Untitled (16 page)

   "You're naught but little hellions." Jim's face was flushed. His voice shook. "If you were my bairns, I'd put each and every one of you over my knee and—"

   "Well, of course they're being bad!" As if it was nothing, Eve strode into the middle of the chaos. She stepped between Jim and the girls. "These poor little darlings are bored. And who wouldn't be in this place all night?" She somehow managed to ensconce herself in the center of the circle, and she looked at each girl in turn. "If y'all can behave . . ." While she let this statement sink in, she gave each of them another careful look. "I will let you talk to Doc."

   "The puppy?" Emma's tears dried up instantly. She looked at her sisters for confirmation and nodded furiously. "We'll behave. We promise. Can we hold him?"

   "I will hold him. At least until you can prove that you won't be rough with him. Doc is a very special dog. Has Jim told you that story? Why, once, Doc saved the life of the vice president of the United States."

   The girls might not have known much about politics, but instinctively, they picked up on the undertone of Eve's voice, the one that told them in no uncertain terms that what she was talking about wasn't just important, it was downright incredible. She sat at the table and, their tears drying and their voices hushed, they gathered around her and waited almost patiently for a turn to pet Doc.

   I put a hand on Jim's arm. "You need a drink of water?"

   "I need a drink of something stronger than that." He turned to head back behind the bar. "I will refrain, though. A beer or two in me, and I'll be at the airport, buying tickets for the whole brood of them to go back to Florida. I can't afford that."

   "They've got to leave eventually." I tried my best to sound as if I believed this.

   "If my mother and Fi's mother weren't so close . . ." Jim shook his head. He poured an iced tea, handed it to me across the bar, and poured one for himself. "We've got to do something to take care of this muckle, Annie. I'm losing my mind."

   I offered him a smile. "It will be OK," I said, and he actually might have believed it, at least for a while, if Eve hadn't hopped to her feet.

   "You pinched his ear!"

   I couldn't tell which girl Eve aimed the accusation at. It didn't matter. Every single one of them started crying.

       night—and as good as that normally would have sounded to me (it should come as no surprise that I am a sucker for potato skins with plenty of cheese and sour cream), I was not in the mood. I'd spent the better part of the past week talking to the women on that list Valerie gave us. As for results . . . well, I guess my not-so-good mood said it all. Sure, every one of them had something bad to say about Brad. And not one of them was sorry he was dead. But as for uncovering viable suspects . . .

   Jim was out at the bar getting things ready for an early luncheon scheduled for the next day, and I was setting up for class. When I sighed, it had nothing to do with the tenpound bag of potatoes I was carrying to his worktable and everything to do with the fact that every single woman I'd talked to had a verifiable alibi for the day and time of Brad's murder. Believe me, I knew. I'd checked every one of them out.

   And every one of them checked out.

   Every one except Eve.

   The thought niggled at me now like it had every minute

of every day since the Monday before when Tyler first showed up at Bellywasher's to break the news about Brad and point an accusing finger at Eve. Now, like every other time I thought about it and my doubts reared their ugly heads, I told them to shut up and got back to trying to make sense of the case. If none of the other women on the list were possible suspects, and Eve wasn't either (I knew this in my heart), then I was obviously missing something. Or someone. The solution to this problem was simple: I had to think about it more. I had to work harder.

   The truth of this really hit home when I got to Bellywasher's that night and Jim informed me that Tyler had stopped in the night before just after I left. It was no big surprise to hear that he'd come to have another chat with Eve.

   According to Jim, it was very low key, and no one heard what Eve and Tyler said to each other. But Jim is a pub keeper, remember, and if there's one thing pub keepers know, it's human nature. He couldn't help but notice that when Tyler walked out, his expression was stonier than ever, his shoulders were rock steady, and his jaw was stiff. Like he'd made up his mind about something, and he wasn't about to change it, come hell or high water.

   As for Eve, Jim didn't want me to worry, so he tried to downplay the whole thing, but he eventually came clean. No sooner had Tyler walked out the door than Eve said she had a headache and had to go home. When she left, she was crying.

   Of course, as soon as I got the scoop, I tried to call Eve. Is it any big surprise that there was no answer? In the spirit of trying harder and working more, I set down the bag of potatoes and reached for my phone again. Before I had a chance to dial, the kitchen door swung open.

   "I hope you don't mind that I stopped in early." Kegan was apologizing practically before he was all the way in the kitchen. "I had lunch here on Saturday, and I ducked into the kitchen to say hi to Marc and Damien. Damien mentioned that his roommate had a bad sore throat. I know it sounds like I don't have a life . . ." He rolled his eyes. "But all I could think about yesterday was how awful it would be for you and Jim if Damien got sick, too. Without him, you folks would be busier than ever. I can't even imagine how you'd handle it." Kegan held up his market bag. "I brought Damien some horehound tea and organic honey. That ought to help him out. Now how about you? Do you need any help?"

   I could have mentioned the investigation that was going nowhere fast, but that wasn't what Kegan was talking about. Besides, the kid thought I was the goddess of private eyes. There was no use bursting his bubble. I put him in charge of gathering the ingredients Jim would need to make nachos.

   Kegan hurried over to his workstation (he'd be making mozzarella sticks for the class that night) and set down his bag. While he grabbed an apron, I went over to our one and only kitchen window to look through the pots of herbs for the mint Jim would use in his mojitos. I found the pot and set it nearby so Jim could reach it easily when it came time to demonstrate how to make the drinks, and Kegan washed and then chopped tomatoes.

   "I've been thinking about our case." Kegan's words so closely mirrorered what I'd just been mulling over, I turned and stared at him in wonder. He didn't notice. He was too busy concentrating on the tomatoes. "Are you getting anywhere with it?"

   I could have pointed out that it wasn't
our
case. But technically speaking, it wasn't
my
case, either. Kegan had as much right to know what was going on as anyone else did.

   He looked up briefly. Maybe the way I shook my head told him everything he needed to know.

   "That bad, huh?" He scooped the chopped tomatoes into a bowl and rinsed the cutting board. When he brought it back to Jim's workstation so he could start on the scallions, Kegan's expression was thoughtful. "You know what I was thinking? I mean . . ." He busied himself wiping off the cutting board and setting it in place. "Not that it's any of my business, of course, but I have to admit, I've never been this close to a murder investigation, and it is pretty exciting. Just like on TV. I was thinking, that's all. I mean, sort of pretending that I was the one in charge of the case instead of you. And wondering, you know, what I'd do next. If I were you." Just as I expected they would, Kegan's cheeks turned the color of the tomatoes in the bowl. "Not that I have any business telling you how to do things."

   "Maybe you do." I pulled a tall stool up to the table where Kegan was working and plunked down on it. "Maybe you're a genius, and you're not giving yourself enough credit."

   I didn't think it was possible for him to get any redder, but he did. "You think so? You mean, you think I might be a good detective, too?"

   "Well, I can't say. Not until you tell me what you've got planned. But I can say this, I'm getting nowhere on my own. It's time for me to get a little outside input. So what do you think, Watson? What's your theory?"

   "My theory? Oh, my!" Kegan couldn't contain a smile. "I'm honored you asked. I mean, I think it's wonderful that a detective with your credentials would actually care . . . I mean . . ."

   I got the picture, and before his flattery went to my head, I encouraged him to keep talking.

   "Well, it's like this." Kegan grabbed a bunch of scallions and set them on the cutting board. "You're not getting anywhere doing what you're doing, right?"

   I couldn't deny it.

   "So you should probably do what you haven't been doing."

   This seemed right on, too. I propped my elbows on the table, my chin in my hands, and listened.

   "I was thinking that if the answers you're looking for aren't with the women of WOW, then maybe they're with Brad."

"Only Brad's dead."

   "But the way he lived isn't." Kegan wrinkled his nose. "I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this well. What I mean is that if you're going to find out more about what happened to him, you need to find out more about Brad. It seems only logical that you'd check out the place he worked. And maybe the place he lived, too."

   I had thought of the work angle, of course, but as for snooping around Brad's house, that was beyond the scope of Annie Capshaw, girl detective.

   I was all set to explain this to Kegan when Eve walked into the kitchen.

   "There you are!" I honestly didn't think that she'd run off to some sunny island where there is no extradition agreement with this country, but a wave of relief shot through me, anyway. It was followed immediately by a shot of good ol' why-have-you-been-avoiding-me. My phone was on the table, and I picked it up and waved it in the air. "Don't you ever answer your calls these days?"

   She set down a paper shopping bag that made a clinking sound, and I remembered that Eve had promised Jim she'd roll silverware in napkins for the luncheon that was scheduled for the next day. "I've been kind of busy," she said.

   "Kind of busy ignoring me?"

   "No, silly." Eve was wearing sunglasses, and she didn't take them off. I wasn't fooled. She might sound flip, but I knew she was still upset about her interview with Tyler the night before. I suspected her eyes were red and swollen. "Just . . . you know . . . busy."

   "We're going to be busy, too." Kegan was finished with the scallions. He put them in a bowl and hurried over to Eve's side. "We're going to start a new avenue of investigation. We're going to take a look around Brad's house."

   How things had gotten to the
we st
age was beyond me, but right about then, that was the least of my worries. At the first mention of Brad's house, all the color drained out of Eve's face, and she reached back to brace one hand against the sink. I didn't have to be a detective to see that Kegan had hit on a nerve, and I knew I had to act fast, before Eve regained her composure.

   I had to act fast before she fainted, too.

   I jumped off the stool and hurried over to prop one hand under Eve's left arm. Kegan already had ahold of her right. Between the two of us, we kept her on her feet. She pulled in a breath to steady herself. "Funny you should mention Brad's house," she said.

   "Funny, huh?" Standing that close gave me the perfect chance to look up and try to catch Eve's eye. I would have known if it worked if she took off her sunglasses. When she didn't, I had no choice but to raise my chin and pin her with a look that I hoped was intimidating. "What have you been up to, Eve?"

   She drew her arms to her sides and stepped away, her back to us. "Nothing. Really. Not . . . not recently, anyway."

   "But you were up to something." I didn't say this like it was a question, because there was no doubt in my mind that I was on to something. Guilt practically dripped from Eve's words. "And that something that you were up to has something to do with Brad. With Brad's house." An idea struck, and a cold chill spread in the pit of my stomach. "Oh, Eve, you didn't—"

   "I couldn't help it, Annie." Eve turned and rushed toward me. She stripped off her sunglasses and tossed them down on the nearest table. Her eyes were red and swollen. New tears filled them. "It made so much sense at the time, don't you see? And it seemed like the perfect opportunity. I never thought . . ." A tiny sob escaped her, and she pressed a finger to her lips. "I didn't know someone was going to kill Brad. Now . . . Well, I think maybe . . . I mean, I'm afraid . . . Oh, Annie," she wailed. "I think I really screwed up!"

   Panic nibbled at my brain and soured my stomach. Still, I tried not to let it get the best of me. Easy to say. Not so easy to do. Especially when Eve was having a full-blown meltdown and Kegan was looking from one of us to the other, completely confused.

   Dealing with him—and the logic of the situation—was easier than trying to figure out how to handle Eve's overwrought emotions and the stampede of terrifying thoughts that pounded through my brain. The ones that told me that the situation wasn't just bad, it was worse than bad and heading toward critical.

   I kept my eyes on Kegan. It was better than watching Eve wring her hands, and maybe if I stuck to the facts, I wouldn't be swallowed whole by the fear that threatened to knock me off my feet.

   "Lesson number one," I told him. "You want to be a detective, follow my train of thought. Here's pretty much how it works. You mentioned Brad's house. Eve got upset. I asked what she's been up to. She said nothing—recently. That's the key here. That one word: r
ecently. B
ecause remember, Eve doesn't have an alibi for the day Brad was killed. Not one she's willing to talk about, anyway. Put it all together, Kegan. Think like a detective. What do you come up with?"