Mug Shot (8 page)

He pulled me in for a hug. “I will.”

After a long moment, he let me go, and we left my apartment.

When I got into the back of Savannah and Carl's car, Savannah asked, “Did you need ‘help' getting your dress on? Pete couldn't take his eyes off you just now.”

Carl added, “I think I saw some drool in the corner of his mouth.”

“Pipe down, you two. Pete's having a rough day. I feel bad about leaving him alone.”

Savannah frowned. “Oh, right. Sorry. How is he holding up?”

“Not great. And it didn't help that he insisted on us going over to Delta's house earlier to give our condolences. Those people are insane.”

“Don't get me started,” Carl griped. “They all seemed to think that because I was there to help when Abigail fell, I'm now her personal physician. They've been calling me non-stop
at home
, insisting I make a house call and begging for meds. I made it clear that's not going to happen. I'm a heart surgeon, for crying out loud, not a family practice hack.”

This rant was very out of character for the always-jovial Carl. I said, “Wow, Carl. Tell us how you really feel.”

Carl chuckled. “Sorry, it's just that they're driving me crazy.”

Savannah said uneasily, “Speaking of crazy, I wanted to talk to you about something, Juliet. I spoke to Stan earlier, and he's not acting right. After all that's happened, we thought you may want to steer clear of him. Are you two still dating?”

“Well, I'm his date to the ball tonight, and I have no idea what I should do. I like him, but I have a bad feeling about him I can't shake. It's a moot point at the moment, because I can't very well tell him to get lost today of all days. I feel for the guy. I probably should just sit down and talk with him.”

“You're being too nice. If I were you, I'd avoid him like the plague,” Savannah said.

“I agree,” said Carl. “It shouldn't be an issue anyway, because my dear wife will be keeping you busy all night.”

Giving Carl a mock punch on the arm, Savannah said, “Oh, don't scare the poor thing. Juliet, I'll only make sure you're as busy as you need to be to keep Stan out of your hair.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing Carl and Savannah had my back.

When we stepped into the banquet hall, my breath caught in my throat. I had never seen such a beautifully decorated room in my life. There were flowers
everywhere,
and the whole place was done in shades of white, the only punches of color coming from sparingly placed red poinsettias. There were too many twinkling Christmas trees to count, and the room was beginning to glow as the waitstaff bustled around, lighting the thousands of candles placed throughout the room. It was a freaking winter wonderland.

“Savannah,” I breathed. “Did you do all of this? The place looks amazing.”

She smiled shyly. “Thank you, and yes, the décor was my idea. Cecilia organized the rest, but she let me have free rein on the room.” Savannah was even dressed to match, wearing a fur-trimmed winter white gown with a single red silk poinsettia flower pinned in her hair. “Now, we need to get down to business.”

Savannah had Carl and me set out all of the four hundred place cards on the tables. According to Carl, the more you paid for your table, the better your seat. When I found my card, I had a fleeting thought of moving it to a different table from Stan's, but didn't, figuring I wouldn't be sitting much anyway.

We then moved on to setting out the auction items so people could peruse them before the bidding started. Cecilia had scored some seriously desirable items from local retailers—everything from hotel packages to jewelry to landscaping, all of which were likely to bring in some hefty donations for the children's charity. Savannah bustled around, giving directions to the caterers and staff, but I could tell she was anxious. Even though Carl and I were trying our best, we were no replacement for Cecilia. Savannah was still doing a wonderful job of keeping everything running smoothly, though.

When guests started showing up, Savannah took their tickets and welcomed them while I stood inside the ballroom and directed people to their tables. The time passed quickly and easily—that is, until Stan showed up.

“Darling,” he said, his charming smile in place as he approached me. He looked me up and down, taking my hand. “You look absolutely stunning tonight.”

“Thank you, Stan. You look handsome as well.” He looked fabulous in his designer tuxedo, which probably cost more than my car.

He leaned in and kissed my cheek, whispering in my ear, “Do you think you can leave your post to have a drink with me?”

Taking a step back, I said, “Oh, sorry. Not right now. I'll catch up with you soon, though.”

He kept smiling, but his eyes were a little cold. “I'll be waiting,” he murmured.

Stan wandered off, and I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I directed the other guests to their seats. He would approach a group, and you could see the people visibly stiffen and lean away from him. They'd speak to him for a moment, but then disperse one by one, leaving him alone. It happened several times, and I could tell by the look on his face that it was getting to him. Speculation about Abigail's accident must have spread like wildfire. I was amazed by how quickly these socialites turned on one of their own, especially on a day when they should have been reaching out to console him. They seemed not to want to talk to him, for any reason, even to press him for firsthand information about Cecilia's murder. Feeling a little guilty, I resolved not to do the same.

Once everyone had arrived, Savannah, Carl, and I began shuttling all of the donation items backstage for the auction following dinner. When we had finished, Savannah walked onstage to the podium. “Welcome, everyone, and happy holidays. Thank you so much for supporting the Holiday 5K and our local Christmas Children charity. Before we begin, I want to take a moment to remember our beloved Cecilia Hollingsworth, who passed away last night. I hesitated to go on with the event without her, but a friend of ours convinced me to turn the ball into a celebration of her life.” She glanced over in my direction and smiled. “Cecilia was a true-blue philanthropist, and I want to dedicate this night to her. She worked tirelessly to put the 5K and the ball together for our community, and for that we should all be grateful. Please join me in a moment of silence.”

The room hushed, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. Despite our horrible relationship, I had never wished Cecilia any actual harm. It was a tragedy that her young life had been cut so short. I hoped this time the police would do a better job of catching the killer.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice when Savannah started speaking again. I felt Carl link his arm through mine and give me a pull. Before I knew what was happening, I was on a stage in front of four hundred people, all looking at me as Savannah finished saying, “…couldn't have done it without the help of my husband, Carl, and my friend Juliet Langley.”

I froze, my heart nearly stopping. I couldn't get any air into my lungs, and I started seeing bright lights and black spots in front of my eyes. I had to get off the stage,
now.
Jerking my arm away from Carl, I stumbled back behind the curtains and barely made it to the nearest trash can. I retched, getting a couple of weird looks from some of the staff who were working the sound and lighting system. After I finished vomiting, I took in a couple gulps of air. At least I could breathe again, but I thought I might pass out anyway.

Carl rushed over to me, eyes wide but calm. “Juliet! What happened?” He studied my face and checked my pulse, then gave me his handkerchief. He had quite a comforting bedside manner, which I very much appreciated.

I wiped off my chin and said quietly, “I have extremely bad stage fright. Like paralyzing.”

He nodded and turned to one of the staff members. “Could you get her some water, please?” As the girl scurried off, Carl found a chair and led me over to it. “Have a seat. If I can't get you back to one hundred percent, wifey will have my head!”

I laughed weakly, holding my throbbing head. This was exactly why I wasn't a music performer anymore. One horrible night at a concert, I forgot the words to one of my own songs, and that was it. I had never been able to be in front of a crowd since. My music career went down the toilet, and I turned to food service. I was an ass-backward Cinderella story. The waitress returned with my water, which I accepted gratefully.

Savannah hurried over to me then, her face etched with concern. “Sweetie, what happened? You look a fright.”

“Fright is right—stage fright.”

She took my hand. “Oh, I'm so sorry. It completely slipped my mind. I never would have told Carl to pull you out onstage if I'd thought about it. Forgive me?”

“Already done. It's not your job to keep track of my neuroses.”

“Well, at least you can rest for a bit. Dinner is next.”

“Some food should help.”

“By the way, I switched your place cards to our table.” Savannah winked at me. “You won't have to deal with Stan alone.”

I felt decidedly better as Savannah and Carl led me to my new table. Stan was waiting there, ready to pull out my chair for me. His gentlemanly manners were nice and all, but sometimes I would much prefer Ryder tossing me a box of Chinese takeout and flopping down next to me on the couch. Why did he keep popping into my mind?

Stan squeezed my shoulder and asked knowingly, “Did you have a bout of stage fright?”

“Yes, but I'm fine now,” I replied, laying my hand on his. Stan was still as thoughtful as ever where I was concerned, which made me feel guilty for suspecting him of any wrongdoing.

There were two other couples at our table. One was eyeing Stan disdainfully. They seemed to be looking down their noses at me, too, I assumed because of my association with Stan. I didn't care. These rich assholes didn't scare me. That is, unless I was standing on a stage in front of them.

The man who wasn't glaring at Stan said, “Well, Stan, my boy. It seems you've just won the inheritance lottery. Need a seasoned, recently fired Hollingsworth Industries CEO to help you through the transition?” His voice sounded like Foghorn Leghorn's—heavily accented and like his mouth was full of butter.

Stan smiled, probably because this guy was the first person to be nice to him this evening. “I just might, Charles. Why don't we have lunch on Monday to discuss it?”

Foghorn/Charles replied, “Good man. I was a little worried about our company with your sister in charge. Bless her heart.”

I had lived in the South long enough to know that “bless his/her/your heart” did
not
mean what we Yankees thought it should. Loosely translated, “bless your heart” meant “you're a dumbass.” I assumed this guy had no use for Cecilia because the first thing she did when she took over the family business was kick him to the curb. I'd probably be pissed about that, too.

Foghorn continued, “But with the two of us at the helm, I reckon we'll take the furniture world by storm.”

“I couldn't agree more,” said Stan, smiling more broadly than he had in a while. “I feel like the market is finally starting to pick up again. The luxury furniture industry is poised for huge growth over the next few years.”

“Stan, I like the way you think.” He leaned closer to Stan but didn't bother to lower his voice. “Between you and me, I believe our new line of fainting couches is going to make us rich.” He stopped to let out a big belly laugh. “Well, rich-
er
!”

Stan joined in his laughter. I had witnessed Stan schmooze with people before, and I had to say, it wasn't exactly a turn-on. Personally, I couldn't imagine that fainting couches were going to be the wave of the future. It sounded like a terrible business decision to me, but what did I know? When Stan and Foghorn finally quit patting themselves on the back, the other couple was still looking at us with distaste, and Carl and Savannah both seemed a little embarrassed. I didn't blame them. Thank goodness it was time for dinner.

The entire waitstaff descended on the ballroom at once, all of them carrying stacks of plates covered with gleaming silver domes. They pulled the domes off everyone's food with the same flourish, which impressed me. My staff could barely serve coffee without spilling it on our customers. Maybe I needed to try to get some of these staffers to defect over to Java Jive.

Before I could take a bite of my dinner, my phone rang. I got a few sneers for getting a phone call during dinner, but I had to answer it. Between being a crime scene witness, managing a coffeehouse, and having a best friend in an emotional state, I needed to be available.

The caller ID showed that the call was from the police department. I got up and said, “Sorry, I have to take this,” and hurried out of the ballroom.

“Hello?”

“Jules,” Pete said, his voice strained.

My stomach clenched. Something was very wrong. “Pete? Why are you calling from the police station?”

“Why do you think?”

“WHAT?” I exploded. “Did you get arrested? What for?”

I heard him suck in a gulp of air. “For…Cecilia's murder.”

“No,” I cried, stopping dead in my tracks.

“They said they have evidence on me. Jules, you gotta get me out of here.”

Choking back a sob, I took off at a run for the front door. “I'm on my way. You keep your head up, okay?”

“Okay. I have to hang up now.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

I hung up with Pete and called for a cab. Since I was downtown, one arrived within a couple of minutes. The police station wasn't far. While I was riding, I texted Savannah to let her know what had happened and that I wouldn't be back. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely key in the text. She responded a moment later, saying that Carl would take care of getting Pete a lawyer, and he was already speaking to one who was there at the gala.

This couldn't be happening. Pete was innocent, and he was being charged with murder. My head spun, and I felt like there wasn't enough air inside the cab. After throwing some cash at the driver, I burst out of the cab and tore into the police station.

Frantically, I rushed up to the front desk and cried, “Pete Bennett was just brought in. I need to see him now!”

“Calm down, ma'am,” said the tired-looking officer stationed there. “I'll have to find out if they're allowing visitors.”

I slammed my hands down on the counter. “But he's innocent, and he's all alone!”

He sighed. “As I said, ma'am, calm down. It might take a few minutes. I suggest you have a seat.”

“No! I need to speak to Detective Cromwell. Or Detective Hamilton. I need someone
now
!”

Unfazed by my insistence, he lazily picked up the phone and muttered something into it. After nodding a couple of times and muttering some more, he put the phone back down. “He's still being questioned and processed, so you'll have to wait.”

Something inside me snapped. It was Redheaded She-Devil breaking loose. “I don't
care
what's going on right now! You get Cromwell's ass down here this instant! Pete is innocent, and I
demand
to speak to someone about it!”

I marched over to the door next to the front desk, intending to let myself in since this guy was obviously not going to do anything about it, but the door was locked. Incensed, I rattled it with both hands, willing it to somehow open.

The officer frowned and stood up. “Ma'am, step away from the door. If you can't control that temper of yours, I'll throw you in lockup as well.”

His words clicked inside my head. It seemed perfectly logical to me that the fastest way to get to Pete would be to get put into lockup myself. Then at least I could keep him company. “Oh, yeah?” I screeched. “Go ahead and do it! You'll have two innocent people in jail, and then you'll really be sorry!”

“Ma'am, I'm not going to warn you again.”

“Shut up and do it, pig!”

That got him. The officer flew around the desk and grabbed my arm, whirled me around, and cuffed my hands behind my back. Ouch. It was much more uncomfortable than it looked on TV, especially since I wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion. These new bracelets did
not
go with my ball gown. The officer roughly escorted me to an elevator and to the lower level. We went down a long, stark hallway, where I was met with a foul stench that made me gag. It was only then that I realized what I had idiotically gotten myself into.

The officer took me up to a counter, and the man sitting behind it said to me, “Ma'am, we're going to need your ID and all of your belongings.”

My pulse pounding, I nodded my head behind me, to the small purse I was carrying. The officer took it and gave it to the man behind the counter. He ran my ID through a reader and put my purse and jewelry in a manila envelope. My heart sank. How could I have been so stupid? I was of no use to Pete in here! What good was keeping him company in jail? I really could have done with a little more impulse control.

I felt like I was watching everything happen in slow motion. The officer ushered me through a nearby door, and the odor was even worse in there. There were several jail cells in a row, all of them filled with hard-living, tough-looking people. Most of them were missing multiple teeth. I was dragged to a cell on the end and unceremoniously pushed inside. Five other people shared the large cell—three men and two women.

Whirling around and clinging to the bars, I pleaded, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Officer. Can I take back what I said? I don't think I can handle it in here!”

He gave me a disappointed stare. “I gave you your chance, ma'am. Now you get to cool your heels in here.”

I put my head in my hands, trying to gather my composure. If I showed weakness, someone would surely shank me or make me their bitch. I'd be damned if that was going to happen. I was a big enough target anyway in this ridiculous dress. I took a deep breath, willing myself to toughen up. I glanced again around my cell. Most of my fellow inmates were either passed out or zoned out. If I had to guess, I was probably in the drunk tank, which meant these people weren't necessarily dangerous, just stupid. I could handle stupid. I handled stupid every day.

It wasn't long before the drunks figured out there was fresh meat in their cage. One greasy guy stumbled over to me. “You a hooker?” he slurred, peering at me.

Frowning, I shot back, “Do I
look
like a hooker?”

“I ain't never seen no fancy hooker like you before. I bet you're expensive.”

“I am
not
a hooker!”

“Oh,” he said, showing me a semi-toothless grin. “You give it away for free, huh?” He made a move to touch me, and I planted my knee square in his groin. He dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“Not for you, sweetheart,” I said, staring down at him. I looked around the cell, growling menacingly, “Anyone else have anything to say to me?”

Wide-eyed, they all shook their heads. Maybe I could handle this, after all. The guy I had racked was rolling around on the ground at my feet, groaning and whimpering. Served him right. The guy writhed some more and ended up on all fours. He looked like a cat about to choke out a hairball. Oh, shit. I jumped aside just as he vomited all over the spot where I had been standing. It was a good thing I'd already tossed my cookies and hadn't eaten dinner, because that was enough to make me retch again.

I went to the front of the cell and yelled at the cop on duty, “Hey, this guy puked. Can we get someone to clean it up? It's disgusting.”

“You're in the drunk tank, miss. It's what they do.”

“Are you freaking kidding me? I have to sit in here with a pile of stinking vomit?”

He shrugged. “You do the crime, you do the time.”

“This is unsanitary. When I get out of here, I'm taking it up with…with
someone.
” I didn't know exactly who to take it up with, but I'd at least yell at Ryder or Cromwell for a while.

“You do that, ma'am.”

I found a corner to cower in, and after a few minutes, the outer door opened again. My eyes filled with tears when I saw Detective Cromwell leading Pete past the line of cells in handcuffs. Poor Pete looked utterly defeated. “Pete!” I cried, pressing my face between the grimy bars.

He looked over at me, and his eyes turned anguished. “Juliet! What are you doing in there?”

I joked lamely, “I wanted to hang out with you.”

Cromwell stopped to give me a dirty look. “Ms. Langley, what have you done this time?” he asked tiredly.

“The guy at the front desk wouldn't let me see Pete, so I took matters into my own hands,” I said unashamedly.

“Well, that was a damn fool thing to do, because his cell is in the next block. Way to think it through.”

I slapped my forehead in frustration. I could be a real dumbass sometimes.

Pete was fighting back tears. “Thanks, Jules. I appreciate what you tried to do for me.”

“I'll see you soon. As soon as they let me out, okay?”

As Cromwell dragged him through the door, Pete gave me one last smile. I clenched my teeth, willing myself not to cry. I still had to get through my own time in the pokey.

The guy who had puked was now asleep next to his vomit on the floor, and the rest of the drunks were all minding their own business. I allowed myself to relax a bit. If anyone had told me yesterday that I'd be in jail tonight, after finding a dead body and attending a fancy ball, I would have said they were crazy.

I snapped to attention when I heard a splattering sound. Taking a glance around the cell, I found the source of the noise. One of the drunk guys was peeing on the puker who had fallen asleep. I couldn't take any more.

Being unable to pry my eyes off the grotesque scene, I banged my hand on the bars and exclaimed, “Are you people freaking kidding me? There's a drunk dude taking a piss on another drunk dude in here!” I turned toward the cop on duty. “Can you do nothing about—”

I stopped mid-sentence, because right there on the other side of the bars was Ryder. He was trying very hard not to smile. I certainly wasn't in the mood for his shit, but I was so happy to see a friendly face that I didn't care how much he made fun of me right now.

“Um…I hate to ask, but why are you in the drunk tank in a fancy dress?”

I hung my head. “Pete got arrested for Cecilia's murder.”

Ryder's tone grew serious. “I know. I heard.”

“And I was trying to get in here to see him, but my plan backfired.”

He nodded. “I can see that. Why didn't you just call me?”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Does it look like I was thinking rationally?”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “You usually don't.” He turned to the cop on duty. “Hey, Tom, I'm going to take this one.”

There was a buzz, and the door opened. Ryder took me by the arm and led me out of the cell, back through the door I had come in. He retrieved my purse for me and took me to the elevator.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

He smiled down at me. “My pleasure. When I heard there was a gorgeous redhead in lockup kneeing guys in the stones and bitching about the nasty conditions, I could only hope it was you. You didn't disappoint.”

Rubbing my forehead, I whined, “Why can't I just be a normal girl?”

He put his arm around me. “I wouldn't like you nearly as much if you were.”

Ryder deposited me in a waiting room and said he'd be back. He returned shortly with some paperwork, which I had to sign. “Don't worry. This won't go on your record. I think Cromwell is done with Pete, so you can see him if you want.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

Ryder really could be nice when he wanted to be. He ushered me back into the elevator and then down another hallway. This time he put me in a room with a table fitted with shackles. I hoped Pete wouldn't be chained while we were in here together. I didn't know if I could keep a stiff upper lip if that happened.

Detective Cromwell led Pete into the room and removed his cuffs. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel a new wave of panic when he shackled him to the table. This was a little too real all of a sudden.

Furious that Pete was being treated like a common criminal, I cried, “What the hell, Cromwell? You don't need to chain him up like an
animal
!”

Cromwell said gruffly to me, “Zip it, missy. If you'd just kept that damn temper of yours in check for once, it would have taken the same amount of time to get in here to see your friend and you wouldn't have had to spend any time in lockup. Understand this, Ms. Langley: Bennett here is in a heap of trouble, and if you so much as stick the end of your nose into my investigation, I'm throwing you back in the drunk tank indefinitely. Got it?”

I stood my ground. “I got it. But I'm going to point out—yet again—that you've got the wrong guy.”

He harrumphed at me and left the room.

I immediately turned my attention to Pete, grasping his hands tightly. They were shaking. “What do they have on you?”

Pete grimaced. “They have my prints on the murder weapon.”

“Well, you set up the tent and set out all of our tools. Of course your prints are on it. That's not enough.”

He cleared his throat. “Since Cecilia and I…um…”

“Had sex in the tent?” I finished for him.

“Yeah. She's got my DNA…you know…”

“That's still circumstantial, isn't it?”

“The police know she was pregnant with someone else's child.”

Realizing our conversation was probably being listened in on, I chose my next words carefully, so as not to give away any details Pete had told me in confidence. “How do they know that?”

“I don't know. Maybe they've done the autopsy already. Or maybe Cecilia told someone besides me about the baby.”

“But is that
really
enough?”

Closing his eyes, he said, “A witness heard us fighting that night, and also saw me leaving the tent alone during the time-of-death window. That's enough.”

My heart sank as I realized who the “witness” was. “Stan narced on you.”

“That's who my money's on.”

“Why would he immediately jump to the conclusion that you killed Cecilia?”

“I jumped to the conclusion that he probably did it. We aren't exactly BFFs.”

“I know, but I can't believe he's trying to make this kind of trouble for you.” I might have been adamant about supporting Stan before, but I allowed no one to mess with Pete. Stan had just made a colossal mistake with me.

He shrugged. “He was telling the truth. All of that added up makes me look guilty, and I'm guessing the police didn't look much past there.”

“Did you talk to the lawyer Carl sent over?”