Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) (17 page)

“I wonder why he didn’t run in the first place.”

“Managing a winery is a huge job. Maybe Spencer’s constituents persuaded Chad to run after Spencer died.” I stopped. “Or maybe someone else did.”

I pointed toward the steps of the courthouse where the new candidate and the former candidate’s wife stood engrossed in conversation. And based on the rapt look on her face, possibly in one another.

“Would it be rude to interrupt them?” Stan asked me. A few pedestrians directed dirty looks at us for halting in the middle of a sidewalk teeming with two-footed traffic. With my children’s father in jail on a murder charge, discretion took a back seat to detecting. I grabbed Stan’s arm and race-walked toward the animated couple. Janet noticed our approach and turned to greet me.

“Hi, Laurel,” she said. The widow was appropriately dressed in black. And white. And lime green. The floral print sleeveless top and Capri outfit accentuated her toned Zumba-practicing body. The bronze highlights in her new sleek haircut gleamed in the sunlight.

Stan put out his hand and introduced himself as my coworker. Chad pumped Stan’s hand with the fervor of an about-to run-for-office candidate. He then tried to lead Janet away.

I delayed their departure by giving her a comforting hug. “You’re looking much better.”

Talk about an understatement. Janet looked ravishing as well as radiant. Her cheeks colored as she glanced at Chad. “I’m trying to get on with my life.”

Obviously.

“When is the memorial service?” I asked.

“They finally released my poor husband to Collier’s Funeral Home.” Janet said, her voice calm, her mascara-lashed eyes bone dry. “The service will be Thursday night. I hope you’ll attend.”

“Of course, I’ll be there to support you.” And sniff out some suspects.

“I understand you’re running for Supervisor,” Stan said to Chad.

Chad’s heavy dark brows drew together. “Where did you hear that bit of gossip?”

I could see the “oops” register in Stan’s eyes.

“Oh, somewhere on Main Street,” I said, waving my hand airily in all directions. “You know how news travels in this town.”

“I haven’t officially decided on a write-in campaign yet, so I would be deeply appreciative if you wouldn’t spread that rumor any further.”

Stan mimed zipping his lip. If only Chad knew how worthless that gesture was. Stan could spread gossip faster than a Twitter feed.

“Of course, we won’t.” I assured Chad. “But you’d be a wonderful candidate.”

“Chad is the perfect person to step into the vacancy,” Janet gushed. “I’m sure Spencer would be the first to approve.”

She made the sign of the cross then peered up at the sky. I followed her gaze. Was she searching for Spencer’s spirit? Or focusing on the last place where her husband had been seen.

Swinging in the wind.

“I think my cousin would be pleased I’m providing a choice for his constituents,” Chad said.

The smile Janet beamed at Chad made me wonder if he’d also taken Spencer’s place in his master suite. Is that what they meant by politics making strange bedfellows?

Chad said goodbye, turning to leave, when I remembered a comment the winery owner had made the night Spencer and Hank fought.

“Say, Chad, when I saw you at the Cornbread and Cowpokes event, you mentioned something about a loan question for me. Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked, curious how I could assist the possible future supervisor.

With a bland expression on his face he replied, “I got the answer to my question. Thanks for asking, and don’t forget to vote.” He winked and with his hand against Janet’s back, guided her down the street.

We watched as the couple entered campaign headquarters. I wondered if Anita would mention that a couple of sneaky supporters dropped by and snatched a surreptitious peek at the press release on her desk.

Stan glanced at his watch. “We better get back to work, but let’s walk by Antiques Galore on the way. I bet they have a great window display.”

We crossed the street then passed by the Candy Emporium without stopping inside. If that wasn’t a crime, I didn’t know what was. But we were short on time and, after our bakery stop, long on calories.

We reached Antiques Galore and Stan’s eyes widened at the display of matching antique Colt guns Scott had sold to Abe. “I would love to own an authentic set of pistols,” he mused. “They would really set the tone for my Wagon Train outfit.”

Yes, they would, especially if they came with a red-fringed holster.

By three that afternoon, I realized my list of murder suspects was longer than my list of suitable Wagon Train decorations. It had been ten years since Hangtown Bank last participated in the contest. Most of the stored items were so worn they looked as if they had crossed the Sierras with the Donner Party. Moths had noshed on a box full of wool cowboy hats, and it appeared that a mouse or two had nibbled their way through some of the straw items.

Mr. Boxer frowned when I shared the bad news, but after he personally pawed through the remaining boxes, he relented and provided some petty cash to buy extra decorations. I put together a list of items that might give the bank a shot at winning the contest.

Bales of hay strewn throughout the bank would take up a lot of space. My friend Vicky Parsons owned a ranch in Gold Hill, a few miles outside Coloma. She might have some bales she could spare. Also, bridles, saddles and other horse tack to add to my equine theme.

And if I could borrow a horse to tie to a lamppost the trophy would be a lock.

I arrived home a few minutes before six. Jenna had assured me dinner would be on the table. With school out for summer break, someone needed to watch Ben. Babysitting combined with domestic chores made for a perfect summer job for my daughter.

The sound of two chattering voices emanating from the family room piqued my curiosity. I discovered Kristy Hunter and Ben playing a video game. Despite their mismatched sizes and gender, the eight-year-olds enjoyed each other’s company. Fair-haired Kristy was only a few inches shy of my height. Ben was undersized for his age, although what he lacked in inches, he made up for in energy.

“Kazoom, I got him,” crowed Ben, his Play Station control in hand.

I yelled hello to both children. Engrossed in their game, they nodded their heads, acknowledging my presence. An exotic and savory fragrance lured me into the kitchen.

“Something smells yummy,” I said to my daughter who stood at the stove stirring a large pan loaded with chicken and assorted vegetables.

“It’s my own recipe,” Jenna replied. “I’m calling it California Curry, a milder version of the original recipe.”

“You can name it whatever you want. I can’t wait to try it.” I pointed in the direction of the family room. “What’s Kristy doing here?”

Jenna placed the lid on the pan and turned to face me. “Tom called. His mother had an eye appointment and Kristy’s grandfather needed to drive her to Sacramento. Tom asked if I could watch Kristy and I said yes. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Of course not. Anything to keep Ben occupied.”

“Exactly.” Jenna’s grin displayed her orthodontic-perfected and financially crushing set of teeth. “I also invited Tom for dinner.”

I raised an eyebrow at her initiative. “Did he accept?”

The doorbell rang answering my question. I trotted to the front door and flung it wide open. The man standing on my doorstep may have been partially responsible for putting my ex-husband in jail, but I couldn’t deny my attraction to him.

He shoved his hand through his wind-whipped hair and hesitated, as if trying to gauge my reaction to his presence. Then he smiled that sexy smile I could never resist.

My heart executed two double back flips and some other invested body parts applauded with wicked abandon. Tom’s arms reached for me and I moved into his welcoming embrace. He smelled like a lime daiquiri and tasted even better.

The fireworks I felt from his smoldering kiss were hotter than the curry Jenna would be serving for dinner. They were louder too. Thirty seconds into Tom’s embrace I broke away when I realized we had an audience of two kids providing surround sound fireworks with their portable video games.

“Hi, Daddy,” said Kristy.

Tom removed his arms from around me and shifted them to his daughter.

“Can I stay and eat dinner with Ben?” she asked, snuggling against her father’s broad chest.

“We can both stay,” he said, “but as soon as dinner is over, we need to go home. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

Jenna announced dinner and led us to our formal dining room. She’d set the table with the gold-trimmed wedding china that normally appeared only at holiday functions. I began to have an inkling Jenna had cooked up something besides dinner tonight.

The California Curry turned out to be a nice surprise, flavorful but not overpowering. The spices simmered on my tongue instead of burning my taste buds.

“Terrific meal,” Tom said to my daughter. “You must have inherited your mother’s cooking skills.”

Jenna choked on her water but politely refrained from telling Tom that the only person who raved about my culinary expertise was Ben, whose gourmet favorites included hot dogs and pizza––the kind delivered to our doorstep.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the meal,” said Jenna. “I realize you’ve been working long hours trying to get our father released from jail.”

I gagged on my iced tea. My daughter really was a chip off her mother’s block. I managed a straight face while I waited for the detective’s response.

His right shoe bumped against my left sandal. If Tom expected me to come to his rescue, he could be waiting until we served breakfast the next morning.

“So how come you arrested Ben’s dad?” asked Kristy, turning a puzzled look to her own father. “Did he do something bad?”

Tom cleared his throat as four pairs of eyes stared at him. “Detectives don’t decide if people did bad things. That’s what juries are for, and technically, I didn’t arrest their father. The Sacramento detectives handling this case made that call.”

Jenna’s dropped fork clinked against her china plate. “But you didn’t do anything to stop them, did you?”

I felt horrible that Jenna had maneuvered Tom into this awkward discussion although her train of thought was hurtling down the same track as mine.

Tom pushed his plate aside, but he didn’t shy away from meeting her accusing gaze. “There’s evidence you don’t know about, Jenna, evidence I can’t possibly share with you. Since I’m dating your mother, the county hired outside help to ensure there was no conflict of interest. Based on their discoveries, they had no choice but to arrest your father. I’m as sorry as you are about the situation.”

Jenna rose from the table, her body rigid. “Yeah, right. If you really cared about my mother,” her voice shook, “and us, you wouldn’t rely on their so-called ‘evidence.’ You’d try to find the real killer.”

She flounced out of the room. The sound of the kitchen screen door banging shut indicated her departure from the house. I hoped the cool night air would calm down her redheaded temper.

Ben and Kristy exchanged glances but remained silent. Tom stood up from the table, holding a plate full of his unfinished dinner. “It’s time to go, Kristy. Let’s take our dishes to the kitchen and leave.”

Tom and his daughter placed their plates on my tiled counter. Then Kristy grabbed her backpack from the family room and mumbled a quiet goodbye to Ben. I followed them to the front porch. Tom told his daughter to wait in his car while we said goodbye.

“Sorry about the grilling,” I said. “My daughter is sneakier than I realized. I’ll get her so she can apologize.”

“No, it’s okay. I hope Kristy would defend me just as fiercely as Jenna’s doing for her dad.” He tried for a smile. “I’m not even going to comment about any resemblance between mother and daughter. I’m in enough hot water to fill a hot tub.”

“You can’t blame my kids. This is a monstrous situation.”

Tom looked down at his feet. “Look, I truly feel powerless at this point, but I’ve seen the evidence and it’s a solid case.”

“You don’t feel the detectives acted prematurely in arresting Hank? Did they interview every potential suspect? From what I’ve gathered, enough people disliked Spencer to fill a town hall meeting.”

“Laurel, you know as well as I do that merely because there’s enmity between two people, it doesn’t turn one of them into a homicidal killer.”

“So you’re just going to sit and do nothing despite a list of suspects longer than Ben’s Christmas list?”

Tom put his arms around me. “My hands are tied. Don’t you realize that?”

I stepped back from his embrace. “I’m trying, but it isn’t easy. And I hope you can understand I’ll continue doing whatever I can to free Hank.”

Tom’s eyes darkened as they locked with mine. “Not that long ago you couldn’t stand the man’s guts. Has something changed between the two of you?”

“Of course not,” I protested, “But…

The shriek of a car horn startled us before I could expand on my reply. Kristy waved at her father to hurry up.

“You better go,” I said to Tom. “Your daughter is waiting for you. And my daughter needs her mother more than ever right now.”

The next morning, I woke with my cotton sheet wrapped around me and my blanket on the floor. My bedtime antics were burning off calories faster than my Zumba class. In my opinion, tossing and turning all night attempting to sleep is
not
the highest and best use of a king-size bed.

I reflected on my problematic relationship with Tom. Maybe I should resign myself to spending the rest of my life as a single woman, growing old with my kids and making weekly visits to my ex-husband in prison.

I groaned thinking about the arraignment today. I’d told Hank when I visited him in jail that I wanted to go to the courthouse to show support, but he’d been resolute about me not attending the brief hearing. Hank said seeing my tearful face in public would be too traumatic for him. Plus it could take hours for the court to process their huge caseload.