Page 16 of Murder By the Millions
Zach laughed. “Lillian is such a character.”
“Yes, she is.”
“And her mother is a hoot. According to her, she knows everything about everyone in town.”
“I’ll bet she does.” I moved toward the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of wine or a beer?”
“Beer, thanks. Got any Holy Grail?”
Monty Python’s Holy Grail was a hoppy and nutty English pale ale, and as it humorously stated on the bottle, it tasted as if it had been “tempered over burning witches.” A month ago Zach had discovered it and loved it, so I always had it on hand.
I fetched a bottle and an opener and handed them to him. He popped the top and took a sip. Darcy abandoned his playtime beneath the chair and scuttled to Zach. He scooped up the cat in one hand and kissed his nose. Like me, Zach was an animal person. Unlike me, he’d had a menagerie while growing up: cats, dogs, and rabbits. His mother was a soft touch.
“Mom says hello,” he said.
His mother owned Jukebox Joint, or the Joint, as locals had dubbed it. It was a hip and happening diner and one of my newest clients. Sadly, Zach’s father, whom I had never met, had passed away from a heart attack when Zach was in high school.
“I see cards on the table,” he said, settling onto a chair, which he dwarfed due to his six-foot-four frame. He mounded a pile of pennies on the table, after which he began to shuffle a well-used deck. “Got your losings ready?” He swooped a lock of dark hairoff his face, a move that made the muscles beneath his short-sleeved polo bulge. “You’re going down.”
“No, you are.” I fetched the mason jar of pennies I’d labeledmy winningsfrom the fireplace mantel, plunked it on the table, retreated to the kitchen for the snack plates I’d arranged, and returned. “Cheese and salami, a few accoutrements, and cookies.”
He took a sugar cookie, which I knew he’d go for first. He loved sugar cookies … or any cookie, for that matter. “Things good?” he asked.
“Good enough. Busy.” I sat at the table and had a sip of wine. I didn’t eat anything. Lillian’s gossip about Jason Gardner had thrown me for a loop. Were any of the rumors true? Was he running from the law? “Have you heard about the guy who came to town to build a mall? His name is Jason Gardner.”
“Nope.”
I filled him in on what I’d learned at the bookshop as well as from Reika. “So, there she and I were, sipping coffee, when Finette Fineworthy came into Ragamuffin with Iggie Luckenbill. And get this, they were arguing about Jason’s intentions.”
“Neither keeping their voices down, I imagine.”
I chuckled. “Right. Iggie said he’d wanted to bid on the mall project. He demanded to know why he hadn’t gotten the gig. Finette, in no uncertain terms, called him a hack.”
“Whoa!”
“I know. She added that Jason promised to tailor the project in keeping with the town’s designs, implying Iggie wouldn’t.”
Zach sipped his beer.
“Jason is originally from Bramblewood,” I went on. “It turns out Magda Bellingham knew his parents. But he relocated to California when he was young.”
“I can always count on you to get the skinny.”
Zach dealt cards, two each facedown and one up. I had the lowest upcard, a three—he drew a six—so I paid the bring-in of one penny. He matched it and dealt another upcard to each of us. A four to me. A five to himself.
“Go on,” he said.
I peeked at my down cards. An ace and a jack. Not a pair. Even so, I added another penny to the pot. I wasn’t rash. I was confident.
“Big spender,” Zach teased.
“Iggie got quite steamed and asked Finette if Jason was bribing her.”
Zach whistled. “That must’ve gone over well.”
“Like a sledgehammer. She put him in his place and stormed out.”
“She’s a tough nut. Her father was equally robust.”
