Mug Shot (12 page)

“What was I supposed to do when the police questioned me about that night? Lie?”

“No, I guess not…”

Stan frowned. “You always take his side.”

“So? He's my best friend. I know him better than I know anyone.”

“Your best friend. Right,” Stan replied, looking away and seeming disgusted.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“Nothing.” He shook his head and sighed. “Juliet, I'm under a lot of stress right now. I'm sorry…”

Feeling bad about snapping at him, especially after finding out he hadn't run to the police with the intention of casting doubt on Pete, I put my hand on his arm. “I know it's been a horrible week for you.”

Stan's shoulders slumped. “You don't know the half of it.”

“What else is wrong? Tell me.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Running his fingers through his hair, he turned around and walked a few steps away from me. Something more was going on with Stan, there was no doubt. “I don't want to involve you.”

I walked around to stand in front of him again. “You seem like you need to get something off your chest. I'm more than happy to listen.”

He took my hand. “You really are the only person in my corner.”

Great, now I felt like a total ass. Minutes ago I was trying to get him to confess to murder. I definitely owed him a little compassion at this point. “Whatever it is, I want to help you get through it.”

“It might make more sense if I show you something first. I'm warning you, though, you might change your mind once you find out the sordid details.”

His words made me a little nervous, but I agreed to go with him anyway.

Stan drove us toward town, stopping the car in a dark parking lot next to some run-down buildings down by the river. We weren't in the safest area, especially being across the street from the nasty, scary bar named The Dirty Duck. If I hadn't already decided he wasn't a murderer, I might have been wary of being alone with him in our current location.

He gestured toward the buildings. “This is my original inheritance. I'm the proud new owner of all these crummy, neglected warehouses, as far as the eye can see.”

“Yeah, they are a little on the icky side,” I agreed.

He replied, “They're also quite a money pit. Some of them are rented and generating a little income, but the others are actually costing me money in insurance and electricity.”

“So sell them.”

“That's where my problem comes in. A few of them have structural damage…and a few of them have…uninvited guests.”

“What, like feral cats or something?”

“I wish. When Grandmother owned those buildings, she let them fall into terrible disrepair. Some of them have been taken over by homeless people, and there are all kinds of underhanded business dealings going on there as well.”

“So call the cops and have all of your problems physically removed.”

“I would, but…”

“But what?”

Stan sighed, clearly not wanting to tell me the rest. He looked away and admitted, “There are also a couple of meth labs set up in there.”

“No kidding. You can smell it from here.” When we pulled up, a sharp, chemical smell that was very familiar to me had started permeating the car.

“How did you recognize the odor?”

“When I was living with my parents, our neighbors had a meth lab in their shed out back that stunk up the entire neighborhood.”

“That's terrible.”

“Yes, but back to you. Someone else running a meth lab on your property is definitely something to go to the police about.”

“I can't. The men making the meth said if I turn them in to the police, they'll say I'm in on it…or just kill me.”

“What?” I cried, grabbing his arm so he would look at me. “You're being blackmailed?”

“Yes, and that's why I didn't want to tell you about it. I knew you'd either worry or try to talk me into going to the police.”

“Well, you're right, I'm going to do
both
of those things. Stan, you can't go along with this. It makes you an accomplice at best and a loose end at worst. You have to let the police protect you.”

Stan shook his head. “It's not that simple.”

“It seems pretty simple to me. Do you really want to let the bad guys put drugs out on the street when you could do something to stop it?”

He wiped a hand down his face. “I don't know what to do anymore. I'm not feeling very well. If you don't mind, I think I'll drop you back at Java Jive.”

I reached over and gave him a hug. “It's not a problem. Go home and get some rest.”

He drove us back in silence, and I could tell that this had to be eating him up inside.

When I opened my door to get out, I said, “Stan, please promise me you'll think about going to the police. They'll find out sooner or later, and if you don't come clean before then, you're going to be in some serious legal trouble.”

“I know, I know. I'll think about it.”

“Good.”

He looked at me apologetically. “I'm sorry, Juliet. I'm not being much of a gentleman. Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.”

I smiled. “You're welcome. I'll see you soon.”

I went into the coffeehouse and cleaned up our dishes and the rest of my mess from making dinner then headed out to my car. I called Ryder on the short ride over to my apartment. After Stan dropped the bomb about the meth lab, I didn't feel much like going out, but I still had a strong urge to see Ryder. He'd taken my mind off Pete getting arrested last night, so I thought seeing him might help tonight as well.

He answered, “Hey, I thought you had a thing until eight.”

“It got over early. Want to pick me up now?”

“What if I'm busy? Maybe I have a thing.”

“You don't have a thing. You're just trying to mess with me.”

“You got me. I'll be there in ten.”

While waiting for Ryder to show up, I paced in front of my window and fretted over what Stan had told me. Of all things, why did he have to get mixed up with meth makers? Aside from being illegal and dangerous, it was monumentally stupid, especially now that he owned Hollingsworth Industries. Everything, including his family's company, could be taken from him if he didn't protect himself from those goons. He had to go to the police, and fast. There was no other way around it.

As soon as Ryder's car pulled into my parking lot, I hurried from my apartment and down the stairs. He was getting out of his car as I hopped off the last step.

Ryder complained, “Aw, why did you have to come down so quick? I was going to do the whole balcony scene for you.”

Cocking my head to the side, I scoffed, “The
whole
balcony scene, really?”

“Well, you know, the ‘But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?' part.”

“That's only one soliloquy, Romeo, not the whole scene.”

“But it was going to be awesome.”

“What, was it going to make my panties magically fall off?”

“That was the plan.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Dinner? A bar? A movie?”

“A bar. Take me to a bar.”

We got in his car and headed toward downtown. Ryder asked nonchalantly, “What were you and Stan Hollingsworth doing tonight at Java Jive?”

My mouth dropped open. “How did you…”

“I'm a detective.”

“You're a
stalker
,” I huffed.

“What the hell were you doing alone with him? You think he's the killer, don't you?”

I wrinkled my brow. “Well, not so much now. I questioned him all during dinner, and I don't think he did it.”

“Using your mad detective skills again, Scooby?”

Ryder could get under my skin faster than anyone alive. “Shut up.”

He chuckled to himself and kept on driving.

After I had given myself a few minutes to cool off, I asked quietly, “Have you checked on Pete lately?” I was thankful for all of the distractions I'd had today so I didn't sit around and worry about Pete, but I still was never able to put his predicament totally out of my mind.

Ryder reached over and took my hand. “He's fine. I talked to him this evening. He told me to tell you to quit worrying.”

That was Pete. He was probably sitting around in his jail cell stressing over the fact that
I
was upset. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I held them back. “Thanks for looking out for him. It really means a lot to me.”

Grinning at me, he said, “Someday I'm going to cash in all the brownie points I'm earning for this.”

“I should have known you had an ulterior motive.”

He parked the car, and we headed to Broadway on foot. “Where to?” he asked.

My mind was waffling between worrying about Pete and Stan. I shrugged. “Wherever.”

“Tin Roof?”

“Sure,” I said absently as we crossed the street.

He leaned toward me and nudged my shoulder as we were walking. “You okay? You're not yourself tonight.”

I shook my head. “I know, and I'm sorry. I can't seem to turn my brain off.”

“A few drinks should help with that,” he said, ushering me into the bar.

We found a booth near the back and sat down. There was a live band playing, so it would be a little difficult to have too in-depth a conversation, which wasn't a bad thing. My mind was on Stan's dilemma, and Ryder was the last person I could confide in about that. He called the server over and ordered us a couple of drinks.

Reaching across the table, he grabbed my hand. “Talk to me. There's something up with you. I can tell. Is that asshole Stan bothering you?”

“No, nothing like that. I don't want to talk about Stan.”

“Then maybe you should stop seeing him, like I've suggested several times.”

“Stan is not the monster people seem to think he is.”

Ryder snorted. “I think the real problem is that he's snowing you, sweetheart.”

I jerked my hand away. “I'm not an idiot.”

“No, but he's definitely not a straight arrow.”

“Most men aren't, in my experience.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Touché. So are you going to tell me or not?”

“No, and you can quit interrogating me any time now, Detective.”

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Is there any topic of conversation that would be safe? Current events? The weather?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry I'm edgy. I have a lot going on right now.”

Covering my hands with his, he said, “I know.”

Luckily, our server brought our drinks just then, so we had a break in our awkward conversation.

I sucked my cocktail down in under a minute, but Ryder nursed his beer more slowly. His eyes were trained on my hands, or so I thought.

“Is that a new bracelet?” he asked. So that was what he was studying so carefully. I had a feeling this was going to get ugly.

“Yes.”

A crease appeared in his forehead. “Did he give it to you?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

He flicked his eyes up to meet mine and didn't answer. His anger was apparent and only thinly veiled.

“What, are you jealous?” I asked.

“You're damn right I am. I can't begin to understand why you seem to think it's okay to date both of us at the same time.”

Ryder of all people did not have
any
room to judge another person's dating habits.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “First, and most importantly, neither of you own me. It's the twenty-first century, and I can date a hundred men at the same time if I want to. And second, I don't even know if I
want
to date you again. It's not like we can simply jump back in where we left off.”

“How many times do I have to apologize?” he growled. “Do you have a number in mind?”

“No, but for a start, you could quit being such a dick about my trust issues.”

We stared at each other for a long moment.

I looked away first. “Maybe we're not ready for this.”

“Maybe not.” He threw several bills on the table and stood up.

We walked out of the bar and to his car without speaking. The ride back to my apartment was equally uncomfortable.

With the million thoughts swirling around in my head, I finally settled on one that could possibly come back to bite me in the butt. And Ryder happened to be the perfect person to give me some advice, as long as I could be vague enough not to arouse too much suspicion.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said.

He glanced over at me warily. “Sure.”

“Is there any legal trouble a person could get into for not tipping off the police about the existence of a meth lab?”

Ryder furrowed his brow. “That was certainly
not
the question I thought you were going to ask me. Uh…it depends on the situation. I mean, it's one thing not to tattle on your idiot friend who's cooking meth on his kitchen stove, but it's another thing to be questioned about it and lie to the cops. Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So who's making meth?”

“Am I being questioned by the cops?”

Ryder got that condescending look on his face he was so good at. “Let me rephrase that. Did you see someone making meth, or do you just think someone's making meth?”

“I smelled someone making meth.”

His mouth twitched. “You smelled it.”

“Yes.”

“How does a sweet thing like you know what a clan lab smells like?”

“I'm from Indiana. It's the freaking meth capital of the world.”

“Classy.”

“Yes, that's why very few Hoosiers have all of their teeth,” I said.

He laughed. I loved his laugh. He pulled to a stop in my apartment complex's parking lot and turned to me. “Seriously, though, tell me more about this meth lab.”

I shook my head. “I can't. Not right now.”

His eyes darkened. “The drug scene is more dangerous than you can imagine. If I even
think
you're snooping around a meth lab, I'll arrest you myself.”

I rolled my eyes. “You'd just love to cuff me, wouldn't you?”

“I can't say the thought has never crossed my mind.”

“I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or disgusted.” I moved to get out of his car, and he grabbed my hand. His touch shot a spark all the way through me.

“Promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

Just when I was beginning to think he wasn't all bad, he had to go and throw out an insult. Frowning, I jerked my hand away. “Goodbye, Detective.”