A Cup of Jo (9 page)

'Sure.' I wasn't sure I was prepared for the role reversal.

'About JoLynne Penn-Williams.' Pavlik tossed his crust to Frank, who caught and swallowed it with one flick of the head. 'She was in events and marketing, like you were. How well did you know her?'

'Not well, and mostly through Rebecca. Our paths didn't cross professionally, because JoLynne moved to Milwaukee just as I was leaving marketing behind.'

Along with my specious marriage, my spacious house and any financial security I'd probably ever know.
Not
that I was bitter.

'But
you
must have known her,' I continued. 'When I was managing events, any time public lands or streets were involved, we contacted the police and sheriff's departments.'

'You'd think so, wouldn't you?' Now he was taking a swig of wine, also lefty.

I looked at my glass, just out of reach.

'Not to speak ill of the dead,' he continued, 'but I'm told Ms Penn-Williams didn't accomplish much in the position. Now Anita Hampton, whatever you and I may think of her, gets things done. She's proactive. When Wynona and I had dinner with her and Brewster—'

I pulled my hand back. 'You had . . . dinner?'

The Brookhills county executive and sheriff, dining with the Milwaukee county executive and marketing executive. I was getting a twinge of something I didn't like. Something green, perhaps fueled by my conversation with Sarah this morning. 'Were you all planning some event?'

'Event? No, this was purely social.' Pavlik picked up the wine bottle and poured Cabernet first into my glass and then into his. 'Wynona and I went out a few times.'

I remembered Sarah's comments about Pavlik and Wynona Counsel acting friendly. 'So, when was this?'

'I met her just after I moved up here – last spring?' He was holding a piece of sausage over Frank's nose. 'In fact, I'm sure it was then, because we went to the museum's May Fund-raiser.'

'But you and I were dating in May.' My voice sounded small, even to me.

Pavlik looked up, his blue eyes startled. 'Well, yes. But we didn't see much of each other as I recall.'

'Because I was busy. Because you were busy.' With
her
?

It was like he'd read my mind. 'Maggy, I never said I wasn't dating other people.'

People
? As in the plural? 'You never said you were.'

'You didn't ask.'

'You didn't tell.' Pizza forgotten, I stood up. 'And you knew I wasn't seeing anyone else.'

Pavlik came out of his chair, too, and around the table to me. 'Listen,' he said, 'I'm not sure what to say. All I can tell you is that Wynona and I did go out for a while last year.'

'Why'd you stop?' I was hoping for one of those 'because I knew it was you I loved'.

Yeah, yeah. I know. Not only a hopeless romantic, but a hapless one as well.

'She dumped me.'

I didn't know if his answer made me feel jealous or just plain stupid. I'd come very close to telling Pavlik I loved him a couple of months back. Thank God . . . well, the idea had scared me silly.

'So, if Wynona hadn't "dumped" you, would you still be together?'

He held his hands up in the way that just screams:
what do you want from me?
'We weren't "together", Maggy. I only saw her from time to time.'

'Well, then, what about us?' I asked. 'Are we "together" or just "seeing each other from time to time"?'

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. 'You tell me.'

All I could do was answer honestly. 'I don't know.'

Pavlik kissed me on the forehead. 'Me neither. But I'd like the opportunity to find out.'

Chapter Seven

'Now what exactly did he mean by that?' I demanded.

Sarah's head was in our bakery case, so 'wmmmmwf-ot' was her entire reply.

'I mean, if the word "relationship" had been floated out by yours truly, what would Pavlik have said?'

'Mwwmufml.'

'Does it feel like the two of us are a couple? Yeah, at least to me. His deputies haze him about our seeing each other. That seems a good sign.'

'Frcigdskshrtmimo.'

'Sarah, enough. In recognizable English, please.'

She pulled out of the glass-fronted case. 'I said, for God's sake, Maggy, stop acting like you're in high school. Next thing you'll be driving by his house ten times a night or calling his friends to see what – if anything – he's saying about you.'

'Please. We're well into a new millennium. There has to be a better way by now. And besides –' I pushed the brew button on our coffee urn – 'I was married for nearly twenty years and dated Ted from college onward. Outside of him, I'm a social virgin.'

'Pot?'

'Just once.'

'No, you idiot.' Sarah pointed to the brewer, now making spitting noises. 'I mean, aren't you going to put a pot under that?'

'Oh.' I slid a carafe below the filter basket just in time to catch the coffee. All cylinders in Maggy's engine just weren't firing this morning.

The bells on the front door tinkled as Amy entered.

'It's starting to rain out there,' she said, doffing a poncho. Under it, she wore a white Uncommon Grounds T-shirt featuring a sleek, silver espresso machine.

'Wow. Nice shirt,' I said. 'But . . . where'd you get it?'

'I ordered a bunch of them.' She pulled two more just like it out of her Uncommon Grounds tote.

'Cool.' Sarah took one, stripped to her – God save us all – red lace bra and slipped it on.

I studied the shirt. 'You know, the espresso machine looks kind of like a locomotive.'

'Clever, huh? A friend at the university came up with this design.' Amy retreated into our office to drop off her stuff.

'Should we keep letting her do that?' I whispered to Sarah.

'Do what?' More the stage whisper in a Shakespearean play.

'Shh.' I put a finger up to my lips. 'Should we allow Amy to order things without our permission?'

'Have you seen a bill?'

'Well, no.'

'Are they good purchases?'

'Well, yeah.'

'Then I say more power to her. We could use a little image-spiffing around here.'

Sarah had a point. It was a shame to open a brand new location and wear our tacky old T-shirts. 'Hey, maybe if the customers want them, we can even sell a few, like the bags.'

'That's the spirit.' Sarah smacked me between my shoulder blades.

Since my friend had been diagnosed bipolar, I'd come to regard any unSarah-like moods with suspicion. You know, things like chipper or even . . . hearty.

Before I could give the subject more thought, Amy rejoined us, tying on an apron. 'Did you hear the news? They say somebody smothered JoLynne and dumped her in our coffee cup.'

Homicide, confirmed. So why was Pavlik so close-mouthed last night?

'But why?' I asked. 'Attempted robbery?'

'Supposedly they found JoLynne's purse under her body.'

'Nothing taken?' Sarah asked. She had moved from the bakery case to the cooler, pricing the sandwiches and salads Tien had made. I had to hand it to my new partner. She was definitely a self-starter. Assuming this also wasn't the start of a manic phase.

Amy shook her head and it took me a second to realize she was answering Sarah's question about Jo's handbag, rather than any concern about my partner's mental status. Nothing had been stolen, so robbery wasn't the motive. What did that leave? Lust? Jealousy?

The front door opened with another jangle. 'Still closed,' the three of us said in blind unison.

'I'm so sorry.' Christy stood at the door. She had on a yellow rubber raincoat and matching boots and gloves. Her hood was up, only her face showing, and water glistened from every article of clothing she wore. 'I could just really use a cup of coffee for my drive.'

'Not a problem, Christy,' I said, the pot I'd started now full. I snagged a to-go cup off the stack and began pouring. 'Want me to leave room for cream?'

She shook her head, so I topped off the drink and capped off the cup. 'No charge.'

'Don't be silly.' Christy had picked up her coffee and was struggling to get out her purse, apparently slung over her shoulder before she donned the slicker.

'First one's on us,' I said. 'Come back. Often.'

'Thank you so much, Maggy. I needed a little pick-me-up before seeing Ronny again.'

I glanced up at our Brookhills clock. 'It's not even six thirty. Does the prison have visiting hours this early?'

'Jail. Ronny's still in pretrial confinement.' Christy's face flamed. 'And I'm going to get ready first. The tanning salon on Civic opens early so people can stop by for a session before work.'

She gestured me closer and whispered, 'Ronny likes it when I have a tan.'

I didn't want to imagine what the two loonies – the one homicidal, the other holistic – might be doing together.

'Those tanning beds aren't good for you.'

'Ooh, I would never actually
lie
in one of those filthy things, even with my clothes on,' Christy said. 'I get a spray tan.'

I was going to ask her how she could be sure the nozzle was clean, but I didn't want to sour her morning.

Christy exited with a wave, passing another neighbor.

'Rebecca,' I greeted JoLynne's younger sister. 'I'm so sorry about what happened.'

Rebecca's eyes were red, and her hair plastered down from the rain, but other than that she projected normally.

'Don't be sorry,' she said. 'JoLynne brought this on herself. Rehab, my ass. The only good to come of that was her meeting Kevin in Chicago. I knew something self-destructive was bound to happen.'

If Rebecca had actually foreseen her sister's bizarre death, I could use the surviving sibling's help picking lottery numbers.

'What do you mean?' I asked as the bells jingled again and in came Michael, Rebecca's biz-dom partner.

She ignored him. 'I knew JoLynne's lifestyle would kill her eventually. She was an all-purpose addict. Alcohol, sex, drugs, you name it.'

'Now, Becc—' Michael started.

I'd have told him to save his breath, but if the stud hadn't figured that out already, he was beyond salvaging by me.

'
Re
becca,' she snapped. 'And what do you know about my sister, Michael? You didn't see her two years ago. "Pretty, little JoLynne"–' quotation marks in the air from the grieving sister's index and middle fingers – 'home from Chicago. Broke, and broken.'

'Becca,' Michael said again. You had to admire the man for being stubborn as a badger. He knew the nickname irritated his principal squeeze, but he wasn't going to back off using it. 'JoLynne came back clean. She'd been in rehab and started over.'

'More like tarted over.'

'You can't keep blaming her for the past. There was nothing –' he looked at us for emphasis, if not support – '
nothing
more important to Jo than her future.'

Rebecca seethed. 'And when did she tell you that, Michael? Pillow talk?'

Enough. The woman was going to scare away our customers. 'C'mon, Rebecca,' I said, 'cool down. You don't want to make a fool of yourself.'

'
Me
make a fool of
my
self?' Rebecca turned on me. 'You're the fool. Or,' a sly smile, 'don't you know?'

Know? 'Know what?'

'You think you have the perfect "relationship", right?' More punctuation marks in the air. Then she threw a disdainful look at Michael. 'Well, I did, too.'

'No relationship is perfect,' I said slowly. I didn't like where Rebecca was going with this. 'And mine is none of your business.'

'Fine,' she said, yanking the door open and sending the bells crashing against it. 'Then I won't tell you.'

Sheesh. Talk about your mood swings. Maybe it was Rebecca I should be worried about. Not that I gave a rat's ass.

'Tell me what?'

'
Tell
you,' she said mimicking my tone, 'that my Michael and some guy she worked with evidently weren't enough for the little slut. JoLynne was also banging your Sheriff Jake like a drum.'

Rebecca wheeled and stalked out, leaving the door open behind her.

I followed her into the rain like she had me on a tractor beam. 'What do you mean? Where? When?'

'Where? Here.' Rebecca kept going.

'That's impossible. Pavlik has only been in Brookhills a year and a half. Back in Chicago, maybe, but—'

She finally stopped and turned again. Now water streamed from her hair, mascara turning even
her
beautiful face into a pulsating mask.

'You really don't know, do you? You poor, moonstruck little twit. No, not in Chicago. And not last year. Not even last
month
. JoLynne told me about Sheriff Jake the day before she died.'

Chapter Eight

'Uh, forgive me for noticing, but why did Rebecca come in here to start with?' Sarah asked as I re-entered the shop. 'She didn't even get any coffee.'

No, the surviving sister seemed satisfied with simply ruining my life.

Was
Pavlik having an affair with JoLynne Penn-Williams? He hadn't said there was anyone after Wynona. Except me, of course. Then again, as Pavlik would repeat 'you didn't ask.'

Great. Just what I needed: a 'relationship' built on Twenty Questions.

Is this woman concurrent or sequential? Serious or casual? Bigger than a bread box?

Fit into a coffee cup?

Bad taste, I know, but beyond that, a broader consideration. Should Pavlik be investigating the murder of a married woman he'd been 'dating'?

'Maggy?'

JoLynne had clued Rebecca about her affair with Pavlik. The next day, the 'cluer' is dead. Coincidence?

God, angry or not, I hoped so.

Maybe JoLynne's husband Kevin somehow discovered she'd been unfaithful, then killed her. Much as I liked the man, I preferred he be the murderer. Pavlik might be a two-timer, but he was
my
two-timer. And if
any
one was going to 'send him away,' it was . . .

'Maggy! Are you OK?'

Michael Inkel was staring at me, Sarah now nowhere to be seen. I had stopped, dripping, just inside the door, chin on chest, thinking. Or trying to think. Maybe Rebecca was a nutcase. After all, she didn't like Michael hanging around me and I, for one, had utterly no interest in him. Maybe Rebecca thought every woman was loose and every man – or, at least,
her
man – a perpetual target.