Gail Oust - 'Til Dice Do Us Part

Her forehead crinkled in concentration. “None that I know of.”

Ignoring the stickiness, I tapped my fingers impatiently against the worn wooden counter. “You mentioned Lance was fond of gambling. That he placed a good-sized bet on the Super Bowl. You also once said you left Vegas sooner than planned. Could that be because of any gambling debts he might’ve had?”

Claudia seemed to consider this, then shook her head sadly. “I wondered about that myself, but I don’t think so. I checked my bank statements pretty carefully, but didn’t come across any large withdrawals, except for the thirty grand I told you about. I think Lance just wanted to remove himself from temptation. Besides,” she continued, “he’d just finished Forever, My Darling and was eager to get it into production. He was convinced Serenity Cove Estates’ close proximity to Atlanta would be a big plus-the perfect place to stage his masterpiece.”

“The sheriff mentioned they’d found another ten grand on Lance’s body. Even in my math-challenged mind, ten and ten add up to twenty. Do you have any idea where the other ten thousand could have gone?”

Claudia thought it over, then shook her head. “No, not a clue.”

My line of questioning seemed to have reached a dead end. We sat, neither of us speaking, while I searched for another approach. None of my favorite TV detectives would’ve given up this easily, and neither would I. “Think back, if you will, to the night of the shooting.” There, that sounded like an oft-scripted line. Regardless of what some people, such as Monica, try to tell you, a person can learn lots from watching TV. “Is there anything that stands out in your mind?”

Throwing back her head, Claudia closed her eyes. “I remember how loud the last shot sounded. So loud it made my ears ring.”

Hmm. Now that she’d mentioned it, I’d noticed, too. With each utterance of Take that in the script’s line, Take that! And that and that! the sound of gunfire had seemed to grow progressively louder until the final ear-shattering blast. A fitting conclusion, I’d thought at the time.

“Anything else?” I prompted.

Claudia opened her eyes, then rubbed her temples; whether she was deep in thought or fending off an impending migraine I couldn’t tell. “There is one more thing…”

At some point in our conversation, I should’ve brought out my little black notebook and taken copious notes. I could have kicked myself for the oversight. Details like that could cause me to flunk Private Investigating for Wannabe Detectives.

“The gun kicked as I fired the last shot. I almost dropped it right then and there.”

“That it?”

She nodded, looking exhausted-exhausted and old. “It all happened so quickly, but just for an instant I imagined surprise crossed Lance’s face.” Blinking back tears, she added, “I may have wanted him out of my life, Kate, but I didn’t want him dead.”

“Coffee?”

“Decaf?”

“Does a cat have nine lives?” I winced at my choice of words. Cat, kitten, tuna, they all reminded me of the same orange feline.

Bill settled onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “If I drink regular coffee after six, I turn into a frequent flier on the old movie channel at all hours of the night. Must be a sign of getting old.”

“Mmm… I love old movies. Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.” I filled two mugs with decaf and took the stool next to Bill.

“Bogart and Bacall.”

“Hepburn and Tracy. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

True to his word, Bill had come by with Krystal’s car. His mechanic friend had even washed and waxed the little Honda Civic until it gleamed. I hadn’t said a word to Krystal about her car’s being returned. I wanted to surprise her.

Bill took a cautious sip of coffee. “How come Krystal’s at rehearsal and you’re not?”

“There’s something to be said for having a bit part.” I cradled the coffee mug in both hands, savoring its warmth. “Janine wanted to focus on act one. I have to hand it to Krystal. She never seems to mind all the time spent in rehearsals. She’s a real pro. Did I tell you she had a part in the road company of Grease in Atlanta?”

“Atlanta?” Bill raised a brow. “Say, wasn’t Lance there in a play of some sort when he and Claudia hooked up?”

“You’re right, he was. You don’t suppose…?”

Bill considered the possibility, then shook his head. “Nah, too much of a coincidence. What are the chances?”

For an instant, I thought we might be on to something. Disappointment left a bitter taste in my mouth. “Atlanta is huge,” I admitted grudgingly. “Lots of theatrical stuff going on in a place that size.”

But just in case it wasn’t happenstance, I made a mental note to swing by the library and ask Diane if she’d come across anything interesting when she Googled Lance. “Not to change the subject,” I said, “but I visited Claudia this afternoon.”

Bill paused, peering at me over the rim of his half-raised coffee mug. “How’s she holding up?”

I shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess, for someone with a first-degree murder charge hanging over their head. I know in my heart she’s innocent, Bill. I’m not going to rest until I find out who’s responsible.”

“Considering Ledeaux’s personality, you’d think there’d be a list of suspects as long as my arm.”

“You’d think.” I took a sip of coffee. “Sheriff Wiggins is determined to pin the blame on Claudia. And all because she happened to pull the trigger. Go figure.”

“Some folks just can’t see beyond the obvious.” Bill drained his mug, then set it down. “Hate to rush off, Kate, but tonight’s poker night at my place. Guys are coming at eight, so if you don’t mind giving me a lift…”

“Sure.” I hid my disappointment as best I could. “Let me grab my purse.”

We didn’t talk much on the short ride over. Bill’s house was along the golf course, on Gardenia Court just off Oleander Avenue. I kept stealing looks his way, but he seemed unusually preoccupied and disinclined to talk. An uneasy feeling coiled in the pit of my stomach.

Was I about to get dumped?

A gazillion questions buzzed through my brain, temporarily stomping out worry over Claudia. Was this the point in our relationship where he would tell me he wasn’t all that “into” me? Or we should start seeing other people? That things just weren’t working out; his fault, of course, not mine? Suddenly I was a senior in high school all over again and Patrick Taylor was breaking up with me a week before prom. Then Patrick, the rat fink, turned around and invited Melanie Johnson, the tramp. I turned into Bill’s drive and braked next to his Ford pickup.

Unbuckling his seat belt, he turned to face me, his expression serious. “Kate, there’s something I have to tell you. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

I braced myself for what was about to come. Bill had an affair with an old flame in Battle Creek. Maybe contracted an incurable disease. Or joined the Peace Corp and was moving to Zimbabwe.

“Shoot,” I said, as in Take that! And that and that! I flinched at my choice of words. Good thing I wasn’t holding a loaded Smith and Wesson.

“Something happened while I was away. Something I’m not proud of.”

Here it comes, Kate, brace yourself, there’s another woman. Probably a floozy who tempts men with home-cooked meals. I held my breath, prepared for the worst.

“I told my brother and my niece all about you.”

I waited for the other shoe to thud on the floor. When nothing happened, I started to breathe again. “I don’t understand. How was that a bad thing?”

He swallowed, looking miserable in the reflected glow of a coach light at the edge of the drive. Miserable but brave-a combination I found endearing. “My brother and niece are convinced you’re a ‘designing woman’ out to get my life savings. Judy, my niece, called you a Jezebel.”