Bait & Switch (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 1) by Jerusha Jones Page A

that’s what I did. Then I washed my hands about ten times.”
    “You didn’t tell the police?” I hunched over the phone with my elbows on my knees.
    It was so silent on the other end of the line I thought he’d hung up. “Well, I just — it could have been a mistake, you know.”
    “It wasn’t a mistake. It’s a message.”
    Leroy whimpered. “I’m leaving. I have to get out of here.” Panic rose in his voice, and there were thumping noises as if he was lugging a suitcase out of a closet, or repeatedly walking into a wall.
    “Did you betray Skip?” I blurted. A shadow passed over, and I glanced up to see I had an audience — both Matt and Clarice wide-eyed and leaning on the kitchen table on either side of my chair. I pushed the speaker button.
    “What? No. No, no, no. I just needed a little more, what with the kids being in college and all, and Josie wanted vacations to someplace warm. I just, you know, collected a commission. Not enough anyone would notice.”
    “The finger says they noticed.”
    “I’m sorry.” Leroy had sunk to whining. “Tell them I’m sorry, Nora. I can pay them back, with interest. I just need a little time—” More thumping and ragged panting.
    “Where’s Skip,” I asked through clenched teeth.
    “I don’t know. How am I supposed to know? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Everything was going smoothly. No complaints, a couple meetings. Mixing business with pleasure, no worries. Something happened. I don’t know. And now they’re after me. I never did anything. I’m not the mastermind—” There was a horrible metallic screeching.
    “Leroy?” I shouted.
    “Garage door’s jammed. I gotta go, Nora. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered and hung up.
    Matt grabbed my phone and pushed buttons to see the caller ID. “Does that answer your question about Skip’s innocence?”
    “No.” I scowled. “How can it? You heard him. Skip’s disappearance wasn’t planned.”
    “And Leroy is a credible source?” Matt snorted.
    Clarice was madly thumbing through her Day-Timer. She pounced on an entry and jotted a note on a scrap paper which she handed to Matt. “The address for Leroy’s cabin. I understand the electricity is from a generator and they have well water. It’s way out.”
    “Check the trash cans for another finger,” I added. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to leave the country, and I’d also be willing to speculate that he won’t go to Mexico because of what happened to us there.”
    Matt made a few terse phone calls. Clarice handed me a stack of plates and silverware to set the table for dinner and returned to the stove.
    We devoured the creamy casserole and green beans. Matt wolfed down three servings, seemingly unperturbed by the Hamburger Helper nature of the dish or by his handling of a dismembered finger earlier.
    When he came up for air and sat rotating his mug of after-meal coffee in slow clockwise circles on the tabletop, he turned to me. “Why are you so set on defending Skip?”
    I choked on the last of my beans. “It might have something to do with the fact that I’m married to him.”
    “But the evidence—”
    “Is inconclusive, at best,” I snapped. “You don’t know him, his kindness. Look at me. Would you call this trophy wife material? Yeah, me neither. Considering Skip’s wealth and reputation, he could have married anyone, and yet he picked me.”
    Matt stared at me for a long minute. “What if he picked you because you’re loyal? Because you know your way around international banking? Because you don’t fold under pressure? Because you have spunk?”
    “You’re saying Skip’s playing me?”
    “He’s conned some of the shiftiest criminals in the business. Maybe he’s conning you too.”
    Clarice nudged my knee under the table.
    I knew what she was asking and nodded. “It’s okay. I want to get to the bottom of this.”
    She retrieved Skip’s journal from her handbag and tossed it to Matt. I explained