Murder Has a Sweet Tooth Read online

  Alex expressed his thanks with what was almost a smile. The very effort made him wince, and he got back down to business. “So you’ve told me a thousand times since I’ve been here, Jim, but as I’ve told you, I won’t be a leech. Besides, it’s good to get out after a long day in the house. There’s this place over on Wilson that I’ve found. Swallows, it’s called.”

  We both knew it well. Jim and I had eaten at Swallows a time or two. He admired the innovative things they did with vegetables. Me? I loved their Baileys chocolate cheesecake. We’d both marveled at the extent of their wine list and their knowledgeable waitstaff.

  “On Tuesdays,” Alex continued, “they’ve got Guinness on special and a Celtic band.”

  Homesickness wasn’t Alex’s style. I studied him closely. “And women.”

  “Aye.” For once, his eyes didn’t sparkle at the prospect. “And not just women. One woman. Her name was Vickie.”

  I scooted forward in my seat. “And Vickie was at Swallows last night?”

  Alex nodded. “The first time I met her . . . well, that was three weeks ago, and as I’ve told you before, I’m hardly looking for a long-term commitment. Vickie was a pretty thing, and I was looking to have a good time. She came in alone. I bought her a couple drinks, we listened to the music, shared a laugh or two. She left a little after midnight, and I wondered if I’d ever see her again. I went back the next night, but she never showed.”

  “And last night was Tuesday.” I made a mental note of it. “And last night was different how?”

  He shrugged. “I arrived near eight, just as I always do. Vickie was already there. She waved to me and I joined her at our usual table.”

  I picked up on the subtle inference, even if Alex wasn’t willing to say it. “Your usual table. So you’d seen her there again, after that first time you met her?”

  Another nod. “Each Tuesday, sure as eggs is eggs, there was Vickie. And I got to know her. I mean . . .” A touch of color relieved some of the pallor in Alex’s face. “She was always a perfect lady and believe it or not, I was as much of a gentleman as I am able to be. You know what I’m saying, Jim.” He looked at his cousin. “No hanky-panky. I never saw her anywhere but the bar, and she was a nice woman. A nice, decent woman.”

  “How old?” It wasn’t out of place for me to ask. As I’d learned over the course of four other investigations, every little detail counted, and I never knew which might turn out to be important.

  Alex considered the question. “My age, I suppose,” he said. “Maybe a little younger, a little older. She was so high.” He raised a hand and demonstrated, holding it up about five and a half feet above the green linoleum. “Yellow-haired, slim. Always nicely dressed. There’s another bar in the area, that one where there are always motorcycles parked outside—”

  “The Garage.” Jim supplied the name of the place.

  “That’s the one. Vickie, she dinna look as if she’d fit in at a place like that, if you know what I mean,” Alex said. “You know, not rough-and-tumble. She dressed neatly, in tailored clothes. Nothing flashy or fancy. You know, like Annie.”

  Before I could decide if I should take this as a compliment or an insult, Alex went right on.

  “She wore a bit of tasteful jewelry now and then. She was a classy lady.” He choked over these last words and though I was reluctant to bring up anything that might be painful, I knew I had to keep probing.

  “So last night, you walked into Swallows, saw Vickie, and sat down with her. Then . . . ?”

  “I ordered a Guinness. She had a chardonnay. Same as usual. She said she wasn’t hungry, that she’d had a bite before she left the house. I ordered a steak and artichoke and spinach dip, too, just in case she changed her mind and she wanted something to munch. We chatted and when the band came on—”

  “What time?” I asked.

  “Nine. Like every other Tuesday. When the band came on, we danced. Vickie, the first night I met her, she said she wasn’t much for dancing, but over the last couple weeks, I think I’d changed her mind about that. She actually seemed to enjoy getting out there on the dance floor. When the band took a break, we came back to the table, had another couple drinks, danced again once the music started back up.”

  As ordinary as he tried to make it sound, I knew there was more to the story than that. There had to be if murder somehow entered the picture. “And that’s all?” I asked. “That’s all that happened? And it was no different from any other Tuesday?”

  Alex shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was all the answer I needed.

  I put my elbows on the table and leaned forward. “You’ve got to tell us, Alex. No matter what it is. It might be important.”

  “It’s not.” He was so sure of himself, I would have let the matter drop—if I hadn’t investigated those other murders. I knew better than to let any bit of information slip through the cracks. He, of course, being the normal person he is, thought what he knew—or at least what he thought he knew—was what really happened. Alex was lucky enough never to have been this close to murder before. “We were dancin’,” he said, suddenly shy, though shy was the last thing I ever would have called Alex, “and the music was playin’ all around me and Vickie’s hand was in mine and . . . well, I guess I couldn’t help myself. I kissed her.”

  “And Vickie didn’t like that?” It was Jim’s turn to ask the questions. I was just as glad. I was doing my best to picture the scene and process everything Alex was telling us. “What did she do?”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly as if she didn’t like it. She didn’t get upset or anything. She laughed, like it was a joke. You know? And then she fanned a hand in front of her face and said she was hotter than blazes and needed to go back to the table for a drink of water.”

  “You did?” Again, I let Jim take the lead.

  “Aye.” Alex’s hands were on the table, his fingers threaded together. He stared down at them. “Vickie sat down and took a drink. I slipped into the chair next to hers. I tried again to kiss her and she . . .” He was as baffled now by Vickie’s behavior as he’d been the night before. “She popped up and said she was ready to start dancing again.”

  “And so you did.” This time, I chimed in. “How long did you dance?”

  “Twenty minutes maybe.” Alex unwound his fingers and tapped them on the tabletop. “The band took a break and I thought, it was now or never. When we got back to the table, I told Vickie everything I’d been wantin’ to say to her. I told her I liked her. A lot. I told her I wasn’t satisfied just seeing her there at the bar on Tuesdays. I asked if we could get more serious about each other. You know, if we could date.”

  Don’t ask me how, but I saw where this was going. It was a place I didn’t like. “Vickie got mad?”

  “As a wet hen!” Even now, he couldn’t believe it; Alex shook his head. “The woman not only read me the riot act, she punctuated every word of it with an exclamation mark. She said—”

  “That she was just out for a few laughs. That she had no intention of getting serious with you or anyone else. That you should have realized it from the start, and that now that she knew you didn’t, she couldn’t believe you weren’t willing to just back off and forget the whole thing.”

  Alex looked at me in wonder. “Aye. That’s pretty much exactly what she said. How did you know?”

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist. Or a detective. I explained. “Call it woman’s intuition. You tried to kiss her. You told her you liked her. It’s pretty obvious the story doesn’t have a happy ending. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. So naturally, I deduced that she freaked, and freaking doesn’t make any sense in light of the fact that she was willing to meet you at Swallows every Tuesday. What that tells me is she liked you just as much as you liked her. But she still objected when you asked about dating. So she pulled out every generic excuse in the book, but none of them really explain anything about what she was really thinking or what was really going on.”

  “You mean excuses
like just being out for a few laughs, things like that.” Following my logic, Jim nodded. “Is it important?” he asked me.

  “Not as important as what Alex did after.” I’d been looking Jim’s way, and now I turned my attention to Alex. “Was Vickie just sitting there saying all this to you? Or did she get up? Was she standing, like she wanted nothing more than to race out of there?”

  “Aye. Exactly.” Alex pushed back his chair and stood. He paced over to the far wall. “I tried to reason with her, but she was beyond listening. And as God is my witness, I can’t say why. I hadn’t said I wanted to run away to Vegas and marry her or anything. I told her only that I thought it would be nice if we saw more of each other. Does that seem such a bad thing?”

  It didn’t, at least not to me. I wondered why to Vickie it was life and death.

  The thought was a sobering reminder that we had yet to hear the whole story.

  “I told her she was out of her head,” Alex continued. “I asked if she’d had too much to drink perhaps, and she didn’t take that well, either. I told her I’d call a cab for her and that I’d accompany her home if she wasn’t well. And Vickie . . .” He stared at the blank wall behind us, no doubt reliving the whole ugly scene. “She ran out of the place so fast, I never had a chance to stop her.” Alex turned and walked away and his shoulders rose and fell. “I went after her, of course,” he said, his voice muffled because his back was to us. “I pushed through the front door and stepped outside. I saw a bus go by. Then . . .” His voice trailed away.

  By now, I wasn’t just eager to hear the rest of the story, I knew that if we didn’t hear it—and fast—we might not have time before the guard came to take Alex back to his cell. I didn’t dare get up and walk over to Alex; I didn’t want that guard to suspect we were up to anything. Instead, I kept my place and did my best to calm the urgency in my voice. “What happened when you got outside, Alex?” I asked.

  “Well, that’s the thing.” He turned toward us, his expression grim and his face paler than ever. “Inside the restaurant, I remember tryin’ to reason with Vickie well enough. I remember how she stormed out of the place and I remember going after her. You know, the front door and the bus. But after that . . .” Alex pounded back to the table and dropped into his chair. “After that, I swear to God I don’t remember another thing. Not until this morning. Not until . . .” Again his voice faded, and this time, I knew it would do me no good to egg him on. Alex was dealing with something traumatic. Something ugly. He needed to do it at his own pace.

  His hands trembling, he sank back in his chair. “The next thing I remember, there was a police officer’s hand on my shoulder and he was shaking me awake. I sat up. I was out in the alley next to the restaurant. And I swear, Jim . . . Annie . . .” He looked from one of us to the other. “I swear I have no memory of how I got there.”

  I was almost afraid to ask. “And Vickie?”

  Alex swallowed so hard, I saw his Adam’s apple bob. “I was surprised to see the officer, of course. I didn’t know what had happened. I sat up. My head felt as if it was stuffed with wool batting. My mouth was dry. My eyes were bleary, but it didn’t take me but another moment to notice there were two more policemen behind the one who helped me to sit up. They had their guns out.”

  “Because Vickie . . .”

  “There were police cars at the mouth of the alley. And more officers.” Alex’s eyes were bright with tears and, being the manly type he was, I knew he’d never allow that to happen. Not if he wasn’t moved by some powerful emotion. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “It wasn’t until they’d handcuffed me and moved me off from where they found me that I realized there was blood on my clothing. Lots of it. I felt like hell. I still do. But I wasn’t hurt. The blood wasn’t mine.”

  My stomach was so tight, I felt as if a hand had reached inside me and tied it into a couple million painful knots. It was hard to take a breath. When had I reached over and grabbed Jim’s hand? I wasn’t sure, I only knew I held on tight. “And . . .” The words wouldn’t form. I hauled in a lungful of air and tried again. “And Vickie was . . .”

  “That’s the hell of it.” Alex slapped a hand down on the table loud enough to make the guard outside jump. Jim signaled to the man that all was well, and we turned our attention back to Alex. “You know me well enough, Jim. You know I’d never hurt another person. Not for anything in all the world.”

  “Aye. I know.” Jim stared at his cousin, waiting for the rest of the story.

  “And I’d know. Don’t you think I’d know if I did something like what they’re saying I did?” Alex scraped a hand through his hair. “It’s daft, that’s what it is. It makes no sense. If only I could remember!”

  Yes, I’d been told to keep my distance, and keep my hands to myself. And yes (again), I’m all about following rules and regulations. But there are certain situations that defy rules. This was one of them. I couldn’t bear to watch Alex suffer and not offer what little support I was able. I darted out a hand to reach across the table and give Alex’s hand a squeeze.

  The gesture calmed him. “Vickie’s dead,” he said, his voice as flat as the look in his eyes. “She was there in that alley. They found me a-lying right on top of her. I had . . .” He swallowed hard. “They say I had one of the steak knives from the restaurant in my hand. They say it’s the knife I used to kill her.”

  Three

  WHEN STACIE, THE YOUNG LADY WHO’D INTRODUCED herself as our server at Swallows that afternoon, disappeared into the kitchen, Eve took the opportunity to smack her lips. “Baileys chocolate cheesecake. Yum!” It wasn’t at all like Eve to be so obvious (at least in public) when it came to how much she enjoyed food, but believe me, I understood.

  The Baileys chocolate cheesecake at Swallows is to die for.

  Though Eve didn’t know what I was thinking, I cringed. To die for was a bad expression considering what happened to Vickie at the restaurant.

  Rather than think about it, I talked through my logic for this visit with Eve. It was better than staring at the kitchen door, waiting for Stacie and drooling like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

  “Yes, the cheesecake is fabulous,” I admitted. “But remember, it’s also a perfect excuse for us to be here.” I patted the table we’d found in the corner. It was late on Wednesday afternoon, and even though Jim was worried about Alex, he was hard at work at Bellywasher’s. Jim is a professional, remember. It would take more than an investigation to make him abandon his duties at the pub. After we left police headquarters, Jim asked me to look into what happened, and since I was worried about Alex, too—not to mention how worried I was about what all that worry was doing to Jim—I agreed to take on the case. Naturally, Eve wasn’t about to be left behind.

  Which made me wonder why she wasn’t even listening.

  Instead, Eve’s eyes took on that glassy look they get when her head’s in the clouds and her imagination is getting carried away with it.

  “Baileys chocolate cheesecake would be perfect,” she crooned, and when I looked at her in wonder, she rolled her eyes. “For the wedding, of course! My goodness, Annie, you’ve only got three weeks before the big day and you haven’t even made a final decision about the cake. Clara’s going to need to know. And soon.” Clara was a woman who made some of the pastries served at Bellywasher’s.

  “Clara knows I want simple,” I reminded Eve. “She knows Jim and I want to keep the entire wedding low-key.”

  “But there are details to consider, Annie. Fresh flowers on the cake? A fountain? Oh, a fountain!” Eve’s eyes glazed and I thought I’d lost her, but she snapped herself out of it before she could get too carried away on a cascade of fountain daydreams. “Porcelain figures? You know, a bride and groom? It’s all important. And you can’t know what you’re going to do about any of it until you decide once and for all what kind of cake you’re having. Chocolate cheesecake, that’s one delicious detail!”

  “We don’t need it.” I said this in a way that sounded sincer
e, even though I am of the mind that everyone always needs chocolate cheesecake. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the basic food groups. “I had a big, splashy wedding the first time. I’m not making that mistake again.”

  “The big and splashy part had nothing to do with how things didn’t work out between you and Peter,” she said, even though she didn’t need to point it out. I am nothing if not reasonable. I know the fancy gown and the limo and the flowers and the videographer had nothing to do with the fact that my marriage to Peter had gone kerflooey. That had happened thanks to the girl Peter met at the dry cleaner’s—and the undeniable fact that Peter is a weasel. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do big and splashy again,” Eve added.

  “No.” I was as clear as I could be. It didn’t pay to beat around the bush with Eve. “We’re keeping it simple. That’s why we’re having the ceremony and the reception right at Bellywasher’s. No big church extravaganza. No reception it’s going to take us three years to pay off. Simple ceremony. Simple foods. I can’t expect Marc and Damien to spend the evening in the Bellywasher’s kitchen cooking when they should be enjoying the party. That’s why I’ve been thinking . . .” The idea had just occurred to me in the middle of the night before, and I hadn’t had a chance to run it by Eve yet. Excited, I leaned forward.

  “I want to cook something special for Jim,” I told her. “You know, to serve at the wedding.”

  Can I blame her for looking incredulous? I cannot. Even so, I found myself feeling a little offended.

  “Hello, Annie!” Eve waved a hand in front of my face. “You and cooking? You don’t exactly get along. Remember the exploding stove? And the burned-beyond-belief chicken wings? And the—”

  “Which is why it’s such a great idea.” Yes, I am ever practical, but apparently, when it comes to love, even the most practical woman can get a little crazy. I’d made up my mind and nothing was going to change it. Not even the thought of going near a stove and (gulp!) turning it on.