Sprayed Stiff (20 page)

Ah, dreamy.

After he left, I slipped my “Pony in My Boat” T-shirt over my head, pulled on some ancient boxers, and brushed my teeth, letting Char lick some toothpaste off my fingers. I’d let the girls in while Clint was there because they’d been begging to meet him. They loved him. He loved them. If he passed the coffee-in-the-morning test, he’d be the perfect man.

The doorbell rang. My heart jumped. Had he changed his mind about spending the night at La Quinta? I reviewed my holey shorts. This called for a robe. I threw on my thick emerald terry-cloth robe and ran downstairs with the dogs. I flung the door open, and tried to hide my disappointment.

A
FRUMPY WOMAN
with frizzy dark hair shot with premature gray pulled back in a tightly hairsprayed bun stood on my doorstep. It took me a good fifteen seconds to place her as the lady I’d admired for her dedication at the Junior League party. It was midnight. What was she doing here?

Why hadn’t I looked through the peephole?

Her hand shot out. I jumped, then shook it. She bowed her head. “I’m Mitzi Spagnetti. I don’t know if you remember me…”

“Of course I do, Mitzi. Come on in.”

Here I went again. It was the middle of the night, and I was too polite to turn away a near stranger.

I ushered her into the living room, checking out her outfit—red high-water slacks, kelly green long-sleeved shirt decorated with orange embroidered smiley faces, purple fuzzy socks, and yellow clogs. Hmm. I wondered if she was color-blind—unusual for a woman, but not unheard-of. I excused myself to put the dogs out since they seemed on edge, probably because they were expecting the luscious Clint or their best bud Scythe, certainly not Mitzi. Besides, it was past their bedtime. Mine, too.

When I returned, she was hunkered down in my love seat, wringing her hands, which I noticed were ragged with bleeding cuticles. Poor dear. She was barely older than I was, but seemed to have decades on me. I sat down on the couch across from her. “It’s nice to see you again, Mitzi.”

“I am sorry for coming to see you so late, but I’ve been calling all night, and I thought that you probably had your message machine filled up with all the reporters, and I wouldn’t be able to get hold of you until this all died down.” She paused, heard what she’d said, and laughed a lilting little giggle. Odd sense of humor, but at least she had one.

“It’s okay,” I reassured her, “I was still awake.”

“I wanted you to know I was worried about you, with all you’re going through right now. I think the police and reporters should just leave you alone. You can come stay with me if you need to hide from them all. I’m sure they wouldn’t think to look for you at my house.” She gave that weird little giggle again.

“Thank you for the kind offer, Mitzi, but I’m okay. I have a business to run. It’s hard to hide from that.”

“Well, can’t you just tell the police to go away? You don’t have anything to do with these murders.” Her voice rose, suddenly adamant. It reminded me of the way she’d talked about her pet projects in the Junior League. She was caring, if a little off.

I leaned forward and patted her hand. She jumped. Yikes. “Thank you for your concern, but people I care about are involved and I’m trying to help them. I don’t like to see someone suffer for something she didn’t do. The person who’s guilty should pay.”

She studied me through her thick glasses, her dark eyes bright. “You get as focused as I do about your causes, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe so. And from what I’ve seen of your dedication, being compared to you would be a compliment. Thank you.”

Mitzi bowed her head and blushed. “Dedication can be a blessing or a curse, depending on where it is applied.”

“True.” The fashion disaster as philospher.

Mitzi wrung her hands again. “Since you are so focused on finding the killer, I guess I should tell you what I know. I really have debated this. But I know it’s right to put this information in such capable hands.”

I suddenly found it hard to swallow. “What information?”

“It’s about another Junior League member. Someone who might have wanted Wilma dead.”

“If you suspect someone, why not go directly to the police, Mitzi?”

“I don’t have any proof, and if I send the police after her, my career with the League will be over. All those teenagers would be without guidance. Babies would be born into sadness and chaos—”

I put up a hand. “If this woman is involved in Wilma’s death, Mitzi, I’ll have to tell the police about you and you will have to cooperate.”

She brightened. “Oh, I know that. If she really is guilty, then it’s a foregone conclusion that I would cooperate. But throwing false suspicion around, that would not be understood within the League.”

I sighed. I was losing track of all the people I was supposed to be protecting. “Why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what you know?”

“It’s Charis Keifer. You met her, at the function at the Harmon home.”

I remembered caramel-blond Charis of the flipped-out fashion stooges. I’d sicced Scythe on her because she’d been openly celebrating Wilma’s death, sourly proclaiming that Wilma had been practicing Darwinism among the provisional members of the Junior League. Perhaps Charis had decided to practice her own version of Darwinism on Wilma?

I kept my voice neutral. “I remember Charis.”

“She is the chairman of the provisionals, the new members of the League. How their probationary year goes reflects on her. Sixty percent of the provisional class from last year quit, some say thanks to the emotional torture Wilma put them through. There was talk that Charis should be removed from her position, that it was her fault the provisionals quit, that the League would dry up and die with such low numbers of actual inductees. Some of her supporters in the organization fought to give her another year to prove herself. Wilma had vowed to be just as tough on the provisionals this year. Charis was livid, and she didn’t hide it.”

“Why would anyone kill over being removed from a volunteer position?”

Mitzi looked at me like I didn’t get it. And I guess I didn’t, and never would. “Believe me, it is motive enough.”

I shook my head. “I’ll take your word for it, Mitzi. But motive is one thing and opportunity is another.”

“She had opportunity. Her husband complained to his buddies while he was golfing at the Dominion yesterday that Charis was late coming home the night Wilma was killed. She told him a moonlight sale at Grove Hill kept her. His friends all groused about similar shopping problems with their wives, but they’re all too stupid to know there was no midnight sale anywhere in town that night.”

“That could be explained any number of ways, though. Charis could have a boyfriend. She could’ve been sneaking out for a night with the girls. No telling.”

Sighing, Mitzi wrung her hands. “At least I told you. Now my conscience is clear.”

Wow, that made me feel guilty. “Okay, Mitzi, I will mention it to the police and keep your name out of it for now.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” She blew out a breath and patted at her flyaway hair. “Now, if you are dead-set against staying in hiding until the whole case is settled…” She paused, waiting. I acknowledged that she was right. “Then I would like to invite you to a fund-raiser I’m hosting to get seed money to restart the Teen Advantage pregnancy prevention program. It’s at Fiesta Texas theme park on Friday night. Tickets are one hundred fifty dollars a person, but I’d like you to be my guest.”

I hate theme parks, especially roller coasters. “Uh, I couldn’t possibly accept such a generous offer.”

“Please. I’d love to have a friendly face there. And knowing you’d be handy if I needed you to make sure decorations stay up and everyone gets where they need to be, that’s worth the price of a ticket.” Her big owl eyes implored. They looked like they were getting moist at the corners.
Please don’t cry.

“Okay, I accept.”

Her mouth spread in a wide smile. “Wonderful.” She pulled a ticket from the pocket of her Howdy Doody pants and put it on the table even though I’d extended my hand.

I wondered how to repay her. “You know, you have lovely…” I paused. “Body in your hair. We could really jazz it up for the party with a little henna job—”

“Oh, no,” she gasped as if I’d offered to shave her bald. “I don’t need to be attractive. Do you think I need to be attractive?” She bored me with with a fanatical stare. Oops, touched a nerve there, hadn’t I?

“Of course not. I was just trying to repay you for your kindness in the only way I know how,” I said, standing up and ushering her to the door. “See you at the party.”

I’d no sooner shut the door and gotten halfway to the kitchen when the bell rang again. Shoot. What had Mitzi forgotten now? I threw the door open. Annette stood there, wearing a severe black tailored pantsuit and black driving gloves. One day I would learn to look through the peephole. One day too late, probably.

She reached into her pocket. I reached for the umbrella stand. She shoved a piece of paper at me. The umbrella stand crashed to the floor, and she jumped. “What the hell?”

I stared at the paper, which seemed to be a list. “What’s this?”

Annette glared at me from six feet up. Even doing that, she was beautiful. I wished I had her perfect skin. Life was not fair. I got the personality. She got the skin. I thought I’d rather have the skin.

“Charlotte called and told me you wanted the names of Percy’s old girlfriends.” She looked furtively behind her. “Let me in the damn house, would you?”

I opened the door wider, and she stalked in. “You’re the most famous, or infamous, person in three counties. The police, the media, and probably the killer have all got you under surveillance by now.”

“Don’t forget the Texas Rangers.”

She sucked in a breath and revealed the first feminine hint about her. “Oooh, you hit the big time. Don’t tell me they sent that hunk Clint Calhoun down here?” She saw the answer in my face. “Lucky, aren’t you? I wouldn’t mind having the hottie of the Texas Rangers on
my
case.”

“You could be lucky, too. Tell him what you know.”

She was already shaking that elegant head of hers, any hint of emotion extinguished. “No way. They’re awarding that scholarship next week. Plus, they released Percy on bond. I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

“Why risk coming here, then?”

“Because the police suspect me.”

“Really?” News to me, which was not surprising since Scythe didn’t regularly powwow with me over his investigating, just mine. “Is this because you and Shauna were friends at one time?”

Annette paled. I got a shot of gratification at throwing a tilt into the Rock of Gibraltar. She clenched her black-leather–clad hands, which took away a bit of the thrill. “How did you know that?”

“Because there’s a photo of the two of you with your arms around each other in Shauna’s office. Why did you pretend she was a stranger when you told me about her?”

“Because I didn’t want to make it seem like we were conspiring.”

“It seems worse now, with Shauna dead. It’s too coincidental that you would work for the man Shauna ended up having an affair with. Maybe the whole thing was a setup and Shauna got too expensive to keep around.”

“Stop wasting your time on me and Shauna and spend it on someone on that list.” She motioned to the paper in my hand. Sweat had broken out on her upper lip. Hmm.

I looked at the list; no names I recognized except Shauna’s. “How do I know you didn’t make this up?”

“Why would I do that, when I want you to find who really did this and get the cops off my tail?”

“To waste my time and the cops’ while you head off to Bermuda.”

Annette drilled me with a hard look. “You know how much I want to make something of myself. To go to law school. I couldn’t do that as a fugitive. I’m not going anywhere.” Then she held up her gloved hands. “I’m also not going to admit I gave you that list. There won’t be any fingerprints, and don’t try to identify me because I can lie better than anybody you’ve ever seen. They’ll think you’re the one shaking their tree, not me. Plus, I’ll poison your dogs.”

I nodded. I still believed her.

She let herself out the back door to a chorus of barking. One of the dogs yelped. Char, I think. She’s the biggest wuss. The other two went quiet. I walked to the door and let them in. All shuffled in with tails between their legs and scuttled up to bed.

I was getting a pit bull tomorrow.

No telling why, but I slept like the dead. Probably because someone wanted me that way. I just wished I knew who. James Brown woke me with “Aw! I feel good!” and I went through my morning ablutions with a spring in my step. The only thing missing was that guy bringing me coffee in bed, but I could imagine what he looked like doing it and, since I have a superlative imagination, that was pretty close to the real thing.

After selecting a pair of custom-made ocher caiman boots, I slipped on my favorite Levi’s 501s and found a little give, which improved my day. This crime-fighting gig was good for weight control. So, with minimal bottom, I filled my coffee cup with Zambian brew and unlocked the door to the salon.