Free 01 - Playing with Poison by Cindy Blackburn Page B

should talk to.
    “How about Kirby and Gus? And maybe the Allens? They were all here Saturday. Shooting pool.”
    And apparently a couple of them had dated Candy. I turned to watch the game. As usual, Kirby Cox was being clobbered, but not by one of the regulars.
    “Who’s that with Kirby?” I asked over my shoulder.
    “John something.”
    “Was he here Saturday?” I twirled back to face the bar, and Bryce shook his head.
    “John’s new. He just moved here.”
    I assessed the situation. Talking with my buddies at the pool table would be easiest, so I would tackle that last. And it might be better to approach Audrey Dibble after I had consumed a bit more alcohol. I decided to interrogate Evan McCloy first.
    He was at the opposite end of the bar, deep in conversation with a young woman, whom he seemed to be impressing with who knows what. I kept my eye on him and waved when he looked up. His frown reminded me I was old enough to be his mother, but this was no time to take offense.
    “Get Evan over here, will you, Bryce?”
    He tapped the bar until I looked up. “Be careful,” he said. He stood still while I let that sink in, then went to retrieve Evan.
    ***
    As Karen would say, Evan was slick. Just like his friend Stanley, he was a little too handsome and a little too well dressed. Evan McCloy was definitely not your sandal-wearing kind of guy.
    Bryce wasn’t nearly as well heeled or sophisticated, but bless his heart, he was persistent. He talked, he bounced, he drummed, and he tapped, while Evan and his lady friend scowled and frowned. Eventually, Evan got tired of watching all the fidgeting. He gave up and stood up.
    Yeah, Bryce! I got a whiff of heavy cologne as Evan came closer, but I smiled anyway and reintroduced myself.
    “I know who you are,” he said and shook my hand. “Where’s Candy?” He looked over my shoulder as if I might be hiding her somewhere.
    “She’s not here,” I said firmly. I asked Bryce to refill whatever Evan was drinking, and then watched Evan look everywhere but at me.
    “What is it you want, ma’am?” His eyes finally found mine as I handed him a Long Island Iced Tea.
    “I want to know who killed Stanley Sweetzer,” I said, and Evan almost choked on an ice cube.
    Okay, so maybe that was a bit abrupt. I waited until he stopped coughing and tried a more subtle approach. “I understand you talked to Stanley on Saturday night?” I said in my most soothing voice.
    “I’ve already spoken to the cops about it. Three times.”
    “Oh?” I raised an encouraging eyebrow, but Evan only frowned.
    “Like I told the police, I don’t know anything,” he said and started to walk away.
    “I invested with Stanley,” I blurted out.
    Evan stopped and turned.
    I blinked twice but decided it was too late to take it back. I dug my grave a little deeper. “And now, of course, I’m looking for a new financial advisor.” I tried looking woefully inept about finances—a task which was not all that difficult.
    Evan smiled, and as I gulped champagne, offered what sounded like an infomercial on his place of employment. He droned on and on about how many decades Boykin and Dent Investment Management had been protecting the financial interests of the fine residents of Clarence. The report was altogether riveting, but I interrupted anyway.
    “I’m wondering about Stanley’s other clients?” I said. “I would just love to talk to them. You know, to find what they’re doing now that Stanley’s gone?”
    Evan backed away, and I remembered too late about the value of subtlety.
    “You really think I’m that stupid?” he asked.
    Well, I was rather hoping.
    “I just can’t go spouting off about our clients.” He took another step back. “It’s unethical. And it’s against the law, even if I did know what Stan was up to.”
    He finished his drink in one gulp and shoved the empty at me. “I’m out of here,” he said and practically ran for the front door.
    Bryce walked over and