Cinnamon Roll Murder (Hannah Swensen, #15)(86)

“What are you talking about? You’re crazy, Hannah. I don’t know any place called Club Nineteen. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Just like you’ve never heard of the tight red sweater and high-heeled boots you wore when you went there on the second Saturday in February?” Hannah whipped the photo out of her folder and handed it to Doctor Bev. “There you are with Buddy Neiman, but that’s not his real name. Of course you knew that, didn’t you? And you knew he was from Seattle because both of you were there at the same time!”

Doctor Bev glanced down at the photo and her face turned a bit paler. She swallowed hard, and then she raised her eyes to Hannah again. “This isn’t me. This isn’t anybody I know. And it’s ridiculous to think I knew Buddy Neiman or whatever his name was.”

“Is it? When I passed by with Buddy at the hospital, you were pretty quick to step behind Norman so that Buddy didn’t see you.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“I thought I was for a while. But now I know there’s a connection. Can you look me straight in the eye and swear you didn’t know Buddy in Seattle?”

“Certainly!” Doctor Bev faced Hannah squarely. “I didn’t know Buddy in Seattle. I might have passed him on the street, but even that’s doubtful. There are over six hundred thousand people in Seattle. Any intelligent person should realize that I couldn’t possibly have known all of them.”

“But I’m not concerned with all of them. I’m only concerned with one of them. What was his name back then? You knew it.”

“This conversation is absurd. I’m leaving!”

“Not in that dress, you’re not!” Hannah warned her. Then she turned to Claire. “Has she paid for it?”

“Not yet.”

Doctor Bev shot Hannah a scathing look, and then she turned back to Claire. “Just put it on my bill, please.”

Hannah noticed that Doctor Bev’s hands were shaking slightly. This was the time to really put her on the defensive. Once a subject begins to crack, all you have to do is widen the crack, Mike’s words echoed in her mind. “Just tell me Buddy’s real name and you can go.”

“How should I know?”

“You know because you said you did,” Hannah stated, “on the second Saturday in February when you argued with him in the parking lot at Club Nineteen. You said, I’d know you anywhere.”

“How do you know that?”

“Someone overheard you. And after you said, I’d know you anywhere, Buddy said, You got the wrong guy, lady. Leave me alone! I’m not the guy you think I am! And you shouted, Yes you are! I know you are! And then you slapped him and walked away.”

“That’s ... that’s ... ridiculous! You made that whole thing up because you’re jealous that I’m marrying Norman!”

“No, I didn’t make it up. I got it from a waitress at Club Nineteen who just happened to be out in the parking lot taking a break when you were there arguing with Buddy.”

“I told you before. I don’t like jazz, I’ve never been to Club Nineteen, and I don’t own a red sweater, a black leather skirt, or a pair of high-heeled boots. And I’ve never slapped anyone in my life!”

“A black leather skirt? It’s interesting you should mention that. I didn’t say anything about a black leather skirt. Since you knew without me telling you, I’d say that proves you were there.”

Doctor Bev grabbed her purse, pulled out a credit card, and tossed it on a chair. “There! Now I’ve paid for the dress and I’m out of here!”

Michelle emerged from the dressing room just as the front door slammed behind Doctor Bev. “Uh-oh,” she said glancing at the coat rack by the front door. “Doctor Bev stormed out of here in such a hurry, she forgot her coat.”

“That’s okay,” Hannah told her. “She’s hot enough under the collar without it.”

“Well, I’ll be!” Claire walked over to pick up the credit card. “You nailed her, Hannah. And you did it in front of me. Thank you!”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Because this has got to be the most fun I’ve ever had collecting a bill.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Hannah’s eyes burned from lack of sleep when her alarm went off the next morning. It was five o’clock, and she’d tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about Buddy Neiman’s murder case. At one in the morning, she’d been sure that there was something she was missing, so she’d padded out to the living room, retrieved her steno pad, and gone over every note she’d taken. There was a Seattle connection. She was sure of that now, despite Doctor Bev’s initial attempt to convince her that she’d never encountered Buddy in Seattle, a city of six hundred thousand.

At two in the morning, Hannah had gone back to bed, but her mind wouldn’t sleep. She kept going over the clues, one at a time, trying to decide if Doctor Bev could be the killer. She’d slapped Buddy at Club Nineteen, and Shelby, the waitress, had told them that Buddy still had a red mark on his face when she saw him at least fifteen minutes later. Slapping was an act of physical aggression. It was clear that Doctor Bev wasn’t shy about confronting Buddy and using force when she didn’t get whatever it was she wanted. The red mark on Buddy’s face proved that she’d delivered a forceful slap. But what if just slapping Buddy hadn’t been enough for her. What if Doctor Bev had initiated an even more violent encounter, an encounter that ended with surgical scissors thrust into Buddy’s chest?