Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) (12 page)

“I turned on
Ellen
to catch her Taylor Swift interview,” Jenna said. “During the commercial, that woman broadcaster, the one with the real short skirts––”

I interrupted her. “You mean Leila Hansen?”

Jenna nodded. “Yeah, the slutty looking one. She announced the sheriff had arrested the ‘Hangtown Killer’ and that more information would follow on the six o’clock news. Then they showed Dad being walked into the jail with two deputies by his side.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she made no effort to staunch the flow.

I stood and grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter then kissed her on the forehead. As if being a teenager doesn’t provide enough angst, murder kept intruding into her life.

“Why would anyone think Dad killed Mr. Spencer?” Jenna asked.

“I wish I knew,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “I spoke with your grandmother, and she’s hoping your grandfather can find out more details from Tom.”

Assuming Mother didn’t get too distracted herself tonight. Sometimes it irked me a little that my baby boomer mother had more passion in her life than I did.

Prior to Hank’s arrest, I’d thought Tom and I were finally making progress on the romantic front. But his career continually interfered with our relationship coming to a climax––so to speak.

“Why don’t you call Tom and ask him why they put Daddy in jail?” questioned Ben, his green eyes that so resembled his father’s wide and concerned.

“Well, I don’t think I can do that.”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed? Certainly in the course of their investigation, the detectives must have interviewed plenty of people with opinions about Spencer’s possible killer. Why didn’t they bother to interrogate the ex-wife of the primary suspect?

I hugged my son. “You’ll make a better detective than your mother someday. And, you’re right, it’s long past time that I called Kristy’s father.”

Before I could call Tom, the home phone rang and I recognized his cell number on Caller ID. I picked up the cordless phone and headed for the stairs and my bedroom.

I took a deep breath so I wouldn’t feel compelled to blast the man on the other end.

“I bet you never want to see me again,” said Tom, his voice low and apologetic, his comment unerringly accurate.

“That thought crossed my mind once or ten times today,” I replied.

“Look, I wish I could have warned you, but I’ve never experienced a situation like this before. I need to ensure everything is correctly handled and processed.”

“I realize your predicament, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t give me advance warning, or at least ask my opinion.”

“No one else is so closely tied to a suspect. I couldn’t take a chance on you warning Hank and him taking off. Leaving the area or even the country.”

“Hank would never disappear like that,” I argued. “And he would certainly never kill someone.”

“You never know what sets people off.”

“Tom, I know Hank didn’t do it.”

“That’s your emotions talking.”

“Obviously I’m emotional about it. But from an intellectual standpoint, Hank doesn’t hold up as a killer.”

“We have evidence that says otherwise.”

“What kind of evidence?” Maybe I could weasel some answers without resorting to a trip to Naughty Nellie’s. Although I was somewhat curious as to how naughty Nellie’s nighties were.

“I can’t share that information with you,” Tom said through what sounded like gritted teeth, a frequent occurrence in our rocky relationship.

“You’ll have to release your evidence to Hank’s defense attorney, so you might as well share it with me. I’ll find out sooner or later.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“It will, if I have any choice in his attorney. Do you know who Hank hired?”

“I’m not sure. Detective Hennessey is the lead detective. He’s on loan from Sacramento County, but he’ll be working with the El Dorado County District Attorney’s office.”

“I don’t suppose Brian…” I began.

Tom interrupted. “Don’t even think of getting Brian involved. And I have no idea which Deputy DA will get assigned the case.”

“So…?” My head spun with unanswered questions about Hank’s arrest.

“So, are we good?” Tom asked.

ARE WE GOOD
? Was he serious?

“With the investigation closed, I can keep our date tomorrow night.” Tom’s voice softened. “Any chance the two of us can be alone?”

“Since you’ve locked up the kids’ weekend babysitter, what do you think?” Could he hear the frost dripping over the line?

“Look, Laurel, I really want to see you. We need to discuss this face to face, not over the phone.”

“Well…,” I hesitated.

“It’s been a long time since I held you in my arms,” he coaxed. “I’ve missed you.”

My girls perked up at his tender words. So much for my resolve.

“Okay, we’ll keep our date tomorrow night,” I agreed. I mentally vowed to stay cool and composed during our time together. I’d firmly resist Tom’s toffee brown eyes, full lips, muscular chest, and born-to-wear-tight-jeans tush.

And I had exactly twenty-four hours to figure out how I would actually do that.

I’d barely hung up the phone when it rang again. I didn’t recognize the number, but since it belonged in our area code, I answered it. When the operator asked if I would accept a collect call, I knew immediately who was on the other end.

“Thank goodness I got you,” Hank said. “I worried one of the kids would pick up the phone, and I didn’t want them to know what was going on.”

“It’s a little late for that. You made the evening news tonight.”

“This is a freaking nightmare. Are Jenna and Ben okay?”

“They’re upset, of course. But more important, how are you?”

“How do you think I am?” Hank’s tone sounded as bitter as week-old espresso. “I’m in a cell near a drunk who’s been singing ‘Home on the Range’ nonstop for the last three hours. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Have you hired an attorney?”

“They said I don’t qualify for a public defender. That I make too much income. That’s a laugh,” he said, although I could tell from his tone that he was closer to crying than laughing. “So what should I do? I don’t hang out with criminal attorneys. Can you help me?”

“Bradford or Brian might have some suggestions as to a good defense attorney. I’ll see what I can find out. Anything else?”

“Just pray for me.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of evidence they have against you?”

“No. It must be some kind of stupid mistake.”

“Tom and I are having dinner tomorrow night. Maybe he’ll share something with me.”

“You’re still dating that jerk?” Hank sounded more horrified than if I were dating a zombie. “After he arrested your husband? I bet he threw me in jail to get me out of your life.”

“Ex-husband,” I corrected. “And I’m as upset as you are. But this has to be some kind of mix-up.”

“Let’s hope so,” Hank said. “If not––”

I heard a click followed by the dial tone.

It didn’t surprise me that Mother’s vast database of real estate clients included an attorney or two who specialized in criminal law. Bradford chimed in with a list of defense attorneys he’d butted heads with in the past. A few of them, he grudgingly admitted, were darn good at their jobs.

After reviewing the list, I placed a call to Rex Ashford, the top defense lawyer in town according to both Bradford and Brian. My rooster clock chimed twelve times in the background, each chime sounding louder and surlier than the last, reminding me it was midnight. I assumed Rex wouldn’t respond until the morning, but criminal attorneys apparently keep odd hours. He picked up on the third ring.

I shared everything I knew about Hank’s situation with Rex, which took all of about thirty seconds. Since he practiced in Placerville, he already knew about the case. He promised to contact the Sheriff’s Office immediately to determine what evidence they possessed. Then he would meet with Hank as soon as possible the following day.

“It isn’t often, Ms. McKay, that I receive a call from a woman looking to hire an attorney on behalf of her ex-husband,” he said. “Usually they want me to find a way to put their ex-husband
in jail
, not get him out.”

“Well, we’re one big dysfunctional family. I should probably inform you that Detective Tom Hunter and I have been dating the past few months. That may have complicated the situation a tad.”

“You and Hunter are together?” Rex roared with laughter. “This case is getting more and more interesting.”

The attorney continued to chuckle as we hung up. As I climbed into bed, I realized we’d never discussed his fee structure. I suspected criminal defense attorneys made more in a few hours than I made in a week. Maybe he’d give a discount for the most entertaining case of the year.

I closed my eyes and tried counting sheep, but my busy brain decided to count the funds in my savings account instead. I finally realized it would be easier to solve the case myself than it would be to find the money to pay for an attorney. A Saturday morning visit to the Main Street businesses might provide a few answers to my many questions. It also might provide me with a hot outfit to entice my even hotter detective into divulging a detail or two about his latest homicide case.

I woke the next morning even more exhausted than the night before. I scrutinized my cheeks in the mirror, hoping the tiny lines creasing my face were due to me hugging my pillow all night and not a sign of my impending fortieth birthday.

The men in my life were certainly not helping me age gracefully.

The kids remained asleep, so I crept down the stairs into the kitchen. I brewed coffee then went outside to retrieve the morning paper. A few minutes later, I sat at the table with a cup of hot Kona coffee and a bowl of bran flakes in front of me. I flipped through the reams of advertising and finally pulled out the main section of the
Sacramento Bee
, which for some reason always ended up buried among the ads. I grabbed my spoon, turned the front page over and immediately dropped the utensil on the floor.

It had been several years since I’d gazed at my ex-husband over the breakfast table. This morning Hank faced me from the front page in full handcuffed ignominy.

The headline read
Hangman Arrested in Hangtown Homicide
.

The reporter spent several paragraphs detailing Darius Spencer’s candidacy as well as his numerous community activities. The article said the victim had hired Hank to remodel the Hangtown Hotel. That was the sole mention of my ex. Not a scrap of information on the reason for Hank’s arrest. Nor any mention that he’d formerly been married to
moi
. A fortunate omission but likely a short-lived respite. The odds of a reporter calling the ex-wife for a comment were increasing by the minute.

I shoved back my chair with so much force it smacked against the wall. Then I dumped my untouched cereal down the drain. If I didn’t help Hank get out of jail, my children could be scarred for life.

This mother was not about to let that happen.

There was little time to waste. If I wanted to pick up any gossip, the first place I should start would be the Hangtown Bakery where I could find hot donuts and even hotter gossip. I had a feeling Hank and I would need all the help we could get.

An hour later, I sniffed the soothing scents of cinnamon, chocolate and coffee permeating the air at Hangtown Bakery. A hint of something else tickled my sensory memory bank. A voice cackled from the rear of the large room, and nostalgia flooded my being as I recognized the familiar scent.

Mothballs and magnolia. My grandmother’s favorite perfume combined with the smell of her closets brought back memories of my youth, playing hide and seek with my brother in the nooks and crannies of her house. Gosh, I hated to think of her selling that beautiful old Victorian. It might be time to chat with my mother and see if I could talk her out of listing Gran’s property.

You can’t put a price on childhood memories.

Gran waved at me from her table in the rear. I squeezed between the crowded tables to join her and her friends. The three Miss Marples from the historical society blinked at me from behind their thick glasses. If not for their jogging outfits, each in a different pastel color, I’d never be able to tell them apart.

“Just the person we wanted to see,” crowed Gran. “We might’ve found our killer.”

Thirty pastry-eating, coffee-drinking heads turned in our direction. Subtlety was not Gran’s motto.

An unoccupied chair sat at the table next to Gran’s. The young couple making googly eyes at each other ignored me when I asked to borrow it. I squeezed the wooden chair between Gran and Miss Marple One, the tallest of the trio.

Gran seemed perturbed by my lack of enthusiasm. “You don’t look all that excited about our discovery.”

“Oh, no, that’s great,” I said. “One less dead body for me to worry about.”

She patted my palm with her own small hand. “I saw the article about Hank’s arrest in the paper this morning and called your mother. Barbara said you had the situation under control. How are my great-grandkids taking the news about their father?”

“Not well.” My eyes started to tear. All three Miss Marples reached into their oversized purses to offer me an assortment of embroidered hankies. I didn’t want my mascara to permanently stain the starched white linen, so I reached into my purse for a tissue to handle any cosmetic damage.

“I hired an attorney for Hank last night,” I said, “so hopefully he’ll be out of jail soon.”

“Those bozos at the Sheriff’s Department couldn’t find a killer if he walked into their office and confessed,” Gran declared to her friends.

“Don’t forget I’m dating the head bozo.”

“Oops.” She turned to the Miss Marple to her left. “Looks like we have another mystery to solve.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said sharply. “The only murder you’re allowed to investigate is your grandfather’s case. So what did you find out?”

The Marples leaned in, their fluffy white heads bobbing as Gran spoke.