Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,7
them.
“Tyler says you were picked up in connection with a murder,” I said, and three cheers for me, I managed to keep my voice even and unemotional, even though my insides were jumpy. When I realized my hands were shaking, I tucked them in my lap. Alex looked miserable enough, there was no use letting him know the rest of us were worried sick, too. “This has got to be some sort of crazy mix-up. Alex, tell us what happened.”
No doubt the police had already asked him to explain what had happened. It didn’t take Alex long to start into his story. “I worked at the house yesterday. Ye know that, Jim. You stopped in and saw what I’d done in the—”
Darn! Though he was wearing prison issue and there was a charge of murder hanging over his head, Alex remembered he was sworn to secrecy when it came to the renovation. If he saw that I’d leaned forward, eager to hear more, he didn’t let on. He simply collected his thoughts and started over.
“I worked at the house, I finished up around seven, showered, and went out for a bite.”
“Which you know you don’t have to do.” I suppose it was only natural for Jim to try to hang on to the mundane in the face of something so serious. “There’s always food in the fridge, and you could come over to Belly-washer’s anytime you want.”
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—”