Black Beans & Vice (14 page)

Shrugging, Lucy settled down at the table. "Whatever you all
think is best. I can always take the pie to the station tomorrow. I'll
cut off the piece your cat licked and give it to Donovan!"

The five friends laughed at this splendid idea.

"I've got some news," Lindy said as she poured iced tea for the
ladies and distributed bottles of cold beer to James and Bennett.
"I don't have to fly down to Mexico to meet Luis' mama. Do you
know why?" She widened her eyes but didn't give anyone a chance
to guess. "Because she's coming here!"

Bennett snorted. "What for? To interview you for the position
of future daughter-in-law? See what kind of cook and housekeeper
you are?"

Lindy looked miserable. "Pretty much. She probably wants to
get an eyeful of my breeding hips too."

"Don't worry, Lindy. We'll come over and help you prep for the
visit," Lucy assured her. "When does she arrive?"

"Sunday afternoon. And thank you, Lucy, but I can hardly ask
my dearest friends to spend a precious Saturday cleaning my toilets." Lindy put on a brave smile, but they could all see the anxiety
in her eyes.

James knew that Lindy desperately wanted to win the approval
of Luis' mother, but hoped Luis would propose regardless of what
his dear mama thought of Lindy's potential as a homemaker.

Ruminating over parental blessings caused James to wonder if
Jackson would be able to accept Jane into their family for a second
time. His father tended to hold grudges for eons and though he
was polite to Jane (probably because Milla forced him to be) he
didn't speak to her unless it was necessary.

Relationships are never easy, he thought. Aloud, he said, "If we
have to scrub your toilets and dust the blades of your ceiling fans
to impress this woman we will. But she'll see what a treasure you
are, Lindy, and it won't matter if you serve her fried Alpo, because
she is going to love you."

Lindy sniffed back grateful tears. "Thank you, James. And I refuse to allow you to take part in the cleaning brigade. You need to
spend time with your precious Eliot. I'm sure Bennett looks very
sexy in rubber gloves and an apron!"

Bennett spluttered as his friends laughed.

The oven clock beeped and Gillian retrieved the moussaka
and served steaming spoonfuls of it to the group. When it was cool enough to eat, they all did so hungrily, praising Lindy for
her ingenuity in replacing the traditional ground beef used in
the dish with diced zucchini. The friends then compared notes
on their hypnotherapy sessions and rehashed the events at the
food festival. Naturally, this subject led to a discourse on Ned
Woodman's death.

"Rumor has it Ned may have been a bit crooked," Lucy stated
and then paused. She always enjoyed having insider information
and her friends could see that she was dying to tell them the latest
bit of department gossip.

While everyone else waited patiently for her to continue, James
said, "Let me guess. He was skimming from the town treasury."

Lucy trained a pair of startled cornflower blue eyes on him.
"How'd you know?"

Now it was James' turn to be surprised. "I was just joking.
Honestly!"

"Well, you're right on target. Not all of the evidence has been
gathered yet, but it looks as though Mr. Woodman overcharged
the town for his landscaping services."

"Is that really serious?" Gillian sounded doubtful. "Gas prices
are so high these days. Maybe he needed to charge more because of
increased costs?"

Lucy finished chewing a mouthful of moussaka before answering. "We're not talking about the kind of money to buy oil for the
weed whackers or a few tanks of lawn mower gas, Gillian. He took
a lot of money! Not only was he billing three times the actual for
his services, but apparently, whenever it was his turn to pay the
town's bills, he'd pay himself for work his company didn't even
perform!"

"What's the bottom line?" Bennett asked.

"I can't say anything officially," Lucy warned. "It's not my investigation, but we're talking somewhere in the neighborhood
of thirty thousand dollars. And his wife claims to know nothing
about it."

"Whoa! Thirty grand for cutting lawns and trimmin' a few
bushes!" Bennett shook his fork in indignation. "I am in the wrong
line of work!"

The friends ate silently for a moment. James became aware that
he was picking at his entree like a child forced to eat distasteful
vegetables. The moussaka tasted fine, but he didn't care for the
texture. The entire dish felt like mush in his mouth. Even chewing
the crisp cucumbers of his own salad didn't quite match the satisfaction of grinding a nice piece of steak between his molars.

Don't be so close-minded! he chided himself, and forced down
another bite of Lindy's dish.

"Wonder what he did with that extra money?" Lindy ruminated quietly. "Ned, I mean. If his wife didn't know, where'd he
hide it? In a safety deposit box?"

"In his girlfriend's house?" Bennett quipped.

The supper club members exchanged inquisitive glances.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Gillian whispered theatrically and fixed her gaze on Lucy.

Lucy wiped her mouth with her napkin, folded her hands on
the table, and nodded. "That someone else might know the location of Ned's money?"

"And has already helped themselves to it!" Lindy cried.

"Time out, folks." James rose and returned to the table with a
bakery box from The Sweet Tooth. "The money could be buried under a tree for all we know, but if we're going to bat around wild
theories for the rest of the evening, then we're going to need this
pie after all."

BY THE TIME THE weekend rolled around,
Murphy had successfully ferreted out
every detail involving Ned Woodman's
transgressions. The deceased councilman
had overcharged the town for his services
for years, but not by enough to draw attention. It was only within the last few
months he'd turned truly greedy.

According to Murphy's explanation in The Star, council members took turns paying the town's bills. This rotation was put in
place to protect the town's coffers, but it was only effective when
each council member kept a close eye on the books. Because there
hadn't been a penny unaccounted for in years, the council members didn't go over the numbers with a fine-tooth comb. Unfortunately, Ned took advantage of his trusting colleagues and during
his bill-paying rotation made large payments to his own company. The bills included exorbitant fees for simple services such as pruning and laying mulch.

Eventually, someone else on the council would have noticed
the depletion of town funds, so it was "as though Woodman was
attempting to quickly stockpile ready cash," Murphy wrote. "His
widow, Donna Woodman, claims to have no knowledge of her
husband's illicit activities. Mrs. Woodman said there was no trace
of the stolen money in their joint bank account and added that her
husband had made no big-ticket purchases. Authorities are currently investigating Mr. Woodman's finances, but it appears that
the councilman cashed a series of town checks over a twelve-week
period. With no clues as to the whereabouts of the stolen money,
the former councilman may have taken the cash and his reasons
for embezzling from his friends and neighbors to the grave."

To the left of Murphy's article on Ned Woodman's criminal acts
was a shorter piece covering his memorial service. A large photo of
Donna Woodman served as a divider between the two stories and
James found himself repeatedly returning his gaze to the black and
white shot. Ned's widow was an athletic blond. Her sleeveless black
tank dress showed off muscular arms and a stomach as flat as an
ironing board. It was difficult to see her face as the photograph was
a profile shot and Donna's eyes were obscured by a pair of enormous sunglasses. It was her lips, set in a thin line of grief, and the
way she clutched a single rose, that made the photo leap from the
page. The emotion depicted in those clenched hands looked like
something Jackson would have captured in one of his paintings.

"Poor woman," James murmured and passed the paper to Jane.
"I wish this stuff about Ned had come out after the funeral. At least Donna Woodman could have buried her husband without
the press circling the cemetery like a bunch of hungry hawks"

Jane studied the photograph and made a sympathetic noise.
"Can you imagine how she feels? She must doubt every moment
she shared with that man, wondering if she ever really knew him.
Why did he take the money? Did he have an addiction? A mistress?
A desperate friend in need?" She shook her head. "His secrets will
taint all of her good memories. She won't truly be able to grieve
until she knows the truth."

James tapped the photo. "Judging from this shot I'd say she's
definitely begun the grieving process"

"That's not grief, it's anger," Jane answered with certainty.
"Look at her mouth, her hands. This woman is filled with rage and
has no way to let it out. The source of her anger is dead, and yet,
she's got to stand at the edge of his grave and be composed in front
of the cameras, when what she'd like to do is jump up and down
on his coffin and scream at him." Seeing James' stunned expression, Jane gave a self-effacing shrug. "Maybe I'm reading too much
into the photo, but that's how it strikes me."

"Let me look at that again." Scooting his chair closer to hers,
James inhaled the clean scents of Jane's aloe body lotion and eucalyptus shampoo. As she leaned over to pour him more coffee, he
caught a trace of lilac perfume and smiled.

His mother had also loved lilacs and he'd always associated
the aroma with her warm embraces, easy laughter, and goodnight
kisses. He thought of all the evenings she'd snuggled with him
on his twin bed, reading him story after story until he finally fell
asleep. Every night of his boyhood, he'd drifted off to tales of bravery and adventure, dark plots and ruthless villains, enchantment and beauty. James' mother had gifted him with his love of books.
It was a gift he wanted to pass on to his own son and he was glad
to know that Jane had been reading to Eliot since he was an infant.

"What are you thinking about?" Jane asked, nudging him with
her elbow. "You've got on a very dreamy expression."

James gazed at his ex-wife, at how pretty she looked in her
denim skirt and white blouse, her hair tucked into a headband and
her face free of makeup. Had she known that lilac was his mother's
trademark scent? Was she wearing it deliberately, to more easily
earn his trust and affection? James folded The Star in half with a
snap.

No, he thought. Jane doesn't need to manipulate me. She has
her own money, a successful career, a supportive circle of family
and friends. I've seen the way men look at her, too. Jane could have
her pick of several male colleagues. It's not like she's desperate to
find a man. Stop second-guessing her, his inner voice scolded.

"I was remembering how my mom loved the smell of lilacs," he
replied to Jane after a long pause. "Your perfume reminds me of
her. Actually, you remind me of her more and more now that we're
spending so much time together."

"What a lovely compliment!" Jane squeezed his hand gratefully. "Your mother was an incredible woman. Kind, generous,
funny ... and boy, did she know her way around the kitchen! You're
never going to find her equal in me when it comes to cooking. You
know that, right?" She pretended to look alarmed. "You're not expecting me to start making souffles and coq an vin, are you?"

"Forget haute cuisine, my dear. I'm very interested in your
other assets," he searched for her lips with his own.

All too soon, Eliot's voice interrupted their kiss. "Are you two
going to make a baby?"

Jane let her arms slide from James' shoulders, but she let her
hand linger on his. She laughed. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Lesley-Anne says that when a grown-up boy and a grown-up
girl kiss, they make a baby." Eliot was clearly pleased to be able to
share this bit of knowledge with his parents.