“The paramedics are on their way,” Cece said, and I was glad to see she’d had the presence of mind to make the call and was now videoing everyone at the crime scene. That would prove valuable to the police when they began investigating, if an investigation was warranted.
“Did you get any video of Bart falling?” I asked Cece, who’d come up beside me.
“Most of it.” She leaned a little closer to me. “Rumor has it that Bart and Sunny are always at each other’s throats. He’s a notorious womanizer, and Sunny probably pushed him down the stairs. Or maybe one of his mistresses did it.”
“You think he was pushed?” I asked. “That’s terrible. Thank goodness Tinkie and I haven’t been deeply involved in domestic cases,” I said. “Those are just the worst. They’re a no-win situation for a PI.”
Clarissa Olson appeared at my side. “May I have a word?”
“Sure.” I stepped away and followed Clarissa to where Tinkie was standing, a stricken look on her face.
“This is terrible. What an awful accident,” Tinkie said.
“I want to hire your detective agency,” Clarissa said before I could ask any questions.
“For what?” Tinkie asked.
“Someone is pulling a bunch of dirty tricks around here. The dump truck load of cement on Bricey’s new car. The shock to Tulla. Now Bart has been pushed down the stairs. Someone is going to be seriously hurt—if Bart isn’t already. Or even killed. I need to know who is doing this and stop it.”
“Was Bricey Presley involved with Bart?” I asked. I’d seen her at the top of the stairs.
Clarissa shrugged one shoulder. “That’s for you to find out. I’ll drop by the B and B later and bring a check.”
“I’m not certain we want to be involved in this case,” I said. “We’re here on holiday and we have to leave in a few days.”
“You don’t live on the other side of the ocean,” Clarissa said, waving a hand with a diamond ring the size of a walnut. “Surely you can manage a case in Columbus even if you live in the metropolis of Zinnia.”
Her sarcasm wasn’t making me eager to work for her, but I had my eye on a new saddle for Coleman’s Christmas gift. A paying case would give me the extra cash for year-end expenses at Dahlia House and the saddle. “We could manage it if we wanted to,” I said. “I’m just not sure I want to get embroiled in what looks to be a cluster of serial cheaters. That’s a thankless task. Besides, no one is going to be happy with what we find out.”
“You could save a life.” Clarissa was done with sarcasm. “This has gone from nasty warnings to dangerous pranks and now to potentially fatal attacks. Maybe you think these people don’t deserve to be saved, but that’s pretty judgy of you, Sarah Booth Delaney.”
“Sarah Booth isn’t judging them,” Tinkie said. “She’s just making a point that she might not be keen to associate with them. This kind of case is like stepping in a cesspool. Nobody comes out of it clean.”
“I’m sure there are other private investigators in Columbus who could do a fine job,” I said. Tinkie was right. We seldom turned down cases, but this one had the reek of bad trouble.
“I’m not going to beg you,” Clarissa said. “If you’re afraid of a little domestic kerfuffle, then you’re afraid.”
“We’re not afraid.” Tinkie took the bait before I could stop her. “We’ll take your case. But we need an honest answer from you.”
“About what?” Clarissa asked.
“Are you involved with Bart Crenshaw?”
Clarissa chuckled. “I danced with that monkey years ago.” She swiveled her hips, “Cha, cha, cha! Bart and I burned hot and fast. Now there’s not even a glowing ember left. But I don’t want to see him murdered. He’s selling my property for me, and he’s the best real estate agent around. I’ve made a killing since we teamed up professionally.”
“What do you know about Bricey Presley?” I asked. If Bricey had pushed Bart, and she was there with him on the second floor, it would be a simple case. Tinkie and I could collect our fee and call it a day.
“She’s been involved with Bart, but that’s in the past. He paid her off with that Cadillac that got filled up with cement.”
That was interesting. “So maybe Bart decided she didn’t deserve a fancy car.”
Clarissa shook her head. “No, Bart gave her the Cadillac as a parting gift. Bart never leaves a lady with a frown on her face. This is something else.”
“Was Tulla Tarbutton involved with Bart?” I was going to need a scorecard to keep all of these entanglements straight.
“No clue.”
“Was Tulla involved with anyone else?” Tinkie asked.
Clarissa played the dumb blonde. “That’s your job to find out. I just want you to figure out who’s angry enough to nearly kill a man and then I want you to stop them. Leave me out of this completely. No one should know I’ve hired you.”
“Why not?” I asked. What was Clarissa trying to hide?
She put her hands on her hips. “Look, this kind of cheating thing goes on everywhere. In a small town, it’s just easier to spot. There are happily married couples and there are swingers. By day, no one knows the difference, but at night, some folks grow old in front of a television and others stay young by … scratching an itch.”
“Are you cheating with someone?” Tinkie asked, getting right to the point. “Maybe you’re afraid someone is coming after you.”
Clarissa laughed, and it was almost as tinkling and bell-like as Tinkie’s own signature laugh. “Tulla is my best friend. I know she’s inserted herself into more than one marriage around here. She doesn’t mean any harm—it’s just that she’s a predator. She sees a man she wants and she goes for him. When she’s done, she walks away. No harm, no foul.
