Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(67)

“Ohio? What did Peter do in Ohio?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Little Ricky called to talk about wedding music then and I got distracted.”

Darn that Little Ricky.

Oh, well. I’d still gotten quite an earful. Garth had been threatening Peter with disbarment. Which sounded like a viable motive for murder to me.

“Gosh, look at the time,” I said, making a big show of checking my watch. “It’s been fun chatting, but I really should be going.”

“Thanks for the margaritas, Charlotte. And the shrimp cocktails. I can’t believe I ordered two of them.”

Neither could I. But I assured her it had been my pleasure and waved to the bartender for the check.

He brought it over with impressive speed, and just when I was stifling a gasp over the total, I heard someone say: “Hey Sylvia, how’s it going?”

I looked up and saw a tall well-dressed black woman heading toward us.

“Betty!” Sylvia blinked, confused. “What are you doing here? Charlotte said she saw you leaving hours ago.”

Oh, crud. It was Betty, the secretary I was supposed to have met this afternoon.

“Do I know you?” she asked me, puzzled.

“Sure,” Sylvia piped up. “You guys met when Charlotte interviewed for your job today.”

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“What are you talking about?” Betty said. “I’m not leaving my job. And I didn’t go home hours ago.”

Uh-oh. My cue to exit.

“Well, see ya round.”

And without any further ado, I slapped fifty bucks on the bar, grabbed a chicken wing for the road, and got the heck out of there.

I drove home, filled with a sense of accomplishment—and enough Buffalo wings to stock a chicken farm.

Thanks to my successful, if costly, rendezvous with Sylvia, I now had a new suspect to add to my list.

Garth had been threatening to rat on Peter Roberts to the bar association. What incriminating evidence had Garth been holding over Peter’s head? And more important, how the heck was I going to get my hands on it?

I’d bet my bottom Pop Tart it was stashed away somewhere in Garth’s house.

Which meant I had no choice, really, but to tootle over to Hysteria Lane and break into the place.





Chapter


! Ten #

At seven A.M. the next morning, I was parked across the street from Cathy Janken’s house on my first ever professional stakeout.

It had been hell hauling myself out of bed at six to get ready for this gig, but now that I was here I was starting to feel quite Private Eye-ish. I’d come fully prepared with breakfast, lunch, a thermos of coffee, and an audiotape of Anna Karenina I’d bought ages ago and never got around to listening to.

And, of course, a bottle to tinkle in.

Hey, I’d seen Stakeout I and II. I knew the ropes.

I was prepared to camp out in my car until I saw Cathy leave her house. At which point I’d scoot over and do a little Breaking and Entering.

I was keeping my fingers crossed, though, that none of my stakeout accessories would be necessary. I remembered the sweat suit Cathy had been wearing when we first met, and I was hoping she was one of those maddeningly noble people who start the day with a workout at the gym.

But no such luck.

Hour after hour dragged by with no sign of Cathy.

By eight A.M., I’d finished my breakfast. By nine A.M., I’d finished my lunch. I tried to get into Anna Karenina, but in spite of three cups of coffee zinging through my veins, I was THE DANGERS OF CANDY CANES

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bored to tears. By the time the last chapter rolled around, I was rooting for the train.

Five hours, four coffees, and two diet Cokes later, I was desperate to take a tinkle.

I took out the empty liter bottle of Sprite I’d brought along for this purpose and eyed it with dismay. How on earth was I ever going to do this? I could never get my aim straight in the ladies room at my gynecologist’s office; no way was I going to do it in a Sprite bottle. Had I lost my mind, bringing along a bottle with such a tiny neck?

Now what the heck was I supposed to do?

I couldn’t very well ring a neighbor’s bell and ask to use their bathroom.

For a few agonizing minutes I tried to hold it in, but it was impossible. With an angry curse, I started the car and sped over to the nearest Jack in the Box where I availed myself of their facilities. Okay, so I picked up an order of fries while I was at it. It had been ages since I’d eaten my lunch at nine A.M., and I was hungry.

Grabbing my fries, I got in the Corolla and raced back to Hysteria Lane. Just my luck, Cathy had probably strolled out of the house the minute I’d gone.

But no. Lady Luck finally decided to give me a break.

Just as I was pulling back into my stakeout space, I saw Cathy come out of her house and drive off in her SUV.

The minute she was gone, I leapt out of the Corolla and grabbed a gift-wrapped box from the backseat. There was nothing actually inside the box. I’d brought it along in case one of the neighbors saw me snooping around. I’d just tell them I was bringing Cathy a Christmas gift. Clever of me, wasn’t it?

A darn sight smarter than the Sprite bottle, anyway.

I reached back in the car for a final handful of fries, then trotted across the street and rang Cathy’s bell. I wanted to make sure nobody was home. Maybe there was a cleaning lady inside just waiting to pounce on me.