She's Gotta Be Mine (27 page)

“Trying to make sure I consider her a suspect?”

“You know what they say about the spouse having the biggest motive.” Not to mention Bobbie’s almost-but-not-quite ex-husband, who, last time Nick had seen him, was getting head from the freshly-minted widow.

“Gee, Nick,
you’da
made a good cop.”

“Thanks.”

The sheriff took off his glasses. His expression remained as unreadable as if he’d left them on. Then he reached in his left breast pocket and pulled out a card.

“You’re giving me your business card?”

Brax
held it out between two fingers. “Take it. Never know when you’re going to need it.”

“I’m not going to need it,
Brax
.”

“Well, just in case you think of something vital then.”

Nick looked from the card to
Brax’s
impassive face. “You think I’m going to call you up in the middle of the night to confess?”

Brax
squinted against the sun. “Let’s just say I figure you probably lost my number somewhere along the way. And I
wanna
make sure
ya
got it in case of emergency.” He waggled the card.

Nick finally took it. Just to get rid of him.

“Be seeing you around, Nick.”
Brax
shifted into gear.

“Is that the proverbial ‘I’ve got my eye on you, boy?’”

Brax
shoved his shades back on. “One of these days you’re going to need a friend, Nick.”

Yeah, well, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Sheriff Tyler Braxton. His buddy obviously had it out for him. Was this about Bobbie? Or something more ancient? Like payback for accusing
Brax
of screwing Mary Alice, then leaving her high and dry when she got in trouble?

“Fine,
Brax
. I consider myself warned.”

The corner of
Brax’s
mouth lifted, then he saluted and hit the accelerator.

The Charger baked in the sun. Nick stuck the pansies in the trunk, hoping they didn’t die in the heat. Inside the car, sweat trickled down his neck as he leaned over to throw
Brax’s
card in the
glovebox
. It landed on top of the freshly charged but barely used cell phone he kept in the car for emergencies.

Calling a tow truck, he could handle. God forbid he should ever need to call Tyler Braxton.

So why the hell didn’t he just throw the damn card out?

Maybe it was the noose he felt tightening around his neck and the need to feed
Brax
any bit of exculpatory evidence that might come his way. If any did.

* * * * *

“Why on earth did you confess, Warren?”

He slammed his hand down on the table between them. “Why do you think, Roberta?”

He was two years younger than her, but today he looked ten years older. His eyes were sunk in his head. Wrinkles littered his white shirt. Warren hated wrinkles as much as she hated ironing.

“I don’t know why, Warren. You tell me.” She would try to be understanding.

He didn’t meet her gaze. “Because I’m guilty.”

He was lying. It simply wasn’t true. Warren wouldn’t have the courage to murder anyone. Under the circumstances, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

If only she could get that image of poor
Jimbo
out her mind. He’d been such a sweet guy. She couldn’t believe he was dead. No one at the diner could.

She’d heard the whole story in bits and pieces throughout the afternoon. Cookie called the sheriff at three a.m.—maybe an hour before, maybe an hour after, depending on the storyteller—saying
Jimbo
never came home. His car was found at the lake around six by a maintenance worker and
Jimbo
was half in, half out of the water, like he’d been fishing and a big one dragged him in where he’d smashed his head on a rock. Of course, the sheriff pulled him out and said it was murder. His head had been bashed in. Oh my God. Warren couldn’t do that; he hated blood.

At five, Bobbie left the diner and saw the sheriff’s police car parked down at Beau’s Garage. Why would the sheriff be talking to Beau if he already had the suspect in custody? Maybe he was just gathering evidence that would corroborate Warren’s admission. Better yet, maybe he didn’t believe Warren. Whatever, it was fortuitous for her. She ran all the way to the sheriff’s department where they were holding Warren. With
Brax
gone, she’d have an easier time getting in to see him.

And she had. The desk sergeant gave her a private conference room with Warren. No cameras mounted in the corners and no one-way mirror/window thing like they had in all the cop TV shows.

“Did you do it for
her
?”

“No,” he snapped, then shut his mouth. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do. She told you he beat her, that she was afraid he’d kill her.” His gaze fixed on the wall over her head was telling. He knew exactly who Bobbie was talking about. Her heart beat faster with anger, fear, helplessness, the same emotions she’d felt when Warren left her.

“Roberta, they might be recording us.”

She ground her teeth, then leaned down and looked under the table. “No hidden devices here,” she called up. Next, she turned over her chair. “Nothing here either.” She sat back down. “All right, let’s talk in code.”

“You shouldn’t have come here. There’s nothing to talk about. I killed him. I confessed. End of story.”

He’d done this for Cookie. And she wouldn’t let that...that
bitch
get away with it. “What motive did you give them for killing him?”

His head swayed side-to-side. “
Jimbo
didn’t like me starting up another accounting firm. He said it would put Dennis Crouch out of business. He asked me to meet him out at the lake so we could talk.”

She let her hand fall loudly to the table. “That is so lame. No one’s going to believe it. Especially not
Brax
. He’s not stupid.”

Warren’s brows pinched together. “It doesn’t matter what anyone believes. I confessed.”

She leaned forward. “Retract it.”

His fist opened and closed on the table. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Damn that Cookie, yes,
damn
her. She’d woven a web around Warren so thick he couldn’t see through it. The only thing to do was poke holes in his story until he caved. “The murder weapon’s missing. What did you do with it?”

“I threw it in the lake.”

She stared at his bowed head, something he seemed to do every time she asked for a detail. For the first time, she noticed a small patch of bald sprouting on his crown. Cookie had done that to him, made him lose his hair. “I don’t believe for one minute that you could smash a man’s skull in.”

He raised his head, looked at her, grimaced. “Believe it.”

Pushing at him was the only option she had. “What did it sound like? A squishy
whomp
, you know, with all that brain gook? Or more like a crack?”

He winced. “Roberta, please.”

“I’m just curious what the sound effect was. Did you hit him more than once? I guess you probably had to, just to make sure he was dead.”

His skin turned a tad green. “Roberta.”

“Did the shovel get stuck or anything? I suppose that would depend on how deeply you embedded it in his skull.”

He gritted his teeth, hissing through them, “Shut up, Roberta.”

“You can’t even talk about it, so how do you expect me to believe you actually did it?”

His jaw flexed. He ground his teeth. “Some things are easier done than said.”

“I think the trite little phrase is ‘easier said than done.’ You’ve got it backward.” He had everything backward, especially his loyalties. “She did it, didn’t she? And you’re just covering for her.”

His usually mild blue eyes filled with a reptilian darkness. “Shut. Up. Or get out.”

He wasn’t in his right mind. He couldn’t be. It was because he’d stopped the drugs. He wasn’t thinking rationally. Not considering the consequences of this monumental lie. He was only thinking about how the Cookie Monster needed him.

Or maybe this was just fulfillment of his death wish.

How much of this was because she’d come to town and put the screws to his relationship with Cookie? The things she might have put in motion because she was worried about her own...what, desirability, usefulness, worthiness?

No. This wasn’t her fault. It was Cookie’s. And she would
not
allow Cookie Beaumont this final triumph.

“I’m not letting you do this. Do you realize they could give you the death penalty?” She didn’t know whether they could or not; wasn’t there something about special circumstances?
Whatever.“Do
you want to die for her? She isn’t worth it.”

He jumped to his feet, the chair clattering to the floor behind him. “I’m not saying another word.”

Bobbie rose more slowly. “No one in this town believes he was beating her up.”

“Don’t you see that was the whole problem? No one would believe her at all.”

“That’s why she needed you. Someone from out of town who didn’t know him like everyone else did. She suckered you, Warren, don’t you get that?”

He kicked the chair out of his way, rounded the table, towering even though he had a mere three inches on her. Something icy slithered down her spine. This was a Warren she’d never seen before.

Could this Warren actually—

No. Not now, not ever. It was time for desperate measures under the heading Tough Love. “I know you,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t have the courage to kill a man even for the woman you love, Warren. You don’t even have the courage to tell the truth.”

He raised a fist in the air, and for just the briefest moment, she wondered if he was going to hit her. Instead, he pounded on the door and yelled for the guard.

“Don’t come back again, Roberta. I don’t need your help.”

They led him away, but she stayed in the room, walking to the other side of the table and putting the chair back to rights. Her hands shook. When she turned,
Brax
leaned against the doorjamb.

“Guess you didn’t leave town.”

“Stuff happened. I didn’t turn in my resignation.”

“Waitresses don’t resign, they quit. That’s all you had to do.”

She tipped her nose in the air. “Things have changed. I’m not leaving just yet.”

He smiled, knowingly, irritatingly, then punched his chin in the direction of the conference table where she’d sat with Warren. “How’d it go?”

She went for nonchalant. “Weren’t you taping us?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He walked in, turned the chair she’d been sitting in, and straddled it. “Did you tell him he better get himself a damn good criminal attorney?”

“I forgot that part. I’m sure he’s already figured it out.”

“Well, he hasn’t asked for one, hasn’t even made a phone call. I thought you might be able to convince him that leaving it up to the court to appoint one might be the difference between life and death.” He paused. “Literally.”

“So that’s why you made it so easy for me to get in to see him.” She should have known something was up.

“The man needs some sense knocked into him.”

She took Warren’s vacated chair and leaned her elbows on the table. Maybe nonchalant wasn’t the right approach. How about beseeching? “You know he didn’t do it.”

“All I’ve got is his confession on record.
 
Anything
you
want to add?”

She sat back, suddenly wary of the blankness in his gaze. “Like what?”

“Like why you’ve been so interested in the deceased’s wife, Cookie Beaumont. Or do you want me to draw my own conclusion?”

Her and her big mouth. Right now, Warren didn’t have a real honest-to-God motive, as far as
Brax
was concerned. But if he found out about Cookie and the affair... “Can he really get the death penalty for this?”