I studied her, wondering what she wasn’t telling me. Before I could push the issue, a knock sounded at the door. “Hold on. I’ve got some questions.”
I followed Emma to the front of the house and pulled open the door. This time, I should have looked first. Someday I’d learn and avoid awkward conversations like the one that was just about to occur.
Pat Williams stood at my door. Her brunette hair was twisted into a French braid, and her casual uniform of designer silk dress, gold chains, and what I liked to call hooker shoes topped off the ensemble. Between Pat’s outfit and my aunt’s, I looked like one of the homeless on the city streets dressed in jeans. Pat’s lips curved into a smile that would have had a football team of males running to help her pick up a dropped napkin. The action had no power over me, however; I knew when someone wanted something. And this favor was going to be a doozy.
“Jill, I can’t believe I’ve never visited your lovely house.” Pat glanced around the porch. “So quant and homey. This place was quite a wreck when that nasty old lady owned it. What was her name again?”
I leaned against the doorway, and Emma softly growled at my feet. “Her name was Emily and she was my friend.” I let my words sink in, and as I saw her smile dim, I went in for the kill. “Get to the point, Pat. What do you want? You didn’t come to visit.”
Pat sighed, then reached into her Coach bag and pulled out a tissue. She dabbed at her dry eyes. “I’ve come to ask for your help. You are the only one who can save her. Greg’s trying to send Sherry to prison.”
I shook my head. “Greg’s not vindictive. Besides, they’ve been divorced for years. The only way Sherry will be arrested and sent to prison is if she killed someone.” Dawning realization filled my mind. “You think she killed Kent, don’t you?”
Pat shook her head, but her smile disappeared. “No. There’s no way.” But something in her eyes made me wonder if even Sherry’s best friend had doubts.
“Look, I still don’t know why you’re here. You know Greg. If the investigation proves it’s Sherry, then that’s what will happen. He doesn’t make things up. He finds the truth.” I put my hand on the door.
“Ha. You don’t know how ugly it got between those two. I thought for a while he was going to kill Sherry, he was that mad when she left.” Pat seemed to consider something, then kept talking. “I want you to prove Sherry didn’t kill Kent.”
“Are you freaking nuts?” I’d died and gone to crazytown. “Why should I?”
Pat stared at me hard. “Because if you do, I’ll make Sherry back off Greg. She’s been pushing hard for a reconciliation. I can make that stop.”
By the time Pat left, I’d found out all about the dozen or so women whom Kent had been dating in the last few years in addition to Sherry and now, his ex-wife, Cheryl. When I returned to the kitchen, Aunt Jackie pushed a pad toward me.
“I wrote down every name she said.” She tapped her pen on the list. “Looks like you have a few people to check out on Monday.”
I took a bottle of light beer out of the fridge and slipped into a chair, staring at the list. “You think I should? I mean, there’s no way Greg would even consider going back with her.”
Aunt Jackie tucked her purse under her arm and kissed me on the cheek. “I know you. It doesn’t matter why you get involved in an investigation; you just like to solve problems. Don’t let Sherry mess with your head. Besides, if she gives Greg a break for something you would have done anyway, you both win.”
I followed my aunt to the door, where we found Maggie sitting on the porch rail, sunning herself. I closed the door, blocking Emma in the house, and went over and picked up the warm cat. She started purring as soon as I touched her.
“I didn’t know you adopted a cat.” Jackie reached out and scratched Maggie between her ears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Not my cat. She belongs to Esmeralda, but she keeps escaping.” I glanced over at my neighbor’s house. “I worry she’s going to get run over one of these times. You know people fly through here too fast.”
“That’s why Toby sets up just down from your house to pick up speeders. You know that boy has made so much money for the city with his stops the mayor is thinking about hiring him on full-time.” Aunt Jackie kissed me on the cheek. “I hope that doesn’t happen soon. He’s good for our business, too.”
I watched her get into her car and drive toward town; the entire trip would take less than two minutes, even if she had to stop at the entrance to my driveway to wait for a tourist driving into town. Of course, it was Aunt Jackie. She never walked anywhere except in the city. But out in the sticks—her words, not mine—she lived up to her California heritage and took the car everywhere.