Chapter Six
Friday night I finally showed my face at the pub. Jane and Emily flanked me as I walked inside and was greeted by many of the friends and neighbors I’d been avoiding all week. There was plenty of good-natured ribbing, but nothing too outrageous. Jerry’s death had clearly put a damper on any teasing I might’ve received for kneeing him that night on the beach.
We left our name with the hostess and found a spot at the bar to have drinks while we waited for a table. I glanced around to see if my dad was here, but didn’t spot him. I saw plenty of other people, though. Penny was sitting in a booth with two people I recognized from the bank. Joyce and Stan Boyer sat across from each other at one of the bar tables, talking animatedly while they drank cocktails and shared an order of French fries. I would’ve loved to get close enough to listen in on their conversation, but they would probably notice and shoo me away.
Police Chief Jensen stood at the far end of the bar, talking to Tommy and another cop. I figured the three of them were off duty, given that they all had beer bottles clutched in their hands.
Jane waved to Chief Jensen, who grinned at her and then acknowledged me with a somber nod. I smiled at Tommy just as Whitney approached him and whispered something in his ear. He chuckled at whatever she said and gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. She turned and looked directly at me, smiling smugly. I rolled my eyes and gazed in another direction. The woman was relentless in her need to prove to me how much Tommy adored her. I simply didn’t care, but I would never be able to convince her of that.
A minute later Whitney was joined by Jennifer Bailey and their friend Trina, another member of their rich-girl posse from high school. All three women were overdressed for a night at the pub, but that was typical. Whitney wore a sleeveless baby blue beaded top to show off her tanned, perfectly toned arms, along with white skinny jeans and terrifyingly high stiletto heels. Her sleek dark hair was tucked coquettishly behind her ears. The other two women were both dressed in shimmering black from head to toe, including the requisite stiletto heels. Tommy ordered drinks for the women, and when the cocktails arrived the three of them moved away from the cops to talk more privately.
“She’s still a piece of work, isn’t she?” Jane murmured, shaking her head.
“Yeah.” I glanced down at my clean blue jeans, navy sweater, and black ankle boots and wondered briefly if I should start wearing clothes with sparkles on them. I’d probably get laughed out of the pub.
“She’s scared to death that Tommy is still in love with you,” Emily said.
I blinked at her. “That’s crazy.”
“No, it’s not,” Jane said. “It makes perfect sense.”
“Except for the fact that Tommy is deliriously happy with both his marriage and his family.”
“That may be true,” Emily said, “but she’s too insecure to see it.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Whitney, then turned back to my friends. “Possibly,” I hedged.
“Let’s change the subject,” Jane said. “How’s your chef hunt going, Emily?”
Emily regaled us with the disastrous results of her search for a second cook for the tea shop. “Needless to say, the past few days have been a complete fiasco. But I have prospective cooks coming in every day next week, so please pray that none of us gets food poisoning or a knife shoved into her gut.”
“That’s a lovely picture,” Jane said, laughing.
I shivered at the thought. I guess it was too soon for me to find jokes about murder funny.
I took a sip of my wine and gazed across the room in time to see Wendell Jarvick saunter imperiously into the bar and collide right into Whitney. Her drink, some cranberry-and-vodka concoction, splashed all over the front of Wendell’s crisp white dress shirt and dripped down his perfectly creased khaki pants.
“You stupid bitch!” he shouted, his facing turning as red as the stain.
“It’s not my fault,” she yelled back, outraged. “You weren’t looking where you were going.”
“You saw me and deliberately got in my way.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She set her empty glass down on the nearest surface. “You owe me a drink.”
“Oh yeah?” In an instant, Wendell grabbed a ketchup bottle off a nearby table and shook it. Whipping the top off, he flung the contents at Whitney, leaving thick red blotches spattered across her sparkly top. She gaped at her top for a second or two, then screamed and grabbed for his throat.
Wendell shoved her away from him.
I flinched. “Oh, my God. He’s horrible.”
“You’ll pay for that,” Wendell said in an ominous tone as he brushed the excess liquid off his shirt.
“You’re going to die!” Whitney screamed, and leaped at him again.
“Hey, hey,” Tommy said, grabbing Whitney around the waist and pushing Wendell back a foot. “That’s enough.”
Chief Jensen stepped into the fray. “You okay?” he asked Whitney, who nodded silently. He turned to Wendell and pointed to the door. “You. Out.”
“Why should I go?” Wendell demanded. “She’s the one who threw her drink at me.”
“I did not!” Whitney cried. Tommy wrapped his arm supportively around her shoulders. Whitney breathed heavily, her face pale from the shock of Wendell’s attack.
Wendell glanced down at his stained shirt. “This is a two-hundred-dollar handmade shirt and it’s ruined. I demand that she pay for it.”
“Good luck with that,” Jensen said dryly. “Everybody saw you run into her, so it’s your own fault. Now do yourself a favor and get out of here before I decide to let her throttle you after all.”
Wendell’s teeth were clenched and he was trembling with anger. He had to know it would be folly to continue arguing with someone as big as Eric Jensen, even if he didn’t realize the man was the chief of police. So after a long, charged moment, he pivoted and stomped out of the bar.
The room erupted in applause.
Trina handed Whitney a clump of paper napkins and she began to wipe the ketchup off her top. She looked so numb, I actually felt sorry for her.
“Wow,” Emily whispered. “That man is pure trouble.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling a little shell-shocked. “He’s also my tenant for the next two weeks.”
“If he lives that long,” Jane muttered.