A Rip Roaring Good Time (20 page)

God seldom lets me down, and he didn't in this instance either. My prayers had been answered. Lexie was being released from the Rockdale Police Station's holding tank at three o'clock. Wendy had just been notified by Detective Johnston that Judge Jueti had ruled in her favor and was appalled that the twenty-hour hold time law had been so blatantly disregarded. Lexie was not to leave town, pending further investigation, the judge had informed her. That certainly wouldn't be an issue because she had no reason to run. She hadn't done anything wrong.

According to the judge, Lexie was to be set free, at least until if and when more incriminating evidence was presented to her by the investigators. If that were to happen, she could then be formally charged with murder and transported to the county jail to await trial. Also, if that were to occur, Lexie would be at the mercy of a jury of her peers.

I had no idea how she'd fare being prosecuted for the murder of the police chief's stepson. The local citizens could hold the chief in high regard and want anyone who wronged him to be hung from the tallest tree or, instead, they could believe Leonard Smith was as big a scoundrel as his stepson. I just hoped Lexie would never be in the position to find out how the community felt about the victim's stepdad.

I really couldn't see that scenario happening. But Wendy told me that we couldn't be complacent about it. The chief was adamant that the detectives keep digging for evidence that would implicate Lexie in the murder. It sure seemed to me that he was dead-set on pinning the crime on my friend.
She must have really rubbed him the wrong way in the past,
I thought.

Mattie asked, "So apparently they don't think it's worth their while to investigate other potential suspects? I just don't get it!"

"It sure appears that way," Wendy replied. "I don't get it either, Mattie. We need to come up with something substantial enough that the detectives can't ignore and that will give them no other choice but to investigate other suspects. I hope you two are still willing to help out in whatever way you can."

"I'm all in," I assured her. "And I can vouch for Rip as well."

"Me too," Mattie added. "Whatever it takes!"

"Cool beans!" Wendy said with a sigh of relief. "I haven't got enough leave time to take off work so I'm going to have limited time to pitch in. They've barred me from having any involvement in Trotter's case. And yet they're piling my desk high with tedious paperwork to keep me busy and out of their hair."

"Yucko!" Mattie laughed. "I know how you feel about being a desk jockey, and I know you aren't too thrilled about being temporarily forced into that assignment."

Wendy shook her head and said, "You got that right! So, Rapella, tell me what went on this morning that wore you down to a nub."

I skimmed over the pole-dancing part of it and just mentioned I'd had to participate in a rigorous exercise session that Joy White was teaching. "It really was a taxing endeavor, and I'm afraid my age is beginning to show."

Wendy and Mattie gave each other a knowing look before busting out into uncontrollable laughter. The likelihood of the two knowing all about their friend's class hadn't occurred to me. Wendy finally caught her breath and said, "Tell me it isn't so. I read about that weekly program in the
Rockdale Gazette
a couple of weeks ago. You didn't seriously take Joy's weekly pole-dancing class at the Y, did you?"

Was "seriously" the word of the month? I wondered. It was rapidly becoming my least favorite word in the English language. Rarely was I at a loss for words, but I sat there in silence until Wendy repeated, "Well, did you?"

I'm certain my face turned the color of the tomatoes in my Greek salad. It was entirely too humiliating to go into detail, so I brushed it off with, "That's neither here nor there. I just woke up some seldom-used muscles that didn't even realize they were still alive."

"I can only imagine," Wendy replied.

"I'm sorry. But I really
can't
imagine it," Mattie teased.

When they stopped chuckling again, I told them what Joy had told me about losing her and Trotter's baby. I explained how between the loss of both Trotter and the baby, Joy was grieving and had become very emotional when I spoke with her.

Mattie's cheerful mood vanished in a heartbeat, like electricity being turned off at a breaker box. The stormy expression on her face when I turned toward her was startling. She was livid about something I'd said. Apparently, Wendy had noticed it too, and asked Mattie what was wrong.

"Joy may be upset about Trotter's death, but I doubt she's grieving the loss of their baby very much. As I mentioned before, Rapella, I work in the women's clinic at Wheatland Memorial. And I know for a fact Joy didn't miscarry their child. She had it aborted by some back-alley quack. Not surprisingly, she ended up in the hospital with complications from blood loss. Because the medical emergency was caused by an abortion, we heard about it in the clinic. The way I see it, if Joy's willing to kill her own baby, she should be willing to own up to it, too. I'm sure she's was fishing for sympathy when she told you she'd lost it. It's the poor baby whose life she took that I feel sorry for."

I could tell by Wendy's reaction she hadn't known about either the pregnancy or the ensuing abortion. "Hey! Why didn't you tell me about that, Mattie?"

"I'm sorry. I guess I thought I already had."

I suddenly thought back to something Joy had said that had stymied me. She'd made a remark about not telling her parents she was pregnant "after they took the baby" because it would serve no purpose. I was surprised I hadn't asked her about her inference then, but being bone-weary at the time was a viable excuse. I directed my next question to both ladies. "Do you know if Trotter knew about Joy's pregnancy?"

Wendy answered first. "I didn't know anything about it. I haven't seen Joy in ages, and I've refused to have anything to do with Trotter since—"

She stopped abruptly, as if not sure she wanted to address the attempted rape she'd experienced at the hands of the victim. As her best friend, I had no doubt Mattie was aware of the sexual assault, but Wendy probably didn't know whether or not I knew anything about the incident. I reached over and patted her hand. "Your mother told me about the assault, and I'm so very sorry you had to go through that ordeal. When your mother first noticed Trotter Hayes at the party she was instantly alarmed. If not for Joy, she'd have run him out on a rail, I'm sure. She didn't know how you and/or Andy would react to his presence."

"Andy didn't know anything about the assault either. Or at least not until after Trotter's death when I figured it'd come out anyway. I didn't want him to first learn about it from another source. And I'd have just ignored Trotter and stuck close to Andy. As it was, he was already dead when I walked in the door. I saw his body on the floor at the same time everyone else in the room did."

At that point, Mattie put her two cents in. Her voice was rising as she spoke. She was obviously emotionally affected by the aborted baby's fate. "I'd bet my Bentley that Joy told Trotter she was pregnant and he insisted she get rid of the baby. That sounds like his modus operandi when it comes to taking responsibility for any of his actions. Aborting her unborn child doesn't seem like something Joy would do unless she felt she had no other choice. I can't believe she'd go to that extreme to appease her boyfriend. Still, in the end, it was her decision to make and as far as I'm concerned, Joy chose the wrong option. I don't condone physical violence, mind you, but I can certainly understand why someone wanted Trotter Hayes dead."

"Yeah, I feel the same way," I said as Wendy nodded in agreement. Like Mattie, I'm completely against abortion too, but I didn't want to get her any more agitated than she already was. Other diners were already beginning to stare our way. I patted Mattie's shoulder and quickly changed the subject by asking Wendy if there was anything I could do to assist her. She asked me if I'd have time to run the glass platter back to Georgia Piney since I'd been there before and knew how to locate her house.

"She'd left those wrapped sandwiches in the fridge for us on the platter, you know, and I want to make sure she gets it back. I picked it up at the inn this morning and have it in my car. I was hoping you could take care of it after lunch since you're already halfway there." Wendy finished speaking just as Mattie's pager went off. She'd been called back to the hospital for an emergency in the neo-natal department. Another struggling baby needed a miracle-maker like Mattie to come to its rescue so he or she could live.

We parted ways after I collected the gorgeous blue glass platter from Wendy's back seat, and I headed toward the Pineys' home. Wendy had stopped by to program their address in the GPS before she walked to her own car in the parking lot. I'd told her I could do it myself now, but she must have had reservations about my competency with the newly mastered skill. Truthfully, I did too.

I'd been to the Pineys' home before, but wasn't altogether certain I'd remember the twists and turns I'd made to her house from the inn. And I was driving there from a different direction this time around. Ms. Ratchet told me where to go and guided me directly to the destination.
I might need to rethink the name I'd dubbed her,
I said to myself.
Maybe something like Angel would be more appropriate
.

But, if Angel ever insisted I make another risky U-turn in the middle of town, I can assure you it would have been me telling her where to go, not the other way around. I'd have directed her to a place angels dare not tread.

* * *

With Peanut raising a fuss behind her, Georgia greeted me at the door and invited me in. She wasn't surprised to see me, so I assumed Wendy had called her to let her know I was on the way over with her platter. Balancing the platter with my left hand, I'd massaged Peanut's head with my right. The petite little lady told me she'd just returned from her weekly therapy session. Naturally, Georgia's comment piqued my interest. However, my inner self, an inquisitive old hen, told my outer self, a respectful, non-interfering, youthful senior citizen, to not give in to the temptation to ask her what type of therapy she was undergoing. She didn't look the type to be struggling with any kind of addiction, but as I said before, one can never judge a book by its cover. And one
should
never judge a caterer by her appearance either. I hoped the nature of her therapy would come up in conversation without me having to pry into her personal life.

Georgia took the platter from my arms and politely thanked me for dropping it by. In return, I thanked her for being thoughtful enough to leave behind an ample supply of sandwiches for us when she ended up having to haul off all the uneaten food she'd so painstakingly prepared for the party.

Wendy had told me that when Georgia had declined to accept Stone's check for her services after the party was abruptly canceled following the tragedy, her stepfather had insisted the caterer take the check. He'd told her that she had held up her end of the bargain and was not responsible for what had occurred to end the party prematurely. When, as I'd suggested, Georgia had asked Stone about what to do with the unused food, he'd recommended that she donate it to the mission downtown that fed the homeless and consider it a donation toward the worthy cause on behalf of the Alexandria Inn.

That's exactly what had come to mind when Georgia had asked me that evening, and what I'd have told her to do if I had thought it was my call to make. Stone and Lexie were two of a kind when it came to being generous and caring.

I not only applauded Stone's decision to donate the food, I was also grateful Georgia had thought to leave a few of the sandwiches behind at the inn. They'd come in handy after Lexie had been "cuffed and stuffed," as Rip had always put it, and I'd had to step in and keep the masses fed. I suppose "masses" was an overly dramatic exaggeration but with more important things on my mind and to-do list, the responsibility had seemed overwhelming at times.

Unlike Lexie, I was only accustomed to having to keep two people fed. Make that two-and-a-half, if you count Dolly. Cats may be known for being finicky and independent, but all that flew out the window when Dolly experienced a hunger pang. Suddenly, instead of giving me the cold fur, I was her new best friend. It was a trait her majesty had inherited from Rip, her male servant. In Dolly's eyes, the emancipation of slaves was not something to be taken seriously.

When Peanut attempted to jump up into my arms as if he were the size of a Chihuahua, my thoughts were instantly off my cat and on to the humongous dog that quickly had a paw on each one of my shoulders, licking my face from chin to widow's peak. I was grateful when Georgia dragged Peanut off me and put him in a large kennel to contain him.

Standing in Georgia's kitchen, I noticed that she had an almost full cup of coffee on the table and at least three cups' worth still in the Mr. Coffee carafe on the counter. I thought she might ask me if I'd like a cup, but I was wrong. It became apparent that Georgia, who had been practically a chatterbox the first time I'd met her, had no plans to prolong my stay by initiating a conversation or offering me a drink. I turned to leave, wondering why she'd invited me into the house in the first place. I reached for the doorknob just as Georgia's voice stopped me cold.

"Is Lexie Starr still in jail? Has she been charged with Trotter Hayes's murder?" She asked with a hint of hopeful anticipation in her voice. "I really hate that she got caught killing him. She's always been so good to me. But, the way I see it, if anyone deserved to have his throat slit, it was that guy."