Murder Had a Little Lamb (8 page)

Still, this was the kind of visit I most enjoyed. Smokey was healthy and starting out her life with people who treasured her. As for the Wests, I knew they were going to have years of happiness with the new addition to their family. And the fact that I could play even a minor role in that amazingly rewarding relationship was what my job was all about.

•   •   •

At the end of the day, as I climbed back into the driver’s seat of my van one last time, I was pretty wiped out. As I turned the key in the ignition, I was picturing the evening ahead, relaxing with Nick and
my animals. In fact, when my cellphone rang, I just assumed it would be him.

But when I glanced at the caller ID screen, I saw the caller was someone else I knew: Patti Ardsley, the producer of my weekly TV show,
Pet People
.

“Hi, Jessie!” she greeted me. As usual, she sounded as bubbly as a glass of champagne. “I know that every week I start bugging you around now about what your topic for the next show is going to be, but for this week, I came up with an idea of my own.”

“Great!” The truth was that I’d been so busy over the past few days, first with my ill-fated wedding and then with taking on the role of teacher of the rich and famous in the name of investigating a murder, that I hadn’t given a single thought to Friday’s TV spot. In fact, I was relieved that Patti had come up with an idea, since the last time I’d checked the index cards in my brain, they’d all been blank. “What have you got?”

“It’s going to be terrific!” Patti exclaimed. “A friend of mine has a
bzzz bzzz bzzz
…”

I assumed she was saying actual words, but thanks to the flawed technology that cellphone users are forced to put up with, she sounded more like a bee than a human.

“You’re breaking up!” I shouted into the phone.
“What
did you say your friend has?”

“Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz,”
came the reply. Or at least something that sounded a lot like that.

By that point, I was desperate to start the drive home. And since talking on cellphones while driving is
against the law, that meant I had to find a way to end this call.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I’ll just show up on Friday morning and assume that you’ve taken care of the rest. Thanks, Patti!”

I hung up, figuring that whatever she had in mind, I could wing it. I’d certainly done
that
before.

In fact, these days winging it seemed to be something I was getting better and better at in pretty much every area of my life.

•   •   •

Half an hour later, as my van bumped along the long driveway that led to my home sweet home, I was lost in thought, imagining the evening ahead. I pictured myself stretched out on the couch with Cat lying on my chest, Lou sprawling on the floor next to me, and Nick telling me all about his day.

As I neared the cottage, I expanded my fantasy to include Chinese takeout and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I was practically in a daze by then.

But as I turned into my driveway, I let out a yelp, slamming on the brakes just in time to keep from hitting someone foolish enough to be standing smack in the middle of it.

F
orrester Sloan!” I yelled as I jerked my van to a halt, threw open the door, and jumped out. “What is wrong with you? You scared the living daylights out of me!”

“Anything to get a reaction,” he replied breezily. “You know I love it when you get an adrenaline rush and your cheeks turn pink and those green eyes of yours get all shiny—”

“For heaven’s sake, I almost ran you over!”

“I noticed.” Smirking, he added, “For the second time, no less. You may recall that that’s the way you and I first met. In fact, this might be a good time to use that tired old phrase, ‘We have to stop meeting like this.’”

It was true that my vehicle and Forrester Sloan’s person had come
this
close to making contact once
before. I’d been on my way to treat a polo pony on an estate in the ridiculously affluent community of Old Brookbury when he’d darted in front of me. At the time, he was covering the murder of a dashing young polo player. Before I knew what was happening, he had roped me into helping him.

“At any rate,” I asked impatiently, “what are you doing here?”

“This is actually a social call,” he replied, grinning. “I came to express my condolences—in person.”

“Over Nathaniel?” I asked, blinking.

“Over your wedding getting called off.”

“Thank you—”

“I didn’t find that out until this morning,” Forrester continued. “When you and I spoke on Saturday, I just assumed you’d finally tied the knot. Especially since you neglected to mention that you hadn’t.”

“We
almost
tied the knot,” I said quietly.

“But once I thought about it,” he went on, “I wasn’t all that surprised that when it came time for the Jessie Popper I know to say ‘I do,’ instead she said, ‘I don’t think so.’”

“But—but—that’s completely wrong!” I sputtered. “I mean, that’s not at all what happened!”

“No? You mean your wedding
didn’t
get called off at the eleventh hour?”

“It did, but that’s not the reason!” I insisted.

I sounded like a four-year-old, trying to convince a grown-up that she wasn’t the one who’d gobbled down all the cookies. But Forrester always had that effect on me. Not that I found him the least bit attractive. Sure, he had intense gray-blue eyes, thick blond
hair that softened into curls at the back of his neck, and a definite preppy look that some women might find engaging.

But not me.

“For heaven’s sake, a man was murdered!”

“I know,” he replied. “I’ve already written several articles about it, remember? But you have to admit that it was pretty convenient.” Forrester leaned against his car casually, still grinning at me in a way that made my blood boil. “For someone who was looking for an excuse not to get married, I mean.”

My mouth dropped open so wide that a butterfly could have flown in. I quickly snapped it shut.

“Not that this is any of your business,” I told him through gnashed teeth, “but Nathaniel Stibbins’s murder precipitated a family crisis. I can’t begin to tell you how distraught my future mother-in-law is. In fact, she wants nothing more than for this heinous crime to be solved so we can all get on with our lives—”

“Wait a minute,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You’re investigating this case, aren’t you? That’s the real reason you didn’t want your name in the paper. It had nothing to do with violating your personal privacy or losing clients!”

“Both those reasons are completely legitimate!” I protested.

He didn’t appear to be listening. “I should have figured that out,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “After all, the guy
is
related to you.”

“Not quite,” I corrected him. It wasn’t until I’d said those words that I realized the correct thing to have said would have been not
yet
. “But yes, you’re right. I
have been taking a few steps to see if I can help figure out what happened. At my future-mother-in-law’s insistence.”

“I get it,” Forrester said. “Who has time to pick out new flower arrangements when she’s investigating a murder? Of course, multitasking
is
in style. Unless, of course, there’s some relief mixed in there with all the grief …”

“Forrester, I think you’d better leave. As in right now.”

He laughed. “I don’t blame you for being embarrassed, Popper. Not only did you bail out of your own wedding, you didn’t even have the common decency to invite me to the ceremony. Still, I’ve decided to forgive you for your faux pas—”

“I don’t
care
if you forgive me!” I cried. “I don’t
want
you to forgive me! I just want you to get out of here before Nick comes back and—”

“Ah. So the lucky man, as we used to call him, isn’t home.” Forrester’s gaze shifted over my shoulder, toward my empty cottage. “You know, some people might offer an unexpected visitor a cup of coffee. Especially if that visitor took time out of his busy schedule to drop by.”

“Forrester, you’re not only unexpected, you’re also unwelcome. So please—”

“Or better yet, how about you and me going out? I was thinking dinner, but I’d also be up for a long walk along an isolated beach …”

“No, Forrester!”

“Why not?” he asked, looking baffled. “It’s not as if you’re married!”

“I’m still engaged!”

“Are you?”

“I most certainly am!”

He just cast me a skeptical look.

“Look, Forrester,” I said in a low, even voice, “it’s been a long day. If you don’t mind, I’d really like you to—”

We both froze at the sound of tires crunching against gravel.

Nick? I thought, not knowing whether to feel relieved or guilty.

When a car I recognized as Sunny McGee’s pulled around the bend, I was thrilled we were being interrupted.

I had to admit that I was also glad that it wasn’t Nick who was pulling into the driveway. I didn’t want to have to deal with him finding me here with Forrester, as innocent as our little tête-á-tête may have been.

At least in my eyes.

“Sunny!” I cried, dashing over to her sporty little car as she turned off the ignition. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“Hi—i—i,” she replied, clearly confused by my unusually enthusiastic greeting.

“I hope you remembered that we have some important business to attend to,” I said, casting what I hoped was a meaningful look at my assistant.

“We do?” Sunny repeated, sounding surprised. But she was a pretty smart cookie. “Ohmygosh, Jessie. I almost forgot. You’re absolutely right. If we don’t get
that done by tonight, I don’t know what’s going to happen!”

Forrester glanced from me to Sunny and back to me. I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t buy our little act for a second. Still, even he knew that three’s a crowd.

“In that case,” he said, his eyes burning into mine, “I’ll leave you two to meet your deadline. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of—what is it you’re in such a hurry to do?”

“None of your business,” Sunny snapped.

She immediately glanced at me, her anxious look saying she wasn’t sure if she’d just overstepped a boundary. I put her fears to rest with an approving smile.

“Well put, Sunny,” I said. “Anyway, it was great talking to you, Forrester. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

“No doubt.” He suddenly made a big show of checking his watch. “Whoa, it’s later than I thought. I was just on my way to meet with your friend and mine, Lieutenant Anthony Falcone. I thought you might like to join me, but I can see you’re too busy.”

“You are?” I sputtered. “You did?”

Forrester had certainly captured my interest. And from the smug look on his face, I could see that he was perfectly aware of just how great that interest was likely to be.

I would have given anything—well, almost anything—for the chance to hear what Falcone had to say about this case. And having Forrester there as a buffer would have been the way to do it. After all, I’d butted
heads with Anthony Falcone on more than one occasion. For some strange reason, the Norfolk County Chief of Homicide was never thrilled with the idea of someone like me—that is, someone who had no training, no expertise, and no official reason for being involved in a homicide investigation—doing exactly that.

The fact that at times I’d proven to be better at it than he was hadn’t helped.

“Yup, Falcone’s expecting me,” Forrester continued. “Too bad the timing doesn’t work for you. Maybe next time.”

“Forrester,” I protested, “you know perfectly well that—”

“In fact, I’ll leave you two alone,” he went on. “But hey, if you’re ever interested in hearing some of the details of the case, don’t hesitate to give me a call.” He made that annoying gesture of extending two fingers in what was supposed to look like a telephone and holding his hand up to his ear. “I think you know the number.”

His car had barely left the driveway when Sunny commented, “That guy definitely has the hots for you.”

“He does not!” I shot back.

“Whatever.” Sunny gave a little shrug. “So you’re investigating another murder,” she added, sounding impressed. “Listen, Jessie, if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know. You don’t even have to pay me. I mean, I’d be happy to do whatever you needed on my own time.” Her eyes were bright as she added, “That is just so cool.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I may take you up on that.”

“In the meantime,” Sunny said, “I really did have something I wanted to talk to you about. I found this cool new program for keeping track of your finances. I’d like to show you how it works so you can think about whether you want us to switch over.”

Once again, I was struck by how lucky I was to have Sunny helping me run the show.

But as we went inside, it wasn’t Sunny I was thinking about. It was Forrester—and the fact that he had an inside track on information about Nathaniel Stibbins’s murder. Through the chief of homicide, no less. Which meant that as much as I would have liked to banish Forrester Sloan from my life, chances were good that I was going to have to put up with him just a little bit longer.

•   •   •

Sunny and I wasted no time in sitting down at my combination dining room table and desk with our laptops side by side so she could demonstrate the advantages of the new accounting system she’d found. She was showing me how much easier the spreadsheets were to read when my cellphone rang.

I glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Nick’s mother.

“I’d better take this,” I told Sunny, grimacing. Speaking into the phone, I said, “Hello, Dorothy. How are—?”

“Jessica!” Dorothy’s voice was so loud that I feared for the future of my left eardrum. “I’m calling to see if
you’ve figured out who did that terrible thing to Cousin Nathaniel yet.”

Hell-o, I thought crossly. I’ve only been undercover at the Worth School for a
day
. It even took Jessica Fletcher longer than that to solve crimes on
Murder She Wrote
. And she wasn’t running a veterinary practice on the side.