Mug Shot (13 page)

“Juliet.”

I felt like I was in a dense fog, but I thought I heard someone calling my name.

“Juliet!”

“Ah!” I cried, as I jerked awake and splashed hot coffee onto my hand. I swore under my breath and ran to the sink, letting the cold water pour over my red palm. Once my hand no longer felt like it was on fire, I returned to where I'd been standing across the counter from Gertie.

“Did you just fall asleep standing up?” Rhonda asked, leaving her post at the pastry case to come over and make fun of me.

“No,” I snapped, wiping the spilled coffee off the counter.

She chortled. “Yes, you did. In all of my fifty years, I don't think I've ever seen anyone do that before.”

Gertie came to bat for me. “Blow it out your ass, Rhonda.”

Rhonda glared at Gertie and shuffled back over to the pastry case.

Rubbing my eyes, I explained to Gertie, “I really haven't slept since Pete got arrested.” Plus after my horrible “dates” last night, I had even more to worry over. The few hours of fitful sleep I got was not nearly enough for me, but I still had to be at Java Jive by six to start making the pastries for the day.

“Join the damn club.”

I hadn't thought about how Gertie was dealing with all of this. “Sorry. How are you holding up?”

“Don't you have other customers to bother?” she asked grumpily.

I looked around. “Not really. It's kind of dead in here this morning.”

“Nice choice of words.”

“Right, sorry.” Gertie didn't seem to want to talk, so I excused myself. “I have some work to do in the office. I guess I'll see you in court, then?”

She nodded. Poor Gertie. Pete and his sister were like her own children. When their mother left, Gertie had stepped right in without batting an eye. After the loss of her son, George, earlier this year, Pete being in trouble was probably more than she could stand.

I pulled a double shot of espresso for myself and squirted in a generous serving of caramel syrup to tone down the bitterness. I didn't have time to sit around and sip my espresso the proper way—this drink was specifically for chugging, because I needed to mainline some caffeine, stat. Retreating to the office, I gulped my drink down and began pacing nervously. Pete's fate for the foreseeable future was going to be decided in a couple of hours, and if the outcome was bad, I didn't know if I could handle it. I couldn't do anything about the judge's decision, but I could sure as hell do something about figuring out who the real killer was. I had done it once before, sort of, and I could do it again.

Not knowing what else to do, I got out a piece of paper and made a list of possible suspects. I put Kent's name at the top. Stan had mentioned seeing Kent, Abigail's husband, at the park that night. Stan inherited Hollingsworth Industries upon Cecilia's death, but who inherited her trust fund and other assets? I would have to remember to ask Pete if he knew who she named in her will. It made sense that it would be her sister, which would be enough motive for murder. And because of that, Abigail's name should probably go on my list as well, even though with her injuries it would have been difficult for her to do the deed herself. She certainly had the money to hire someone else to do it.

And, of course, there was Cecilia's mysterious baby daddy. Thanks to Cecilia's fake Jamaican cleaning lady, I knew he was sleeping with half the town, but I still didn't know his name. I would have to get Savannah to find out that one. She said Talicia had blabbed about it a while back, so there had to be people who knew. It was just a matter of finding them and getting them to talk.

I called Savannah. “What are you doing this afternoon?” I asked.

“Working. Pete's arraignment is today, right?” she replied.

“Yes, it's in about an hour, but after that I need your help. Can you get away for a while?”

She laughed. “Well, I
am
the boss, so I can probably swing it.” Since she owned her own interior design business, she could (and did) make her own schedule. “What do you need my help with? We don't have to talk to any more scary people who want to cut us, do we?”

“Um, not exactly. I want to find out the name of Cecilia's other boyfriend. You said some of your friends might know?”

“Probably. I'll make a few calls, but I'll need to be discreet. I can't very well just call someone out of the blue and ask them if they know who Cecilia's been sleeping with. It may take a visit and a bottle of wine to get these gals talking, but I'll get it done.”

“Thank you. I also want to take a look at Kent and Abigail.”

She gasped. “Her own
sister
?”

“Aren't you the one who thinks
her own brother,
Stan, might have done it?”

“Oh…I guess I am. Well, I could see Kent, maybe. That man is meaner than a snake, and he's not right in the head.”

Interesting. I replied, “Then maybe we should start with him. How about we go poke around in one of his gyms?”

“I could get us in. I have a membership.” She continued uncertainly, “But…what do you expect to find in one of his gyms?”

“I don't know. Disgruntled employees willing to talk about their boss, maybe? A dart board with Cecilia's picture on it?”

She said nervously, “Girl, I don't know if I can keep up with you, but I'll certainly try.”

“Thanks, Savannah. It means a lot.”

“Now you just concentrate on positive thoughts and Pete being granted bail. I'll talk to you later.”

“I will. Bye.”

I hung up with a better feeling in my gut, now that I had a plan.

On the drive downtown to Pete's arraignment, I was shaking so much I nearly had to pull over a couple of times. As I parked and walked into the court building, a wave of nausea hit me. I couldn't imagine what Pete was going through.

Someone caught me by the arm as I headed into the courtroom. It was Ryder.

“Hey,” he said.

I hadn't forgotten how we'd left things last night, so I wasn't particularly pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here for the arraignment.”

“Oh.” That explained why he was looking razor fine dressed up in a sport coat and slacks.

“But not in an official capacity. Look, Juliet, I want to be here for you…and for Pete. I know some of what he's going through, and it sucks.”

His kind gesture stopped me dead in my tracks. I barely knew what to say. “Um…thank you.”

He frowned. “When my wife was murdered, they investigated me, too—it's standard procedure to look at the husband or boyfriend first. I can't imagine the horror of being accused of her murder, though. Today's going to be an especially rough day for him.”

When we had dated before, Ryder had told me a little about his wife and how he had been investigating her unsolved case on his own for nearly ten years. However, I had no idea that he had been investigated himself. I didn't blame him for not bringing it up—it's probably not what you'd lead with in a new relationship.

I was again touched by Ryder's empathy for Pete. “It's really nice of you to want to be here to support him.”

“I know he and I have had our differences, but this is a big deal.” He took both of my hands in his. “And I want to make sure you're okay through all of this, too.”

I smiled. Throughout this whole ordeal with Pete, Ryder had really gone out of his way to help me get through it emotionally. He'd also gone out of his way to watch out for me and bail me out of trouble. Maybe I was being too stubborn and unforgiving about our past history.

He squeezed my hands. “It's going to be fine. Don't worry.”

“Do you know something I don't?” I asked hopefully.

“No. I just don't like it when you're upset. Let's find a seat.”

We spied Gertie already in the courtroom, sitting near the front. Detective Cromwell was seated across the aisle. I openly stared daggers at Cromwell on the way by and took the seat next to Gertie.

I gave her a hug, but knew better than to ask her how she was doing.

Ryder said, “Hi, Gertie. It's been a while.”

She frowned. “Last I heard, you broke this girl's heart. What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

Groaning, I said, “Gertie, not now.”

“No, she's right,” agreed Ryder. “I lied to you both, and I'm sorry.” He flashed one of his killer grins at her. “Forgive me?”

Gertie blushed and started fanning herself. “Oh, hell's bells. I couldn't stay mad at your sweet ass.”

I covered my face with my hands. To say that it was uncomfortable for someone you considered to be a grandmother figure to tell a guy you'd slept with he had a “sweet ass” would be a gross understatement.

Ryder seemed unfazed. “Good. Because I've missed you.” He put his arm around the back of my chair. “I'm going to have to start coming in to Java Jive again—”

He stopped short when a bailiff walked in with Pete, dressed in the suit I brought him, but still handcuffed. When Pete saw us, his face lit up, but his eyes were strained and glassy. The bailiff brought him to sit next to his lawyer at the counsel table and removed his cuffs. Pete and his lawyer immediately began conferring.

My stomach lurched again. This shit was real.

Ryder leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Just relax, okay? Whatever happens, we'll get through it.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

The judge came in, and everything started moving very quickly—too quickly, as much of it occurred in a blur to me. I didn't understand any of the legalese that the judge, the DA, and Pete's lawyer spoke, but I did manage to catch “not guilty,” “bail,” and “five hundred thousand dollars.” The judge rapped his gavel, and it was over. The bailiff put the cuffs back on Pete and led him through the door they had come in.

Puzzled, I turned to Ryder and asked, “What just happened?”

He gave me a strange look, but very gently explained, “The judge granted Pete bail, but he set it at five hundred grand. That's pretty steep.”

“Right. So now what? Why did they take him back into custody?”

“Until he makes bail, he can't leave.”

“Okay…how do we make that happen?”

Pete's lawyer came over to us just then and shook all of our hands. “Hi, I'm James Banks, Pete's lawyer. I assume you're the family?”

“Yes,” Gertie croaked. When I looked over at her, I realized she'd been crying.

He continued, “What we need to do now is discuss how we're going to get the funds for Pete's bail together. Let's adjourn to the conference room so we can talk.”

We followed him out of the courtroom and down the hall to a private conference room. Before I went in, Ryder caught my hand. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

I nodded. “I will.”

He smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the crowd. I entered the conference room and sat next to Gertie.

“You must be Juliet,” said Pete's lawyer. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Banks,” I replied.

“Call me Jim. Pete and I have been trying to come up with a good way for him to scrape together enough for bail, but honestly, I'm not sure it's going to be enough.”

My heart sank. “What can we do? He can't stay in jail until the trial.”

He shook his head. “He doesn't have the liquid cash to put up for a bail bond, so we're considering a property bond. The coffeehouse is worth about three hundred fifty thousand, and he's got around fifty thousand of equity in his home. His car's a lease, so that's out. That leaves us roughly one hundred thousand dollars short.”

Gertie said quietly, “You can have my house.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. Gertie's house was all she had.

“What is the value of your home, ma'am?” asked Jim.

“The property assessor says it's worth ninety thousand or so.”

“We're just a smidge short still.”

“My car isn't worth shit, I'll tell you that much,” grumbled Gertie.

I sighed. I only had one thing to my name with any value: my car. Luckily, I had paid it off last year when things were going well for me. “My car is worth at least ten thousand,” I said.

“Juliet, you don't have to do this,” Gertie said, close to tears herself. “Dear, you're strapped as it is.”

“I don't care. All I care about is Pete not having to go through another minute of this hell.” I turned to Jim. “Will that do it? Do you think it will work?”

He smiled. “I believe that should do it. We'll need to do some paperwork, but within a few hours, you should have your boy back. I'll meet you at Java Jive in a little bit, and we'll get it all finalized.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Jim hurried out, but Gertie hadn't made a move to get up. When I turned to her, she smiled at me through her tears. She whispered, “My baby's coming home.”

Pete's lawyer showed up at Java Jive later, and Gertie and I signed our lives away, so to speak. Jim explained that it would take a while to go through all of the red tape to get Pete out of jail, so I had plenty of time to hit Kent's gym with Savannah.

Savannah met me at the Music City Fitness location just west of downtown. She showed up in the cutest (and tightest) pink workout outfit I'd ever seen. She looked like Aerobics Barbie. I had worn old yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt.

“Hey, girl!” she said.

“I think I'm underdressed…or maybe overdressed,” I joked, looking from her outfit to mine.

She giggled. “Oh, pooh. You look fine. Besides, we're not really here to work out. These are just our disguises. What's the plan?”

Last time I went snooping around, I didn't know what I was looking for, and as a result didn't find anything. I was having the same problem this time—but I felt like Kent could be a good lead on Cecilia's murder and didn't want to screw this up.

“Truthfully, I don't have much of a plan. I was hoping to get inside Kent's office and have a look around. I also thought we might strike up a conversation with an employee or two and get them to talk about their tent at the 5K. One of them may have been there and seen something.”

“Let's back up a smidge here,” she said, her brow creased with worry. “Did you just say you're going to break into Kent's office?”

I shrugged. “It's not like he's going to invite us in there to rifle through his stuff.”

“That's illegal.”

“I'm aware of that.” Pete and I had done the breaking and entering thing before, and I wouldn't say it ended well, but at least we didn't get caught by the police.

“Maybe I could be your lookout instead of your accomplice.”

“That would be best. I'll do the illegal stuff.” I laughed nervously. “Besides, I've been in jail before, and it's not that bad.”

She shuddered. “Not funny, Juliet.”

We entered the gym and nonchalantly wandered around, using a few of the weight machines and smiling and waving at every employee we saw. No one was paying much attention to me, but all of the men were ogling Savannah in her clingy workout gear. I suddenly had an idea.

Leaning over to Savannah, I whispered, “How do you feel about a little acting exercise?”

“
Acting
exercise?” she asked, puzzled.

“Fake an injury.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Do your helpless Southern belle thing and get the employees swarming all over you. I'm sure they'd jump at the chance to come to your aid. They're already drooling over you.”

“I am a married woman!” she hissed, appalled.

“They don't know that.”

She scowled at me. “Well, what do I do?”

“Just trip over something and act like you hurt yourself.”

“Fine.”

We started to weave through the weight machines, heading toward the treadmills. Suddenly, Savannah yelled, “Ow!” and flopped dramatically to the floor.

“Oh, no!” I cried, laying the theatrics on thick. “Savannah! Are you okay? What happened? Did you trip over one of the machines?”

“Yes,” she answered loudly. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

Within seconds, two trainers appeared, and then two seconds after that, a sports therapist appeared with his big first-aid bag.

“Ma'am, you said you hurt your ankle?” asked the sports therapist. “Let me take a look…”

The three men had their attention fixed on Savannah, so I quietly backed away. It was mid-afternoon on a Monday in December, so the gym was a ghost town. No one saw me slink down a hall and slip inside the unlocked door marked
OFFICE
. Savannah had told me Kent kept his main office at this Music City Fitness location because it was the first gym he had opened. Lucky for me, it didn't seem like Kent was here today, because his office was dark and deserted.

I carefully closed and locked the door behind me. I surveyed his desk and bookshelves but found nothing out of the ordinary there. He had some pictures of Abigail and his kids and generally office-y stuff, but nothing suspicious. I hated to invade the man's privacy, but I reminded myself that I was doing this to help Pete. Taking a deep breath, I started opening drawers in Kent's desk. Again, it was all benign—just the usual office supplies and junk.

My phone rang, and I jumped, nearly having a heart attack. It was Stan, again. He had been calling me off and on all day, but I was busy worrying and going to court and snooping, so I didn't have time for him. I switched my phone to silent mode and figured I'd deal with him later.

I started on the file cabinets, but they mainly housed copies of annual membership contracts sold to clients. However, the bottom drawer was locked. That meant something interesting was inside. Meathead that he was, Kent probably didn't have too devious a hiding spot for the keys, so my guess was that they were somewhere in this office. I thought I remembered seeing some keys in the middle desk drawer, so I grabbed those and tried the smallest one. The drawer popped right open. That was way too easy.

My eyes bulged out as I perused the drawer. This find was definitely worth breaking and entering for. I discovered envelope after envelope of “past due” and “final notice” bills. There was even a letter from a bank rejecting a business loan application for Music City Fitness. So Kent's business was in the crapper, and he couldn't even get a loan to dig his way out. That was very interesting, especially given the fact that his wife was independently wealthy and had just inherited a freaking mansion. Why hadn't he turned to her for help? Or maybe he had, and she said no.

The doorknob rattled, and I froze. Busted. Shit! I hastily put the papers and bills back in the drawer and hurried over beside the door. I was sweating profusely at this point, freaking out way too much to come up with a plausible explanation as to why I had locked myself in the office in the first place. I finally decided to get behind the door, hoping that when it opened it would hide me from view without squishing me between it and the wall. The knob rattled again, and I quickly unlocked it, plastering myself against the wall.

The door opened slowly. Savannah stuck her head inside and whispered, “Juliet! Are you in here?”

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, I replied, “Yes. I'm so glad it's you!”

“Come on before someone sees us!”

She and I scooted down the hall, slowing our pace as we got back to the weight room.

Under my breath, I said, “Shouldn't you be limping or something?”

She giggled nervously. “Oops. Almost forgot.” She put on a pained expression and started limping pitifully. “Well, did you find anything in Kent's office?”

“I found plenty. Now let's go get a smoothie and chat up some of the staff.”

We found a place at the smoothie bar, which was also deserted. This seemed like more than just the fact that no one ever bothers to work out around the holidays—the gym must have been losing customers. Maybe that was the reason why Kent was having trouble paying the bills. No money in meant no money out.

“What can I get you ladies?” asked the guy behind the counter.

“I'll have a strawberry banana smoothie,” I replied.

“And I would love a kale, beet, and wheatgrass smoothie, please,” Savannah said.

When he went to the back bar to make our smoothies, I turned to Savannah. “Kale, beet, and wheatgrass? You know that's going to look—and taste—like puke in a cup, right?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It's an acquired taste. Besides, how do you think I manage to fit into these pants?”

Sure, Savannah was thin and perfectly proportioned, but ingesting that noxious combo was way too much commitment. Shaking my head, I said, “Still not worth it.”

The guy came back with our drinks. “Here you go, ladies. Can I get you anything else?”

“These look great. Thanks,” I replied, giving him my sweetest smile. “Hey, it's really dead in here today. What's up with that?”

I failed to charm the smoothie guy. He shrugged noncommittally, unabashedly staring at Savannah's breasts. “Everyone's too busy to work out around the holidays. It'll pick up after New Year's.”

He made a move to leave, and I nudged Savannah. I nodded my head at him, signaling her to try to strike up a conversation.

Honey dripping from her voice, she said, “Isn't it crazy how busy we get around this time of year?” Smoothie Guy turned back around to listen to Savannah, or more accurately, to ogle her. She glanced at his nametag and continued, “I bet you're glad to have a little breather during work, aren't you…Tim?”

Beaming at her, Tim parked himself right across the counter from Savannah and started gabbing. “Yeah, this job isn't too bad. It pays the bills so I can follow my real dream—being a musician.”

What a shocker. In this town, everyone and his brother was working some crap job to “pay the bills” in hopes of attaining their musical dreams. I had been guilty of that as well, many years ago.

“Oh, what do you play?” I asked, hoping to find something in common and get him to open up.

He threw a glance my way and said, “Guitar,” then turned his full attention back on Savannah. “You should come hear me play sometime.”

I might have been offended for getting such a blatant brush-off, but Timmy here was kind of a tool, so it didn't hurt my feelings that he didn't want to chat me up. Plus, Savannah had him wrapped around her little finger, so I was more than happy for her to take the lead.

Batting her eyelashes, she replied, “Ooh, that would be nice. You look familiar to me, Tim. You weren't in the band that played at the finish line of the Holiday 5K, were you?”

Tim hung his head. “No, that band is really good. My band isn't quite up to that speed just yet. I was at the Music City Fitness tent, handing out key chains.”

Jackpot, maybe.

“Well, that might be where I saw you. It was such a crazy day I'm surprised I remember much of anything. What a circus, right?”

“Yeah, it was insane that they found Kent's sister-in-law dead right before the race. You know, we're offering a series of self-defense classes here because of the attack.” He leaned closer to her. “I really think you should come. A pretty little lady like you would be a tempting target.”

Okay…Timmy just took a detour into Creeperville. I flicked my eyes over at Savannah. She was about to lose her nerve.

I said, “How scary is it that the murder happened while businesses were there setting up their tents? I mean…if you were there that night setting up…you might have seen the killer.”

Savannah still looked like a deer in headlights, so I gently kicked her under the counter. She jumped and got back on task. “Right. Were you out there helping set up, Tim?”

“Yeah, but our tent was pretty far away from where she got axed. The only thing interesting I saw was Kent having a…um, conversation with his brother-in-law, who ran away crying like a little bitch. That was pretty funny.”

I cleared my throat, and Savannah suppressed a smile. That was Stan, all right. It was obvious that this guy didn't know anything, and I was getting anxious about picking Pete up from jail.

Hoisting myself off the stool, I said, “I need to get back. Ready?”

Tim's face fell as Savannah got up to leave, too. “But…you just got here…” he said forlornly.

“I am
so
ready,” she groaned, pulling me toward the door without so much as a backward glance at poor, heartbroken Timmy. Once we were outside, she shuddered. “That guy gave me the heebie-jeebies! And to boot, he was as useless as a screen door on a submarine. We just wasted our whole afternoon.”

I smiled. “Nothing was wasted. In Kent's office, I found a whole drawer full of late notices and a letter from a bank denying him a loan. This place is in some serious financial trouble. You noticed how empty it was.”

Her eyes were huge. “Kent's business is in trouble? That's awful! But how does that tie in with Cecilia's murder?”

“It doesn't—yet. Now I need to find out whether or not Abigail was Cecilia's heir.”