Stilettos & Scoundrels (25 page)

“Yes. Your mother is very proud of that.”

Ruth’s statement threw
me
off.
My
mother hadn’t said anything to
me
about my new job
except
to criticize how I got myself fired at my
last job and good jobs were
hard to come by. Oh and how I
wasn’t getting any younger blah, blah, blah. “I was wondering if you had heard anything around town. You know, about who might have wanted the Senator dead
or anything like that.” I
tried acting nonchalant about the question, hoping it might help, but
I knew I sounded
really stupid. Hopefully Ruth wouldn’t notice.

Ruth looked at me strangely, lips pursed. She
didn’t seem too thrilled I
was asking her this question. “I know that you probably think you are doing a good thing,” Ruth said and smiled sweetly, in an obvious attempt to be nice to
me
, since
I
doubted she really believed that. “But, I’m not one to gossip
,
even if I did know something. And if I did, I would go to the police. Shouldn’t they be the ones asking these questions?”

“I thought you might have heard something that could point me in the right direction, you know, to get information to write a better story about the Senator.”
I
knew sincerity and flattery usually got you pretty far. She was still looking at
me
strangely as the smile slid from her face.
Uh-oh
.
I
bega
n to think Ruth was realizing my
motivations might not be entir
ely pure. She wasn’t stupid. I
was sure Ruth could put two and two together and fig
ure out I
might want to do more than just write a story about the Senator. Maybe she knew some hot, juic
y gossip she didn’t want me
to find out.

“Isn’t that a job for the
cops?” Ruth said again. I
saw that she was guarded, not sure how to take this or maybe not sure how to answer. Interesting.
What would she need to guard against? Did she know something?
Even if she thought
I
was trying to pump her for information in order to write about the murder, was is it really that big of a deal?

“Of course it’s a job for the cops
,
and I’m not trying to interfere
with that
, Ruth. I’m just looking for some information,”
I
said, trying to sound innocent. So it was a little white lie, but all for good reason. White lies didn’t count with a good intention behind them, at least in
my
world. “Ruth, I just want to see who might have had a motive and maybe help the police
,
all in the name of writing an accurate article to share with the public. Do you know of anyone who would want to kill him?”

“What are you getting at Presley? Why would I know?”

“You are pretty good friends with Helen
,
aren’t you? I thought maybe something she said to you might be enlightening?”
I
was getting impatient, but didn’t want to offend Ruth, because then she wouldn’t tell
me
anything. Plus, of course, she might tell
my
mother.

“What are you getting at, Presley?” Ruth asked
again
, clearly on to the fact
I
was looking for something;
I
just wasn’t exactly sure what.

“I don’t know. Someone obviously wanted him dead. There has to be a reason he was murdered. I’m just trying to figure out what that reason was. You know, like maybe he had money troubles or something.”

Ruth just stared at
me, n
ot biting at any of
my
hints, although
I
could definitely tell Ruth was suspicious about why
I
was asking.
I
weighed
my
options.
If
I
didn’t come right out and ask,
I
wouldn’t know. If
I
did bluntly ask her about Helen, what was the worst that could happen? She would complain to
my
mother and
I
would have to listen to
my
mother yell at
me
. But if
I
did ask, then Ruth’s reaction might give
me
a clue about who Helen was seeing.
Was it worth it?

“I heard Helen was having an affair,”
I
blurted out. Hmmm… subconsciously,
I
must have felt it was worth it and the door was open now, no going back.

“What?” Ruth exclaimed. Her eyes narrowed, and crossing her arms in front of her chest
, she
gave
me
a dirty look. “What right do you think you have, asking these questions?”

“Well, if she was that would be a motive for someone to kill Tom, wouldn’t it?”
I
continued. Ruth was
clearly un
happy
to hear me
talking about this, so
I
added quickly, “Not that anyone would blame Helen or anything...”

Ruth interrupted. “First of all,” she said coldly, “Helen is not having an affair
,
and if she were, that’s not anyone’s business but hers. And, they’re not having money problems. Or any other problems for that matter.”

“Ruth, I’m just saying...”

“Secondly, you should be ashamed of yourself, spreading these kinds of lies about Helen and Tom,” she continued with her rant. “Have you no shame? Helen just lost her husband and you are accusing her of cheating. And murder.”

“Ruth, I’m not accusing Helen of anything,”
I
said, hands on hips, trying to act indignant, which wasn’t that
difficult as Ruth was making me feel defensive. I
wasn’t trying to say anything bad about Helen. Each to his own and all that.
I
had made enough of a mess of
me
own life
—I knew I had no right
to judge. “I’m just saying
that
if she was having an affair, maybe things got out of hand. From all I have heard
,
she was entitled to have an affair with the way Tom acted.”

Ruth walked out from behind the counter and pointed to the door. “I think you should leave, Presley. I will not continue to listen to you slander poor Helen
. S
he’s been through enough.”

I
started walking toward the door when
I
turned back to Ruth and said, “I am not trying to start rumors about Helen. I just want to find the truth. It’s going to come out eventually. If something is going on, the cops will find out.”

“Presley, this is none of your concern. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
A
s the door started to shut behind
me
,
I
heard Ruth yell, “Don’t think I won’t be telling your mother about this!”

I
cringed at the thought. Maybe
I
just wouldn’t go home tonight. Or,
I could
wait until it was really late and
my mother
was in bed.
Ha
! Fat chance of that happening. Ruth was certainly not much help, at least overtly, but
I
got the sense
that
Ruth knew something interesting.
I wasn’t sure w
hat
Ruth
might be hiding, but
my questions sure made Ruth
defensive quick enough. Not that
I
expected her to spill all the beans
,
but what Ruth didn’t say and the way she looked when
I
mentioned Helen having an affair were the real clues.
I
hadn’t realized
my
HR skills would come in so handy.
When
interviewing job applicants
,
body language and what they didn’t say usually spoke volumes. This was a classic case of not what she said but what she didn’t say
—
or however the saying went.

I
tapped
my
fingers on the steering wheel to help
me
think;
I was trying to decide my
next course of action.
I was f
eeling somewhat deflated
. My
conversation with Ruth
hadn’t yielded much except the general feeling that Ruth knew more than she was saying
. Realistically,
I
knew
I
wasn’t going to get all the answers from the first person
I
talked to
,
but
I’d hoped Ruth would give me something to go on
.
I
decided
my
next stop would be Betty’s Baked Goods. Not only did Betty have the best peach cream cheese muffins in the world (
I
had eaten enough to know over the years and always made
my
parents bring
me some when they came to visit
), but Betty also knew everything that went on in Alkon. If there was something going on inside or outside of the Daniels’ marriage, Betty would know it, and Betty was not shy about spreading gossip. She always said you shouldn’t do it if you didn’t want someone to talk about it.
I
agreed with that motto, at least when it was about other people. There were some things
I
would much prefer no one ever found out about
—l
ike the time
I
had too many cosmos and danced on the table at Muldoon’s
, i
n a skirt. Or
like
that guy
I
had the one
-
night
-
stand with after
I
was dumped by Todd and before meeting Rick. Rebound sex always seemed like a good idea at the time but
it was
not always the same great idea afterward.

I
smelled the sweet treats as
I
walked up to the building and
deeply
inhaled
t
he heady aroma of cinnamon buns and freshly made donuts.
Yum
. My
senses drank in the flavor. It was en
ough to make one drool, and I quickly swiped my chin to make sure I
hadn’t. N
ot that it had happened before, but you couldn’t be too careful.

Deep into the daydream of fresh, hot muffins, I
ran into
something hard. “Excuse me,” I
said
, looking up and finding my
self face to face with Simon Atkins. He had a coffee in one hand and a bakery bag in the other. He obviously had the s
ame mid-afternoon snack idea I
had.
“Watch where you’re going
,
lady.”
Simon looked me up and down.
He found her very attractive, but he suspected she was going to end up being a big pain in his ass.
“Maybe you should watch where you’re going,”
I
said
as I watched him
head down the steps.

Taste buds in overdrive,
I
put
all thoughts of Simon out of my
head, and definitely thought it was time for a snack. This time of day at Betty’s was a slow time. The only people in the bakery were a couple of old farmers talking over late morning coffee, the cook in back, and
,
of course, Betty.
I
never knew of a time when Betty wasn’t there overseeing the place
,
making sure everyone was enjoying their food,
and
giving them a hard time
. That kind of special attention was
definitely one of the nicer things about a small town. Back in Chicago, people barely looked you in the eye while you were eating, much less care
d
if you enjoyed yourself, or engage
d
you freely in conversation.

Betty’s
back was to
me
when
I
walked in, so
I
snuck up behind her and said, “Any fresh peach cream cheese muffins today?” Betty turned around, startled, and then sm
iled when she saw it was me
. Betty looked pretty much the same, as if time stood still for her. Her silver hair
was
pulled back in a tight bun, wisps going in many directions, and she had on her uniform of blue jeans and t-shirt with a flour-dusted apron tied around her waist. However, unlike most women her age, which was somewhere north of sixty, her blue jeans were fashionable, distressed looking wide
-
legs and she had a sassy t-shirt saying
I’m too good for you
on it.