Murder Book by Alan Lee

Author:Alan Lee [Lee, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

19

“Never drinking again?” asked Val Farmer.

“Never again,” Stackhouse confirmed. They waited in wrought iron chairs inside a Starbucks courtyard. Stackhouse wore Ray-bans.

“That’s a load of malarkey, lady.”

“I know.” Stackhouse had been trying to shake the headache since yesterday morning. Arriving at work Monday to discover from Val that the gossips were aflutter with Saturday night’s party, now she had shame to deal with. She’d texted James Rigby an apology but hadn’t heard back. That relationship was probably torched. Not a great loss, but she felt guilty. “No more alcohol for a while, and no more drunkenness until New Years Eve.”

“But you said nothing happened,” said Val.

“That’s right. I left the party before it got weird.”

“Then why—”

“Because, babe. Because. Now hush.”

“You can’t tell me to hush, kiddo, I outrank you,” said Val.

“Hush hush hush.” Stackhouse threw back a couple aspirin and drank her iced coffee. “Tell the gossips my sex life is dormant. Or dead. And to get their noses out of my business.”

“If I was young and hot like you are,” said Val, “I’d be exhausted from all the screwing.”

“I’m middle-aged. Younger than you doesn’t mean young.”

“Don’t you like sex, lady?”

Stackhouse considered the milky swirls in her coffee. “I don’t like the hurt that comes after.”

“That’s what penicillin is for.”

“Hush hush hush, so much hush.”

They were waiting on Allyson Knowles.

According to Maddie Owens, Allyson and Rose Felton had been arch rivals. Hated each other.

According to Staci, Allyson was good, ranked fiftieth at WIG.

According to Loma Stubblefield, Allyson was insufferable and resorted to cheap tricks. Everyone had opinions on Allyson.

Allyson arrived in a red Kia Spectra. She drove and her husband sat in shotgun. Allyson wore jean shorts not long enough to cover the pockets, plus a tank top and oversized sunglasses. She waved to the two waiting police officers and said, “We’re getting coffee, BRB.”

She and her husband Lonnie stepped inside Starbucks.

“BRB,” mumbled Val.

“It means Be Right Back.”

“I know that. Older than you doesn’t mean old or stupid. But who says BRB?”

Allyson and Lonnie came back and sat next to each other, across from the detectives. They had the courtyard to themselves in the shade of a tall oak.

“This is my husband Lonnie,” said Allyson. “Lonnie Knowles. He took my last name. Because fuck the patriarchy, that’s why.”

Val grinned. “Good to know. How you doing, big guy.”

Lonnie was not tall. He was shorter than Allyson, but muscular. He had a bald head and wide pale blue eyes. He raised his to-go cup to her. “Just along for the ride.”

“Lonnie and I were in Tampa when Rose got herself killed,” said Allyson. “On stage. At the conference. We can’t help you solve the murder.” Allyson was mid-twenties, but she spoke like a modern teenager, artificial laziness and distant echoes of Valley Girl in her affect.

Already Stackhouse didn’t like her. Like Loma Stubblefield, Allyson was full of herself, with whatever gumption came from peddling makeup better than other women.

“You and Rose were rivals,” said Stackhouse.

“You could say that. Bitches, both of us. But I was in Tampa.

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