"So," Betty asked as we got back in the van to return home from not killing her. "How are we going to catch this killer?"
"What do you mean?" I evaded. Kelly certainly wouldn't be happy if I involved Betty in solving a murder—even if I had done it before…like, a lot.
"We need to lay a trap," Betty went on. "Some kind of way to trick them into confessing."
"What did you have in mind?" Oh sure, you probably think this is a bad idea, but I'm just curious.
"We should take the suspects, one-by-one, down to your basement so we can interrogate them. It's all set up."
I narrowed my eyes. "It was you who did that." Yes, I'd lied to Kelly. I didn't really have a torture chamber set up in my basement. I just didn't want her to think Betty set that up.
"I figured we should be prepared," she said.
That's what I thought too.
"We aren't going to do that. But I am curious as to how you would torture someone."
"I'd tickle them." The kid nodded. "That's like the worst thing you can do."
"Just for the record, I agree." One time in Japan, I tickle tortured a guy into admitting he'd been stealing state secrets. Of course, he was a friend of mine from MI6, and we were just fooling around. I knew he was a spy but had no idea he was a double agent. That was when I realized that tickle torture works.
"The ancient Chinese did it," Betty continued. "Who would we tickle first? I'm thinking that Sherman kid."
I suppressed a shudder at the thought of tickling that oily character. "We aren't going to tickle anyone. But we can come up with a suspect list. Why do you suspect Sherman?"
She shrugged. "Because he blamed Stewie. And that's weird."
I agreed. "I think so too. He literally said he saw Stewie murder Deliria, but that couldn't have been the case because Stewie was all the way across the room." It wasn't a perfect theory. Stewie could've done it. And someone must have seen something.
"But." I held up my index finger. "I think we need to let the police handle this."
Betty considered this. "I don't know. I mean, your husband is cool and all, but he probably needs our help."
Rex would probably not love hearing that. He adored the girls and sometimes found Betty a bit much, but he was always after me to stop investigating. And this time, I had no interest in stopping.
"What about the husband and that crying lady?" Betty wondered aloud.
"Deliria's agent?" I asked. "They could be suspects. Her husband didn't seem to be in mourning or shock, and the agent seemed overly upset. She asked to be Beetle Dork's agent."
Betty's eyebrows went up. "She did? You totally need to accept. It's a good way to find out what she knows."
I hadn't thought about that.
"Betty," I insisted as we started to pull into town. "We are not going to investigate. And that's final."
"We are so going to investigate," I told Rex ten minutes later.
My husband sighed. "Really? You know how I feel about that. As you know, because I've said it one million times, I'm the detective. It's my job."
"I don't mean the whole case," I said quickly. "I mean that I can help in one way." I told her about Betty's idea but left Betty out of it, lest word get back to Kelly.
He leaned back on the couch. "Amy Rushton and Austin Wentworth were in my office this afternoon. They're not saying much. Both have lawyered up."
"Don't you think that's odd?" I asked. "They weren't accused of killing her. And Sherman insists he saw who did it, which wasn't them…and was completely wrong because Stewie didn't do that."
Rex shook his head. "It's not that odd. You'd be surprised how many people lawyer up immediately. I'd say about 80% do. It would take more than that to make me suspicious."
"Sherman's running a shadow Con," I mused. "What if he accused Stewie to take the blame off of Austin or Amy so they would appear at his Con?"
Rex looked at me curiously. "A shadow Con?"
I explained how the Cult of Eternal Fear and Loathing had a whole Con ready to go. "It's unusual, don't you think?"
"What if Sherman is right and Stewie did steal his thunder?" Rex wondered.
Why didn't I think of asking my druids? I filed that idea away for later.
"About me investigating." I leaned forward, eagerly. "Can I do it?"
Rex looked at me. "Why is this important to you?"
"Because of Stewie, of course! He may be a pathetic druid, but he's my pathetic druid, and I hate to see him get railroaded. Are you still holding him?" The idea of pasty, pudgy, scared of his own shadow Stewie quaking in a cell was sad.
"His cult bailed him out." Rex ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't think he did it either. Sherman Kennedy and a couple of his druids still insist they saw him do it."
"Why," I wondered, "didn't they just say they thought he did it? Why take it all the way to 'I saw him literally stick a knife in the deceased'? It's only going to come back to make them look guilty when it's proved Stewie didn't do it."
"They're not very smart," Rex admitted. "They think they are, but they aren't. I don't think they thought that much ahead. Or, they know that their families can afford excellent attorneys and aren't worried about it at all."
"That's the thing that really bothers me. They went too far trying to implicate him."
My husband agreed. "I know. The knife is at the lab. We'll know soon enough if there are any prints on it and who they belong to. But it could've been wiped. And a lot of the costumed attendees were wearing gloves."
The evidence had to clear Stewie. "I know Stewie didn't do it. Why would he?"
"Street cred?" Rex asked.
"Even that wouldn't give him street cred. It would take a miracle to change Stewie's reputation."
Rex put his arm around me and pulled me against him. "I'm sure that the forensics will come back and show Stewie couldn't have done it." His phone rang, and he got to his feet. "I'll be right back."
I felt better. Rex was a good detective—if I didn't get in the way all the time. He was right. There was no way Stewie could've done it. I couldn't picture him holding a knife to spread peanut butter.
When Rex got back, we were going to talk through the other suspects. Maybe I could help with the agent, and that might lead me to dirt on the husband. Sherman had to be covering for them. And then he'd be in big trouble for lying to the police and falsely accusing Stewie. This made me feel better, and I took a deep breath.
Rex came back into the room and sat down. He handed me a glass of wine. A big one. It was full all the way to the top, not in the middle like you're supposed to.
Uh-oh. I took a sip. Then it hit me. "This is a setup! You only ever get me a glass this full when you have bad news to tell me!"
Unlike Kelly, who pretended she wasn't iced tea–ing me, Rex admitted it. "The knife is back from the lab. It not only has Stewie's fingerprints all over it but also his saliva on the blade. I'm afraid things don't look good for him."
Once I recovered, I took a big gulp of wine. "Saliva? He licked the knife?"
My husband grimaced. "It looks that way. And it's everywhere."
I pictured an evil Stewie, licking the blade of a knife before plunging it into Deliria's heart. "That makes no sense. Now I know he's being set up."
"We don't have any evidence that says otherwise. His prints and saliva are on the knife. No one else's are. There are three witnesses who swear they saw him stab the victim. It really doesn't look good."
"But it can't be him!" I pleaded. "It just can't!"
Rex opened his mouth and then closed it.
I wasn't letting him get away with that. "What were you going to say?"
"Nothing." He waved me off but seemed unsure.
"You can't do that. You have to tell me now."
He considered it. "I don't think it's a good idea."
"What isn't?" The realization hit me. "You want me to talk to the agent! You want me to investigate!" I jumped off the couch and performed a little end zone dance.
"No," he said measuredly. "I don't want you to investigate, per se. But, if you wanted to talk to Amy Rushton about the possibility of representing you, you might get her to say more than she's said to us."
"Of course! I'll be happy to!" I picked up my cell and scrolled for the number. "How should I play this? Like an actress? Like a comic book hero?"
"Don't play it." He shook his head. "Just find out what she meant about representing you. Don't follow her. Don't shake her down. Just talk to her about what she'd said to you."
"Awesome!" I punched the air.
"I'm regretting this already," Rex mumbled.
"You won't regret it," I promised. "I'll break her, but she won't know I'm breaking her!" Would it be weird to tickle her into confessing?
"Don't break her," Rex warned. "You're literally just asking her about something she suggested. This isn't an acting gig. This isn't an investigation. You are just responding to her."
I tapped out the numbers. "It's ringing!" I said excitedly.
She answered.
"Hi! This is Merry…" I hesitated for a split second. She'd been interviewed by Rex Ferguson. It would be better if she didn't know he was my husband. "Wrath. Beetle Dork? You had asked me about representation?"
"Stop being so overeager!" Rex whispered.
I rolled my eyes.
"Oh right." Amy sounded excited. "Want to meet up in the hotel bar in an hour?"
"Of course," I said. "I'll see you there."
One hour later, I was sitting at a table in the bar connected to the Radisson. I wore khaki slacks and a sweater and mentally ran through the questions Rex and I decided were plausible. Of course I'd probably go off script. I'd interrogated people before. You could have some questions ready, but you had to be prepared to get answers that surprised you.
One time, in Poland, I was questioning a Russian operative about plutonium. We'd heard it was being smuggled into Warsaw. At first, Olga insisted that wasn't true and that she was just a travelling Crocs salesman from Colorado. After a few minutes of hard questioning, she broke down and admitted it.
Just as I was about to contact Riley with the news, she also told us about an assassination attempt on a Latvian shipping mogul who'd brought his parrot, Pavils, to a state-sponsored dinner with Vladimir Putin. The parrot performed a stand-up act, and his entire repertoire consisted of off-color jokes about Putin's pet bear, Yuri.
Sadly, we weren't able to stop the assassination attempt on the businessman…or his parrot. At the time I'd felt bad about the bird. But knowing what I did now, regarding Dickie and his big mouth, I could kind of understand it.
"Hi Merry!" Amy smiled eagerly as she pulled up a chair and sat down. "Did you order drinks?"
"No," I said quickly, "I had no idea what you'd want."
"Oh. I guess that makes sense." She giggled. Where was the sobbing woman from earlier? The one whose client had been murdered?
A waiter walked over. I ordered a vodka tonic. I've always found that those don't affect me like wine or beer can. Beer can send you running for the bathroom after a few bottles, and wine makes you foggy. But vodka tonics didn't do much to me at all. Well, unless I had about seven of them in one hour. I won't tell you how I know that, but suffice it to say I have a lifetime ban from Jerry's House of Meat in Okinawa.
"What will you have?" the waiter asked Amy.
Without even thinking about it, she rattled off, "I'd like tequila, straight, neat. Actually, make it a double."
The waiter walked away as if he'd heard this kind of order every day. For a moment I thought Yay! She's going to get drunk quickly and open up like an umbrella! Then again, someone who opens with a double tequila can probably handle her alcohol, which would be the opposite of Yay.
"Thanks for meeting with me!" Amy patted my hand. "I'm so excited about the prospect of representing Beetle Dork!"
"I haven't agreed to anything yet," I said slowly. The idea was to make her anxious to sign me so she'd start babbling.
"Not yet, but you will! And with an opening in my roster, your timing is perfect!" She grinned genuinely.
Is that how she felt about Deliria? As an opening in her roster? Easily replaced? That was interesting.
After pausing for a moment, I asked, "What would I do, exactly?"
Amy seemed to get excited. "I did some research. Beetle Dork is very mysterious, what with so few copies of the premiere book, no one knows the author, and we don't know if another is forthcoming. We can capitalize on that!" She looked at me closely. "You didn't by any chance write it, did you?"
Write it? Hell no! It wasn't very flattering. I did know who wrote it, but I wasn't telling her that. The CIA would probably frown upon Hilly booking speaking engagements as a side-hustle.
Although moonlighting wasn't unprecedented. I knew an agent named Phil who bred hybrid dogs. He wasn't very good at it. He kept picking the wrong breeds to mix, like a basset hound and a Doberman, or an Afghan hound with a chiweenie. As a result, he had all these weird dogs he couldn't sell. He had to take a second side hustle as a carny whenever he was home, just to afford the dog food.
"Anyway," Amy said happily as the drinks arrived. To my shock, she downed the whole thing in one shot and ordered another. "I think I could book you at Cons all over the country. I think we could get five figures per event! Of course, I'd take forty percent as my commission."
"Forty percent sounds like a lot…" I hedged.
She actually seemed to agree with me. "Okay, twenty. You drive a hard bargain!"
I literally did nothing of the sort.
"I also think we should get you a better costume." She made a face. "That one was horrible." She pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and began sketching. "How about something like this?"
I blinked at the image of me in a super tight, low-cut leotard with high-cut panties and stiletto heels. The mask was minimal, and the only way you could tell I was a beetle was from the sexy antennae. She actually drew sexy antennae. "Seriously? A slutty beetle? That's what you came up with?"
"Of course! It worked for Deliria!" Upon saying the deceased's name, she frowned. As if by magic, she was transformed into a blubbering mess. "Deliria! I miss her!"
This time I patted her arm. "I'm sorry. It must've been a real blow."
She nodded as tears streamed down her face. "Oh it was! I'd been with her for twenty years! She wasn't just my client. She was my best friend!"
"How awful!" I sympathized. "And for her to be murdered too!"
She nodded. Pulling a tissue from her bag, she dabbed at her eyes. "Ethel…that was her real name. Ethel was a sweetheart. I don't know how I'll go on without her!" She sobbed loudly until the second drink came. She downed that too and then sat up, smiling. "But we can't linger in the past, can we? We need to look ahead! And the future is Beetle Dork!"
"I still can't get over it." I ignored her statement. "Stabbed to death right in front of you!"
"Don't worry. I'll have security for you," Amy said quickly.
"That's a relief," I said slowly. "How come you didn't have it for Deliria?"
The agent shook her head. "She didn't want it. I was surprised by that, considering she had a stalker."
My spydy senses tingled. "A stalker?"
Amy leaned forward conspiratorially. "Yes. He followed her for years. I told her she needed help. That one of these days, he was going to strike! But no, she refused. I can't believe it was that little chubby redhead."
I didn't tell her that Stewie most certainly was not Deliria's stalker…mainly because I didn't know. I really needed to talk to my cult. "You don't know who the stalker is?"
She shook her head. "I never saw the letters myself. Ethel always seemed shaken by it, but she was determined that she wouldn't let it rule her life."
"It's still so horrible!" I gasped. "You must've seen it happen!"
"No," she said flatly. "I didn't. I was with Austin off to the side. We were discussing merchandising. Deliria was about to announce a new line of sport sandals she'd been designing. I just heard shouting, and that's when I saw her."
Sport sandals? Mistress of the Night sport sandals?
"Austin must be devastated," I said with as much sympathy as I could muster.
"Yes…" She looked off into the distance. "Yes, I'm sure he was. But then again, they'd been having…" she whispered, "issues."
My ears perked up, and I hoped I didn't seem too eager. "Issues?"
"There's an age difference. You wouldn't know it to look at her, but Ethel was actually seventy years old!"
I brought my hand to my chest. "You're joking!" Okay, that was sincere since I didn't know that.
She smiled. "Nope. She had flawless skin and a great figure. And with tons of makeup and a wig, it shaved decades off of her appearance." She looked at me. "How old are you, anyway?" When I didn't answer, she waved me off. "Doesn't matter. You seem to have a figure that can pull this"—she motioned to the slutty costume—"off. Besides, you'll be wearing a mask."
I ignored what she said and tried to steer her back to Austin and Deliria's issues. "Age doesn't matter to some couples."
"Well, it did in this case. Ethel was insanely jealous. She was convinced Austin would have an affair with one of those young women gamers who worked with him."
I sat back and sipped my drink. I was getting all kinds of interesting intel. "Austin is lucky to have you as a friend. You looked like you were helping him deal with the loss."
Amy narrowed her eyes. For the first time she seemed to be sizing me up. "I'm just glad I was there to help. Can we go back to what we were originally discussing? I'm afraid this topic is simply too painful for me," she said in a way that said it really wasn't.
"Of course! I'm sorry!" I apologized. "I never meant to…" I got up and collected my purse. "I should go. I've upset you."
I didn't even need to turn around.
Her hand reached out and grabbed my arm. "It's fine. You were being polite. Please stay."
I sat back down. I hadn't really planned on leaving. "Okay, so about these appearances…"
We chatted for about half an hour, until she received a text. She frowned at it and then got to her feet. "I need to deal with something. Let's talk soon, before I leave town." And with that, she was off.
Leaving me with the tab. And some interesting information.