10. Twice-Baked Potato

TEN

Twice-Baked Potato

When he returned to Bon Amie that night, he was vaguely surprised at how full the car park was.

And he was definitely surprised when the female security employee saw his car, came out to stand under the overhang and waved him that way.

He drove in.

A valet, also female, jogged from behind her stand to Rus’s door.

He did the getting out, handing over the keys business, then walked to the double doors.

Security Sue was there with legs planted and arms crossed on her chest.

Oh yeah, and she was also wearing a smirk.

“She wants you,” she announced.

Rus made no attempt to hide his beleaguered sigh.

This only made her smirk get bigger, but she dropped her arms, turned and walked him into the club.

Things were hopping upstairs, and it wasn’t just men, or even predominantly so. Women were there too, on dates or nights out with their partner, or in groups for a girls’ night.

This reminded Rus it was Friday.

Security Sue didn’t lead him to the stairs.

She led him to a table in an intimate corner, the one that had to have the best view.

It was four-top size, two chairs set catty-corner, the top set for one, and that place setting was not in front of Lucinda, who was seated in a chair. In front of her was some clear liquid in a martini glass with a perfect twirl of a lemon rind swimming in it.

Security Sue slinked away after she accomplished her mission and Rus asked, “Are you feeding me again?”

“Yes,” Lucinda replied.

Earlier, he’d tried to block out today’s dress, mostly because the skirt was as tight as yesterday’s, even though the upper part wasn’t. But he’d seen the back, and there was a triangle cut out that exposed her from between her shoulder blades to her waist, and also shared she wasn’t wearing a bra. It was in what he was realizing was her signature color scheme, a cream that had the barest hint of pink.

It played havoc on his ability to concentrate then.

It did the same now.

She reached to pull out the empty chair and patted the seat.

He could see why her ex found her emasculating.

Rus, on the other hand, was mentally cataloguing all the shit she was pulling in the event he could get his back when he had her naked.

He sat.

A female server was at his side instantly.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

“Beer,” he told her.

“We have—”

He interrupted her. “It’s gotta be cold and wet, that’s it. You pick.”

Her panicked gaze flew to Lucinda, her need to provide the best service she could to her boss’s guest right in front of her boss at odds with his request.

“Let Morley decide,” Lucinda ordered.

The server took off.

“Morley?” he asked.

“Our bartender. She’s the best mixologist in Washington.”

“I do beer and I do scotch. A bourbon if it’s smooth. Vodka if there’s tonic. That’d be lost on me.”

She picked up her martini glass and murmured, “That’s too bad.”

He was reminded he needed to put a lock on it.

Earlier when he was there, it was fun, his day had only been half-frustrating by that point, with the promise of her and a good sandwich in the middle of it, and she’d delivered on both.

Now he was tired, grouchy, at loose ends in finding the killer of a beautiful, dead woman who many people liked a whole lot, and she had unicorns on her socks, so he picked his strategy and went for it.

“I think I already shared I’m not into playing games, Lucinda.”

“I’m not either, Rus.”

“I’m able to feed myself. I’m not here to eat. I’m not here to flirt. I’m here to observe and talk to your staff.”

“I know why you’re here.”

“So maybe I should do that and not drink a beer with you, with my back to the room.”

“I know my customers. I’ve spent time in this building since I was able to walk.”

“And?”

“And I’d like to know how your evening went and who you talked to.”

“I’ve told you I can’t discuss the case with you.”

“And I just told you I know my customers. You met with them. I don’t know which ones they were. But I could guess. I can also tell you if they’re full of shit, or if you got the truth out of them.”

Damn.

Now he wanted her take.

“Ezra Corbin and Lance Shultz,” she guessed.

Got both in one.

Fuck.

“Why were those your picks?” he asked.

“Because Ezra Corbin fucked Audrey Pulaski, though somehow he flew under the radar of the OGs, probably because his wife never found out. I warned Britt there was nothing there for her. He’s a serial philanderer. And he’s able to do this because his wife travels for business. And Lance Shultz because he was the only single man on that list.”

“Audrey Pulaski?”

“The mother of Alice, the eight-year-old Ray Andrews killed when he started his reign of terror.”

“Jesus,” he muttered as his beer was served.

This also meant that the OGs she referred to were the wives club that outed their cheating husbands in the most explicit way imaginable.

All of them had had an affair with Audrey Pulaski.

But Ezra dodged that bullet, a fact Rus found surprising, because the guy was full of himself, had all the answers at the ready, but Rus still got the impression he wasn’t all that bright.

Now he knew why, if Ezra stepped out on his wife frequently and he was still married to her.

When it came to lying, practice makes perfect.

“Are you going to refuse food?” Lucinda asked, cutting into his thoughts.

“You got a steak?”

“Filet, rib-eye or strip?”

He turned to the server. “Rib-eye. Medium rare. And some of those potato chips.”

“Angelina’s twice-baked potatoes have won awards,” Lucinda noted.

“Change it to that,” he said to the server.

The server nodded and took off again.

Rus took a draw from his beer.

Yeah, Morley knew what she was doing.

“Let me guess, Ezra was smooth as room temperature butter and Lance was freaked out,” Lucinda deduced.

And again, got it in one.

She could be helpful, he knew, because she was being helpful.

And she wanted desperately to help.

He had a bad guy to catch, so why was he fighting it?

“According to Ezra, he’d spoken to Brittanie once between dances when he was here entertaining business associates.”

Because he was sharing, the relief and gratitude in her eyes that she let him see made her so beautiful, it nearly bought her a kiss.

He managed to control himself.

She spoke. “He lied.”

“I know. He was very sorry to hear of her death. But although he understood we were just doing our jobs, he was frustrated to have two visits in a day from the sheriff, since he absolutely knew not one thing about her, outside the fact she worked here.”

“Do you like him for it?”

He felt his lips twitch at her terminology.

So she watched cop shows.

“I think he’s good at lying. I’m not sure that extends to being good at getting away with murder. His veneer is thin. He strikes me as kind of a moron.”

Her lips curved.

Yes, Ezra was a moron.

“And you were also correct about Lance,” Rus continued. “He was freaked, admitted to sleeping with her, and knew, since he did and people knew about it, he’d be a suspect before the first set of cops came to ask him questions.”

Rus took another sip from his beer before he went on.

“The weird thing about that guy was, even though he has no alibi, and he was adamant that he had nothing to do with her death, I got the vibe off him he was getting some thrill out of being a suspect. Or at least being questioned.”

“Lance is gay and fucking my doorman. But if his father found out, he’d lose his mind and cut Lance out of an inheritance that’s probably around ten million, but it’ll be more by the time that particular bigot leaves this earth. Lance is not in Seattle with his family. Instead, he’s here, so he can secretly be who he is with less chance of getting caught. But he openly flirts with burlesque dancers, and sleeps with them to seal the deal, just in case anyone asks. You questioning him because he had sex with the victim might get back to his dad, which would prove he’s heterosexual, when he is not. However, if things got concerning for him, he’d pull a rabbit out of a hat, because he’s active. Barrett isn’t the only one he’s sleeping with, and no doubt he has an alibi. Just not one he’s willing to produce until his choice is outing himself, or prison.”

Barrett was her theater doorman.

“So, if it’s either of them, you lean toward Ezra?”

She looked to a view that was now purple and midnight blue, the rapids a moving shadow and stars twinkling in the sky.

She took a sip of her drink.

She put it down.

“How did she die?” she asked the window.

“Lucinda.”

She turned to him. “He’s into kink.”

Right then.

Here we go.

“What kind?”

“Pain. His.”

“So, receiving.”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I have a friend who has a certain clientele and a well outfitted room in her basement. He’s a regular.”

“Will she talk to me?”

“Doubtful.”

Fuck.

“If you asked pretty please?” he pressed.

Her lips quirked. “I’ll try.”

That was his girl.

“Did he ask this of Brittanie?”

“He brought equipment and requested she use it on him. She tried her best, but it wasn’t her thing. This was when she broke things off with him.”

“Do you know how many times she was with him?”

“No, but it was more than once. Enough he got comfortable and tried to groom her into something she wasn’t interested in. However, unless I’m mistaken, it didn’t last long.”

“Do you know if she threatened him with what she knew? Maybe to tell his wife?”

She shook her head. “I would have told you that already if she did. But he wasn’t that important to her. He wasn’t like Jace. He was a man who gave her attention. Made her feel pretty. Made her feel wanted. Regardless, she’d never do that. She lives in this town. The coven’s OGs were thorough with their revenge. Against my advice, Britt was sleeping with a married man. More than one. But she’d never, ever expose herself like that. Not in Misted Pines.”

He was surprised. “So the coven goes after women?”

“The coven is ever changing and growing. The originals were not fans of Audrey, and for a reason. But to my recollection, they never went after her. However, what it is now isn’t under their control. Though, Wendy, one of the OGs, moved into that neighborhood with them. If they have a leader, it’s her. The top dog OG, Lana, is loved up and living with her lover. She’s out.”

That was less surprising.

“You have to be single to be in the coven?”

“You have to use men like they use women to be in the coven. You can play. You can share. But you can’t keep.”

“If these women discovered Brittanie was sleeping with married men, would they retaliate?”

She shook her head again, but said, “I’ve no idea. But I’d lean toward no. They come here. To the club. They drink. They eat. They watch the show. On occasion, they pick up toys and take them home. They’re big tippers and respectful, of me and my staff. I don’t equate big tips and respect to a female business owner with budding murderers.”

“So what is this? A loose bunch of women who live close to each other and share a set of rules?”

“Good question. No one knows. You have to be a part of their crew to know. That said, it isn’t a bunch of women who live close to each other. They own a neighborhood, Rus. It’s small, upper middle-income homes, maybe twenty-five of them. It was built around five years ago. The first women who came to town bought houses for sale in that development. I think it was a fluke. They got to talking. Maybe did some mild recruiting. Somehow, probably the internet, they became known. The rest either bought other houses that went up for sale or offered the owners a price they couldn’t refuse. I don’t know how many of them there are, exactly. Maybe fifteen. Seventeen. But they all live in that neighborhood. I haven’t been there, but it’s my understanding most of the other houses are for sale.”

“Why?”

She lifted a single shoulder.

“Intimidation?” he suggested.

“Oh, must assuredly,” she told him. “Any collective of women is intimidating to people for some reason. Even if they don’t do anything but hang out, become friends and go on the prowl together.”

She was scoffing.

He was being serious.

“You seem to want to downplay this. But we’re talking more than a dozen women coming from somewhere else, having the means to take over a neighborhood, and living by a certain set of rules. That sounds like something to take seriously.”

“Is this why the FBI is involved?” she pushed. “Because fifteen women have been identified as a hate group?”

“It isn’t why I’m here, but would you describe them as a hate group?”

“I’d know them to point them out, Rus. But I don’t know them. They seem friendly to me. They’re not standing by the side of the road throwing rocks at cars with male drivers. And as far as I know, men aren’t dropping like flies or having bizarre accidents because their hexes are working.”

That was funny, so he smiled at her.

Then he noted, “You think I’m going down the wrong path.”

“I don’t know what to say because I don’t know how Britt was killed. Was it poison?”

This again.

Christ, she was stubborn.

“Lucinda.”

“Gunshot?”

He sighed.

She leaned his way with impatience. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because poison says woman. And maybe a gunshot too. And my girl was sleeping with married men, meaning they have wives. And she was killed at a fucking motel, for God’s sake.”

He leaned her way as well, getting face to face.

“Sweetheart, how about you leave the detective work to me? You’re invaluable as an informant, and I appreciate all the help you’ve given. I also get you very badly want justice for Brittanie, so you want to find who hurt your girl. But I’ll take it from here.”

Her irritated face also had signs of latent cute.

He didn’t allow himself to get stuck on that.

“Tell me about the motel, did she go there often?” he demanded.

She shook her head but didn’t sit back.

He knew why, and it wasn’t because she worried they’d be overheard. It hadn’t escaped him none of the tables around them had patrons, this she’d arranged so they could speak freely about the case.

No, she stayed where she was because he was there.

“We were close, but I wasn’t her confidant. So I don’t know for certain, but I don’t think so.”

“The desk clerk knew her but had never seen her there before.”

“That feels true to me when it comes to Britt. She liked nice things. That motel isn’t nice. She wanted attention, but she wasn’t about to accept less than she deserved. They either came to her place, she went to theirs, or they treated her to a night at the Pinetop or in Seattle, not at a motel.”

“I bet you taught her that.”

“Of course I did.”

He grinned at her.

She watched his mouth as he did it.

His steak arrived with great timing.

Lucinda kept him company while he ate, and they put the case aside.

He learned Madden won last year’s spelling bee and wanted a microscope for Christmas.

She learned Acre’s and Sabrina’s majors, and he received his first genuine broad smile when he told her about Sabrina’s bikini budget.

And she did not lie.

The twice-baked potato was insane.