The Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen

boobs. Big floppy hat.”

“Wait a minute,” Detective Head said. “That still doesn’t explain the gun. We found the gun that killed Jennifer in your possession, Dix.”

Now it was Dylan’s turn to act. “Let me take this one, Dix.”

I smiled. “Go for it.”

He cleared his throat. It looked like he enjoyed being the center of attention too. “I did some checking around myself, Detective. That gun you found on Dix was used by Talbot K. Washington in that double murder years ago. If you recall, during the trial, it was discovered to have gone missing.”

“Holy hell, Foreman, tell me something I don’t know.”

“Okay, then I will. There was a young law student clerking at that firm when that gun went missing. He wasn’t on the regular company payroll, only worked one afternoon a week for one of the senior lawyers who paid him under the table. I guess the old guy felt sorry for him.”

“Let me guess,” Detective Head said. “That would be our friend Mr. Poole who was clerking there.”

Dylan nodded. “I went to law school with one of the lawyers who works there now. Apparently, Jeremy Poole was a poor, starving law student, but then quit working all of a sudden just after the Washington trial ended. Came into some fast cash somehow. And plenty of it.”

“You bastard,” Detective Head said. “You stole the gun didn’t you? Or caused it to be stolen. Washington could have walked because of you.”

“I … I think I need a lawyer.” Jeremy wiped a hand across his brow.

Detective Head snarled, “I know you do. Get this….” — with a glance at the Judge, he adjusted his language — “…gentleman downtown. Let him call his lawyer, then leave him for me.” The disgust in Dickhead’s voice was evident. And for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. Then I realized the disgust was probably over the fact that I wouldn’t be going to jail after all.

“Why?” Ned croaked, his voice thick with emotion, eyes filling with tears. “Why did you do it, Jeremy?”

Out of courtesy, the two officers escorting Jeremy Poole from the room stopped long enough for the question to be answered.

Jeremy’s bottom lip began to quiver, and his voice became that throaty voice he’d used in my office — his Jennifer voice. “Because … I love you, Ned.”

Collectively, we all did a double take.

“What’d he say?” Mr. Weatherby, Sr. asked.

“I think he said he loved him,” Mrs. Weatherby answered.

“Loved Jim? Who’s Jim?”

“No, not Jim. Him.”

Yeah, it was getting confusing. Not even I saw that one coming.

Unprompted now, Jeremy continued. “I’ve loved you for so long. When Jennifer got involved with Billy, I thought maybe … maybe then you’d throw her out for good. But you didn’t, you took her back.”

“But why? Why’d you have to kill her?”

“She was livid when she found out that I’d cancelled the caterer. It was a stupid thing to do, I know, but I was jealous. And I didn’t think Kenny Kent would call her about it. I thought he’d call you, and you’d finally, once and for all, just end it with Jennifer. I hoped. But it didn’t work that way. And when Jennifer found out, she called me. I went over to apologize but she wouldn’t hear anything of it. I begged her not to tell you, Ned. Begged her. And eventually she agreed.”

“But that wasn’t good enough for you, was it, Jeremy?” I said.

“I … I couldn’t take the chance. What if … what if someday she changed her mind, and did tell him? Ned would turn against me. I … I couldn’t have that. So I posed as Jennifer, and went to Dodd’s office. I was looking for a not-so-bright private detective, and given the dive she works out of, I thought I’d hit pay dirt. Dammit! All I wanted was for her to follow you around for a week! I did it to protect you, Ned.”

“Protect me? Protect me from what? From Jennifer?”

“No,” I answered. “He wanted to protect you from being blamed for Jennifer’s murder. I provided a rock-solid alibi, all week, in fact, until Jeremy had the opportunity to commit murder.” I turned to Jeremy, “You were protecting Ned, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jeremy whispered. “Always.”

“Then it was premeditated,” Dickhead said.

Jeremy’s mouth snapped shut so fast and hard I heard his teeth snap together. “I … I think I need that lawyer now.”

“Know any good ones?” Mrs. P shouted.

“Downtown, boys,” Detective Head said.

Chapter 21

Certainly, a celebration was in order. Not right away, of course. There were a lot of loose ends that had to be tied up before we could officially celebrate. But eventually, we did manage to get out on the town to yuk it up. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of letting Dylan make the arrangements. My bad. Okay, my very, very bad.

He picked the Six Shooter. Now, it’s a decent enough bar, makes a wonderful Caesar, and the food is great. The problem? It’s a karaoke bar, and Dylan is a horrific singer, a fact that is painfully obvious to everyone but Dylan. We’re talking peel-the-paint-off-the-walls horrible. But what could I do? He really wanted to put this little soiree together. How could I say no?

But back to those loose ends. Like getting all the charges against me dropped. That wasn’t the slam-dunk you might think. As you can imagine, the police get a little testy when people escape custody. Even innocent people. But thanks to Judge Stephanopoulos (and, yes, dammit, thanks to Detective Head also), the charges were soon dismissed. I didn’t have to spend so much as a night in jail.

My being innocent of the charges — not to mention catching the real killer for the police — was certainly instrumental in getting those charges dropped. But I also suspect part of the reason for Dickhead’s cooperation was the fact that he bagged not just one, but two criminals.

Thanks to me.

Well, thanks to Jennifer Weatherby, actually. And yeah, okay, thanks to Ned Weatherby’s elderly mother. Mrs. Weatherby never did recognize me (thank you, Jesus!), but she did recognize Pastor Ravenspire. Or should I say Pastor Latray, of Richmond, Virginia? Pastor Slaunwhite of Toronto? Pastor Hanselpecker of Montreal? Well, then how about Pastor Ingles of Las Vegas, Nevada? (Turns out Ned’s mother had not only a good eye for faces but also was a pretty fair card counter.) That man had warrants out for his arrest in a half dozen states and two provinces. It just so happened that Ned’s mother was a huge fan of the blackjack tables in Vegas, and had seen Pastor Ingles’s picture in the paper down there about five years ago. He had been wanted on fraud, embezzlement, and contributing to the delinquency of a minor.

While Ned’s eagle-eyed mom had ID’d the Pastor, it was Jennifer, speaking from the grave, who’d allowed Dickhead to eventually haul Ravenspire’s unholy ass away. A message that I’d delivered to Dickhead for her. (See? I can be generous when it suits my purposes.) Turns out the good pastor was the reason why Jennifer was socking away money. She realized early on that Ravenspire was a fraud, but her husband would listen to no ill about his beloved pastor. So until she could get enough on the charismatic preacher to convince Ned that he was corrupt, she was protecting what funds she could, fearing that Ravenspire would bleed her husband dry with his constant appeals for donations. Which was pretty astute of her. As it turned out, that had been his modus operandi in those other cases. He’d pretend to be building a shiny new church, then leave town with the building fund.