Between a Book and a Hard Place (15 page)

Winnie had it in her head that Poppy, Boone, Noah, Jake, and I were some sort of Scooby-Doo gang. I was pretty sure Poppy was Daphne and Boone was Fred, which left Velma for me. But I wasn't sure if Noah was Shaggy and Jake was Scooby or vice versa.

“Uh. I'm not sure what Jett was looking into.”
Crap!
I should have thought of an excuse before I asked. “Someone just made a remark about the war that sounded interesting, so I wanted to know more.”

Yes. I lied. But the fewer people who knew about the Civil War connection the better.

“Wait a minute.” Winnie scrunched up her face, evidently replaying what she'd heard the past few days. Then she gave me a triumphant look. “You're asking about the Civil War because of the aliens, right?”

“Possibly.” I pasted a mysterious expression on my face. “But I can't say.”

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing.
What in the world would ET have to do with a war that occurred a hundred and fifty years ago? Only Winnie could make that kind of leap of logic. Did she think that Robert E. Lee had been an extraterrestrial?

“I understand.” Winnie nodded. “Anyway. Miss Ophelia is the town authority. Hell! She's so old she might have been there when it started.”

“Very funny.” I chuckled, adding a visit to the etiquette expert to my to-do list. “Thanks for the info.” Taking Winnie and Zizi by the arms, I steered them toward the front, opened the door, and gently urged them over the threshold. “See you next week.”

Locking up behind them, I turned to Dad, who was carrying the cash drawer around as he shut off the lights, and said, “The sewing ladies are supposed to be out of here by nine.”

“They were having a good time.” He headed toward the storage room. “I figured since I didn't mind hanging around, I'd let them spend their money.”

“I don't want to set a precedent.” I could just hear them saying “your father let us stay” the next time I tried to get them to leave on time. “But thanks for working the extra hours.”

“Did you see your mother?” He deposited the drawer inside the safe.

“We stopped by around six. Didn't you see my text?” He shook his head, and I opened the back door, waiting for my father to walk through. “She was fine. Chief Kincaid reinterviewed her, but she said she stuck to her story. She was waiting for take-out delivery when we left her.” I paused, then asked in as casual a tone as I could manage, “Do you know
if she's been seeing any friends while she's been in town?”

“Why?” Dad stopped and stared at me. “What makes you ask that?”

“It just seemed as if she might have been expecting someone other than the delivery guy.” I pressed the fob on my key ring, unlocking the door to my BMW. “She was really anxious to get rid of us.”

“That's odd.” Dad's Grand Cherokee was parked next to my car. He leaned against the rear bumper. “Why wouldn't she want you there when whoever she was waiting for arrived?” When I didn't answer, he wrinkled his brow, thinking it over, then sighed and said flatly, “You think she was expecting a man.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged, hating to see the hurt in his eyes but unable to hide my disapproval. “Judging from her appearance . . .”

“Yvette is different from you, Dev,” Dad said, his shoulders slumped. “She needs constant attention and excitement.”

“Whatever.” I decided it was time to change the subject . . . slightly. “Speaking of my mother, has she said anything to you about Jett's finances?”

“Only that he was wealthy.” Dad tapped his chin. “Something about old oil money.”

“Interesting.” I moved to lean next to him. “Nadine was sure Jett was nouveau riche.”

“Nadine thinks the Kennedys' fortune is new, too,” Dad joked.

“Did Mom tell you what Jett was researching?” I needed to check Yvette's story.

“Does this have to do with what you were asking Winnie?” Dad asked.

“Jett was poking around the town's Civil War
history,” I admitted. “Nadine seemed to think he was going to reveal something shady about someone's family. The current theory is that someone might have killed him to protect their ancestor's good name.”

“Then you might want to talk to Boone,” Dad suggested slowly. “That boy has always been mighty proud that his great-great-great-great-grandfather gave up his own life to save the town from the Yankees. But I recall, back when his mother was up for membership in the Confederate Daughters of Missouri, there were some questions raised about her family's part in the war.”

“What happened?” I asked. Mrs. St. Onge had been a member in good standing for as long as I could remember.

“I think a rather large contribution was made to the Lee Mansion fund and the talk miraculously disappeared. But I remember when you and Boone were in high school, he damn near came to blows with some kid who made a remark about Major Boone's ‘supposed' heroism in during the Civil War.” Dad put his arm around me. “I know how close you and Boone are, so you'd better think about it carefully before you stir up that hornet's nest.”

“It can't be Boone.” I laid my head on my dad's chest. “He'd never murder anyone. I've seen him relocate spiders rather than kill them.”

“Let's hope you're right.” Dad gave my shoulder a squeeze. “For all our sakes.”

W
hen Jake had dropped me off at the store, I'd been ready for an early night, but after Dad's bombshell about Boone, I was too wired to sleep. I needed to talk things over with someone. Jake was busy, and although I'd received a text from Noah saying that he was home and he'd pick me up for our lunch date at twelve thirty tomorrow, his adversarial relationship with Boone made him a poor choice. He'd try to be fair, but I didn't want to give him more ammunition in their ongoing rivalry.

Which was how I found myself driving down the dark country road that led to Gossip Central. I could share my concerns about Boone with Poppy without having to worry the information would somehow be used against him.

When I walked inside the club, I noticed a new sign pointing to the restrooms.

GUYS TO THE LEFT. GALS AR
E ALWAYS RIGHT.

I snickered and continued down the hall into the main area. There were only a few die-hard drinkers parked on stools at the bar, a man and woman shooting pool in the back, and a giggling couple in one of the alcoves. Otherwise, the place was empty. Weeknights were usually slow after ten o'clock, and as I had hoped, Poppy wasn't busy.

When Poppy looked at me, I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, indicating that we needed to talk in private. After she made sure everyone had a full drink, she told them to yell if they needed her, then grabbed a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses.

She escorted me to a booth that was far enough away that we wouldn't be overheard, but near enough to the action that she could keep an eye on her customers. We slid onto opposite benches, and Poppy opened the Shiraz.

As I watched her pour the ruby red liquid, I recalled the beers I had guzzled at the Mexican restaurant and wondered if consuming more alcohol was a good idea. Back when I had been a hotshot investment consultant, I had been used to martini lunches, cocktail parties, and dinners with wine accompanying every course. But in my new life, I was usually less of a drinker.

“What happened?” Poppy kept her voice low as she slid the full glass to me.

I told her about Jake showing up, our stops at the police station, Mom's condo, Nadine's place, and the Mexican restaurant. When I got to the part about Jake's suspicion that Meg was exaggerating her current mental state, I paused for a sip of wine.

“I knew it.” Poppy's tone was gleeful. “When Jake left Meg here with us the other night, I saw that she kept checking her watch. I told Boone she was planning something, but he said it was a nervous tic.”

“Seriously?” I relaxed against the back of the upholstered seat. “I would have sworn she seemed completely catatonic that evening.”

“Only as long as you and Jake were around.” Poppy scowled. “Once you two were out of sight, the
crazy act faded and she just sat there sipping her pop and biding her time.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” I demanded. “You never mentioned a word to me.”

“Jake has to figure it out himself.” Poppy slugged back a gulp of Shiraz. “If I told you and you told him, we both would have looked like jealous shrews with no compassion for the poor lunatic.”

“Well . . . she did go through an awful ordeal with the kidnapper.” I was trying to be fair. “And Jake thinks she's just scared.”

“Maybe.” Poppy finished her Shiraz and poured another glass. “But you didn't come here to tell me about Jake and his ex.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, curious. “You and I gossip about men all the time. Speaking of which, what's the scoop on you and Tryg?”

Tryg Price, Poppy's current boyfriend, was an Illinois attorney. Although they saw each other only one or two weekends a month, she'd dated him longer than I could remember her being with anyone else.

“He's history.” Poppy crossed her arms. “He's lucky I didn't kill him.”

“Why?” To the best of my knowledge, she hadn't seen him in a couple of weeks, and she hadn't said anything about his imminent demise when she'd gotten home from her last visit to Chicago. “What in the world did he do?”

“I got an invitation to his wedding in today's mail,” Poppy ground out between clenched teeth. “I knew we weren't exclusive, but seriously?”

“Oh. My. God!” I took Poppy's hands and squeezed her fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. You know me. I've never needed a
man to make me happy.” She saw the doubt in my eyes and teased, “But a maid would sure cheer me up.”

“Have you talked to Tryg since you got the invitation?” I was kind of surprised she hadn't texted me.

“Yeah,” Poppy muttered. “I called him to see if it was his idea of a joke.”

“And?”

“And he said that about six months ago his old high school sweetheart had contacted him on Facebook. She was teaching in some small town south of Chicago and they got together. Turns out, back when they were teens they had never had sex and she still hadn't. He claims he couldn't resist the chance to be her first.”

“Why do men go for that whole virgin thing?” I asked, recalling my own experience in college.

“Because they don't have to worry about being compared to another guy and found lacking.” Poppy smirked. “Anyway, Miss Innocent got pregnant, and Tryg claims he had no choice but to do the right thing.”

“The right thing would have been to use a condom, and barring that, at least be man enough to call you rather than send you an invitation to the wedding.”

“I knew Tryg was a Colonel Sanders when I started dating him.”

“Huh?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

“A typical male only concerned with the freshest legs, breasts, and thighs.”

I chuckled and asked, “Where do you come up with that stuff?”

“The secret to happiness is a good sense of humor.” She giggled, then added, “And a dirty mind.”

When I stopped laughing, I asked, “Want me to get a gun and shoot him?”

“As tempting as the offer is”—a smile tugged at Poppy's Cupid's-bow lips—“I'll pass this time.” She shrugged. “I have a few texts and snapshots he'd prefer his bride not see. Since she was under the impression they were an exclusive item, he's sending me a pair of two-carat diamond earrings and agreed to provide free legal services to me for the next five years. So I'll call our account square and chalk the experience up to live and learn.”

“You threatened to blackmail an attorney?” I couldn't believe she'd gone that far.

“Hey.” Poppy smiled wickedly. “I had to choose between two evils, beating the crap out of him or extortion. I picked the one I had never tried before.”

“Who did you assault?”

“Some drunk who thought paying his bar tab gave him the right to rape me.” Poppy flexed her muscles. “It's amazing how quickly a stun gun and a baseball bat can sober a guy up.”

“Men.” I sighed and drank some more wine. “Anyone new on the horizon for you?”

“No.” Poppy's gorgeous heart-shaped face turned as red as the sole of her Louboutin pump. “Not really. There is this one guy. He's not at all my type. We're too different for even a fling,
and
he's in love with someone else.”

“Who?” I was intrigued. First, Poppy never blushed. And second, she'd always said if the man wasn't married, then he was available, and third, she
never cared about differences before. In fact, she'd often stated that having nothing in common was a plus because then there wasn't any possibility of becoming emotionally involved.

“Never mind. Sometimes the stuff in my head gets bored and makes a run for freedom through my mouth. Forget I said anything. Since it's not going to happen, I don't want to discuss it.” Poppy waved away my question and changed the subject. “So you talked to the chief. Did he admit that suspecting your dad was stupid?”

Poppy's relationship with her father had been rocky since she entered puberty, but something happened last Christmas that had pushed both of them over the edge. She wouldn't tell me what had caused the final estrangement. All she would say was that it was a difference in their personal philosophy, which I took to mean that her wild lifestyle had clashed with the chief's unbending view of the world. My best guess was that one of them finally did or said something the other couldn't forgive.

“Not exactly,” I said, then hastily added, “But the chief did agree to interview my dad in the back room of the store rather than bring him into the station, in order to keep down the gossip.”

Damn!
I'd forgotten to tell my father that. I quickly dug out my cell and sent him a message. I definitely didn't want the chief to surprise him and have my father blurt out something he shouldn't.

While I was at it, I texted the chief about what Nadine had said about Jett poking around in people's pasts. Having done my civic duty, I looked up.

The veins in Poppy's neck were bulging, and she snapped, “Dad shouldn't have to talk to Kern at all. They're close friends. He should trust him.”

Attempting to distract her before she had an aneurysm, I quipped. “I'm pretty sure your father goes by Reagan's ‘trust but verify' tenet.”

“Yeah.” Poppy blew out a long breath. “I sort of live by that rule myself.”

“We both do.” I squirmed, trying to get comfortable. “Or we should.”

“I hate it when I agree with my father about anything.” Flinging her arms wide, she said, “Do you think I'm getting old and conservative?”

I had just chugged the rest of my Shiraz and nearly choked at her question. When I could breathe, I said, “I'm pretty sure you're safe for now.”

“Are you laughing at me?” She narrowed her eyes. “I'm not kidding around here. First I don't do Tryg bodily harm, then I'm attracted to a Goody Two-shoes, and now I'm agreeing with my father.”

“None of the above is exactly a bad thing.” I put my hands on my hips.

“Yes, they are.” Poppy put her own hands on her hips, mirroring my position.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” My patience was wearing thin. “Not assaulting someone, liking a nice guy, and having one freaking thing in common with your dad does not constitute a major life change.”

“Fine.” Poppy tossed her platinum curls behind her shoulder. She was quiet for a second, and then out of the blue asked, “Since Jake has been so preoccupied with his ex, has that given Noah a lead in the race for your heart, or are they still neck and neck?”

“Noah's been fairly busy himself.” I examined my cuticles. I really needed to do something about the jagged mess my lack of manicures had produced. “I thought when he finally hired a second doctor for his clinic, he'd have more free time, but I think all
it did was double the amount of patients who go there.”

“He is a truly dedicated man.” Poppy's expression was fond. “How about the fire chief? Is he still stopping by with extra pizza?”

“You know darn well that I fixed Coop up with Ronni,” I retorted, then remembered the heated look we'd exchanged in the Mexican restaurant and felt color creep up my cheeks.

“Hey, that doesn't mean he isn't still interested in you. I haven't heard they're engaged or anything.” Poppy grinned, then once again completely changed the subject. “How did Jake take it when you told him the truth about who really discovered Jett's body?”

“About like you'd expect.” When I'd told Poppy about my visit with my mother, I'd mentioned that I'd had to come clean with Jake.

“Ticked off?” Poppy guessed. “Did he go all U.S. Marshal on you?”

“Not quite.” I shrugged. “He wasn't happy, but he could see my side.”

“Too bad your mom spilled the beans.” Poppy scooted closer to the table. “The fewer people who know, the better chance to keep the secret.”

“True.” I glanced around, but no one was paying any attention to us. “On the other hand, if he's going to be of any real help figuring out what happened and who killed Jett, he needed to know.”

Jake made three people I'd told and sworn to secrecy, and although I would never admit it, Poppy was the one I was most worried about leaking the information. Not that she would purposely do anything to hurt my parents, but she tended to blurt things out first and think about the consequences later.

I truly hoped I hadn't screwed up the police investigation by keeping my father's presence at the crime scene a secret or by getting rid of Mom's disposable cell phone. But if there was one thing I'd learned from my previous altercations with the law, it was to look out for my family, my friends, and myself before helping the cops.

No matter how much I liked and respected Chief Kincaid, I knew that first and foremost he was a policeman, and his prime concern wasn't protecting us. He'd do what he needed to do to find Jett's killer. Even if it meant dragging my parents through the court system.

A cheer went up at the bar, and we turned to see what looked like a father and son trying to reach the Budweiser tap and help themselves.

Poppy hurried to her feet, muttering, “The beer can doesn't fall far from the keg.”

When Poppy got back from quieting the rebellion, she said, “You still haven't told me why you're here.”

“Maybe I just wanted a drink with my best friend,” I hedged. I knew in my heart of hearts that Boone would never kill someone. Now that I was here, I realized that I really didn't suspect Boone. Still, I did want to hear Poppy's take on the situation and talk to Boone to see if he had any idea what Jett was up to regarding Shadow Bend's Civil War heroes.

“Bull.” Poppy tapped the tabletop with her long nails, the shiny black polish gleaming in the low lights of the club. “Spill.”

“Fine.” I refilled my glass, vowing this was the last one. “Not that I suspect Boone for one little minute, but when I talked to my father about the Civil
War connection Nadine mentioned, he said that Boone was extremely proud of his great-great-great-great-grandfather's part in saving the town from the Yankees.”