Wound Up In Murder (13 page)

What? That was a line if I'd ever heard one. Dane didn't seem like a “line” sort of guy. He leaned against the counter and looked at me with a tilted head. “You look really nice.” He touched my forearm and ran his finger up it in a seductive manner. I looked down at the black jeans that had spatters of flour; flecks of grated carrots were stuck to my arm and
probably on my face as well. I'd pulled my hair back to get it out of the way and tucked it under a knitted kerchief. I had done it by feel instead of looking in a mirror and I was sure it was cockeyed. In short, I didn't look really nice and he knew it. The flowers, the fake compliment, the wandering finger, it all seemed odd and not him. I could believe him showing up with a pan of lasagna a lot more than a bunch of sunflowers.

“Here, let me help with that.” The timer had gone off. He pulled on the oven mitts and started to take out the cakes.

“That's okay,” I said, pulling on another set of oven mitts and going for the other cakes. We bumped into each other and the tube pan in his mitts dropped to the floor and rolled. The cake didn't hit the floor, but it broke apart in the pan.

He apologized profusely. “This isn't going right.”

“What isn't going right?” I looked at his uniform. “Aren't you supposed to be out guarding the streets of Cadbury?”

“Yes,” he said finally. Then he mumbled something under his breath about not caring if he got the midnight shift forever, he couldn't do this. “Lieutenant Borgnine suggested I stop by and—”

“Oh, my goodness,” I squealed. Now I got it. The flowers, the line about going to the ends of the earth and telling me I look nice. “He told you to come here and flirt with me to try and get information.”

“So you saw through it,” he said.

“You could say that.” I laughed and he wanted to know what was so funny. “It's just that my old boss Frank's usual suggestion is for me to try to get information by flirting with you.” I left off the rest, that Frank was convinced if I kept just flirting and no nookie as he called it followed, I'd lose the information opportunity after a while. To show him, I did a few bats of my eyes and did my best impression of a
sexy look. He responded by cracking up completely. “I didn't say I was good at it.”

“So that's where it came from?” he said, referring to several times when I'd come over to his place. “I thought it was your own idea, but you just weren't very good at flirting.” He shook his head with dismay. “It was kind of cute the way you were so bad at it.” He suddenly seemed wary. “I wasn't that bad, was I?” he asked.

“Everybody isn't as naturally flirty as you are,” I said. “Though even you aren't so good at it when you're trying too hard. It seemed pretty off. I mean flowers, and telling me I look good when I'm wearing food. And the uniform is a dead giveaway that you're working.”

“Geez, I didn't realize I was so transparent.” He looked at the cake on the floor. “Sorry about that. Can I at least help you make another one?” I studied his face to see if the sentiment was genuine or he was trying the fake flirty stuff again. He picked up on it. “I'm really sorry for making more work for you and I'm honestly offering to help.”

“So what did Lieutenant Borgnine want you to find out?” I pushed aside the muffin things and went for another round of carrot cake ingredients. Dane volunteered for carrot-grating duty and I handed him a bunch of carrots. He scrubbed them and put the shredding blade on the food processor.

“He thinks you know where Sammy is.” He didn't seem to want to look at me as he spoke and loaded some carrots in the chute, getting ready to turn the machine on. Still with his eyes on his work, he continued, “I shouldn't do this, but don't say anything.”

The food processor made a racket for a few minutes and it was impossible to talk. When he finally shut it off, I couldn't help myself. “It's ridiculous that Lieutenant Borgnine is wasting
time looking for Sammy. How about trying to find the real killer? He must have some other suspects in mind,” I said.

Dane seemed to be fighting with himself. “I knew you were going to say something like that. And I was going to answer it by saying that the best thing is that neither of us say anything about the case.” He shook his head. “But I'm with you. I think it's ridiculous that he's wasting time looking for Sammy. The trouble is that his streamer is what strangled her. Any ideas?”

“Do you know the time of death?” I asked.

“I thought you were supposed to flirt with me when you wanted information,” he teased.

I did some hair flipping and eye bats, thankful that he would realize I was vamping. I have just never mastered all the girly stuff. It came off as comedy even when I tried to be serious about it.

“How can I resist a show like that?” he said. “This isn't the way this is supposed to be going. It's bad enough I didn't get him any information, but giving it out—If the lieutenant finds out, I'll be working the worst shift every holiday from now to eternity.” He leaned close as if the lieutenant were hanging out someplace within earshot. “The best guess is that it was between eleven and midnight.”

“I wish I knew who had the streamer at that hour.”

“Well, yeah,” Dane said. “If you knew that, you'd know who the killer was.” He rolled his head back and looked skyward. “I'm going to pay for this. I just know it.”

I thought back to the incident when Diana had pulled it from Sammy's sleeve and I tried to remember what happened next. “He tried to smooth things over and said she was his assistant, but it seemed to set her off. I'm trying to think what happened to the streamer after that. Normally, Sammy puts
the chain of silk squares in his pocket.” I made a discouraging noise. “Forget I said that.”

“So you don't know what happened to the streamer after that,” he said.

I shook my head. “I left and Sammy doesn't remember anything. It seems there was a martini bar set up and he was upset and took a shaker of the cocktails to the beach.”

Dane put his hand up to stop me. “I think we should leave it at that. I don't want to know how you came by that information.”

He stayed until the replacement cake was in the oven. “I better go. Lieutenant Borgnine is waiting to hear from me.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“That I messed up your cake and had to help you make another one and that I meant it when I said you look nice.” He plucked a shred of carrot off my arm. “Baking becomes you,” he said with a grin. “Okay, just joking. Really, what I'm going to tell him is the truth. You said nothing about where Sammy was.”

“He's probably not going to like that,” I said.

“Nope.” He leaned against the counter. “About last night. I really think we should give it another chance.” He glanced around the empty kitchen. “We're all alone. No chance for someone to make a juvenile comment.” His eyes were shining as he leaned toward me, and just as we were about to make contact, the timer went off. Saved by the bell.

I was dragging by the time I distributed the last of the muffins around town, and I was just about ready to head for my car when I noticed the imposing yellow Queen Anne–style bed-and-breakfast that Sammy called home on the corner up ahead. Should I seize the moment, slip in and get his things? At this hour of the night the front door would be locked, but he had given me his after-hours key to the front door along with the key to his room. Though the lights were on in the parlor, I imagined everyone had gone to sleep.

It wasn't breaking and entering. I had a key and Sammy's permission, but I still hesitated when I reached the walkway leading to the inn. I didn't want to run into the owners. I'd have to do way too much explaining and I didn't know what they knew about the situation with Sammy. The house took up the whole corner with a garden on one side. The owners clearly hadn't gone along with the idea of native plants, and
even in the dark I could make out beautifully shaped bushes. And I could smell the heady fragrance of gardenias.

I could see into the front windows now and the room was empty. Sammy seemed so demoralized wearing that soiled shirt and messy tuxedo. It would be nice to deliver him some clean clothes. Figuring I could be in and out quickly, I made the snap decision to go in. I climbed the short staircase that led to the small curved front porch feeling more apprehensive with each step.

If I hadn't felt really guilty about the situation Sammy was in, I would have turned back. I had had bad dreams about doing stuff like this. I let out a sigh and put the key in the front door. It turned with no effort and the front door opened. I found myself in a small entryway with another door at the end that led into the house. The inner door was unlocked and beyond that was a large entrance hall. A small reception desk had been built in next to the stairway and made it obvious that this residence had been turned into a hotel. The parlor or living room was to my right. I glanced in, relieved to see it was as I'd thought, deserted.

Sammy had started staying here when he first got to Cadbury and had taken one of the bedrooms on the second floor. He outgrew the room quickly and they'd moved him to the first floor and a room that had been a library at one time. The owners were in the process of making a storage area into a small apartment, which he was considering taking—if he couldn't talk me into renting him my guest house.

Sammy hadn't really settled in Cadbury. It was more like he'd taken a leave of absence from his practice and life in Chicago, or that's what I kept telling myself.

He had insisted that he wasn't there because of me. That he'd wanted a change and liked the area and it was a chance for him to perform his magic away from the frowning stares
of his family. I didn't buy it since it seemed like our paths were always crossing and he kept telling me how I was the only one who “got” him. But whether I was there or not, I suspected when this whole mess with Diana Rathman got settled, he'd pack up his stuff and move back to Chicago.

Despite his many invitations, I had never actually seen Sammy's room. The house was huge with halls on either side of the staircase. I knew Sammy had a view of the side garden, which meant his room was off the left hall, but I quickly discovered there were two doors.

As I was trying to decide which one to try, I heard noise coming from the back of the house and then some voices. I imagined there was a big kitchen and a butler's pantry in the back. Maybe the owners were getting things ready for breakfast before they went to bed.

I panicked, worrying about running into them and all the questions to follow. Sammy could survive without clean clothes for another day. I retraced my steps and was about to open the door to the small entryway when I heard voices getting louder.

“You better check the front door,” a woman said. I froze for a moment and then I thought of what Sammy had done with the guest house. I only had to make a small adjustment. There was no way I could hide behind the door, but there was a coat tree next to it. It seemed more for decoration and the coats hanging on it were all vintage. I could practically hear my mother's voice saying, “Is this what your life has come to, sneaking around and hiding under coats?” I barely made it under an old trench coat when I felt the couple walk by.

They were distracted and certainly didn't expect someone to be hiding in their coat tree, so they didn't notice my legs showing below the beige raincoat. The man went out to the front door and shook the door to make sure it was locked.
He joined the woman in the area near the reception desk and they lowered the lights. I watched as they went back toward where Sammy's room was. The woman opened one of the two doors and I got a glimpse inside. It was their private area.

I said a silent prayer that I hadn't gone opening doors. Just imagine if I'd opened the door to their room and gone inside, thinking it was Sammy's. I shivered with horror thinking about what would have happened if they'd walked in and found me.

Well, at least I knew which room was his now. I waited a few moments to make sure they weren't coming out again, and then I slipped out from under the coats. I considered going to his room now, but I was too shaken thinking about what could have happened, and I just wanted to get out of there.

My mother's voice haunted me as I retraced my steps down the deserted street in downtown Cadbury. I could hear her fussing at me for burning the candle at both ends. Then she'd move on to Sammy.

“Poor Sammy,” she'd say. “What have you done to get him out of this mess? You better fix it fast before the police arrest him.” She would definitely give me an opinion on Dane. “Casey, your instincts are right. Don't get involved.” Even in my imagination I was shocked to hear her admit that I was right about something. Would that happen in real life? Probably not. She'd be more likely to say, “Stay away from the cop. You'll only make a mess.”

I argued with myself the whole way back to my car about whether I needed her approval too much. I didn't pass one car as I drove home. It was so quiet at night here that all the stoplights became just blinking red lights. I pulled into my driveway. The guest house looked dark. Not even a sliver of light showed under the door. I slipped a note under the door
even though I didn't think anyone was watching. But who knew for sure. It explained the lack of his clothes along with telling him I'd left the muffins outside the door. There was carrot cake as a bonus. I didn't explain why.

With that taken care of, I took the plastic container across the street with the muffins for Vista Del Mar. It was just habit to look both ways before I crossed. The whole length of the street was empty of traffic. The grounds looked dark and mysterious, and I avoided shining my flashlight anyplace but directly ahead of myself. As always, the lights in the Lodge shone through the windows like a beacon in the darkness.

After all the activity I'd seen in there earlier, it seemed even emptier now somehow. Though not completely. The desk clerk was talking to a man in sweats. I held up my hand in greeting as I crossed to the café.

“Hey, Casey, maybe you can help,” the clerk said. I dropped off the container in front of the Cora and Madeleine Delacorte Café and came back to the massive counter. “He's looking for some aspirin. He's got a headache.” The clerk explained that I lived across the street from Vista Del Mar.

The man looked familiar as he turned toward me, but something seemed off.

“Bobbie Listorie,” he said. “We met earlier. You were with Madeleine Delacorte.” He put enough emphasis on her last name to make it clear he knew who she was and how important her family was to the area. “You wouldn't have a couple of aspirin. I've got a monster of a headache. I thought I had some, but all I have are these.” I could see the pain in his bloodshot blue eyes as he held out a small yellow tin. “This light isn't helping.” He put on a pair of tinted glasses and massaged his temple.

“It's the sweats,” I said half to myself. “That's why I didn't recognize you.”

“I've been dressing the part this weekend. I probably should have gotten some sharkskin sweats,” he joked.

I said I had aspirin and he offered to come across the street for it, but the last thing I wanted was the chance for anybody to notice Sammy's presence, so I insisted I'd bring them to him.

While I was picking up the bottle, it occurred to me that he might know something about what happened to Diana Rathman or at least what Sammy did with his evening.

Bobbie was lounging on one of the sofas in the Lodge when I came back. I brought him some of the carrot cake along with the aspirin and joked that it was an old baker's cure for a headache.

“Thank you, babe. You saved my life,” the singer said as he took the pills with some water provided by the desk clerk. “I didn't realize what the accommodations were like at this place when I accepted this gig.” He looked around the large room, which was comfortable but hardly plush.

“Vista Del Mar has a unique charm,” I said. I mentioned that one of my helpers for the retreat, Wanda Krug, had said he did some kind of work at the same posh Pebble Beach resort she worked at.

“You know Wanda,” he said with a smile. “She doesn't look it, but she's one heck of a good golfer. I know she's annoyed that I get all the glory—and a lot better pay. But it's a proven fact that people like to hang out with celebrities and play golf with them. My hanging out there gives the place a certain aura, if you will. And I do an occasional show in the bar to liven things up.” He chuckled. “The shows only look like the guests talked me into performing; actually they're all planned. I always act like I'm not going to do ‘It's All in the Eyes,' and they go crazy until I do. I guess it is pretty amazing that after all these years, they still want to hear it.”

I was surprised at how talkative he was and I let him go
on while I tried to figure out how to steer the conversation toward what I wanted to know. “The only reason I'm here is they didn't need me this weekend at my usual spot. The resort was taken over by a charity tournament and they brought their own entertainment. That's why Wanda was available, too.” He stopped long enough to take a bite of the carrot cake.

“Whew, the aspirin is taking effect,” he said. “And your carrot cake is helping, too. You're some baker. I guess I can go back to my ‘cell' now.” His expression showed distaste. “The beds are like cots, no TV or fluffy towels.”

I rushed to stop him before he got up. It wasn't hard. He didn't seem to be in a hurry to go back to his room. “Before you go, I wonder if I could ask you about something.”

“Sure, sweetheart, you brought the pills that saved the old Bobberino from having to spend the night with a thudding headache. Ask away.”

I figured he'd been around the Lodge most of the evening that first night. Maybe he could help with an alibi for Sammy. Not for me. I was sure he was innocent, but I wanted something to throw in front of Lieutenant Borgnine.

“You must have seen what was going on in the Lodge the night of the mixer,” I began.

At first he seemed puzzled, but then he nodded with recognition. “You mean because of that woman getting whacked, er, killed? Who'd have expected something like that to happen here.”

I mentioned being a friend of the magician's and his face lit with understanding. “Rumor has it the cops think he's the one who killed that woman.”

“I'm sure he didn't. He isn't that kind of person. The trouble is he doesn't remember what happened.”

“I get it now, you're looking for a way to get him off the
hook. A very admirable quality.” Bobbie slumped against the back of the sofa and took another bite of the carrot cake. “Let me see. I hung around here all evening.” He looked around the room as if it would stir his memory. “I was mingling and signing some of the CD cases.” He gestured toward the cases of merchandise up near the registration counter. “The hotel people were handling the sales. It's much classier that way. They're a regular item in the gift shop of the other resort. Jimmie Phelps, Dotty Night and I kind of divided the room up and then hung out in our section. Jimmie had quite a crowd.” Bobbie stopped for a moment. “I think that woman was hanging around him. I don't know why, but I got the feeling they might have known each other from before.”

He went on about the martini bar being a hit except with him. “I just nursed one drink. You have to be careful around the fans. I wouldn't want anything to mess up what I have.”

I was close to nodding off by now. Bobbie sure liked to talk. I got it. He was very lucky to have the gig with the other resort. And he was going to hang on to it, but he was particularly excited about a tour he had coming up. “The last stop is a lounge in Vegas.” He looked at me and I did my best to look impressed.

“You were saying about last night . . .” I said, trying to get him back on track.