Part 8 (2/2)
”Let's be reasonable. Her husband had been murdered. I don't think postponing the race was too much to ask.”
”But we were going to win.” His voice broke. ”Finally.”
Good heavens. Was he going to cry? He was way too sauced to make any sense. And if he wasn't making sense, he shouldn't be behind the wheel of a car.
”Lenny, what hotel are you staying at? I'd be happy to drop you off.”
He puffed his chest, and for a second I thought his cotton s.h.i.+rt would rip in half and fall off his body. ”I don't need your help. Scram.”
”You shouldn't be driving.”
”I told you. I'm not drunk.” He motioned toward the backseat of the car. ”Besides, do I look like I'm going someplace? Get out of here.” I looked at the pillow and blankets shoved on the floorboards of the backseat. He was sleeping in his car?
As long as he wasn't driving in his current condition, I was good with leaving. With a quick wave, Missy and I skedaddled to the Jeep.
On the drive home I wondered if there was more to Lenny's outburst than he'd let on. I don't care what he said-the man was toasted. Maybe he was embarra.s.sed that I'd found him sleeping in his car. Poor Lenny really was down on his luck. No wonder he wanted to win so desperately.
Yet I couldn't help but wonder if he wanted to win badly enough to kill Richard to ensure Pickles stood a fighting chance.
Love made people do crazy things.
Chapter Ten.
ONCE HOME, I left the totes in the Jeep and set the alarm. The alarm was new. Not too long ago, my vehicle had been beaten within an inch of its precious Jeep life. I won't bore you with all the details. After two months of bodywork and a new paint job, she was as good as new. I'd decided a state-of-the-art car alarm system was appropriate.
I took Missy for one last walk so she could do her business, which she managed in record time. As soon as we walked inside the house, I yanked off my motorcycle boots and ditched them by the front door. Missy headed straight for her dog bed.
Circle. Circle. Knead. Knead. Circle. Circle.
Once she worked the pillow exactly the way she wanted, she dropped with a sigh. After tossing my handbag on the couch, I padded toward the kitchen and grabbed a winegla.s.s from the cupboard. I popped the cork from a bottle of Pinot, filled the gla.s.s, and sipped my wine. The warmth of the alcohol spread through my body. I sighed in contentment. For the first time today, I felt like I could breathe. Relax.
My thoughts immediately turned toward Grey. Nope. I wasn't going there. Unwilling to wallow in self-pity about the possible demise of our engagement, and thus our relations.h.i.+p, I set my gla.s.s on the breakfast counter and attacked the dirty breakfast dishes I'd left in the sink.
I'd placed the last bowl in the dishwasher when it dawned on me that I hadn't heard from Betty yet. Had she made it home okay? Would she tell her daughter that the police considered her a murder suspect? What would Betty tell Duane about the missing gun? Would the girl with the dachshund tattoo come back? And if she did, would she have Betty's gun?
I heard my cell phone ring. It had to be Betty. I rushed to the couch where I'd left my bag. I managed to pull out my cell as the ringing stopped. Dang. Within seconds, a notification popped up that I'd missed a call from my mama.
I gripped the phone tighter. She never called to chat. I loved the woman, but she was a drama queen with an agenda. And usually the agenda was about what she wanted. The woman had a knack for finding a way to make any situation or circ.u.mstance, whether good or bad, about her. It was a true talent.
My cell chirped again. She wasn't giving up easily. I took a fortifying breath before I answered. ”Hey, Mama. I was just thinking about you.”
Her soft Texas sigh settled in my ear. ”If that's true, Melinda Sue, tell me-why did I have to hear from your brother that you and Grey were talking about a wedding date? Why do you hate me?”
I rolled my eyes. ”I don't hate you, Mama. By the way, I'm fine. Thanks for asking.”
She paused, then inquired in a polite, but overly sweet voice, ”How are you, darling? How's Grey?”
”I'm fine. Grey's fine. How are you and Daddy?” I continued the charade. If my tone were any sweeter, I'd give myself a cavity.
”I'm busy as ever. Your daddy keeps to himself. Locked away in his office, planning who knows what without me. If you're considering a fall wedding I need to know. The country club books years in advance. Although, if that's what you really want, I can call in a few favors. Lord knows I've bailed out that Lydia Marshall more than a handful of times. Her society contacts are rather lackl.u.s.ter. She owes me.”
I returned to the kitchen for my wine. I'd need more than one gla.s.s for this chat. Members.h.i.+p at the Dallas Country Club was a long-standing tradition in the Montgomery family. One joined by invitation only, and to my knowledge, there hadn't been a Montgomery yet that hadn't been invited. It was the last place I'd choose to get married. I'd left that life behind and could honestly say I didn't miss it. Not one iota.
I drank deeply before replying. ”I don't know what Mitch told you, but Grey and I have not set a date.” Heck, at this point, we couldn't even be in the same room without arguing. Not that I'd admit that to her.
”Melinda, you listen to me, sugar. You must get a ring on his finger before you do something stupid. You know how you are. You're a lucky girl, Grey seems enamored by your impulsiveness.”
I guzzled the last of the wine in my gla.s.s, then refilled-to the rim. ”Thanks for the support, Mama.”
”Support is what you get from your friends. Truth is what you get from me. Now, when are you two picking a date? And do not even think of robbing me of a wedding. My heart couldn't take another elopement. I can't believe your brother was so selfish.”
I dropped to a bar stool and pretended to listen as she continued to prattle on about Mitch and his bride's, Nikki, disregard for tradition. I liked to call this, ”Confessions of a Drama Queen.”
I smiled wryly. Thank the good Lord, Mama didn't know how to Skype.
I FINALLY GOT THE hot shower I'd been daydreaming about. It was exactly what I needed to wash away depressing thoughts of Grey, my crazy mother, and worrying about Betty, who, for the record, I still hadn't heard from. I'd left her three messages to call me. Nothing. I had to believe that no news was good news.
I pulled on my favorite pair of yoga pants and an oversized T-s.h.i.+rt that read, ”Don't judge the dogs.” I grabbed a large gla.s.s of water, then sank onto the couch. Missy was still in her bed where I'd left her hours ago.
It was time for the news, and I was curious if MacAvoy had filed a report. I flipped on the TV in time to see his face pop up on the screen. d.a.m.n him. He looked refreshed and polished. He certainly hadn't downed a half bottle of wine and survived a round of Mama Take-Down. The noon reporter had managed to make it to prime time.
”A day of fun turned into a day of terror. Richard Eriksen was found shot to death during the Laguna Dachshund Dash.” He paused. His beseeching eyes looked through the camera and landed into every viewer's home. ”In the dog-eat-dog world of wiener racing, has Zippy's rivalry with his fellow compet.i.tors finally been pushed to a new level?”
”Oh, please,” I muttered, disgusted.
”The police have yet to make an official statement, but witnesses claimed to have seen an elderly woman threaten Mr. Eriksen with a gun earlier in the day. No word on the woman's ident.i.ty at this time. The final races are set to start Sunday at two o'clock,” he finished.
I knew he couldn't be trusted. He'd just thrown Betty under the bus. Sure he didn't call her by name, but it was only a matter of time before her ident.i.ty became public knowledge.
Callum ”Mac” MacAvoy had better hope I didn't lay eyes on him tomorrow. I had a few choice words to give him. On the record.
Chapter Eleven.
I'VE LEARNED THE best way to start the day is with an early morning jog on the beach. Today was no exception. The crisp air cleared the cobwebs from my head and gave me a jolt of energy. Energy I'd need for the day ahead.
After a quick shower, and a bowl of cereal, I pulled on a pair of skinny jeans, an event T-s.h.i.+rt, and my motorcycle boots. I'd remembered to slip on my engagement ring too. Considering all the action yesterday, I decided to leave Missy at home.
I backed out of the driveway and pointed the Jeep toward PCH, then headed to the boutique. Stray dark clouds had moved in. Morning fog wasn't unusual in Laguna, but these clouds were different-heavy and low-plus the air didn't smell salty, but like rain. Not a good sign for a race day.
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