A Rip Roaring Good Time Read online

  "No shit?" He replied. "This position sounded to me like the perfect fit for you."

  Now I was certain he was being sarcastic with me. I didn't think Falcon Jons's condescending attitude was very professional for someone who was in the position of interviewing and hiring new employees to work at his firm.

  "No, sorry. I'm afraid I'd bore very quickly working here. You know, in a position like this one in your Software Engineering Department that I'm so clearly over-qualified for. Good day, Mr. Jons. I'll see myself out." Falcon gave me the oddest look. It was as if the aerospace engineer was studying a new planet he'd never seen before.

  Before he could respond, I stood up and walked out of his office. I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I walked down the hallway. I'm sure he was still racking his brain to come up with where he'd seen me before. Either that, or he regretted being so rude and disrespectful and causing a prime candidate for the job opening to walk right out the door.

  * * *

  I was pleased with myself for now knowing how to enter the inn's address in the GPS for the return trip, and was rather enjoying getting more and more proficient with the device. I was even getting used to Ms. Ratchet's bossy voice giving me turn-by-turn directions.

  Rip was the only one at the inn when I walked through the back door into the kitchen. According to Rip, Stone had been allowed to visit Lexie at the police station again for a few minutes.

  Meanwhile, Rip was sitting at the kitchen table scouring through some legal tomes he'd borrowed from an attorney friend of Stone's. He was searching for anything that might serve as a loophole in getting Lexie released from jail. So far, he told me, he hadn't had much luck. According to Rip, it seemed as though the majority of the loopholes only applied to the rich and the famous, many of whom seemed to be above the law and never had to worry about criminal charges sticking to them in the first place. As a career law enforcer, this was a particularly aggravating pet peeve of my husband's.

  After Rip got through with his "justice is a joke" rant, he asked me how my morning had gone, and I explained to him what I'd learned about Joy White's pregnancy. I touched only briefly on how I'd applied and been interviewed for a job opening in the aerospace field, to which he'd replied, "Seriously?"

  Rip's response hit a raw nerve. "How would you like that fourteen-hundred page, leather-bound law book shoved up─" "Down, girl!" He smiled as he patted my head like I was an overly zealous Doberman Pinscher. "I was just teasing with you. Go on with your story about Joy."

  "All right. As you know, she's the young gal who arrived at the party with the victim and was wearing a sad expression much of the time, even before her date got killed."

  "I remember her. She was the hysterical young lady who got hauled out on a gurney."

  "Yes, that's the one. Falcon Jons, who's Joy's former boyfriend, estimated that she should be about four months along in her pregnancy. I don't recall noticing if she was even beginning to show yet, but I didn't really pay much attention to her at all until she freaked out after Trotter was killed."

  I didn't mention this to Rip, of course, but felt I might not have noticed if Joy was showing because, prior to learning what Trotter had done to Wendy, I was too busy checking out the chiseled facial features and tight buttocks on her date.

  "I wonder if that pregnancy figures in to Trotter's death in any form or fashion?" Rip asked. "Also, the fact she was expecting might have been why the EMTs wanted to transport her to the hospital for further observation."

  "I was wondering that too. I'm hoping to find out when I go to the YMCA this afternoon. I read online that Joy White is the instructor of an exercise program that just happens to take place this afternoon at two. I called the Y this morning and was surprised when they told me she had decided not to cancel the class, despite the vicious slaughter of her baby's father just a couple of days ago."

  "That surprises me, too," said Rip. "I wouldn't think she'd be in any condition to go ahead with the lesson either, considering both her pregnancy and Trotter's death. What kind of exercise program is it? Aerobics? Spinning? Yoga, maybe?"

  I wasn't sure what spinning was, but I was glad it wasn't that kind of class. I get dizzier than a loon just riding on any carnival ride that rotates in circles. I certainly didn't need any self-induced dizziness. So I replied to Rip's question, "No, thank goodness, it's just pole dancing. I reckon Joy will teach us how to dance with a pole. Kind of like dancing with an invisible partner, I guess."

  After Rip had stopped laughing, I explained that the program was advertised with the catchy phrase, "Pole dancing is not just for strippers anymore."

  After my husband stopped laughing again, even harder this time, I explained, "According to the program's description, pole dancing has become popular as a form of exercise that helps build muscle strength, endurance, flexibility, and self-confidence."

  "That sounds wonderful, darling. Will you show me what you've learned from that program this evening, preferably right before we go to bed?" I knew Rip was teasing me, because he caressed my behind as he spoke. I promised him I'd give him a private demonstration of my new dance moves that evening at bedtime, because if nothing else, it'd be nice to shift our sex-drive gears out of park for the first time in a while.

  At one time Rip and I had really enjoyed dancing. We'd even taken ballroom dancing classes when we were in our forties. With surprisingly good rhythm, Rip could really cut a rug before he became reliant on a cane. Now, without his "third leg," he couldn't walk from his chair to the refreshment table at the dance hall without groaning and moaning. I kept telling him I had no intention of spending the rest of my days pushing him around in a wheelchair because he was too bull-headed to see a physician about a hip replacement. So far, however, no amount of nagging had persuaded him to make an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon.

  I had just enough time to grab a turkey sandwich and change into a sweatsuit I'd had for many years. The sweatshirt had a yellow and green Baylor University emblem, and running down the right leg of the sweatpants it read, "Go B ars." The "e" in bears had peeled off after about the hundredth washing of the tattered suit.

  Grabbing the keys to Lexie's car off the table where I'd left them earlier, I told Rip I'd be back in a couple of hours. He wished me good luck and told me he'd give anything to be a fly on the wall at the pole-dancing program, just to watch me practice my new moves. I was flattered until he began to laugh again.

  Shortly after I arrived at the gym, I watched as Joy entered the front of the building wearing dark leotards. The all-black outfit was certainly appropriate for the situation. Joy looked sad but she didn't appear to be in a state of shock, grief, or anxiousness. More importantly, her concave stomach showed no signs of what the celebrities in the gossip magazines were now calling a baby bump. Not that it was totally unheard of for an expectant mother to not show at all until her fifth month, or even later on rare occasions.

  She must really need the income that teaching this program provides, I thought. Just to show up here to fulfill this obligation so soon after the death of her boyfriend seemed incredible to me. The very thought of having to raise their child alone had to be weighing heavy on her mind. I didn't know whether to admire her commitment or question the reasoning behind her apathetic behavior.

  When I walked into the specified room at the YMCA a few minutes later, it was immediately evident that I was the only one attending the program who knew how to dress for a workout at the gym. Granted, I was the only senior citizen in the room, but you'd think these young ladies would have better sense than to wear such skimpy little outfits. They might as well have just shown up in their underwear, considering their attire left very little to the imagination anyway. I judged that there was enough spandex in the room to cover the gymnasium floor.

  I had hoped to be able to speak privately with Joy White before the program began. If at all possible, I wanted to sneak out before the lesson commenced. I felt like the only adult in a room of toddlers,
and I hated to show up all these youngsters who couldn't possibly have as much dancing experience as I'd had over the years. But it was not to be. When I approached her with the inquiry about speaking to her for a few minutes, she agreed to talk with me following the completion of the lesson she was planning to teach that afternoon. I really had no option but to participate in the ensuing program.

  The next hour and fifteen minutes were grueling. I was sweating like a cold water pipe in the summer and grunting like a warthog as well. The younger women, clad in their cutesy little outfits, had shown nary a glisten of perspiration. Nor were they struggling to breathe like I was, gasping like a goldfish that had jumped out of an aquarium and was lying helpless on the floor.

  I hadn't realized how out of shape I'd let myself get until after I'd finished a lengthy warm-up routine of push-ups, sit-ups, and squat thrusts. I'd gotten through the first two, but it was the squat thrusts that nearly did me in. I was ready to wave the white flag about the time Joy began demonstrating a few basic pole-dancing moves in the front of the class. She gyrated from one position to the next on a steel pole that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Compared to the calisthenics I'd just struggled through, it looked vulgar, but relatively easy. About halfway through her routine, I wanted to tell her that she and the pole needed to get a room.

  As I soon discovered, attempting a maneuver called the "caterpillar" was not as effortless as Joy made it look. Crawling up the pole upside down, using only your hands and knees to propel your body upward, while trying to keep from sliding down the pole into a undignified heap on the floor, was not the piece of cake I expected it to be.

  When it was my turn to practice the assigned move on one of the four poles situated in opposite corners of the room, I approached one of them as several other participants walked up to the three remaining poles. For some reason, all eyes were on me, even those of the girls practicing the move on the other three poles. I was sure they were all thinking I was way out of my league. I hoped to prove to them otherwise. With unwarranted confidence, I grabbed hold of the pole with clammy hands, anxious to demonstrate to the younger gals how to flawlessly execute the move.

  That confidence began to dissipate rapidly as I hung upside down in what I'm sure was a most comical version of the "caterpillar" position. At one point I'm pretty sure I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. Gravity had caused all the blood in my body to migrate south and pool in my head. I lost my grip just seconds before I'm sure I would have lost consciousness.

  Lying in the aforementioned undignified heap at the base of the shiny pole, listening to the snickering of two dozen young floozies, convinced me to sit out the next few maneuvers and wait for the remainder of the program to run its course. It was a painful reminder that my body wasn't capable of doing all the things it could do when I was the age of the other ladies in the class.

  Finally, Joy announced that the weekly program was over for the day and she looked forward to seeing us all next week, same time, same place. I hoped she wasn't really expecting to see me at one of her programs ever again in this lifetime. Throughout the lesson, she had continuously glanced over at me, presumably to verify I wasn't in desperate need of resuscitation—yet.

  After the room cleared, Joy walked over and asked me what I wanted to talk with her about. I hadn't come up with a smooth way to launch into the topic of the recent death of her boyfriend and father of her baby. So I just dove right in, asking her, "Isn't all this strenuous exercising hazardous to your baby's health?"

  Joy swallowed hard and asked, "My baby?" She was obviously taken aback by my question. "What are you talking about?"

  I didn't have a game plan so I had to think fast on my feet. "I was at the gun club your parents opened last fall, practicing shooting clay pigeons, when I heard your mother, Viola, mention you were expecting a baby. So I was naturally surprised when I saw you were teaching this pole-dancing class."

  Joy stared at me for an uncomfortably long period of time before responding. "Oh, goodness. I didn't even realize my parents knew I was pregnant. I lost the baby soon after I found out I was expecting a child, before I could even break the good news to them. After they took the baby, I decided telling my parents would serve no good purpose. I didn't want to upset my mom and dad by telling them I'd lost what would have been their first grandchild."

  "I understand completely. I think I'd have done the exact same thing if I were in your shoes. And now that you've lost the baby's father also, and in such a violent way, you must be totally devastated. I truly am so sorry for both of your losses," I said to console her when she began to weep. I was relieved to find she wasn't as hard-hearted as I'd first thought she might be, and also that she didn't appear to recognize me from the night of the party.

  "It recently occurred to me that you're the Joy White that Alice Runcan mentioned to me when my husband and I ate breakfast the other morning at Zen's Diner in Ferry's Landing," I said as casually as I could.

  "Alice Runcan mentioned me?" She asked with obvious astonishment. "What did she say?"

  "Oh, nothing too interesting. She just made the remark you were good friends. That's about it, if I recall."

  "How odd," Joy said. "She was actually my best friend throughout our school years, but I haven't seen her in a long time. She, Rayleen Waters, and I called ourselves the 'Three Musketeers' back then, but I haven't seen either one of them in years. As often happens after high school, we all kind of drifted apart and went our separate ways."

  "Very common," I replied. "Same thing happened to me and some of my dearest friends. Of course, getting married right out of high school because I'd heard you couldn't get pregnant if you had sex standing up, might have had something to do with it. I was rather naïve back then, you see. But after giving birth, I had no time to do anything but care for our baby girl. Oh, dear Lord. I'm so sorry. What was I thinking? Here I am talking about caring for a baby with you having just lost one, and the baby's father as well. How thoughtless of me. Please forgive me, dear."

  "That's okay. You know, I'm coming to terms with losing the baby, but it still hasn't completely hit me that Trotter is dead. I can't imagine who'd do such a thing to him. I know he wasn't perfect, but who among us is? It's still totally unfathomable to me," Joy said. She began to weep and tears ran down both cheeks. Was her grieving an act? I wondered. But just in case it wasn't, I didn't want to upset her any further. Anyhow, I had a gut feeling she had nothing to do with, and knew nothing about, who had perpetrated the death of Trotter Hayes. I didn't think there was anything to be gained by grilling her with more questions. Not to mention, I could hear a tube of Bengay calling my name.

  Joy began to hiccup. She apologized for breaking down and asked me again what I'd originally wanted to speak to her about. I told her there was no need to apologize for grieving over the loss of a loved one. "Now is not the time to bother you with questions about advanced pole-dancing techniques, sweetheart. You need to concentrate on healing so you can get on with your life. My trivial concerns can wait."

  Joy nodded and replied, "Yes, you're probably right. Maybe we can chat after next week's class instead."

  "Yes, that sounds just fine, young lady," I replied. I put my right arm around her back and gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze.

  She smiled through her tears and said, "I'm glad to see you enjoyed the class, Ms. Ripple. Are you seriously planning to come back for another lesson next week?"

  "I'll be here with bells on," I said. Even though I gritted my teeth at her use of the word "seriously", I gave her a heartfelt, compassionate hug. And maybe the week after that I'll star in "A Chorus Line on Broadway", I wanted to add. There wasn't enough Bengay at Walgreens for me to come back to this torture chamber again.

  Chapter 12

  An hour later, Rip found me lying on a chaise lounge on the back porch. I'd soaked in Epsom salts and then slathered myself with a topical pain relief cream. I'd found the old tube of Icy Hot in Lexie's medicine cabinet. It wa
s called Icy Hot for a reason, I discovered. I greeted my husband when he stepped out onto the porch. I simply said, "Hey!" That one syllable used up all the energy I could muster.

  "Hi, sweetheart," Rip said. "How was your morning?"

  "Fine."

  "Good. I was afraid it might be too strenuous for you," Rip said with insincere concern, I was certain. "But with all your previous dancing experience, and your innate ability to learn new skills, I knew you'd be a natural at pole-dancing. With your grace and flexibility, I can only imagine how delightful your—"

  "Shut up, smartass!" I was in no mood to be teased about the exercise program I'd suffered through that morning. Instead of ridicule, I should be receiving praise for sacrificing my body for the cause. "And bring me an icepack. I think I pulled a groin muscle trying to put my left ankle around my neck in an ill-fated attempt to execute the 'hair chopper' maneuver."

  "Oh, to have been a fly on the wall..."

  * * *

  Just before noon, the inn's landline phone rang. I'd been asked to answer any incoming phone calls in case it was a customer wanting to make a reservation. I picked up the portable phone I'd taken out on the back porch with me. I wasn't prepared to take down the customer's information, with the reservation book lying on the kitchen table while I was sprawled out on the lounge chair on the porch. I was glad it was Wendy instead.

  "You busy at the moment?" She asked. I explained I'd been kicking back with my feet up but was available to do anything she might need me to do to help out.

  "I'm meeting Mattie at the new Panera Bread on Main Street. Could you possibly join us for lunch? I have some new information I think you'd both be interested in."

  "I'd be happy to. Stone and Rip are at the police station trying to get in to see Chief Smith. He's made it known he'd be in his office for a couple of hours this afternoon before going home to grieve privately and console his inconsolable wife. Stone told me that even though he knew it wasn't a good time to question Smith about Lexie's predicament, he wasn't sure when else he'd be able to get in to see him."