I reached into the basket of lemon and pepper seasoned buffalo wings. ‘You’re not still mad, are you?’
Brad scowled and dug his elbows into the table. ‘Two hundred and fifty dollars,’ he said morosely.
I took a bite. Delicious. ‘I said I was sorry.’ Who knew a speeding ticket could be so expensive? There’s no way I was going to go twenty miles over the limit if it was going to cost that much.
‘I know,’ he sighed, running his hands through the corners of his scalp. He looked over his shoulder toward the long bar. ‘So this is where you saw that partner of Houston’s, eh?’ We had retired to Hopping Mad for a drink and to talk over what we knew. And what we didn’t know.
I nodded and took another greasy bite. ‘Irwin,’ I said, filling in the name. Grease. What’s not to like? I licked my fingers and took a swig from a bottle of orange cream soda. I loved the stuff. Sweet, creamy and tart. And plenty of sugar to keep the heart pumping and the synapses firing.
Brad hoisted his bottle of beer and took a weary swig. ‘You know, it could have been a stranger in that car, an innocent tourist.’ He took a second swig. ‘Though I suppose it might have been Houston or even that partner of his you mentioned, whathisname?’
‘Irwin,’ I repeated. ‘Irwin Acheson.’ It was Houston, I just knew it.
‘Right.’ He rubbed his nose. ‘I keep forgetting.’
‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘once you’ve seen him you won’t soon forget him.’
Brad pulled a face. ‘You said he’s from New Mexico, too. What’s he drive?’
I had no idea and said so. ‘I’m guessing some big black muscle car.’
‘I can understand why you think Houston might want his sister dead – that’s easy, the money.’ He grabbed a wing as he said, ‘But why Acheson?’
‘Because Houston himself admitted that the restaurant was having money problems. Irwin Acheson seems to have made a big investment in the place. Maybe the two of them saw Lisa’s death as a convenient solution.’ I tapped the tip of my soda bottle. ‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘they even killed Houston’s aunt, Willow Willoughby.’ I nodded, allowing myself to go with the thought. ‘First kill the aunt then kill the sister. Neat.’
‘Sure,’ agreed Brad, some life finally coming back into his eyes. It was about time he got over this whole speeding ticket melodrama. ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it?’
I nodded.
‘Murder the aunt then the sister and all the money flows to Houston.’
‘And our Mr Acheson.’
‘And our Mr Acheson,’ Brad said, appearing thoughtful. ‘I wonder how this Willow Willoughby died …’
I grinned. I’d been hoping he’d finally come around to that thought. ‘You’re a reporter,’ I replied. I fluttered my eyelashes. Scarlet O’Hara, eat your heart out. ‘I bet you could find out.’
‘Absolutely,’ he said self-assuredly.
I took a pull on my orange soda. ‘Tell me, what did VV have to say?’
‘Veronica Vargas?’ Brad smirked. ‘Don’t worry, I left out the part about her boyfriend ministering to you on the streets of Table Rock.’
The corner of my mouth moved down in displeasure. ‘I wasn’t worried about that.’ Actually, I was quite worried about that. In a town the size of Table Rock one had to worry about the gossipmongers. Who else besides him had seen our little … what? Kiss? Rescue? Special moment?
No. Car accident. That’s all it was.
If VV found out I’d been in the arms of her boyfriend, albeit all completely harmless, mind you – though people might exaggerate what they’d seen, people always exaggerate, especially in such circumstances – what evil might she be tempted to deliver my way? With her clout, she could she have the café shut down for some sort of health-code violation.
I vowed to get in early one day soon and give the place a good cleaning.
‘You know what she’s like. She likes to play things close to the vest.’ He jiggled his brow. ‘She did say the police had more evidence than what had been released to the public.’
I leaned forward. ‘Really, like what?’
Brad shrugged. ‘She wouldn’t say. Believe me, I tried to get more out of her but it was hopeless. I can tell you this, though—’ He stopped and took a swig of beer. I suppressed the urge to scream.
‘What?’ I got ready to throw a buffalo wing at him.
He held up a palm in surrender. ‘She thinks Johnny Wolfe did it.’
I snorted. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘I’m just telling you what she told me. And she said she’s convinced that Johnny killed Lisa Willoughby. Well, Johnny and Clive.’
‘She thinks they did it together?’
Brad snatched the wing from my fingers. ‘Yep. She figures Johnny did the deed and Clive helped cover it up. She thinks he got you to go out to Navajo Junction as part of their murder plot.’
‘Preposterous,’ I spat. ‘The guys wouldn’t do that.’
Brad chomped into the wing as he spoke. ‘Ms Vargas thinks they would. She told me she was going to see that attorney Lisa had hired to sue Johnny and Clive and The Hitching Post. Today, in fact.’ He glanced at his watch. It was after nine in the evening. ‘This afternoon.’
‘I wonder what she learned.’ My fingers drummed the oak tabletop.
Brad smiled. ‘You could ask her.’
‘Very funny. What should I do, go knock on her door later tonight like I wanted to borrow a cup of sugar and say, “Oh, by the way, what did Lisa Willoughby’s attorney tell you about her case against Johnny Wolfe and Clive Rothschild?”’
‘Yeah,’ Brad nodded, fingering his beer, ‘you could do that. Or,’ he flashed his teeth, ‘you could just walk over to her table and ask her now.’
I blanched. ‘What?’
He jabbed his chin to the right. ‘I said you could go ask her right now.’ He aimed his eyes across the room. ‘She’s sitting right over there in that booth in the corner with her boyfriend.’
My head shot around and color rose to my cheeks. VV and Detective Highsmith were canoodling side by side on a bench in the corner all right. I slid down in my seat. ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’
He shrugged. ‘They only walked in a few minutes ago.’
I ordered Brad to take me home.
‘So soon?’
‘Yes,’ I said, snatching up my purse. ‘I don’t think Acheson is going to show.’ It was why we’d gone to Hopping Mad in the first place. ‘Besides, I have to be up early tomorrow for the Labor of Love.’
‘You’re participating? Good for you.’
‘It wasn’t my idea. I was sort of talked into it.’ Talked into, coerced … put on the spot. All I knew was that it was costing me a bundle. On the plus side, all the money raised was going to some very worthy charities around town. ‘I’m supposed to be there practically before dawn to set up.’
Brad threw some money on the tabletop. ‘I’ll be covering the event for the paper. Maybe we can hook up afterward?’
I stepped out onto the sidewalk. I hadn’t realized how stifling the air inside the pub had become. ‘Sure,’ I said without thinking. ‘Sounds good.’
Brad dropped me off at my door. Carole Two mrowled and wrapped herself around my legs. To settle her down I tossed her a treat from a bag on the counter. It was some sort of vegan cat treat called VegOut Cat that my sister, Donna, had brought over for her.
Incredibly – though the treats were made from such disparate and distasteful-sounding ingredients that included brown rice, corn protein, extruded soybeans, peas, flax seed, molasses and clay – she seemed to love the stuff. I gave her a couple more, rubbed her tummy, brushed my teeth, put on my PJs and headed off to bed with the cat one step ahead.
It was only a double-sized bed and Mom was already sprawled across more than half of it. I made do, too tired to care. It had been a long day.
Who knew it was going to be an even longer night?