“He lived in a cul-de-sac close by.”
“What did you think of him, as a person?”
“Let’s say, he wasn’t exactly my idea of a great guy. Although I didn’t know him that well. Different generations and different interests.”
“I thought he was heavy into protecting the environment.”
“Whoever told you that? He might have been talking the talk, but he didn’t care one bit about his carbon footprint, or recycling, or anything but his own comfort. He was great at BS though. He had a knack of figuring out people and their weak spots. He’d get what he wanted and then he’d move on.”
Did Sam sound bitter?
“Has he tried to con you?” I asked.
“Not me, no. Let’s just say, I know the type. Always out to put one over the others.”
“A narcissist?”
“In my opinion? Possibly.”
“In that case, there’d be plenty of people he rubbed the wrong way,” I mused.
He finished his beer. “The question is, was it bad enough to commit murder? And how would they have been able to stuff him into the chest?”
Both were excellent questions, which hopefully, the police would pursue. In the meantime, I’d promised Sam dinner.
Chapter 16
With pizza and nachos to share and sodas in front of us, Sam and I enjoyed the evening’s entertainment. Tonight, the stage belonged to a magician and her assistant, a ventriloquist whose dummy had until recently been relegated to an attic, until the owner moved toSerenity Springsand the family decided to have a clear-out.
All three performers were seniors at the local high school, and Harper had allowed them to try out their acts in front of an audience before they went on to represent Willowmere in a countywide talent show.
I divided my attention between eating and applauding. The ventriloquist had a few problems with syncing the dummy’s actions to his speech, but with a little more practice he’d be a strong contender.
The magic act already had the effortless look of a seasoned performer. The tricks might not yet have been Las Vegas worthy, but the magician and her beaming assistant pulled off every sleight of hand without breaking a sweat.
The third act came as a surprise. Ms. Vine propelled Jimmy onto the stage and in an easy chair, with a table and a waiter glass next to it. He lifted his hand to blow kisses into the audience, or rather, in my direction.
“And now, in a world premiere, I’m presenting to you Mr. Jimmy Hill,” Ms. Vine declared in a voice that carried without the microphone she put in front of Jimmy. Reina wheeled up a keyboard on an adjustable stand and placed it so that she and the instrument faced the entertainers.
I snapped my jaw close. As expected, Ms. Vine had changed her sensible relief librarian cardigan and slacks for her sequined evening jacket in pink and purple and black velvet pants. But how on earth had she convinced down-to-earth Jimmy, who devoted most of his energy on his green house, since kneeling and stooping over flower beds had become too difficult, to dazzle in a midnight blue dinner jacket and a sequined cap matching Ms. Vine’s jacket?
“I can’t believe it,” Sam uttered.
Harper, who’d been busy giving instructions to her bar staff, came over. “What do you think?” she asked him. To me, she said, “Ange and Nick are on their way. They don’t want to miss this.”
Sam moved his lips as if to try out the right words. “No. Nothing. I’m speechless.”
Reina started playing. It took a few bars until I recognized, “That’s Amore”. Granted, Jimmy couldn’t quite compete with the Dean Martin version, but he had a surprisingly strong tenor voice, and for his age, cut a dashing figure.
“That was their song, his and mom’s,” Sam said.
Ange and her husband arrived just before the second song, a duet with Jimmy and Ms. Vine, singing “The Very Thought Of You”.
Silently, Ange and Nick took their seats at our table and listened with the intense focus these two singers deserved.
When they finished, a tear glinted in Ange’s eye. “That’s something else,” she said to me.
I agreed. “I had no idea Jimmy was so talented.”
