe in, and now this?” He waved his hands around, and I instinctively ducked. “People being poisoned, TV reporters, cops.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“And if the cops nosing around for days on end aren’t bad enough, I’ve also got you to contend with every other night.”

I waited until his hands were back on his hips before replying. “I never meant to annoy you,” I said honestly. “But Candy’s in trouble, Matthew. She could end up in prison, for Lord’s sake.”

“Oh, so blame it on someone from my bar instead. That’s just great!” Again he threw his hands in the air, and again I flinched.

“I’m just trying to learn the truth,” I said.

Matthew huffed and puffed.

“Come on, Matthew,” I said. “Try to calm down, and I’ll try to be good, okay?”

He shook his head, but he did seem to lose the hostility. “I feel sorry for that poor cop,” he mumbled.

“Rye? Why?”

“He’ll be dealing with you for all eternity.”

“Rye’s closed the case. He’s finished dealing with me.”

“Yeah, right. I’m a bartender, Jessie—a student of human nature. And believe me, you and that poor cop are in it for the long haul.”