Murder on the First Day of Christmas (Chloe Carstairs Mysteries) (19 page)

    
“That might change if you grow political aspirations.”

    
He shrugged as a group of twenty-somethings crowded into the back room with us. I noticed the appreciative double-takes a couple of the girls shot Jack, followed by speculative glances my way. “How did she…how serious are they…what if I…?”

    
Jack didn’t seem to notice, and I remembered Dana saying none of the girls at work could attract his attention. A guy focused on his career.

    
“How about Robin? What’s her story?” I restarted our conversation.

    “What’s yours?” he countered. “Why the Nancy Drew routine?”

    I hid a smile, pleased at the comparison.

    
“No story. Just nosy I guess.” I took a sip of my beer. “You were saying about Robin.”

    
“Don’t know her well, either. I know Oscar wasn’t a fan. He thought she had gotten away with killing her husbands and Saul was a fool to mess with her.”

    
“What do you think?”

    
“Innocent till proven guilty.” His eyes restlessly scanned the bar, settling on no one.

    
I noticed Jack wasn’t the only one getting approving glances from the opposite sex. A guy in the corner obviously liked what he saw when he turned his dark eyes in my direction, and I…

    
Nope. Scratch that. He was looking at Jack, too, although Jack was oblivious.

    
“What about Trianos?” I asked. “Also innocent?”

    
“Even I’m not that naïve. We’ll get him. It’s just a matter of time.”

    
“So what’s your theory on the murders?”

    
“What makes you think I’ve got one?”

    
“Everybody’s got one.” I was loving this cat and mouse game we were playing, willing to stare into those eyes all night if need be.

    
“I think it’s cut and dried. Saul toyed with the wrong person. Oscar found out whom and had to be eliminated.”

    
I sat back, trying to picture the scenes. “But how could Saul be killed in front of all those witness, the computer discs stolen and no one’s the wiser? And why was Oscar killed so brutally when Saul’s death was so devious?”

    
“Oscar’s death looks more like a rage killing. In his own way, Oscar was just as creepy as Saul about passing judgment on people. Those ‘Christmas presents.’” His derisive tone surprised me.

    
“What Christmas presents?” But even before the words were out, I knew - the Santa bag. I couldn’t believe we had forgotten about them.

    
Jack looked sorry that he had brought up the subject.

    
“So spill it.” I leaned closer. “Who got what?”

    
He rolled his eyes. “I can’t remember everyone. There were thirty gifts in there.”

    
“Hit the highlights. Start with Nancy.”

    
Crinkling his eyes in the most adorable way, he tried to recall. “Not positive. Something innocuous. A gift certificate, maybe? Yeah, for Pilates.”

    
Innocuous? Hardly. Oscar must’ve known about Nancy’s affair. Had he learned about it from the missing discs?

     “What about Robin?”

     “Nothing for her. Nancy said they weren’t expecting her to show up, but we found a wrapped gift in the study that we think he planned to give her - first edition Agatha Christie -
Murder is Easy
.”

    
“Ouch.”

    
“See what I mean? Creepy.”

    
“Who else?” I asked. “Angela Jannings?”

    
“Mmm. A pair of handcuffs, I think.”

    
I raised an eyebrow.

    
“Your guess is as good as mine.”

    
“How about you? What were you getting?”

     J
ack shrugged. “There wasn’t anything for me.”

    
“Right. You just don’t want to say.”

    
“I’m serious. I was going to walk away empty handed.”

    
“Interesting. Was I getting anything?”

    
“Your whole family was getting a week’s use of the Browley’s house on St. George Island. Nice, huh?”

    
“Very. I don’t guess that constitutes a binding contract.”

    
“Take it up with the widow.”

    
Dana flopped down on the couch next to me. “Sorry we’re late.” She touched her lipstick self-consciously, hiding a smile. “Dan stopped at the bathroom, then he’s getting us drinks.”

    
A few minutes later, Dan brought over a round of beers. Jack favored the same dark, chocolatey beers Jacob did, their appeal lost on me.

    
“You should check out the condom machine they have,” Dan suggested once he was settled. “Flavored. Colored. Glow in the dark.” He shook his head. “Novelty stuff. Condoms aren’t something you joke around about.”

    
“I don’t know,” Dana said, already well into her beer. “A little good-natured ribbing can be nice.” She laughed, hiccupped and flicked her eyes toward Jack.

    
From Dan’s sour look, I suspected their ride home from the bar would not be as pleasant as the ride over.

CHAPTER 22

    
Dana and Dan didn’t even make it through their first beers before their bickering reached DEFCON four.

    
Jack was looking at his watch. I was looking across the room to where Jacob was now sitting with some of his work buddies.

    
Not that the term ‘buddy’ adequately described the cute new interior designer they had recently hired. Bosom buddy was a more apt description. Spaghetti straps? Try angel hair pasta. And this the cold and flu season.

    
Still, Jacob wasn’t the only one out with an attractive member of the opposite sex. I figured it wouldn’t hurt for him to see me with a guy like Jack Lassiter. See other people? Don’t mind if I do.

    
“Oh, like you never flirt, Mr. I Always Make Time for My Fans, especially the pretty ones.”

    
Jack leaned over to me. “I’m heading out.”

    
I looked at him in alarm. “Now? No! I mean, walk me to my car. Just let me say ‘hi’ to a couple of friends, and I’ll be ready.”

    
Jack nodded, obviously not happy about the delay. Dan called Dana a jealous harpy. I promised I’d make it quick.

    
Jacob’s work friends greeted me with loud enthusiasm. This hadn’t been their first stop. Where had I been hiding myself, they wanted to know.

    
I explained about the Christmas houses. They were more interested in the murders and the severed hand, but I waved them off. Occupational hazard.

    
“I love your coat,” the new interior designer said after introductions.

    
“I really don’t need you to be all cute and endearing,” I said in my head.

    
Jacob pulled me aside. “I see you decided to lose the scary black makeup and return to your old sexy self.”

    
“If it ain’t broke.”

    
“You double dating?”

    
“For now. Dana and Dan might not make it much longer.”

    
I let him follow my gaze to where the unhappy couple sat with the absolutely adorable, if a little irritated, Jack Lassiter.

    
“They at it again? God, what’s the point?”

    
“Apparently, they think they have something worth fighting for.” Lame. I wasn’t going to convince Jacob of anything using those two as Exhibit A.

    
“I know that guy. Jim? Jack?”

    
“Jack Lassiter,” I said, loving the sound of it.

    
“Yeah. He’s on the design review committee of his neighborhood. He approved the Farrington remodel I did. Nice guy.”

    
“Nice? He’s gorgeous. Can’t keep his hands off me.” It just kind of slipped out.

    
Jacob smiled down at me. “I doubt you’ll get into much trouble with your mom sitting in the other room, pounding apple martinis.”

    
Grrrrr.

    
“As a matter of fact we’re on our way out,” I said, a little stiffly. “It was good seeing you.”

    
“You too, Chloe. We’re still on for dinner?”

    
Nodding, I signaled for Jack and headed off, sneaking one last look at the new interior designer as I went.

    
I had planned to breeze past Mom with Jack Lassiter, sending her maternal instincts into overdrive. After all, what better way to soothe my wounded pride than by driving my mother crazy? But the scene in the main bar stopped me cold.

    
Mom and Bunny were sitting at a two top crowded with empty martini glasses. Not good. Amanda Carstairs is strictly a chardonnay kind of gal - the butterier the better, throwing in an occasional cabernet just to mix it up. But sour apple martinis? Uh-uh.

    
If you’ve never had the pleasure, this bright green sour concoction is a curious blend of the sweet and the sour, tasting a lot like a crisp, ripe Granny Smith apple. It’s so hard-candy harmless, it’s easy to sip yourself sloppy.

    
Seeing Mom’s over-bright eyes and over-wide smile, I said good-bye to Jack on the sidewalk, not even caring that he didn’t seem a bit disappointed about no goodnight kiss.

    
Back in the bar, I maneuvered myself as close as I could without being seen by Bunny and sought Mom’s attention. It took a second, but finally she looked my way. With eyes that had trouble focusing, she signaled for me to stay away.

    
Great.

    
I just prayed she was faking tipsy, thinking Bunny would dish the dirt easier to a drinking buddy than to a casual acquaintance from the same social circle.

    
From where I stood, I could see Rory across the bar, plying his charms on more receptive prey - a woman whose low-cut dress and grateful expression said the ink was still wet on her divorce papers. More importantly, I could hear Mom’s conversation.

    
“I’m worried about Nancy. You checked on her lately?” Mom sipped her drink.

    
I made a slicing signal across my throat. Cut it out.

    
“I called her today,” Bunny said. “Three sheets to the wind, but her sister’s flying in this weekend so she’ll be fine. When the insurance pays and the will gets settled, our little Nancy’ll be rolling in it.”

    
“But they were well off with Oscar alive,” Mom pointed out.

    
“Yeah, but Oscar controlled all the money. He was generous, don’t get me wrong, but she wanted it all. Now she’s got it.”

    
“Wonder what she’ll do with it?”

    
“Poor Amanda. So naïve.” Bunny signaled a passing waitress and, before I could protest, ordered two more drinks.

    
I glared at Mom.

    
Bunny continued, “I know for a fact Nancy ran off the man who cleaned their gutters last fall. The poor man felt violated by her behavior, even threatened to tell Oscar or report her to OSHA or some such nonsense, and him a happily married father of three.”

    
“What did she do?” Mom traded her empty glass for the full one the waitress offered.

    
“A lot of walking past windows in the nude. A saucy bump-and-grind routine, when she ‘had no idea he was working today.’” She mocked Nancy’s innocent tone. “Stuff like that.”

    
“And Oscar had no idea?”

    
“Please. He wouldn’t have put up with that for a minute, not that he wasn’t getting his own gutters cleaned, if you catch my drift.”

    
“Anyone I know?”

    
Bunny waved Mom off. “Some paralegal with a pair of D-cups - old news.”

    
“I hear Saul was kind of, you know, holding it over Nancy.”

    
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

    
“Why not?” Mom asked.

    
“He did the same thing to my first husband. The bastard.”

    
I wasn’t sure for whom the expletive was meant, but I found it interesting that Bunny and Saul had a history.

    
“You mean Saul knew about…”