Whack 'n' Roll (27 page)

“Earl, wait,” I called.

He paused and turned. “Sure you want to talk to me?” he asked bitterly. “No one else does.”

I fumbled for the right words. What could I say to a man suspected of murdering his wife? Should I burst into song? Remind him that the sun will come out tomorrow? That tomorrow is only a day away? “You’re developing a new hybrid?” I asked instead, opting for the mundane.

“Yeah, I’ve been working twenty-four/seven since Rosalie left.”

“That’s great, Earl. Everyone needs a hobby.”

“It’s more than a hobby. I plan to turn it into a business. Raise hybrids and sell them on the Internet.”

“Wow,” I said. “I had no idea.”

“Planned to do it up right. Even thinking about getting myself a Web site.”

“How did Rosalie feel about all this?”

He dived his fingers through his thinning hair, and stared up at the night sky. “That was what we argued about last time we talked.” He blinked back tears. “I wanted to take money out of our savings and invest in a greenhouse. She accused me of throwing good money away. Said I paid more attention to my hybrids than I did to her.”

I placed my hand lightly on his arm. “I’m sorry, Earl. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “First I lose Rosalie, now my phalaenopsis. If it hadn’t been for someone phoning in an anonymous tip about a golf club, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion. I thought if I just explained to the officer out front, he’d let me into my own house long enough to water my orchids. He could even stay and watch if he wanted. How’s that for being naive?”

“Maybe if you explained to the sheriff—”

Earl cut me off. “The only words Sheriff Wiggins wants to hear from me is a confession.” He started to walk away, but then paused and turned back. “Funny thing is, even though we’d grown apart, I still loved my wife.” His voice cracked as he struggled to regain his composure.

I watched him walk away, head bent, shoulders slumped in defeat.

I gave Officer Olsen a halfhearted wave as I walked toward home. A cold breeze out of the north chilled me to the bone. One thing was clear—crystal clear. If Earl was innocent—and I believed he was—only the murderer could have planted the weapon in Earl’s bag and phoned in the anonymous tip. Find the caller; find the murderer. Simple as that. Piece of cake, right?

 

“Hi, Kate.” Megan greeted me with a smile. “Have a seat. Dr. Baxter is running a little behind.”

“No hurry,” I said, taking a seat and picking up a copy of
People
. “Will I see you Thursday at bunco?”

“Sure, wouldn’t miss it. Where’s it at this time? Mom told me, but I forgot.”

“At Connie Sue’s.”

“Cool! Her house is amazing!” Giving me an apologetic look, she turned to answer the phone.

Amazing
described Connie Sue’s home to a T. With her impeccable taste, if she hadn’t worked as a cosmetics rep, she could have had a career as an interior decorator. Unlike Bill’s, there was nothing beige or neutral about Connie Sue’s home. She loved color and wasn’t afraid of using it.

“Mrs. McCall . . .” I looked up from
People
and recognized Caitlin, the girl from my previous visit. “Right this way,” she said.

I reluctantly closed the magazine without learning the name of the latest Hollywood celebrity to file for divorce. I’d have to get the details from Polly later. I followed Caitlin down a hallway to the last exam room on the left. Seemed like the uniform of the day was pale blue scrubs imprinted with smiling molars heralding glad tidings of brush, floss, and rinse. Meanwhile my brain was trumpeting a different message entirely: run, retreat, and hide.

Too late. Caitlin motioned me into the dental chair and pinned on a bib. After assuring me Dr. Too-Handsome-for-His-Own-Good would be right with me, she disappeared. Probably to resume her role as modern-day tooth fairy, cheerfully dispensing toothbrushes and mint-flavored floss to the unwary. I sat back to await my fate, determined to be brave.

As a distraction, I let my eyes roam over the room, taking in the decor. Although this was a different exam room than last time, the golf theme still prevailed. This one contained more personal memorabilia. An elaborately carved shelf of photos and golf trophies was mounted on a wall next to the window. One photo in particular caught my attention. It was the same one I’d first seen in the Brubakers’ living room. In it, the happy foursome of Brubakers and Baxters, newly proclaimed winners of the His and Hers Classic, grinned back at me. Even Earl looked happy.

“Kate!” Just-Call-Me-Jeff breezed in, nearly blinding me with his pearly whites. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No problem,” I answered, mustering a feeble smile. I was never in a hurry when it came to seeing a dentist. Take all the time in the world, I wanted to tell him.

“Let me take another look at your films.” He clipped the X-rays onto the light box and proceeded to study them.

I succumbed to the need for nervous chatter. “You were modest about your golf game. I didn’t realize you’d won trophies.”

“I’ve been lucky and won a time or two.”

“Were you good friends with Rosalie Brubaker?”

He dropped one of the X-rays and stooped to pick it up. “No, uh, why do you ask?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was the one who was nervous now. “I couldn’t help but notice the picture of you winning the His and Hers Classic.”

“We paired up for a tournament once. I believe she and my wife, Gwen, knew each other.”

I distinctly remembered thinking how chummy the foursome had looked in the photo. Dr. Good-looking had his arm hooked around Rosalie’s waist while she smiled up at him adoringly. Earl and the brunette—Gwen—were hardly more than background scenery. “Hmm, I don’t know what gave me the impression you two were friends.”

“I’m sure I have no idea. I scarcely knew the woman.” He tugged on a pair of latex gloves and reached for the syringe. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

The needle stung as it was repeatedly jabbed into my gums. Tears streamed down my cheeks in spite of his assurances it wasn’t going to hurt.

“Megan warned me you’re dental phobic, so I’m giving you a little extra Novocain so you don’t have to worry about pain.”

He had barely left the room before numbness began to creep along my lower jaw. In minutes, my tongue felt the size of a kielbasa. Even my nose felt strange. Soon I wouldn’t be able to tell if my nose dripped or my mouth drooled. As much as I disliked the thought of pain, I’m not sure if I liked this sensation any better.

Eventually, Dr. Jeff returned with Caitlin in tow. There were no smiles this time; he was all business. “Open wide, Mrs. McCall.”

What happened to “Can I call you Kate?” I wondered as I tried to ignore the whine of the drill. Dr. Isn’t-He-Darling must have used up his daily ration of charisma. The procedure seemed to last forever. I was drilled, rinsed, and suctioned. I didn’t feel a thing and wondered if I ever would. For all I knew, he could’ve been drilling for oil or tunneling to China.

At long last, he nodded his approval with the temporary filling. “Have Megan give you an appointment for two weeks. Your crown should be back from the lab by then,” he said, peeling off gloves and mask. “Careful what you chew on that side. Stay away from anything sticky.” With this, he disappeared down the hall.

Caitlin was left to mop up the drool. “Sure you’re all right, Mrs. McCall? Can I get you some water?”

“No thanx,” I lisped. “I’m juth peachthy.” I wobbled down the hall toward the receptionist’s desk, feeling a little woozy after two hours in a dental chair.

“Kate!” Megan’s eyes widened at the sight of me. “You’re white as a sheet. Let me call Mom to come give you a ride home.”

I shook my head. I must look even worse than I thought. I
had
tried to tell her I was allergic to dentists, but no one ever takes me seriously. “An appointment,” I managed to say, my words sounding garbled. “Two weeks.”

I snatched the appointment card from her hand without so much as a glance and shoved it into my handbag. I didn’t care if Jeffrey Baxter, DDS, had a great selection of magazines. I didn’t care if he had the whitest teeth in the world. I didn’t care that he looked like a movie star. I just wanted out.

“See you at bunco,” Megan called as the office door slammed behind me.

Chapter 31

“Y’all help yourselves.” Connie Sue, perennially gracious, motioned to the spread she had set out on the granite-topped island in the center of her spacious kitchen.

As if we needed coaxing!

Diane slathered a generous serving of dip on a wheat cracker and almost purred after tasting it. “Mmm, this is so good. I want the recipe.”

“Glad you like it, sugar. It’s Aunt Melly’s spinach and artichoke dip.”

None of us seemed to be in a particular hurry to get started. Instead we congregated around the island and snacked on dip and crackers. For the calorie conscious, Connie Sue had thoughtfully provided a colorful array of peppers, carrots, and celery sticks.

“Besides the usual, I made us something special.” Connie Sue produced a party-size cocktail shaker. “Who wants an apple martini?”

“I’ll give it a whirl.” Polly snatched a stemmed martini glass from a nearby tray.

Gloria took a glass also and held it out for Connie Sue to fill. “Where’s Thacker tonight?”

“Dave invited the guys over to watch the basketball game,” Rita answered for Connie Sue, who was busily pouring martinis. “He’s in seventh heaven since we bought that new fifty-inch plasma TV.”

“Basketball should be a nice change of pace.” Nancy, who has become our semipermanent sub with Claudia still away, dragged a strip of red pepper through the dip. “All anyone wants to talk about is whether Earl’s guilty of killing Rosalie. Especially after the sheriff found the murder weapon in his garage.”

“The
alleged
murder weapon,” I corrected around a mouthful of cracker.

Janine regarded me thoughtfully over the rim of her martini glass. “Do you still think he’s innocent, Kate?”

“Hmph!” Monica snorted. “If she does, she’s the only one. The man is guilty as sin. What more proof do you need?”

Monica’s tone put me on the defensive. “Last time I checked, a man’s innocent until proven guilty,” I said.

Monica, a teetotaler unless under duress, helped herself to a diet soda. “Well, I know how I’d vote if I was on the jury.”

“Then let’s hope you’re not on the jury.” I couldn’t help but think an apple martini or two might smooth Monica’s sharp edges.

“I was on jury duty when we lived in Rochester.” Janine took a small sip of her drink. “The judge was very specific in his instructions. A juror is supposed to listen to
all
the testimony before rendering a verdict—especially when a man’s life is at stake.”

“Maybe Earl’s being framed,” Pam suggested helpfully.

Polly nodded. “Sounds like this movie I watched the other night on Lifetime. Even the man’s own wife didn’t believe he was innocent. She ended up having an affair with the real killer.”

“Yeah,” Tara agreed. “I know the one you’re talking about. Didn’t the husband break out of jail and come after them?”

“Yep, that’s the one.” Polly shook her head, sending her Clairol curls dancing. “The bad guy nearly killed both the husband and the wife before the cops finally arrived.”

Rita leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms over her impressive bosom. “For the sake of argument, Kate, let’s say Earl’s innocent. Who do you think killed Rosalie?”

Eleven pairs of eyes fastened on me like moss on a rock.

“What about Bill Lewis?” Megan asked.

Out of the mouths of babes, I thought.

“Yes, what about Bill?” Gloria skewered me with a look. “I’ve heard Rosalie always arranged for his visit when Earl wasn’t there.”

“Th-that’s ridiculous!” I stammered. My protests earned me more speculative looks.

“Pardon the pun, but Bill fits the bill,” Monica pointed out ruthlessly. “Be honest, Kate. It’s no secret the two of you are friends, but he meets all the criteria.”

“And what criteria is that?” I set my glass down more forcefully than I intended. Some of the martini sloshed over the rim. “Just because a man owns power tools and golf clubs doesn’t make him a killer.”

Connie Sue grabbed a microfiber cloth and wiped up my spill. “Let’s assume Bill and Earl are both innocent. Who do y’all suppose committed this awful crime?”

“Do you think Rosalie was really having an affair?” Polly asked. Her bright blue eyes twinkled behind her trifocals. “I read this quiz in
Cosmo
about how to tell if your spouse is cheating. Rosalie would’ve had a perfect score.”

Gloria rolled her eyes. “Mother, for the life of me, I don’t understand why you read that stuff.”

Polly shrugged, nonplussed. “It’s good to know these things. You never can tell, I might decide to get remarried one of these days.”

Nancy helped herself to more dip. “The last few months Rosalie looked better than ever.”

“I thought so, too,” Diane agreed. “She checked out practically every diet and fitness book we have at the library.”

Janine weighed the merits of a celery stick versus a carrot, then chose the carrot. “When I asked her, Rosalie admitted she’d lost fifteen pounds on the Atkins Diet.”

“She asked the name of my hairdresser in Augusta.” Connie Sue ran her hand over her smooth honey blond locks. “She complained the salon here was too . . . ordinary. Said she wanted something with a little more sass.”

Gloria topped off her martini glass, and Connie Sue proceeded to whip up a second batch. “I think Mother’s on to something about Rosalie having an affair. She was spending an awful lot of time working out in the fitness room.”

“She started coming to aerobics, too,” Monica said. “I overheard her ask a mutual friend—who shall remain nameless—who did her work.”