Dying for Dinner Rolls by Lois Lavrisa Page B

fine.” I stopped at a red light at Victory Drive.
    “Then what?”
    “I think we need to go to the dumpster on Jones.” I looked at my dash. My gas gauge was a hair from empty.
    “I’ve always wanted to dumpster dive.” Annie Mae put her hands together in a triangle. “I’ve heard people find expensive paintings and other treasures that people discard. One thing, though, I won’t eat food from a trash bin.”
    I grinned. “We need to be discriminating dumpster divers.”
    I turned into Parker’s gas station and market. “I need to fill up.”
    “Since we’re here, I’ll get a diet soda with chewy ice. You want one?”
    “No, thanks.” I parked in front of a pump. “I’m going to call José.”
    “Then let me fill up while you do that.”
    “Thanks.” I handed Annie Mae my credit card. She got out and started the pump. Then she left for the market.
    I dialed José.
    He answered on the first ring. “Are you in trouble?”
    “Trouble? No.”
    “Good. I’ve been worried since you and Annie Mae have been playing amateur sleuths that you might’ve gotten yourselves in a bind.”
    “Not us.” Not yet. “Anyway, let me get you up to speed. We’ve unearthed a few things that you should be aware of. I’m not sure what it all means. I don’t know. Maybe it’s enough to reopen Lucy’s case.”
    “I’m not sure anything will. Tell me what you’ve got.”
    “First, Bert has a mistress. Her name is Susie Wells, and she’s the manager at the Red and White.”
    “So? A lot of men cheat on their wives.”
    “Not mine.” I couldn’t imagine Andrew with another woman. I hoped he couldn’t, either. Just to verify his loyalty to me, I needed to call him. “Oh, and Susie wears pink lipstick, like the color used on the note Lucy supposedly wrote.”
    José lowered his voice. “A lot of women wear pink lipstick.”
    “Yes, but Lucy wore red.”
    “Circumstantial.”
    “Maybe. But here’s another biggie. Bert was not fishing in North Carolina with his buddies the day Lucy died.”
    “You have proof?”
    “His friend James, who owns the lake house Bert was supposedly at, blinked two times.”
    José’s voice rose. “So?”
    “That meant that Bert was not with him.”
    I heard José snicker into the phone then clear his throat. “Exactly what detective manual are you following?”
    “I know it sounds bizarre, but James didn’t want to rat out Bert. So we came up with signals he could use to tell us without really telling us.”
    “Blinking?”
    “And foot tapping and sneezing. It got confusing. But in the end, he shook his head no when we asked him if Bert was with him fishing.”
    “You do know none of this will hold up in court.”
    “Fine. But Bert did admit to us that he was with his mistress at a hotel the night Lucy died.”
    “And where does this get you? People cheat and lie all the time. Welcome to my world of investigation.”
    “But at least we’re making progress. You have to admit that.”
    “You gals should stop whatever it is you’re doing. I think it could become a huge disaster. Or worse.”
    “But we’re onto things.” The words spilled out. “I found out that that newspaper with the crossword puzzle filled in with purple ink was taken out of a dumpster on Jones Street. Can you see if anyone around there was killed recently? I mean, I’m so close to finding the killer. Really, I know it. Right now, Annie Mae and I are going over to Jones to poke around. This could be it.”
    “You’re not giving up?”
    “Nope.”
    A deep sigh. “I’ll get back to you.”
    Annie Mae climbed in the car and handed me my credit card and receipt. She put her drink in the holder and then fastened her seat belt. “You talked with José, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “I bet he’s really impressed with our detective work, huh?”
    “You could say that.”
    But I wouldn’t.

Chapter Eleven

     
    We parked in front of a row of houses on Jones Street, near Clary’s Café. Live oak