Death at the Day Lily Cafe (31 page)

“Upset is not a new emotion for him. But I honestly don't believe he wants to convict an innocent woman, even if he is furious with her. If you don't hear from me, he agreed to come.”

“Okay.” I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip. “Glenn?”

“Yes, dear?”

“If Jackson did murder CJ, well, what if he regrets telling me everything?”

“I'll be there,” Glenn said, “as will the sheriff. But you be careful, Rosalie. Please don't put yourself in harm's way. It's not worth it.”

*   *   *

Dusk was settling in as I walked toward the tavern. Neon beer signs glowed in the high, narrow windows. When I stepped inside it looked as if the gray had crept right on into the bar.

Chuck was jiggling a martini shaker like a maraca. His arms pumped up and down as he signaled with his head. I squinted, adjusting my eyes to the room, and there was Jackson seated at the bar. I left several empty chairs between us when I sat down, folded my hands together, and squeezed them as if in a desperate prayer.

The Blue Point sloshed over the sides as Chuck set it in front of me. “Do I do that every time?” he said as he wiped the counter with a damp rag.

“No worries. You wouldn't believe how much coffee I spill in a day.” I took a small sip. “Thank you for helping me, Chuck,” I said in a hushed voice. “I know you like to stay neutral, but this is the only idea I could come up with.”

“Even Switzerland has to take a stand now and then.” He rubbed the top of his shiny head and whispered, “Just don't let it get around that I helped. Okay?”

“Indeed.” I checked to ensure Jackson was still engrossed in his drink and nudged my phone across the counter. “I have my text to Glenn already written. All you need to do is hit send. Oh, and the password is
t-o-d-d
.”

Chuck dropped my phone in his pocket. “Got it.”

I clutched my glass and looked down the bar again. Jackson was hunched over his drink. I gazed at him, willing myself to pull this off. I was surprised when he looked up. I gave him a little wave.

“Rosalie,” he called. “What the heck are you doing here?” He picked up his drink and walked over to me. I pressed my spine against the back of the chair.

“I think I'm becoming a bit of a regular.” I hesitated. I had to play this just right. “I get lonely in that big old house all by myself.”

“Well, that's certainly good news.” He eased himself onto the chair next to me. His face was ruddy despite the tan. “But I must say, I never expected to see a pretty lady like you hanging out at the tavern.”

“Hey, watch it,” Chuck said. “Maybe she likes the company.”

Jackson laughed. “This here Chuck's a good guy, ain't he? He's the trustworthy type. Good quality in a bartender.”

“Yes,” I said. “I agree.”

“I'll have another, old buddy.”

“Another Gold Label?” Chuck said. “You sure?”

“Why not?” Jackson said. “Life is short. Life is good.”

I took a long drink. “You must be happy to finally be back to work at the college, Jackson.”

“I'm there, but I need to undo the lame job those other guys did. Some people around here assume getting help from the city means the workmanship will be better. But they don't recognize the talent we have here in Cardigan. We're a hard-working lot. Doesn't get any better.”

Chuck set a glass in front of Jackson and stepped away. He started adjusting the vodka bottles, turning them so the labels faced forward. It was clear by the way he kept his head motionless that he was listening intently to our conversation.

“You must be relieved Lori confessed about CJ stealing the money,” I said. “I wonder where it is now.”

Jackson took his first sip of the new pour. “It's probably still in the back of his pickup.”

“How do you know that, Jackson?” Slow down, I thought. He has to warm up to you. “Or have you already figured this out on your own?” I crossed my legs and smoothed my skirt over my thigh. “I know you're very clever.”

He glanced down at my legs. “Didn't have to figure it out, although I'm sure I would have. Dumb sucker told me. Sitting right at this very bar. He couldn't keep his mouth shut. Never could. He said his wife was pressuring him to give it back. He was worried she'd do it, so he kept it with him.”

I took a another long swig of my beer. I didn't have a clue what to say next. Jackson was looking at my legs again. I cleared my throat. “He must have really trusted you if he told you such a private thing.”

“He offered me ten percent if I could find a way to get him out of the country.”

“That's a pretty good offer.” I smiled and finished my beer. I put my fingers over my mouth and stifled a dainty burp.

“Say, Chuck,” Jackson said, and polished off his whiskey. “How's 'bout another round for me and Miss Rosalie.”

“Good idea,” I said. “But I think I'll have what you're drinking. What's Gold Label?”

“The good stuff.” He winked. “You sure look pretty tonight. Nice skirt. So you're a drinker, then.”

“I grew up on a farm,” I said. “I had my first beer when I was twelve.”

Jackson's eyes widened in surprise. “That right?”

I tried to hold his gaze while Chuck set our drinks in front of us. “So did you take CJ up on his offer? Or at least try?”

“Nah. Sounded messy. CJ was a sloppy guy. In everything but his profession.” Jackson sipped his whiskey.

I studied his eyes. The pupils were slightly dilated. No slurred speech yet. But this was his second drink since he'd sat down next to me. I had no idea how many he'd had before I arrived. I had to nudge this along. I took a sip and almost spit it out. My throat burned. I steeled myself and took another. “You know, it's kind of sad, Jackson. CJ died and never got to spend any of that money.”

“Oh, I don't know. If you ask me, he wouldn't have known how to spend it. CJ just wasn't cut out for being rich. You see what I'm saying?”

“Unlike you.” I felt a little nauseous. “I bet you could handle it.”

“I've been told I have very good taste.” Jackson sat a little straighter.

“So where is that money? Did anyone else hear CJ tell you he had it?” I took another sip, eyeing him over the rim of my glass. “Maybe that's who killed CJ.”

Jackson shrugged. “Could be. Hey, Chuck,” he said. “Remember that night CJ got shot?”

Chuck loaded a blender with a heavy dose of tequila and some margarita mix. “I'm not going to forget that night for a while, Jackson.”

“Was anyone sitting near us?”

Chuck shook his head. “After CJ went on his antigay rant, I think he pretty much cleared out his end of the bar.” He fired up the blender.

Jackson's eyebrows dipped as if he was considering something. The blender went silent.

“Maybe CJ should have just skipped town on his own,” I said. “Maybe gone to the Cayman Islands or something. If he had any brains, that is.”

Jackson looked over at me. “Say what?”

One more sip. “This stuff is pretty good. I'm getting a little woozy.” I braced my hands on the bar. “Liquor is quicker, right?”

“I like the quicker part.” Jackson had started to slur his words. I thought about Glenn's advice. It was time.

“I think the Caymans would be a fabulous place to live out your days. That's always been my fantasy.” I spun my glass around. “Just the idea of it makes me feel warm inside.”

Chuck froze mid-pour.

“That right?” Jackson smiled at me.

“If that kind of money fell into my hands, I would get on the first plane out of here.”

“I like the way you think, missy.” He patted my hand.

“You know, Jackson, even if the money was stolen, there's no need to bide your time before you leave. I mean, someone has already been charged with the murder
and
stealing the money. Why would they come after you?”

“I didn't steal that money.”

“I know. CJ did. Everyone knows that now.”

Chuck reached for my phone in his pocket. He turned away and looked down at it.

“I had a lousy husband, Jackson. I really did.” I dipped my head closer to his. He was wearing some very strong cologne, but not enough to mask an underlying body odor. I was beginning to doubt very seriously that I could pull this off. I squeezed my eyes shut. Alessa. She could do this. And she was older than me. I used to feel attractive, I thought. There was a time Ed found me sexy.

There. That was my problem. I still saw myself through Ed's rejecting eyes. But Ed didn't get to decide if I was attractive anymore. And there was a really good chance I still was. Every woman is attractive, I thought. We just have to tap into that inner passion that makes us glow.

I rolled my shoulders back. “Just imagine it, Jackson. Warm sun on your skin every day of the year. Sand between your toes.” I looked up at him. “Flowers in your hair.”

Chuck dropped the phone in his pocket and finished filling the glasses with margaritas.

Jackson studied me. “You would run away, just like that?”

I gazed up at him with the most soulful eyes I could muster. “Yes.” I searched his face and whispered, “In a nanosecond.”

Jackson shook his head a little, as if trying to bring me into focus. His eyes narrowed. “What if I could do that for you, missy? Get you out of here. Take you someplace tropical.”

“Don't tease me, Jackson.” I heard the door open and close. I had to keep Jackson's eyes on me. If he saw the sheriff looming behind us, this was all a wash. I touched his arm and ran my finger over the face of his watch. “That's beautiful.”

“There's more where that came from. You like diamonds?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “I think they look especially sparkly on tanned skin.” I was close and yet felt miles away. I might get this man to proposition me, but how would I get him to tell me what he‘d done? Stroke his ego, I thought. Just like Glenn said. He's proud to have the money. Bursting at the seams. I slid the toe of my pump over his calf. “So you would buy me diamonds?”

He leaned in closer. “Whatever you desire.” His breath smelled of whiskey and a trace of old socks.

I caught Chuck's eye. His brow was furrowed. Maybe I was closer than I thought. I faced Jackson and fluffed my hair. “What are you saying?”

“Come with me,” he purred, a hungry look in his eye.

“Where?” I whispered.

“The Caymans, just like you said. Maybe it's fate you wandered in here tonight.” He leaned in so close his face blurred. “I'm leaving in two days.” He draped his arm around my chair possessively. “Anything you want is yours.”

“You sure I won't cramp your style?”

“Oh yeah.” His hand slid down to my bottom. It was all I could do to not sock him in the gut. “You won't need no surfer boy if you got Jackson Crawford in your hut.”

“Really?” I said. “Two days? I guess I won't need to pack much.” I scooted back in my seat. “Tell me, Jackson.” I swallowed, willing myself to not look at Chuck and break Jackson's trance. “How did it all go down? Come on, I love this stuff. It's like a movie. You must have been amazing. I'll bet you were just like George Clooney.”

Jackson puffed out his chest. “I waited for him outside. CJ always parked in the back, because he didn't want anyone to take the money. When he stumbled out of the tavern I told him I wanted it. He said he would give me half to keep me quiet. But you see, there was no reason for me to agree to that. He could either give it all to me, or I would turn him in. Next thing I knew, CJ reached in his truck and took out a shotgun. He locked the doors and faced me. I tried to calm him down, but he pointed it right at me. Guy was so drunk I got it from him, although he put up a pretty tough struggle. But I'm a whole lot stronger.” Jackson tightened his bicep muscle. “Next thing I knew, he lunged at me. It was self-defense, pure and simple.” Jackson finished his drink and gazed into my eyes. “You got a bikini?”

“No,” the sheriff said. “But I got me some prints.”

 

F
IFTY
-
THREE

Annie returned to work on Wednesday, and I was glad to have a day at the café where I could massage recipes and tap into my creativity. I had asked Janice where I could find some high-quality scrapple, and she replied that high-quality scrapple was an oxymoron. But I was intrigued by Custer's grandmother's recipe. Scrapple was purportedly an Eastern Shore staple made with pork scraps, different kinds of flour, and spices. The finished product was a congealed log of sorts. After coming up short with Janice, I knew exactly who would be able to direct me to the proper source for good scrapple: Bini. And sure enough, the very next day she brought me a pound of freshly made Eastern Shore scrapple.

I left my grocery bags in the kitchen and went out to the dining room. The tables were scrubbed clean, the floors polished, the menus stacked. A large pile of mail was spread out on the bar.

I clicked the remote and turned on the stereo system in the dining room. After flipping through the CDs, I decided
The Best of Andrea Bocelli: Vivere
would be the perfect accompaniment to inspire me. I cranked up the volume and put the wedge under the swinging door so I could hear every evocative note while in the kitchen.

A breeze blew in the door as I spread the ingredients out in front of me. I scrubbed a red pepper and placed it on a rack in the oven to roast. I was glad the investigation was over, freeing me up to focus my energies on the café again. Doris's sister was safe and sound and trying to rebuild her new, and very different life. I was sorry to see Jackson go to jail, but then again, he did kill a man. I had been worried about the health of his heart when he saw the sheriff standing behind us, the light from the windows enlarging Joe's presence to feel almost godlike. Jackson's mouth had fallen open as he looked at me in confusion. I felt wretched, a familiar feeling when solving a murder. CJ Fiddler was dead. And Jackson had killed him. Glenn nailed it when he predicted Jackson would have wanted to tell me what he'd done. And maybe Jake was more right than he realized about human nature. Boone had convinced himself CJ was nothing but a loudmouthed fool. Dehumanizing him in that way must have made it easier to take his life.