Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2) by Marilyn Levinson

Police Department to tell him you’re harassing me.”
    Pete Rogers stuck out his meaty palms in a conciliatory manner. “Hey, hey!  No need to get testy, Ms. Driscoll. All I want is for you to tell me where Gayle is.”
    “She went to visit friends and didn’t leave their name.”
    His lips split into a broad grin. “Now that’s what I call downright unfriendly. Not something you’d expect of a sister.”
    “We argued. She left in a hurry.”
    He nodded as though I’d made an insightful observation. “Gayle has a habit of running off. It leaves people kind of miffed.”
    Miffed! Stressed as I was, I nearly laughed aloud at his choice of words. I watched him reach inside his shirt pocket and pull out a card.
    “This card has all my phone numbers. What I’d like you to do is call me when you hear from Gayle. Or if she should happen to come back here.”
    He cast me a sly glance, as though he were revealing a secret. “Someone stabbed her boyfriend to death. The Stone Ridge Police want to talk to her.”
    Stabbed! “Why? Gayle didn’t do it.”
    Pete Rogers shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. But me and my partner drove  all the way from Utah to bring her back for questioning. We’re not leaving till we find her.”
    I glanced at the skinny guy sitting in the passenger seat, whom I hadn’t noticed till now.
    When I turned back to Pete Rogers, he’d stepped closer so that my face practically touched his jacket. I almost retched from the smell of leather, sweat, and something foul I couldn’t name. I resisted the impulse to step back, and was forced to feel his breath as he spoke down to me.
    “When you hear from your sister, have her call me, no matter the time. If you hide Gayle or advise her to run, you can be arrested for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
    I fisted my hands to stop their trembling and forced myself to meet his gaze. “Gayle’s no fugitive!”
    His guffaw suddenly frightened me more than his macho posturing had done. “Actually, she is. One of the conditions of her suspended sentence was not leaving town without notifying the authorities.”
    “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” 
    He studied my face. “Ms. Driscoll, I believe you’re telling me the honest truth.” 
    He jerked open the pickup’s door, and swung himself into the driver’s seat. “Have yourself a nice evening, and tell Gayle to call me.”
    Shaken, I put my car in reverse and backed up so he could drive off. Then I reached for my cell phone and called Brian.
    Half an hour later, we were ensconced in the corner booth of a darkened bar while a piano played Cole Porter tunes in the background. I’d downed one apple martini and was working on my second as I told Brian my sister’s story, from her boyfriend’s murder to Pete Rogers’ visit. Brian listened without interrupting.
    “He tried to convince me she’d killed Chet. I’m sure that’s what Shawn Estes told him happened.”
    Brian frowned. “That guy had no business approaching you. He should have talked to us.”
    “But why did he call Gayle a fugitive?”
    Brian sighed deeply. He put his arm around me and drew me close. “Because legally that’s what she is.”
    I pulled away to stare at him. “What are you talking about? That deputy never said she’d been charged with homicide.”
    “Six months ago, Gayle and her boyfriend, Chester Fenton, were apprehended for growing marijuana.”
    Stunned, I sank back against the cushioned banquette. “How do you know?”
    “I called the Stone Ridge Police Department and spoke to a police sergeant. She and Chet were both on probation. Gayle wasn’t supposed to leave town without first contacting the authorities.”
    “So it’s true.” After a minute, I asked. “What about Shawn Estes? Was he growing marijuana too?”
    “That’s the odd piece here. Shawn Estes was the arresting officer.”
    I shook my head in disbelief. “How weird. Gayle said Chet and Shawn were friends. They’d been