Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,8

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