Rosemary and Crime (26 page)

“Sorry, Mom. I love you, too,” she said, sniffling.

I rose and gave her a hug. We stood like that for a long moment, mother and daughter, woman and child-woman. Lindsey finally stepped back. “Can Casey come with us to Chief McBride’s?”

As it turned out, Casey was overjoyed at the prospect. The little dog was an enthusiastic traveler, wagging his tail and leaping into the backseat the second the car door opened.

To Lindsey’s unbridled relief, McBride had already cleaned the worst of the mess. Attuned to the fact that this was an object lesson, he informed Lindsey the exterior of his Ford F-150 pickup could stand a good wash.

While Lindsey set to work with a bucket of soapy water and a chamois, McBride and I watched from the porch steps of his rented cottage. Casey romped about and wrestled with the garden hose until Lindsey sprayed him with water. The pup loved it and kept coming back for more, sending Lindsey into a fit of giggles.

“Great little mutt you found,” McBride commented.

“Great attack dog you mean,” I corrected, enjoying the playfulness of Lindsey and Casey.

“Sorry,” he grunted. “My mistake.”

“Casey has a ferocious bark, but right now his bark is worse than his bite. He’ll be your best friend forever, and you can bribe him with a doggy treat.”

McBride shot me a sideways glance. “By the way, thanks for the soup. I hope you don’t think I’m as easily bribed as that mutt of yours.”

“My, oh my, what a suspicious mind you have,” I said flippantly, then grew serious. “You mentioned you lived on takeout, and I wanted to thank you for last night. You could’ve thrown the book at Lindsey and her friends.”

He shrugged off my gratitude. “No big deal.”

We continued to watch Lindsey’s and the dog’s antics for a while in companionable silence. It was early May, one of my favorite months, sunny and bright, but without the humidity that plagues June, July, and August. The trees were a verdant green. Carolina wrens flitted among the branches of a huge old magnolia tree.

“I like your place. It suits you.” And it did, I thought. The style could best be described as country Southern with a dash of New England Colonial and a hint of Greek Revival thrown in for good measure. Simple and unassuming, the wide porch cried out for rockers and sweet tea.

I tilted my face up to the sun, enjoying its warmth and ignoring its freckle factor. “Rumor has it that you’re thinking of buying it.”

He lounged back, one arm braced on the step above. “After standing vacant for some time, the house needs work but shows potential. Provided the owner accepts my offer, I’ll start with the kitchen. Maybe then, I’ll be tempted to try my hand at cooking.”

I idly tracked the path of a bright yellow butterfly as it hovered over an overgrown hydrangea bush. “Is it true that if you don’t find Mario’s killer soon, the mayor and city council might fire you?”

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“I overheard some women talking the other day. True or false?”

He kept his gaze fastened on the progress Lindsey was making on his Ford F-150. “There’s a ninety-day probationary clause in my contract. It reads that if the town is dissatisfied with my performance for any reason whatsoever they have the right to rescind the contract.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Pressure comes with the territory.”

“You’d make a lot of people happy if you arrested me. Life in Brandywine Creek could return to normal.”

He merely grunted.

A grunt, I realized, was difficult to interpret. Did that mean he agreed? Disagreed? “Well, then,” I challenged, “why haven’t you arrested me?”

He turned to face me and, once again, I was intrigued by the small scar at his left eyebrow. “I’m not about to make an arrest,” he said, “until I can build a case strong enough to hold up in a court of law.”

Gathering my courage, I voiced the question uppermost in my mind. “Any word from the lab on the bloodstained T-shirt you found at my shop?”

He returned his attention to the truck. “Not yet, but expect I will soon.”

My mouth suddenly felt like sawdust. “What if the DNA matches Mario’s?”

“There are other things that have to be taken into consideration beside a DNA match.”

“Such as?”

“A skilled lawyer would make mincemeat of the notion that you planted incriminating evidence in a place where it would be easily spotted, then called the police to come find it.”

“Maybe I’m diabolically clever,” I offered.

“Maybe you’re innocent,” he countered.

“Almost done, Mom,” Lindsey called out, garden hose in one hand, dripping sponge in the other.

I was grateful for the interruption. McBride’s assertion had left me momentarily speechless.

“I just want to go over the tailgate one more time.” Lindsey turned her attention back to the truck. Casey, tired of play, snoozed in the grass alongside the drive.

“Have at it,” I told her when I regained my voice. I decided right then and there to take a leap of faith. I turned to McBride. “Reba Mae and I have been conducting an investigation of our own and came up with a list of suspects. She suggested we lay our cards, so to speak, on the table since you’re more experienced in these matters.” He rolled his eyes, the gesture reminiscent of Lindsey’s, but I forged ahead undaunted. “Tony and Mario go way back. According to Tony’s wife, Gina, Mario weaseled out of a deal and left Tony in the lurch.”

“Go on,” he prompted. “Who else is on your list?”

“Mario owed money and refused to pay both Pete Barker at Meat on Main and Danny Boyd, who used to be Mario’s sous chef. Neither of them have alibis. Being new in town you might not be aware of Mario’s reputation as a ladies’ man. He’s had affairs with both Diane Cloune and her friend, Vicki Lamont. The killer could be a woman.”

“Or a jealous husband.”

“Exactly,” I said with satisfaction. “Reba Mae and I are on the job.” I briefly considered telling him about the diamond, but changed my mind. No telling if it was even connected to the murder at this point.

He frowned at hearing this. “Didn’t I warn you just last night about interfering with police business? I meant what I said. It’s dangerous, and I want you to keep your nose out of it.”

Wanting to head off another lecture, I deliberately changed the subject. “You’re somewhat of an enigma around town, McBride. Tell me a little about yourself.”

“Not much to tell.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You seem the strong, silent type.”

“Is that how you see me?” The corners of his mouth quirked in a wry grin. “What is it you want to know?”

I pondered the matter for all of half a second. “Well, for starters, are you married, single, or divorced?”

“Widowed.”

“Widowed…,” I echoed. That option hadn’t occurred to me.

“Got married while I was in the army. My wife, Tracey, died in a car crash less than a year later after a night of heavy partying.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

He stared into the near distance. “It was a long time ago. Shit happens.”

Case closed. I could tell from his shuttered expression my interrogation was over. I sat quietly contemplating what he’d just told me. Judging from the fact he hadn’t remarried, my guess was that Tracey had been the love of his life. Her death undoubtedly hit him hard.

“Truck’s spick-and-span,” Lindsey announced, coming out from behind the vehicle and depositing the cleaning equipment by the front steps. “Can we go now, Mom?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Lindsey?”

She stared at me blankly before comprehension dawned. “Oh, yeah.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I apologize, Chief, for causing so much trouble. I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Apology accepted, Lindsey,” he replied gravely.

“Jump in the car, sweetie, and I’ll be right with you.”

I slowly rose to my feet. McBride did likewise and walked with me toward the Beetle. “Have you given any more thought to your near miss the other night?” he asked.

“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “Like I told you last night, it all happened so fast I didn’t get a good look at the car or driver.”

“Remember,” he said as I cranked the engine. “Something might still trigger a memory. When it does, call me.”

C
HAPTER
29

CJ
’S PLACE WAS
trashed. At a glance, it could easily be mistaken for the town dump. Beer cans and half-empty liquor bottles littered the entire lower level. Crystal bowls and china saucers had been used in lieu of ashtrays. The house reeked of stale tobacco and spilled beer.

“Open the window and let in some fresh air,” I instructed Lindsey. “Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find some trash bags.” Call me a pushover if you will, but I felt sorry for my girl after seeing how much elbow grease was required to make this place fit for human habitation.

We worked for over an hour and gradually CJ’s grandiose two-story began to resemble a home and not a frat house. I had just finished hauling the last of the debris out to the bins when CJ pulled into the garage. I was happy to see he was alone and not accompanied by Amber. What I had to say was for parents only. Not parents
and
homewrecker.

“Hey, Scooter,” he hailed me as he climbed out of his Lexus. “What brings you here?”

“I took mercy on our daughter and helped her with some chores.”

He popped the trunk, removed a garment bag, and slung it over one shoulder. “I don’t make Lindsey do ‘chores.’ Chores are why I pay a housekeeper.”

“How do you propose Lindsey learn responsibility if nothing is expected of her?”

He brushed aside my concerns with a wave of his free hand. “She’s got plenty of time to be responsible. You need to lighten up, darlin.’ Let the girl have some fun.”

I trailed after him into the kitchen where Lindsey was putting the last of the dirty glasses in the dishwasher. “Hey, baby.” CJ put a pudgy arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “How was prom?”

Lindsey, her face pinched with worry, shot me a nervous glance. “Um, fine.”

I cleared my throat to get CJ’s attention. “We need to talk.”

“Uh-oh.” CJ winked at Lindsey. “Never a good sign, baby, when a woman says those words.”

“Lindsey,” I said, turning to my daughter, “would you give me some time alone with your father?”

She dried her hands on her jeans. “Er, sure. I’ve got some homework to do.”

As she ran off, I wondered if homework translated meant calling or texting friends to compare notes. Cynical me. Shame, shame, shame.

CJ flung the garment bag over the back of a chair and headed for the living room, where he lowered himself onto an imported Italian leather sectional the size of Milan. Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through windows that overlooked the golf course. “Okay, Scooter, what’s all the fuss about? Our newly appointed chief of police hasslin’ you? Threatenin’ to throw you in the pokey?”

“No, of course not,” I snapped. “How can you even say such a thing?”

CJ merely grinned, the caps on his teeth gleaming pearly white. “I can see it now. Think of the headlines.” He extended both arms, wrists cocked, thumbs angled at ninety degrees to form an invisible picture frame. “
PROMINENT ATTORNEY DEFENDS EX-WIFE ON HOMICIDE CHARGE
.”

“I thought, citing out ‘history’ together, you refused to be my lawyer. That I needed a criminal lawyer.”

“Let’s just say I reconsidered after thinking of all the free publicity your case would bring. I’m talking appearances on the
Today
show, interviews in
People.
Can’t put a price tag on that kind of exposure.”

He wanted to see me lose my temper, but I refused to be drawn into his mean-spirited little game. “I’m here because I wanted to inform you that your house was turned into party central last night. The police had to be called.”

“Damn…” He bit off a more colorful expletive. “Listen here, Piper, when I informed Lindsey that Amber and I had box seats for a Braves game and intended to spend the night in Atlanta, she said not to worry. She’d stay at a friend’s house.”

“Which friend?”

“Sorry.” CJ scratched his head and did his best to appear perplexed. “Don’t recall the girl’s name just now.”

Too restless to sit still, I prowled the width of the room. “Seems as though Lindsey invited the whole gang here for the afterglow. You might want to check your liquor supply. Your inventory might be running low.”

It amused me to watch CJ leap from the sofa, his indolent pose abandoned, and stride over to the bar. He rummaged through the liquor cabinet to check what was left of his stock, then let out a loud sigh of relief. He straightened, triumphantly brandishing a bottle of Wild Turkey. “Lucky for me, those kids missed the full bottle I hid at the back.”

“Is that all you have to say?” I snapped. While I looked on, hands on hips, foot tapping impatiently, he poured a double bourbon into what must have been the only clean glass on the premises. He didn’t offer to pour one for me.

“Lindsey doesn’t realize how fortunate she is that McBride didn’t arrest the lot of them for underage drinking along with a slew of other charges. Think how those headlines would look,” I added for good measure.

CJ tipped his head back and took a deep swallow. “Sumbitch would like nothin’ better ’n to embarrass me.”

“This isn’t about you, CJ,” I reminded him. “It’s about Lindsey.”

He ran his fingers through dyed hair. “It’s not easy raising a daughter,” he said, slumping back down on the sofa.

“Tell me about it.” I sank onto the opposite end of the huge sectional, only to be nearly swallowed whole in its cushy softness. “That’s not all I wanted to talk about,” I said, struggling to regain my balance—and a modicum of dignity. “Lindsey needs more supervision. Her grades are failing, not only in math but in language arts, which used to be her favorite subject.”

He frowned into his bourbon. “So, what are you gettin’ at?”

“School will soon be out for the year. I’d like you to insist that she spend more time at my place and less time at yours.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “Much as it pains me, darlin’, I have to admit you’re right when it comes to our daughter. Between dealin’ with new clients and keepin’ up with Amber, doesn’t leave much time for supervisin’. Would hate to see her turn down the wrong path’ cause her daddy paid her no nevermind. Consider your request a done deal.”