“So she’s a scholar,” Chase mused. He looked up and smiled as his quarry walked out of the kitchens, an apron over her jeans and tight white T-shirt. Christa Wade looked damn good for a woman approaching fifty. She was Abigail Barnes’s best friend, and she owned the café they currently occupied.
She was also the epicenter of gossip in Willow Fork. It had been Chase’s idea to casually interview her. It was Ben’s job to make sure Christa Wade didn’t kill Chase because sometimes his version of casual was just plain rude.
“Hello, welcome to Christa’s Café. You’re Natalie, right? You work out at the spa?” Christa smiled down at Nat. There was nothing in her demeanor that made Ben worry, but the rest of the café he wasn’t so sure about. The minute they had walked in, murmurs started and several of the patrons had openly stared at Nat. Ben had made sure to take the booth in the back and to sit Nat where she couldn’t see that she was the center of attention. But she hadn’t let him herd her against the wall. She’d waited stubbornly until Ben had scooted in.
Nat flushed. “Yeah. I work out there.”
Christa’s smile widened. “Well, I knew it by the hair. You’re the only one in these parts with pink hair. I think it’s cute. You look like Katy Perry. I just love her. I thought about going blue, but my hairdresser shut that right down. Apparently eclectic hair colors are one of the signs of the apocalypse. Like that bright yellow she has on her head is natural looking. I don’t think so.” She stopped herself, her voice slowing down. “I was actually going to call you sometime next week. I have a horrible pain in my lower back. Abby says you’ve really helped Jack out. That man can be a real bear when he’s in pain. Apparently he twisted a couple of vertebrae trying to get Olivia out of a tree. She was rebelling against carrots. She doesn’t like carrots. Sorry. I tend to ramble.”
Ben was counting on her rambling. He needed some information the sheriff didn’t seem capable of giving them. “I’m sure Natalie would love another client.”
“Uhm, I think I’m on leave or something since the last dude died,” Nat whispered his way.
And then Christa just pulled up a chair and sat down, her eyes wide. Ben caught Chase’s self-satisfied smile. He hadn’t been forced to say a word, and the woman didn’t realize she was being interrogated.
“I heard about Stan. I always knew he would come to a bad end.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“Why a bad end?” Ben asked. It was his job to be the innocent tourist, interested in a little gossip.
Christa took the time to look around. She seemed satisfied no one could hear her. “Well, you know there are rumors about old Stan.”
Ah, rumors. The lifeblood of the private investigator. “No. What kind of rumors?”
Even Nat seemed interested now. She put her menu down and turned toward Christa. “Are you talking about the rumor that he jacks up the prices of his sofas or the one where he’s actually selling stolen goods? Because I’ve heard both.”
So she listened to gossip. She didn’t just sit in her sad little apartment. She was still somewhat interested in what went on around her.
Christa shook her head. “No, hon. Stan put out the rumor about the stolen goods himself. He thought that if people around here believed they were really buying cheap, fell-off-a-truck designer furniture, then they would come in droves. No. His stuff came from just over the border, and let me tell you, he did charge too much for it. I bought a dining room set from him. It lasted two days before it started to wobble. How can a table be perfectly stable one day and then slightly wobbly the next? I don’t understand it. Now it takes two and a half People magazines to get it level.”
Chase growled a little, a sure sign that he was going to take over in a minute and then the whole interview thing would go straight to hell. Chase didn’t do bad cop. He was more like evil cop.
Christa looked at Chase, her brows rising. “Is there something wrong with him?”
Nat took a sip of her water. “I think that’s how he communicates.”
Eyes narrowed, Chase leaned toward Natalie. “I’ll show you how I communicate later, sweetness. Your backside will appreciate my version of Morse code. Benjamin?”
Yep. That was code for get this moving or the big bad wolf would take over. “So what are the rumors about Mr. Kirkman?”
Christa leaned back. “You’re from Julian Lodge, aren’t you?”
Well, she wasn’t a dummy. “Yes, ma’am. Julian prefers to investigate these things on his own rather than relying on local law enforcement entirely. We’re not trying to take over, simply enhance what I’m sure will be a thorough investigation of the matter.”
A booming laugh filled the café. “Well, aren’t you the politic one?” She turned to Chase. “I bet you aren’t. Tell me what you think of our sheriff, handsome.”
Chase didn’t hesitate. “I think he’s a lazy motherfucker who couldn’t find that enormous hat of his even if I shoved it straight up his ass.”
Christa smiled at Nat. “I like him. You should keep him, hon. Wait. Is this one of those crazy threesome things? It happens more often than you would think.”
“Ms. Wade,” Ben said, desperate to get this whole thing back on track. “The rumors?”
She flushed just a bit, and Ben knew this was going to be good. Maybe not true, but damn good. “You know how the spa has certain levels? Like anyone can go to the lobby or the restaurant but you can’t get to level three without the right credentials?”
Level three was the dungeon and the playroom. A guest had to have the right access codes to get in. They had to be vetted carefully before Julian allowed them a membership to his club. “I understand what you’re saying.”
“Well, there are some locals who tried to get in at the resort and couldn’t, so the rumor is they started their own club.”
Now that was very interesting. He’d heard Chris Linwood had vetted some potential members from the community and turned down almost every single one for one reason or another. Most because they offended Julian’s sensibilities. “There’s a private dungeon in Willow Fork?”
Christa nodded. “A couple, really. Jack and Abby and Sam have a whole guesthouse with the craziest stuff in it, but they are very, very private. This isn’t so private from what I hear. They don’t just let anyone in, but there’s a whole bunch of them. I don’t know if it’s the whips and chains stuff, but I think there’s a lot of swinging going on, if you know what I mean.”
Chase huffed, his nose turning up slightly. Ben nodded. They were on the same page. They didn’t swing unless it involved putting a sweet little sub in suspension for some play. They were both far, far too possessive to share their subs, and Chase was deeply picky. “No, we wouldn’t consider those types for club membership. The Club and its subsidiaries tend to encourage relationships between Doms and subs.”
“Well, I don’t think they’re real interested in relationships at this place,” Christa replied. “And it’s maybe not the cleanest place. I heard from Genna Sue who works for Doc Bob that they’ve had three cases of the Hep in the last year.”
Hepatitis. Easily caught from unprotected sex or needles. And Stan, it seemed, had been into both. Ben would really like to get an invite to that little club. “Do you have any idea where this not-so-private club might be found?”