Killer Sweet Tooth

Chapter

Thirteen




SINCE MYRA and I were having coffee with Jill Fisher at Myra’s house at nine A.M., I got there at eight thirty in order to hear about Myra’s date with John before Jill arrived. For the life of me, I couldn’t picture Myra with the skinny, red-haired Elvis impersonator. Cecil had seemed far more in keeping with what I imagined would be Myra’s “type.” And he was much closer to her age. Myra, a cougar? I guessed anything was possible. Especially after seeing her the night of the EIEIO concert.

Myra greeted me at the door dressed in jeans and a yellow crewneck sweater but with rollers in her hair. “You’re early.”

“I came by to see if you need any help,” I said.

At her raised brow, I admitted, “And to see how your date with John went.”

She grinned. “It went super. He’s the sweetest little thing.”

“Did you wear the Ann-Margret getup?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. He asked me to be myself, and I was. Mainly, I was afraid my wig would clash with his hair. His hair is a color that looks like something of a cross between a carrot, a sunset, and a clown wig—but don’t tell him I said that. It looks good on him. Anyway, after everything was said and done, it felt pretty nice to be Myra Jenkins instead of AnnMargret.”

“So where’d you go?” I asked.

“We went to one of the steakhouses over there in Bristol. John requested to the hostess that we have a table that was as private as possible.” She blushed. Myra actually blushed.

I giggled. “Did he hold your hand?”

She nodded. “And we talked for so long I was afraid the restaurant manager was going to ask us to leave.”

She motioned for me to follow her into the bedroom. The bed was neatly made—a floral comforter and shams were further adorned by half a dozen decorative pillows. The room contained a walnut armoire and a matching dresser, vanity, and chest.

Myra sat at the vanity and began taking the rollers out of her hair, and I sat on a pale mauve slipper chair by the window.

“Did John tell you all about his exciting travels with the EIEIO?” I asked.

“We spoke about that some,” she said, “but he mostly wanted to talk about me. We talked about my life—my hobbies, my kids, my favorite kinds of music, that sort of thing.”

“What about him?” I asked. “Has he ever been married? Does he have any kids?”

“Nope. He said he’s been a loner pretty much all his life but that he’s always wanted to meet someone like me.” She smiled.

“It sounds like this could get serious,” I said.

She opened one of the vanity drawers and took out a comb. “I suppose it could. Still, he’ll be gone in a couple of days. I really enjoy John’s company, but I’m not kidding myself here.”

I thought about Scottie telling me he didn’t have to walk out of my life permanently when the EIEIO left town. I hadn’t realized Myra had been watching my expression in the mirror until she spoke.

“What was that look about? All of a sudden you got thoughtful on me.”

I shrugged. “I was simply thinking that just because John is leaving doesn’t mean you’ll never see him again. It doesn’t mean you couldn’t still have a relationship.”

“Is this about me and John or about you and Scottie?” she asked.

“It’s about you and John. Granted, Scottie reminded me of that very fact yesterday, but it’s Ben I want.”

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“Positive,” I said. “Scottie and the other Elvises have been a lot of fun. But they’ve caused plenty of trouble too. So, how’d you find Jill?”

“Tanya, of course. I just hope Jill will be able to help us in some way.”

“Maybe she’ll tell us all the dirt she knows about Dr. Bainsworth,” I said. “After all, a woman scorned and all that jazz.”

“Yeah,” Myra said in agreement. “Unless she’s the one who bashed his head in. Then she might try to lead us down a path of falsehoods.”

“A path of falsehoods?” I asked. “Have you been watching the BBC again?”

“Maybe.”

I sighed. “I don’t know, Myra. I think the person Hot Lips from the Sunoco saw is our best bet. I’m not sure a woman could hit a man Dr. Bainsworth’s size hard enough to kill him.”

“Oh, honey. Some women are pretty strong. I read a story about this woman named Belle Gunness. They called her Lady Bluebeard because she’d put ads in the paper to try to find a husband, and when the men came to answer the ad, she killed them.” Myra fluffed her hair and picked up a bottle of hair spray. “Killed them, stole their money, and then hoisted them up on her shoulder to carry to the basement and chop up for burial. Blech!”

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yep. True story. She wound up being suspected of over forty murders, including those of her own children. So, you see, some women are not only downright mean but strong enough to kill more than one Southwest Virginia dentist.” Myra sprayed her hair. “Besides, whoever it was could’ve snuck up on him. Still, Hot Lips’s seeing an Elvis enter the store with a bloody sleeve right after the murder happened does lead me to believe it was a man.”

“Me too. And I’m afraid it’s likely one of the EIEIO guys, especially after seeing the corner of that flier in that photo of Dr. Bainsworth’s desk drawer,” I said.

Myra sprayed her hair again until she seemed certain it wouldn’t dare move. “It probably was one of the Elvises. But it couldn’t have been John. Hot Lips said the Elvis she saw wasn’t too fat or too skinny, and every time John turned sideways last night, I could’ve sworn he disappeared.”

We both laughed, but I was thinking he could’ve looked bigger in a heavy winter coat.

“Maybe he could help us,” I said. “Would he know if any of the Elvises had it in for Dr. Bainsworth?”

Myra shook her head. “I’m way ahead of you. I asked him that last night. He said he didn’t know anyone who’d have it in for a dentist, but he agreed with our theory that he was killed because of his dalliances with all those women.” She took a lipstick from the vanity. “Surprisingly enough, Dr. Bainsworth never once made a pass at me.”

I suppressed a smile. “Imagine.”

The doorbell rang.

“Get that, would you?” Myra asked as she swiped brownish-pink lipstick onto her lips. “I’ll be right there.”

I hurried to the door and opened it to a woman who was older and plainer than I’d expected her to be. Jill Fisher was bony with thick black glasses, a hawk nose, and a flat mouth. She wore her dark auburn hair in a severe bun, and she was wearing a shapeless ankle-length dress. I couldn’t help but compare her to Dr. Bainsworth’s ex-wife, Angela, who was beautiful. Why on earth would the dentist have cheated on his wife with this woman?

“Are you Myra?” Jill asked.

“No,” I said, smiling as I opened the door. “I’m Daphne Martin. Myra will be right out. Let’s go on into the kitchen.”

Jill lifted and dropped one shoulder as if she couldn’t possibly care less who I was or where we were going, but she did follow me into the kitchen. Myra had made the coffee and set three each of cups, saucers, spoons, and dessert plates out. She had also put some pastries on a platter. As I poured the coffee, Jill pulled out a chair and plopped down. She placed her oversized purse on the floor next to her.

“Good morning,” Myra said, breezing into the kitchen and retrieving the plate of pastries. “I’ll just pop these into the microwave to warm them.” Her smile encompassed both Jill and me, but her eyes widened as they lingered on mine as if she were wondering about the attraction too.

I smiled and nodded, acknowledging that we were indeed thinking the same thing. “Nothing like warm pastries with hot coffee.”

Myra set the timer. “Thank you for coming, Jill.”

“I’m curious about what you think you can gain from talking with me,” Jill said. “I’ve already told the police everything I know.”

“Well, hopefully, you can help us think of a reason someone would have for wanting to hurt Dr. Bainsworth,” I said, setting her coffee in front of her.

Jill scoffed. “You want the entire list?”

The microwave dinged, saving Myra or me from having to answer that question just yet. Myra put the pastries on the table while I got our coffee. We joined Jill at the table, and everyone busied herself with stirring cream and sugar into her coffee.

I took a pastry from the platter. “These look delicious, Myra,” I said.

“Thank you.” Myra took a deep breath. “So, Jill, let’s start on that list. Who do you know that might want to hurt Dr. Bainsworth?”

Jill stirred her coffee, looking into its creamy depths. When she spoke, her voice was softer than it had been before. “I don’t know. The truth is I loved Jim right up until the end. Most people loved Jim. He was a con man.” She placed her spoon in her saucer and took a sip of coffee.

“A con man?” I echoed.

She nodded. “Yeah. He was whoever you wanted him to be, you know? He played a part until he got what he wanted or got tired of you, and then he moved on.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Yeah, me too,” Jill said, sighing and tracing the pattern of the tablecloth with her fingertip. “I thought he loved me. I had a good life until he came along and sweet-talked me out of it.”

“Why would he do that?” Myra asked. “Why would he pretend to love you if he didn’t?”

Jill gave a half smile, but she still didn’t look up. “The thrill of the game. Jim liked to make conquests . . . he liked to win. He didn’t think—or care—about consequences.”

“Apparently not,” I said. “Yet, he seemed to really care about his patients and about helping people.”

Jill looked up at that. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, he didn’t mind coming into the office after hours to help Myra,” I said. “It’s why he was there the night he was murdered. And Ben Jacobs told me Dr. Bainsworth took a mission trip to provide dental care for the poor recently.”

Jill barked out a laugh. “He’d have charged Myra or her insurance carrier out the nose for that emergency visit, and providing dental care was the only way he could have the mission people pay for his trip to Mexico.”

“So it was a vacation?” Myra asked. “He went to Mexico on vacation rather than on some sort of mission of mercy?”

“Exactly,” Jill said. “He’d hoped Maureen Fremont would foot the bill, but she wasn’t as stupid as the rest of us. She caught on to him fairly quickly. Getting money out of her was like getting blood from a turnip. When she wouldn’t pay for the trip, he got the mission people to do it for him.” She sipped her coffee again. “I don’t doubt he did some pro bono work while he was there, but it wasn’t his primary reason for going.”

I swallowed. “I’ve heard some good things about Dr. Bainsworth. How could he have had everyone fooled?”

Jill shook her head. “Because he only let people see what he wanted them to see.”

“But what about Bunni?” Myra asked. “She practically worshipped him. Wouldn’t someone in her position know what a jerk he really was?”

“Even people who should know better generally see what they want to see. Jim would come in every morning and tell Bunni how beautiful she looked. Throughout the day, he’d mention how he couldn’t get along without her . . . how she was a clerical genius . . . how she was his right arm.” Jill rolled her eyes. “Bunni ate it up like candy. Then when Jim acted like a jerk or got caught in some indiscretion, she made excuses for him.”

“In her eyes, he could do no wrong,” Myra said.

“Precisely.” Jill took another sip of her coffee.

“Then maybe it was her,” Myra said. “Unrequited love makes people do crazy things.”

My eyes widened. I glanced at Jill to see how she’d taken Myra’s statement.

“It sure does,” Jill said in agreement.

“I’m sorry,” Myra said. “That didn’t come out the way I’d intended.”

“No, that’s okay.” Jill took a scone from the platter. “But it wasn’t Bunni. She adored Jim. I truly think she believed that one day he’d look around and realize she was the love of his life.”

“Poor Bunni,” I said. “What does she have now? No job, no fantasy guy . . .”

“Maybe she’ll finally be able to get a life,” Myra said.

“I doubt it.” Jill took a bite of her scone. “She’ll find another job and start dreaming all over again.”

“You didn’t happen to lose an earring in the office, did you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not me. I lost a lot in that office—mainly my dignity—but not an earring.”

“A clerk at the Sunoco near Dr. Bainsworth’s office said a man came in there around the time of the attack with blood on his sleeve,” I said. “Do you know of any man who might have been looking for something in the dental office?”

“Yeah,” Myra said, “we’re thinking maybe the guy didn’t break into the office with the intention of killing Dr. Bainsworth but that he bashed him in the head when Dr. Bains-worth came upon him while he was trying to steal . . . something.”

“I can’t imagine what anyone would have wanted from Jim’s office,” Jill said, swallowing. “We didn’t keep any drugs there. Jim didn’t even use the nitrous anymore.” She thought a moment. “But one of the other girls who worked there told me he did act weird after the Mexico trip.”

“Where did he go in Mexico?” Myra asked. “Was it Tijuana? I’ve heard about people messing around in Tijuana and completely going out of their gourds—drinking stuff with worms in it, getting drugged, being put in jail. And they say that if you get thrown in a Mexican jail, it’s really hard to get out. He didn’t get arrested, did he?”

“No, he didn’t get arrested,” Jill said. “And he didn’t go to Tijuana, as far as I know. He went to Nuevo Laredo.”

“I’ve heard of that place,” I said. “It’s just across the border from Laredo, Texas, isn’t it?”

Jill nodded. “When I found out that’s where Jim was going, I did some research on it. Seems to me it’s a pretty wild place. It has a red-light district known as La Zona or Boys Town. Not to mention that the drug cartels run the town these days. Every time they appoint a police chief, the person disappears.”

“Oh, no, honey!” Myra exclaimed, patting Jill’s arm. “Boys Town is that place Father Flanagan came up with. Spencer Tracy did a movie about it and everything. It was an orphanage. Maybe Dr. Bainsworth really did go there to Boys Town to do something noble and worthwhile.”

“I think Father Flanagan’s orphanage was founded in Nebraska,” I said quietly. Besides, I’d read a recent online news article stating that U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano was trying to dispel misconceptions about the border towns and had not only said that they were safe for travel, trade, and commerce, but that “the border is better now than it has ever been.” It made me wonder whether Jill was given to exaggeration.

“Maybe,” Myra said, still talking about Boys Town, “but don’t they have branches located all over the place now?”

“Who knows? But even if there are,” Jill said, “I don’t think that’s the type of thing Jim was into. And I’m pretty sure if Spencer Tracy had done a movie about Nuevo Laredo’s Boys Town, it wouldn’t have been an Oscar winner. They don’t give out Oscars for those kinds of movies.” She lifted her hands. “Trust me. Or, if you don’t want to take my word for it, look it up for yourselves.”

Myra simply drank her coffee and looked skeptical.

“But you said Dr. Bainsworth liked the challenge—the thrill of the game, I believe you said,” I reminded Jill. “Why would he be interested in prostitutes?”

Jill shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t know of any other reason he might’ve gone to Nuevo Laredo. I mean, don’t most people going to Mexico on vacation go to Acapulco or Cancún?”

I nodded and made a mental note to look into the story of the Nuevo Laredo trip a little deeper. China York believed Dr. Bainsworth was a cad, but she also thought he had good qualities. I doubted many people were able to fool China. Plus, Jill had been terribly hurt by Dr. Bainsworth. She was unlikely to see anything but bad in him. Maybe Scottie would know if there had been any legitimate mission outreaches in Nuevo Laredo.

Jill finished her coffee, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and then tossed the napkin onto the plate with her half-eaten scone. “I appreciate the breakfast, ladies, but I really must be on my way. I have a job interview at eleven.”

“A job interview?” Myra asked. “Were you still working for Dr. Bainsworth before he died?”

“No,” Jill said, pushing back away from the table. “But I’ve been on unemployment or working for temp agencies since I left his office this past fall. It’s hard. No one wants to hire a home wrecker.”

“But that’s discrimination,” I said. “How could they even know about your affair with Dr. Bainsworth anyway? Did he give you a bad recommendation?”

Jill scoffed. “This is Brea Ridge, Daphne. Everybody knows—or thinks they know—everything. Dr. Farmer wouldn’t hire me—said he wasn’t hiring hygienists at that time but would let me know when he needed someone. But he never called, even though I know one of his hygienists is on maternity leave. And I wasn’t able to secure a secretarial position anywhere in this town either.”

“What about Bristol or Kingsport?” I asked. “Did you apply for work in dental offices in either of those cities?”

Jill shook her head. “It’s too far for me to drive. Besides, I’ve been in Brea Ridge my whole life.”

“Then maybe it’s high time to get a fresh start somewhere else,” Myra said. “That’s what Daphne did.”

At my frown, Myra said, “Well . . . you did.”

“You did?” Jill asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. My ex-husband is in Tennessee.” I left out exactly where in Tennessee. A woman doesn’t necessarily want everybody knowing her ex is in the penitentiary for trying to murder her. “So I came here to start all over.”

Jill gave me a half smile, but her eyes filled with tears. “That’s where you and I are different, I guess. You wanted to start over. I want to go back to where I was. I want my old life back.”

“I hope you get it,” I said softly.