be dopey to think otherwise, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Des responded, noticing that Spence was digging the fingernails of his right hand so deep into the palm of his left that he was about ready to draw blood. The smooth young studio executive did not have it so totally together after all. When it came to his love life, he was a tortured mess of emotions. Was he in control of these emotions, or were they running the show? She wondered. “After Jory left, did you hear anyone coming or going out in the hall?”
“I didn’t hear anybody.”
“And where were you this morning when Ada was attacked?”
“Right here,” he replied, stabbing the arm of the chair with an index finger for emphasis. “I was talking to Natalie on my cell phone when I heard Hannah scream. Natalie could hear her over the phone. She asked me what was happening. Go ahead and call Natalie if you don’t believe me. She’ll back me up. I was on the phone with her at the time of Ada’s death.”
“Okay, that’s not actually what I’m hearing from you, Spence.”
He frowned. “What are you hearing?”
“That you were on the phone when Hannah found Ada’s body. Technically, you could have strangled her before you slipped in here to call Natalie.”
“Well, yeah, okay,” he allowed readily enough. “I can see your point. But why would I do it? What possible reason would I have for killing Ada Geiger? Or the others? I’ve just landed a huge promotion. I’m in love with a beautiful woman. Why would I want to get dragged into any of this?”
Des didn’t answer Spence, for the simple reason that she didn’t have an answer. Not unless, somehow, he’d gotten himself dragged into it against his will. Or unless every single word he’d just told her was a carefully scripted fabrication. Which was certainly possible. But if Spence was being reasonably straight with her, then he was right. He had so many positive things going on right now. Why get dragged into this? For Jory, whom he could apparently sleep with anytime he wanted to? Where was his motive? What was in it for him? For that matter, what was in it for Jory? True, she stood to gain fifty thousand dollars from Norma’s death. Not exactly chump change, but was it worth murdering the woman for?
No, not a whole lot of sense here. Not yet.
Spence was looking at her searchingly, trying to follow where her mind was going. “Why would I do it?” he repeated.
“I wish I had some answers for you, Spence,” she replied quietly. “But I don’t. All I have is more questions.”
It seemed eerily quiet down in the taproom, considering how many people were crowded in there around the kerosene space heaters. So quiet that Des could hear the tick-tock of the antique wall clock behind the bar, punctuated by the occasional scrape of Jase’s plow outside on the pavement of the parking lot. It took Des a moment to realize what was missing.
There was no background music.
Teddy wasn’t playing the piano in the Sunset Lounge. He was seated at the bar, sipping a Scotch and looking very sad. Aaron sat on the stool next to him, chewing halfheartedly on a sandwich. Isabella was sprawled on the bar before them with a saucer of milk, offering up her soft white belly for a rub. The big cat was getting no takers. No one was paying any attention to her. No one was saying anything. They were all just sitting there, trying not to go insane with fear.
The three women, Carly, Hannah and Jory, all looked up at Des apprehensively as she and Spence came in the door. Des felt as if she’d just barged into a hospital waiting room with word of whether the patient’s cancer had spread or not.
“Jory, I’m going to need to ask you a few more questions,” she said, flashing her a reassuring smile. “I have to clarify some things.”
“Anything I can do to help, Des.” Jory glanced uncertainly over at Spence, whose own eyes were glued to the carpet. “When would you like to do it?”
“Right now, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure thing.” Jory collected the empty sandwich platter and started for the door with it. “Are you hungry, Spence?”
“I sure am,” he replied, moving over toward the bar.
“I can make some more sandwiches, if you’d like.” Jory’s eyes lingered on him.
“That would be great,” he said, stubbornly refusing to look at her.
Jory stuck out her bulldog chin and headed for the kitchen. Des followed her, noticing that Jory was one of those women who had two walks-wiggly for when a man was walking behind her, plain vanilla for when a woman was.
There was a loaf of sliced whole wheat bread on the kitchen table, which was crowded with sandwich fixings-a big hunk of baked ham, a wedge of Swiss cheese, sliced radishes, tomatoes, lettuce, pickles, jars of mayonnaise and mustard. Jory went right to work on the ham with a carving knife, shaving off thin slice after thin slice, her movements practiced and skilled.
“It’s funny, I was so afraid to open the refrigerator this morning,” she chattered at Des as she worked. “I didn’t want all of the food in there to spoil. But it finally dawned on me that it’s the same temperature out here as it is in there-so what’s the difference, right?”
The girl was definitely running at the mouth, Des observed, taking a seat at the table. Major ill at ease.
“So how can I help you, Des?” she rattled on, slathering four slices of bread with mayo and mustard. “What else can I tell you?”
“Why you lied to me,” Des replied quietly.
“When did I do that?”
“You told me you never left your cottage last night. We both know that’s not true. You were in Spence’s room.”
Jory blushed, her round cheeks mottling. “I suppose he bragged to you all about his great big conquest.”
“Actually, he was very reluctant to give it up. I had to squeeze it out of him.”
“How did you manage that?”
“By threatening to take him in for questioning.”
“That would do it, all right.” Jory finished making two ham and cheese sandwiches, passed one over to Des and immediately started building two more. She offered her nothing in the way of information. Not a word.
“Jory, I’ve got three deaths to account for,” Des said, attacking her sandwich. She’d eaten nothing all day, and was famished. “I could care less about you and Spence keeping each other warm in his room last night. But I need the real deal from you. Why you lied to me. What else you didn’t tell me. And I need it right now.”
“Okay, sure. Whatever.” Jory flopped down in the chair directly across from Des, swiping at a strand of hair that had come loose from her topknot. “I was afraid you’d tell Les. That’s why I was a bit less than straight with you about it before. If Les had found out I was in Spence’s room last night, he would have fired me instantly. Me and Jase both.”
“Because of Norma’s zero-tolerance rule?”
Jory shook her head. “No.”
“Well, then why?”
“Because the old creep was hot for me, that’s why,” Jory replied wearily. “You should have seen the way that man would stare at me-day after day, night after night. He’d just keep staring at my assorted body parts with those filthy eyes of his. He made me feel crawly all over. Because I’d never go with someone that old, for God’s sake. Especially him. He was just such a lech. I’ll bet he told you what a good husband he was. How much he loved Norma. Well, he wasn’t and he didn’t. He was obsessed with me from the moment he moved in here. He’d get insanely jealous if I showed even the slightest interest in a man-our produce supplier, the Fed Ex guy, anyone. Just last month he fired Franz, one of our chefs, because we went to a movie together on my night off. One lousy movie, Des.”
“Why didn’t you quit?”
“And go where? This is the only job I’ve ever held.”
“They do have such a thing as sexual harassment laws.”
“My word against his,” Jory said dismissively. “Who do you think they’re going to believe, the president of the
