Dearly Depotted (18 page)

“Okay,” I said slowly, “did you kill Jack?”

“As much as I disliked the bastard, no. Jack was scum, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. And the reason I left right after the wedding was to check on my wife.” He split another slab of ribs. “She suffers from terrible migraines.”

I made myself a note to verify that with his wife. “What color suit did you wear?”

“Beige.”

Hmm. A beige suit could look white under a spotlight in the dark.

Vince tore off a big sheet of butcher paper and wrapped a section of ribs. “Anything else I can help you with?”

I assumed that was his way of telling me he was done answering questions. I took off the jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. “No, thanks. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Wait.” He picked up a marker and wrote a big
NC
on the package he’d just wrapped. “Here,” he said, handing it to me. “No charge. Just show it to the girl at the register as you go out.”

I thanked Vince but left the gift. I felt kind of weird about accepting it, like I was taking a bribe. But why would he want to bribe me unless he was lying? I could usually tell when someone was hiding something, but I hadn’t been able to get a good reading on Vince.

I definitely had to speak with his wife to see whether their stories matched. But it was too late to drop by that evening. I needed to talk to her when he wasn’t around. I’d have to find time to pay her a visit tomorrow.

When I got back to the square I threw caution to the wind and stopped at Down the Hatch, even though Marco had tried to dissuade me earlier. Part of me wanted to discuss with him what I’d learned. The other part of me wanted to see what he was up to.

The bar was already crowded with the usual groups of single professionals, a contingent of college students who avoided the trendier sports bars near the campus, and stalwart senior citizens who’d been going there for four decades and weren’t about to let the young people shove them out. I checked out the room but didn’t see Marco either behind the bar or mingling with his patrons, so I threaded through the crowd and headed for his office in the back. But the office door was locked and no light showed beneath.

“Looking for someone?” Chris the bartender asked when I reappeared at the bar.

Before I could reply, three plastered males raised their hands, calling out, “I’m right here, baby,” and “Hey, this
your
lucky day,” and “Come and get it, hot stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said and ducked behind the bar to talk to Chris. “Where’s Marco?”

“He had business errands to run.”

“What businesses are open after seven o’clock?”

Chris poured a measure of rum into two glasses. “I didn’t ask. Try calling his cell phone.”

I wasn’t keen on doing that—not after Marco had said he’d contact me. Dropping by the bar somehow seemed more innocent.

I squeezed past the crowd again only to have someone put out a hand to stop me. Figuring it was another guy who’d had too much beer, I was all set to tell him where to get off when the bar stool swivelled and I found myself staring into the face of the last man I ever expected to see at Down the Hatch. Pryce.

 

 

 

 

“W
hat are you doing here?” I sputtered. Pryce scoffed, as if his presence there were an everyday event. “I stopped by to see what was happening.” He tried to look hip about it, as if he were checking out his ’hood, which was ridiculous considering that he was wearing a white silk sport shirt, a belt that had to be snakeskin, tan trousers with pressed pleats, and Gucci loafers with tassels.

If all that didn’t make him stand out above the denim-clad customers around him, toss in the red silk handkerchief sticking out of his chest pocket. Someone needed to take a photo of him and hang it next to the ancient stuffed carp mounted over the row of booths, with a caption underneath that read, FISH OUT OF WATER.

He glanced over both shoulders, and then said in a low voice, “Don’t look so surprised,” as if I were embarrassing him.

Surprise didn’t even come close to describing what I was experiencing. Shock. Astonishment. Knocked for a loop. Pryce never went to places where he’d have to rub elbows with the common folk.

I didn’t want him to think I cared why he was there, but there was no controlling my natural curiosity. “No, really, Pryce, what brings you here?”

He shrugged. “I needed a change of scenery.” He took a sip from the tall glass of beer in front of him. That was another surprise. For as long as I’d known Pryce I’d rarely seen him drink alcohol, and when he did, it was always an expensive wine. Was he becoming human?

“I hear you went to see my grandmother today,” he commented.

“I did. Poor thing; she’s really rattled about the murder.” Several people squeezed past and I had to practically climb onto Pryce’s lap to avoid them. “Sorry. It’s packed tonight.”

“Why don’t we get a booth?” he suggested. “I’ll buy you a drink. White wine?”

I was about to turn him down, but he’d already called Chris over to take the order. “Bud Light.”

Chris filled up a tall glass; Pryce took it and his beer and headed for an empty booth near the front window.

Sitting across from him was eerie, like I’d jumped back in time. Since I didn’t care to revisit that time, I decided to keep it brief and get out before ugly emotions bubbled to the surface. I sipped steadily on my beer as we made small talk about the weather and recently released movies—and I searched for a graceful exit line.

“I meant to thank you for the way you handled my grandmother yesterday.” Pryce paused for a sip of beer. “But then you’ve always been nice to her.”

“She was always nice to me, too,” I told him honestly, and I could have sworn there was a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes.

Before things could get syrupy, I finished my drink, put my purse strap over my shoulder, and slid to the end of the booth. “So, listen, thanks for the beer. I’ve had a long day, so I’m going to take off. See you around, okay?” A long day. Was there a phonier excuse in existence?

“Hey, Marco!” I heard someone say.

I turned around and saw Marco at the far end of the bar, as if he’d come in through the back door. There was no way I wanted him to spot me with Pryce—it would look too much like we’d met for a date—so I decided to slip quickly out the front door.

Then I saw whom Marco was with.

She was slender, dark-haired, fashionably dressed, and exotic, with smooth olive skin that complimented Marco’s Italian looks. She was also a good half head taller than me, and I was betting there wasn’t a single freckle on her anywhere. I was also betting she was the reason he hadn’t wanted to meet with me tonight. Who was she?

That green-eyed monster inside me whispered in my ear,
Flirt with Pryce. Show Marco he isn’t the only game in town.
I’d battled this monster before. She almost always won.

“I’m sorry. You were saying?” I said, smiling at Pryce.

“I wasn’t saying. You were.”

Marco was now standing behind the bar chatting with one of the bartenders, while the woman waited quietly at the end. She wasn’t talking to anyone and, by the way she kept glancing at her watch, she didn’t look particularly happy to be there. I wanted to dislike her on principle—seeing Marco with another woman hurt more than I cared to admit—yet there was a sadness in her expression that wouldn’t let me.

Suddenly Marco looked over and met my gaze. He glanced at Pryce, then raised his eyebrows at me as if to say,
What gives?
so I gave him a smile that I hoped looked mysterious.

“Abigail?”

I turned back to Pryce and realized he had witnessed this little exchange of glances. “Gotta go,” I said before he could get nosy. “Thanks again for the beer.”

As I got up to leave I saw Marco escorting the woman toward the back of the bar, probably heading toward his office, so I quickly edged through the crowd to the front door. I didn’t realize anyone was behind me until I stepped outside and heard Pryce say, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I didn’t want Pryce to walk me to my car. For one thing, it would be too much like old times. For another, he hated my car because it was yellow. He disliked bananas for the same reason—yellow. “Really, Pryce, there’s no need to do that. My car is parked
way
over on Jackson.” I drew out the words, trying to make it sound like an all-day hike.

“It’s only one block away.”

Yes it was, damn it anyway.

As we approached Bloomers, I snapped my fingers and said, “I just remembered; I need to stop at the shop and I might be a while. Why don’t you go on?”

He knew I’d just given him the brush-off, but he pretended he didn’t. “Maybe we can do lunch sometime.”

He had to be kidding. Or maybe that was just
his
way of making a graceful exit. “Sure,” I answered, playing along. “Let’s do that.” Then we said good night and went our separate ways. I stood by the shop door and pretended to dig for my keys while he unlocked his BMW and got in. As soon as he drove away I hurried around the corner and headed for my car.

I’d parked across the street from the Happy Dreams Funeral Home, where Jack Snyder’s viewing was being held, and it looked like there was quite a crowd. As I unlocked the car, I noticed Jack’s brother, Rick, standing outside, so I shut the door and walked over to express my condolences—and to see what I could learn from him.

I hadn’t known Jack’s parents but, despite what Jillian believed, I had known Rick. We’d worked on the high school newspaper together—he wrote articles and I did page layouts. Rick had been a congenial, conscientious student who had always seemed embarrassed by Jack’s capers. Still, he’d lost his only brother. He had to be grieving.

“Hey, Rick,” I said, “I’m so sorry about your brother. It must have been a terrible shock.”

“Thanks, Abby.” He paused to greet people coming up the sidewalk. “To be honest, I’d always feared something bad would happen to Jack. It’s been really tough on my mother. You may have heard she has terminal cancer. She was hoping he’d straighten out before she . . . you know . . . passed. My hope is that the police will solve the case soon, so she can have some peace of mind.”

“Do they have any leads?”

“No. Not that they’ve told us, anyway.”

“Just so you know, Rick, I’m working on the case, too.”

He seemed surprised, so I explained my connection and my concern for Grace. More people came by and shook Rick’s hand, so I waited until they were gone, then I said, “I know this is lousy timing, Rick, but could I ask you two quick questions?”

“Sure.”

“You probably know about the fight your brother had with Josiah Turner during the wedding, and that Jack returned dressed as a waiter sometime during the reception. Can you think of any reason why he would do that?”

“Jack was always trying to avoid Josiah Turner, so why he went back—I don’t have a clue.”

“Would your mother know?”

“I doubt it. We’ve only had brief contact with Jack since he got out of prison. I had to track him down to tell him about Mom’s health.”

I handed him my card. “Would you pass this along to your mother with my condolences and let her know that I’m trying to help?” I gave him a hug and left.

 

It was after nine o’clock when I trudged upstairs to my apartment, a modest two-bedroom with a decent bathroom, a galley kitchen, and a narrow living/dining room that sometimes got a little cramped. Fortunately, Nikki worked the three-to-midnight shift at the county hospital—she was an X-ray technician—so we were usually able to stay out of each other’s way.

I unlocked the door to find Simon waiting for me, a rubber band dangling from his mouth. Simon loved to play fetch with rubber bands and plastic straws, and would happily scamper after one for hours, unless it landed on a throw rug. Then, rather than admit he was a coward, he would pretend he couldn’t find the toy and send us off in pursuit of another one. No dummy, that cat.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said, giving him a scratch behind the ears. I didn’t bother explaining why. He’d heard it all before. I gave him a dollop of cat food, put fresh water in his bowl, and grabbed a spoon and the container of ice cream and took it to the living room. Then, sitting on the sofa with the carton in my lap and an old episode of
Friends
on TV, I dug into the creamy dessert, trying to erase the image of Marco and the exotic beauty that kept replaying in my mind.

Suddenly, Simon came galloping across the room and leaped onto the sofa right next to the container of ice cream.

“Don’t even think about it,” I said, turning my back on him, as if I actually expected that to deter him. He climbed across my lap and tried to poke his head inside the carton, so I held it out of his reach. But that, as any cat person would know, only made him more determined to get it. As he balanced on my knees, trying to swipe at it with a paw, the phone rang.