Kill 'Em with Cayenne (27 page)

“Rumors? What kind of rumors?” Pretending ignorance, I shook my head as if that would magically snap all the puzzles pieces into place. It's not unheard of, I knew, for a teacher to develop “feelings” for a student. “Were there any … extracurricular activities going on between you and Art Dapkins?”

“No,” she spat. “Mr. Dapkins wasn't that kind of person. A certain party, however, started a tale that I was the aggressor in a student–teacher relationship. The same ‘party' who, though I can't prove it, also started lies about my promiscuity and hinted at a possible pregnancy. Finally, I'd had enough. I couldn't take any more. So, I packed my bags and bid this town good riddance.”

“Until now…”

“Yes, until now.”

“What made you come back after all these years?”

“My shrink.” Barbie lowered her reading glasses and reached for the clipboard. “He advised me that, if I wanted to get on with my life, it was time to put high school behind me. The debut of
Some Like It Hot
coincided nicely with Brandywine Creek's annual barbecue festival. I decided to show the town for what it's really like beneath its postcard-pretty surface. All its backstabbing, gossipy, narrow-minded ways. I view Becca Dapkins's murder as icing on the cake, an unexpected bonus.”

“You suspect Becca was responsible for the vicious rumors?”

“Damn right I do.” Beautiful, hard, and cold, Barbie's face could have doubled as a porcelain mask. “The bitch was so worried I'd steal the man she'd set her sights on that she'd go to any lengths to make my life a living hell. I hated the woman then; I'm not sorry she's dead now.”

I rose from the uncomfortable chair I'd been sitting on. Our discussion had come full circle. “Did you kill her?”

Barbie pointed an index finger shellacked bloodred at the door. “Out! Now!”

I started to leave, but halfway across the room I hesitated and turned. “Do you have an alibi for the night Becca was murdered?”

From the way Barbie's eyes narrowed in anger I thought for a second she was going to fling her clipboard at me. “If you're not out of here by the time I count to ten, I'm calling the police.”

I didn't need to be hit over the head with a brisket to know when I wasn't wanted. “I'll see myself out.”

*   *   *

I left the Turner-Driscoll House trying to figure out my next move. Barbie certainly had motive to want Becca dead. Matter of fact, Barbie had it in spades. As for the weapon, how hard was it to get one's hands on a chunk of meat days before a barbecue festival? All that was missing from the unholy triad of motive, means, and opportunity was the o word—opportunity. Barbie had tossed me out on my ear without revealing where she'd been the night Becca was murdered.

“All right, Casey. Let me run this past you,” I said aloud to my little pup, who raised his shaggy head, one ear cocked, and assumed a listening pose.

“Becca Dapkins, née Ferguson, a school secretary, had designs on a certain good-looking assistant principal. This nice man had taken an interest in a particular student—a late bloomer, a target of bullying, and very smart. As a result, Becca felt threatened by his attention to this vulnerable … and voluptuous … young girl.”

Casey thumped his tail against the car's seat to indicate he was following the gist of my lopsided conversation.

“Becca saw her dream of marrying Mr. Assistant Principal going down the toilet,” I continued. “Rather than risk losing him, she conjured a series of mean and nasty rumors about the girl's morals. In so doing, she forced the girl into dropping out of school and leaving town, thus effectively removing all roadblocks to her romance with a good-looking young man with a promising future.

“Now,” I said, addressing Casey, who commendably hung on my every word, “this is where it gets interesting. The young girl grows into a beautiful, successful career woman. Years later she returns to her hometown with a score to settle. One of the first people she runs into when she gets there is none other than the woman who wronged her. They meet; they clash; only one survives. So far, how does my theory hold up?”

Casey let out a
yip
and thumped his tail again.

That was the only affirmation I needed.

I turned right and cruised toward the Brandywine Creek Police Department. Since it wasn't busy this time of day, I pulled into one of the vacant slots designated for visitors. Sand was trickling through Maybelle Humphries's hourglass. McBride needed to find the real killer. And sooner rather than later.

“Be patient a little longer,” I advised Casey, giving him a scratch behind the ears. He looked back at me, a reproachful expression on his doggie face.
Promises, promises, promises,
he seemed to be saying.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I scooted from the car, hurried down the walk, and shoved open the doors of the police station.

“Hey, Piper.” Precious Blessing stopped filing her nails. “Find another body?”

“Ha-ha,” I replied. “Not funny.”

“Oops.” She grinned, not the least bit repentant. “My bad.”

I found myself grinning back. It was hard not to when confronted with Precious's good-natured sass. “The chief in?”

“You just missed him, girlfriend.” She pointed her nail file at the door. “Last I heard of him, he was mutterin' somethin' about a cold beer and a burger.”

“Drat!” I drummed my fingers on the counter separating the public area from the restricted one. “I need to run something past him.”

“Bet you can find 'im home 'bout now. Be a shame for him to miss out on how pretty you look with your hair and makeup all done up proper.” She gave me a wink. “Do you want directions or can you find the way?”

I felt a telltale blush creep into my cheeks. “I think I can manage, but thanks.”

Precious chuckled at my reaction but, thankfully, didn't pursue the reason why I didn't need a road map to find McBride's place. “You gonna take time to have some fun come Saturday? You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Put your mind to rest,” I said. “I plan to be at the dance and fireworks. Dr. Doug's fairly confident he's going to be one of the winners. My daughter, Lindsey, is part of his team. You should've seen the look on her grandmother's face when she said that she was going to a butt-rubbin' party.”

Amusement shimmered in Precious's dark eyes. “Lordy! I bet Miss Melly was fit to be tied, hearin' that comin' from the mouth of her sweet grandbaby.”

As I headed out the door I couldn't help but think “fit to be tied” might also describe McBride's reaction when I told him my suspicions about his old friend the comely and voluptuous Barbie Q.

 

C
HAPTER
29

F
OLLOWING AN IMPULSE—
another of my bad habits—I headed down Route 78, a narrow two-lane county road. I'd been to McBride's once before after Lindsey and her friends engaged in a bout of underage drinking on prom night. At the time, he'd been renting a fixer-upper with an option to buy. According to the local grapevine, which boasted a 95 percent accuracy rate, he'd since made an offer and was now the proud owner of a handyman special.

A spanking-new mailbox with
MCBRIDE
neatly stenciled along one side marked the drive. As the gravel crunched under my tires, I began to doubt the wisdom of my decision. Kona coffee and fresh-baked blueberry muffins aside, it wasn't as if McBride and I were buddies. Our relationship was strictly professional—except when it wasn't.

Like now.

I spotted him casually reclining on the porch steps, beer bottle in hand. He'd exchanged his starched navy blues for cutoff jeans and … nothing else. My mouth went dry at the sight of his bronzed torso and well-defined abs. A hint of five o'clock shadow along his square jaw only added to the sexy image. My libido kicked into overdrive. No need to get my estrogen level checked. Heck, my ob-gyn could avoid billing for expensive blood work by parading him through her office from time to time. The man was a living, breathing hormone barometer.

His icy-blue gaze unwavering, McBride watched me brake to a stop at the foot of his drive. He took a long pull from his beer as I approached with Casey romping at my heels. “What's the occasion?” McBride asked

“Would you believe I'm just being neighborly?”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “I was referring to the hair and makeup ‘occasion.'”

“Oh…” I ran my hand over less curly curls thanks to Reba Mae's wizardry with a flatiron. “Today marked my TV debut. Barbie and her video guy came by and filmed a segment for her show.”

“I thought you and the vet might have a hot date—or maybe you were trying to seduce me.”

My eyes widened. “McBride, shame on you. And to think, all this time you've been keeping it a secret.”

He frowned. “Keeping what a secret?”

“Your sense of humor.”

“Every now and then.” He grinned, and my favorite dimple popped into view. “As my daddy used to say, even a blind squirrel finds an acorn sometime.”

I sat on a lower step. Casey sprawled at my feet. I looked out across a yard bordered by sweet gum, loblolly pines, and oak. The last of daylight slanted through the boughs, forming a filigree of sunlight and shadow. Crickets chirped in the thick grass. “It's a nice night,” I said for want of clever repartee.

“Can't argue with that.” He took another swig of beer. “Haven't had much company, so excuse me if my manners are a tad rusty. Care for a beer? It's the best I can offer in the way of adult beverages.”

I shook my head. “No thanks. Never been much of a beer drinker, not even in college.”

“Didn't think so. Had you pegged for a white wine sort of gal from the get-go.”

“Don't sprain your arm patting yourself on the back. I like red wine, too.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he drawled, letting a hint of Georgia creep into his voice. “How about a Dr Pepper?”

“I'd love a Dr Pepper.”

He nodded his approval. “Now we're dancing to the same tune. Stay put; I'll be right back.”

I rested my arms on my knees and stayed put. I felt oddly content. Peaceful. I wished I didn't have to spoil it all by bringing up Larry, Moe, and Curly, otherwise known as Becca, Maybelle, and Barbie. Wished it were simply an evening spent in the company of an interesting and attractive man. After my divorce from CJ, I'd sworn off men for good. Time heals all wounds, as the saying goes. Guess it's true in my case, too.

“Here you go.” McBride handed me a cold can of soda. I noticed he'd taken time to pull on a T-shirt and ruin the awesome view of his bare chest. “Say,” he said, settling back on the top step. “What happened to all those cute freckles?”

Cute freckles?
Never in a million years would I have “pegged” McBride as a sucker for freckles. “Blame their disappearance on Carter Kincaid, the videographer. He complained I looked pale and washed-out. The extra foundation and blush were his idea, not mine.” I popped the tab on my Dr Pepper and took a sip. I felt a pang of guilt. As though I were being disloyal to Doug for enjoying McBride's company.

He gestured toward the can of soda. “I'd offer you a glass with ice, but I keep forgetting to refill the damn ice cube trays.”

“No problem,” I assured him. “It's nice and cold.”

“One of these days, I'm planning to replace the relic that came with the house. I looked at Lowe's, but came away even more confused. Guess I never realized there are so many choices when it comes to a fridge. Freezer on top. Freezer on the bottom. Side by side. White, black, or stainless steel. Only thing I'm sure of is I want a built-in ice maker. No more fooling around with ice cube trays.”

“Built-in ice makers are great features.” I swept a glance over the exterior of the house. “Doesn't look like you've done much since the last time I was here.”

He grimaced. “Truth of the matter, I'm afraid I bit off more than I can chew. Got carried away by the low price—and the fact the property sits on five wooded acres with a stream running through it. Realtor kept stressing it was a steal. A do-it-yourselfer's dream. When I questioned her, she said the price reflected the need for redecorating. Now that the house is mine, I don't know where to start.”

For a tough cop he seemed flummoxed at being a homeowner. I was torn between laughter and sympathy. “Somehow I never pictured you as a do-it-yourself kind of guy.”

“I own a hammer. I can read directions.” He shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

“I could be wrong, but owning a hammer isn't the equivalent of being a licensed contractor.”

“Before you drove up, I was about to fix myself a burger,” he said, stretching his long legs. “Care to join me?”

“Sure,” I said, surprised by the offer. “As long as you let me help.”

Getting to his feet, he held out a hand. “Nothing fancy. Burger and chips. If you're in the mood for dessert, I've can dig out a bag of Oreos.”

“Oreos…?” I laughed. “I'll definitely be in the mood for dessert.”

He held open the screen door and Casey scooted through before I could stop him. “Don't worry,” McBride said. “I like dogs. Might even get me one someday.”

I stepped inside and got my first up close and personal of the handyman special. A small entryway led into a living room. A leather recliner was the sole item of furniture. At the far end, a large flat-screen television backed up to a corner cabinet made of knotty pine. Next to the living room was a small dining room with a card table and a couple folding chairs.

“Bedrooms and bath are on either side. Kitchen's to your right. Like I told you, the place needs work.”

“Let's see the kitchen.”