I try to conjure up a mental picture of Patricia Billings in my head. Late thirties, medium height, FBI field-standard fit body. With her light brown hair always pulled back in a bun and a no-nonsense look in her eyes, she’s hardly femme fatale material, but there’s a sharpness about her that most men would probably find interesting.
Could Travis and Patricia Billings be involved?
They must be. Otherwise, why lie to me about their phone calls? Sure, he and I aren’t a “couple,” but he’s the one who’s been trying to make that happen. Not me.
I try to swallow past the lump of disappointment clogging my throat. People lie to me every day about all sorts of silly things, but between this and Sarah lying about Heidi’s reason for being in the café … It’s too much.
I pick Paco up off the floor and hug him. A woman’s best friend is definitely her dog. “Do you think you can come to Betty Jean’s book club meeting tonight?”
“Why would I do that?”
“So you can make an arrest.”
“That’s jumping the gun, don’t you think?”
“Then consider it your civic duty to attend. Didn’t Zeke just tell you to handle things? Because I can guarantee that tonight, something big is going to go down at the meeting.”
Travis’s eyes narrow. “Like what?”
“Like … just promise me you’ll come. Seven o’clock. Betty Jean Collins’s house.”
“I don’t know where she lives,” he says stubbornly.
“You’re a cop. Look up her address.”
Chapter Nine
I’m still reeling from Travis’s lie about Agent Billings, but I need to focus on tonight. Hopefully, Will isn’t flipping out. He promised me he’d be at Betty Jean’s house and make everything right, and I trust he’ll keep his word, but he has to be anxious. Has he let his publisher and agent know what he’s going to do?
As his best friend and future girlfriend, I should lend him my moral support.
I stop by the library. Faith tells me that Will has left for the day, so I swing by his house, but there’s no answer when I knock on the door. I call his cell, but it goes to voice mail. Huh. Maybe he went to go shoot some pool or get some last-minute advice from Sebastian. Since I have a few hours before I need to show up at Betty Jean’s, I stop by the rectory.
“Hey, Lucy.” Shirley is all decked out like she’s going to the prom. Big hair. Big rhinestone earrings. Sparkly dress.
“You look fancy.”
Shirley pats her hair. “I went to the salon this morning. Wasn’t last night fabulous? And to think we get J.W. all to ourselves tonight! I don’t think I’ve been this excited since the St. Petersburg Boys Choir came to sing for us last Easter.” Shirley must be easy to please, because it was St. Petersburg, Florida, not Russia.
“Yeah, sure. Last night was great.” I sound wooden, but pretending to be excited about this faker is getting old. I glance at my watch. Two hours to go until this charade is over. “Is my brother in?”
“Sorry, hon, he went to do some home visits.”
“Do you know if Will came by to see him? Or called him maybe?”
“Not that I’m aware. But he could have come by while I was out getting my hair done.” Shirley frowns. “Everything okay?”
“Sure, everything is fine,” I lie.
She goes back to filing papers. “See you this evening at Betty Jean’s,” she says cheerfully.
Paco and I go back to the car, and I try Will’s cell again, but nothing. Where can he be? And why isn’t he answering his phone? I’m probably making a big deal out of nothing, but my Spidey sense tells me that something isn’t right.
I try to shake off this feeling of dread. It’s only natural that my woo-woo clock is ringing off its base right now. The past few days have been crazy. I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow to normalcy. Normal for me, that is.
We head back to my apartment above The Bistro. I take a quick shower and put on the new T-shirt I threatened to wear to last night’s book signing, I LIKE BIG MUFFINS AND I CANNOT LIE. If anything, it will be good for a laugh, which we might all need tonight.
I place the muffins in a protective container, then take Paco for a quick walk around the building before we head out. I’m early, but I thought I’d run by Will’s house one more time on my way to Betty Jean’s. I’m loading up my car when Brittany’s red Mustang squeals into The Bistro parking lot. She jumps out of her car. “Thank God I’ve found you! Something disastrous has just happened.”