Thirty-Four and a Half Predicaments Bonus Chapters: Rose Gardner Mystery (4 page)

“So it’s pure coincidence you never represent Crocker’s men?”

Even if I hadn’t been offering Malcolm legal advice, I would never represent another one of Crocker’s men. I steered as clear from the psycho as possible. But it
did
surprise me that Deveraux had noticed.

I took a step forward. We were nearly the same height and I stared him in the eye. “I’m a defense attorney, Deveraux. It’s my job to provide legal counsel. In case you’ve forgotten, the crux of our legal system is that defendants are considered innocent until proven guilty.” I stepped back and smirked. “You need to ask for a refund on that fancy education.”

He closed the distance between us, anger radiating from his eyes. “You’re just some backward lawyer in a backward town.”

“If it’s so backward, what are
you
doing in it?”

He spun around on his heels, seething, and left me standing there.

Deveraux softened after that. I would have liked to think it was a result of me telling him off, but it was far more likely that several people had told him off. Whatever the reason, we were already pitted to be adversaries and I saw no reason to change the situation.

But I grudgingly had to admit Deveraux was trying to clean up the county. The changing of the ADA guard had already begun to shake things up in the criminal underworld, but Crocker’s murder in early November knocked it clear off its axis. Crocker may have been batshit crazy at the end, but he’d run the underworld with an iron fist that his second-in-command just didn’t possess. It didn’t take a fool to figure out Malcolm was biding his time, waiting to make his move.

A power-hungry man would have swooped in to take what he wanted from Crocker’s second in command, Bull, but just as I’d figured out during our first meeting, Skeeter Malcolm was a smart man. The abrupt change of guard would have been a hard pill for Crocker’s men to swallow. And while Malcolm could have taken over without paying a dime, such a show of force would have kept things unsettled for years. Skeeter was trying to make the transition as violence-free as possible. Unfortunately, the hand-off didn’t go smoothly. The sheriff busted the auction, and the chaos stirred up even more shit.

But the Lady in Black was the real topic of conversation after the auction.

Who was she and what was her connection to Malcolm? I had to confess, I was curious myself. So much so, I decided to ask.

A month after Malcolm won the auction, he showed up for our weekly meeting. He’d already told me he wanted me to set up his will, reasoning he was at a greater risk of meeting his maker than ever before. I’d tried to tell him that wasn’t my area of expertise, but he’d insisted he didn’t trust anyone else with his business. He showed up at my office late on a Thursday evening, coming in through the back door like he always did.

“No one’s gonna accuse you of making the walk of shame if you leave through the front door,” I said, handing him a beer from the fridge in my office’s mini-kitchen.

He grinned and held up the bottle. “I’m doing it for your reputation, not mine.” He settled in one of the leather chairs across from my desk and propped his feet on it.

I sat in the chair next to him and took a drink from my bottle. “People know we’re a thing,” I teased, leaning back.

“They
guess
we’re a thing,” he said, then took a sip. “Rumors.”

“Like you and the Lady in Black.”

He froze, lowering the bottle.

My heart thudded in my chest. In the year and a half I’d been in his employ, we’d reached a comfortable level of trust and friendship. But even though I knew Skeeter would never hurt me, the deadly gaze he was giving me chilled me to the bone.

“She’s off limits.”

“I don’t want to date her. I just want to know more about her.”

He stared at me for several moments before lifting his bottle and taking a drink. “It’s not like you to ask questions.”

I shrugged. “I’m intrigued.”

“You and half the damn county,” he grumbled.

“Everyone loves a good mystery. Where’d she come from?”

“None of your damn business.”

“You’re really not gonna tell me?”

“No,” he barked, letting me know the topic truly was off limits.

I studied him as he took another gulp, a storm brewing in his eyes. While he typically had a level head, lately he was also prone to extreme irritable moods. I could attribute it to his uneasy reign as the current king of the Fenton County underworld, but given his reaction to the mere mention of the Lady in Black, I couldn’t help wondering if she was part of it too.

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“What part of
it’s none of your damn business
do you not understand?”

Well, I’ll be damned.
Skeeter Malcolm had no qualms about discussing his conquests. His response only proved this woman meant something to him.

But he moved on to talk of his estate and refused to discuss her any further.

If any of us thought the excitement in the underworld was about to settle down, we were dead wrong. Word on the street had it that Mick Gentry, Fenton County’s former big-animal vet and current thug, was after Skeeter
and
Mason Deveraux.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for the cold Friday night in January when I heard banging on my office door. It was late, and normally I would already have gone home, but I was planning to head up to Little Rock to visit some college friends that weekend. I needed to finish some final notes on a case set to go to trial the next week so I’d have the weekend free. When I heard the banging again, I reached for the handgun in my bottom desk drawer. Nothing good could come from someone showing up at my door this late—and this worked up—on a Friday night. Given the current climate, it wouldn’t hurt to be too careful.

To my surprise, Mason Deveraux stood on the other side of the glass, looking like he’d just seen the ghost of Christmas future. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, blocking the doorway.

“Mason Deveraux, Assistant District Attorney,” I said dryly. “It’s after office hours. Perhaps you should have called.”

He swallowed, looking like he was about to be sick. “It’s just Mason Deveraux now. I no longer have that title.”

I couldn’t stop my jaw from dropping. “What?” I didn’t exactly like the man, but there was no denying he was damn good at his job. “When?”

“Tonight.” He shook his head, looking slightly dazed. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m here for another reason. I need to hire you.”

I released a harsh laugh, but I contained my shock. Mason Deveraux was the last person on the face of the earth I’d expect to need
my
help. “I’m not interested. Go find someone else.”

“It’s not for me.”

I was intrigued; there was no denying it. “I’m listening.”

“About an hour ago, my girlfriend Rose was arrested for her mother’s murder.”

This man was throwing me off right and left. “That doesn’t make any sense. Daniel Crocker was charged with Agnes Gardner’s murder.” His eyes widened and I release a short laugh. “Yeah, I know your girlfriend. We’ve had a few encounters.”

He shook his head in surprise. “I know about the Ebola encounter in the ER, but when else?”

“Just yesterday. She and her friend Neely Kate hid out here while Skeeter Malcolm’s guy hung out in front of her office.”

“What?” He looked blindsided. “Why was Malcolm’s guy looking for her?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

He was silent for several seconds. “Malcolm threatened Rose back in December.”

That didn’t sound like Malcolm at all, but I wasn’t about to contradict him.

He jerked his gaze back to mine. “What does Malcolm have to do with Joe Simmons? Is Malcolm in on it too?”

I shook my head again. This was one convoluted mess, and I wasn’t sure I wanted any part of it. “
Joe Simmons
? Her ex? What does he have to do with anything?” I knew for a fact Malcolm would never team up with Simmons. But I didn’t see any reason to offer up that information.

Deveraux ran his hand over the top of his head as he continued trying to put things together. “He arrested her. On his father’s behalf. He’s the one who got me fired.”

J.R. Simmons
? What in the hell was going on in this county? “I don’t get it. Why are you asking for my help? You hate my guts.”

“Because until you told me Malcolm had his goons looking for her, I thought you were the only one who could help her. Turns out I was wrong.” Disgust covered his face.

Dammit, this man pissed me off every which way to Sunday. “I’m obviously not your guy, Deveraux. Go find some like-minded sanctimonious bastard you can smoke cigars with and drink to your own smug self-righteousness. You’ll have plenty of time since your girlfriend will be serving a life sentence at McPherson.”

I slammed the door in his face and locked it, not feeling as satisfied as I would have liked.

Goddamn, Mason Deveraux. I might hate his guts, but I liked his girlfriend and her friend Neely Kate even more.

I was about to consider changing my mind and calling him back, but one thing stopped me: J.R. Simmons. If the elder Simmons was involved, I didn’t want to be the one poking that hornet’s nest with a stick.

I was close to finishing my notes and heading home when my phone rang. I considered letting it go, but one quick glance revealed it was someone I didn’t dare ignore.

A call from Skeeter Malcolm on a Friday night could only mean trouble.

S
omething ugly was brewing
in Fenton County.

It had been brewing for some time. Long before I took over as the king of the Fenton County underworld. But there was no denying it had started a slow boil after the auction that had bought me my crown.

Truth be told, my trouble with J.R. Simmons had been brewing for five years.

When you play with fire, you’re gonna get burned.

I’d been a fool to think I could get away with what I’d done. Years had passed without incident, lulling me into the false belief I was safe. Reality had struck a few weeks ago, when Deveraux called to tell me that I was on the Simmons hit list. The time had come to accept an ugly truth:

J.R. Simmons was gonna take me apart piece by piece.

And it had only just begun.

Most enemies would go at you with a gun or a knife, or they’d pay someone else to do it. J.R. Simmons had arranged for two of my adversaries to be murdered in cold blood. And Rose suspected there was enough evidence on the scene to pin me as the prime suspect.

I’d been a fool. I’d let myself hope I was off the hook. But J.R. had simply bided his time until I had something worth taking. Something it would pain me to lose. He assumed it was just my empire.

He could never find out Rose had been helping me as the Lady in Black.

But she’d already landed in his sights for an entirely different reason.

Rose was the last person I had ever expected to be involved with Simmons, but then she
had
dated his son, so it stood to reason she’d catch his attention, particularly since she was so different from Joe Simmons’ usual women. Joe had always liked ’em fast and loose—the faster and looser, the better. Probably to wipe off the stench of the red-headed bitch his father had always intended him to marry. But Joe Simmons was a fool too. You can’t wipe the stench of dog shit from your shoe by stepping in a cow pie.

Oh, I knew far more about Joe Simmons than anyone in this county suspected.

I’d been born and raised in Henryetta, on the literal wrong side of the tracks, and I grew up chomping at the bit to get out of this town. When I was fourteen, I met J.R. at the gas station where I worked. He pulled up in his shiny black sedan, stepped out of his car in his fancy gray suit, and in that moment, I decided he had what I wanted. Then, as I pumped his gas, I told him so.

A slow grin spread across his face and he handed me a business card. “When you’re older, look me up. Give the receptionist my card and I’ll put you to work.”

I looked the card over as he drove off. On the front was his name and the address for his law office in El Dorado, and on the back was the number 12.

I graduated high school by the skin of my teeth and took off the next day, driving my beat-up piece of shit car to El Dorado. I walked into the fancy office of the Simmons Law Firm in my ratty jeans and a button-down shirt I’d bought that morning at the Henryetta thrift store, acting like I owned the place, even if I was quaking inside. I’d never given him my name. What if he didn’t remember me?

I handed the creased and stained card to his receptionist, who took it with reservation. She picked up her phone and eyed me with disdain as she said, “There’s . . . a boy here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he has a card that has the number twelve on the back.”

She hung up the phone, keeping a suspicious eye on me as the door opened behind her and J.R. appeared in the opening.

“Ah . . . James. You found me.”

I gaped. Not only did he remember me, but he knew my real name.

And so began my career with a man I grew to love and hate. But if I thought J.R. was my ticket to escaping Henyretta for good, I had another think coming. When I was twenty-five and firmly entrenched in his service, he called me into his home office. I’d only been there a couple of times, and usually when the family was away, but this was on a Wednesday afternoon in the middle of June.

His butler let me in and led me into his office. His son Joe was coming down the stairs, but he ignored me after giving me a cursory glance. Not that I was surprised. J.R. Simmons’ employees were meant to remain in the background.

J.R. was at his desk, leaning back in his chair. A wide smile lit up his eyes. “James, I have a very special job for you.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s time for you to go home.”

I shuffled my feet in confusion. “Home? Have I done something wrong?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “No son, on the contrary. You’ve done everything right. I have nothing left to teach you. It’s time for you to go back to Fenton County and become the man you were destined to be.”

Go back to Fenton County?

He slid an envelope across his desk. “Seed money to start a business.”

I picked up the envelope and shuffled through the bills, then looked up at him slack-jawed. “There’s over thirty thousand dollars in here.”

“Fifty thousand, to be exact. Choose a business wisely, James.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

He gave me a patient look. “Surely you knew I couldn’t keep you here forever.” When I continued to stare at him in confusion, he chuckled. “Do you remember what you said to me the day I pulled into the Sinclair station and you pumped gas into my car?”

“I said I wanted to be like you.”

“Exactly.” He beamed. “And you’ll never reach your goal working for me. It’s time for you to build your own kingdom.”

I looked in the envelope again. “So this is a loan?”

“No. It’s a gift. Call it severance. Call it an investment. I’ll still need you from time to time, but for the most part I’ll leave you be to build your empire.” He leaned forward. “Make me proud, James.”

I nodded, a lump in my throat, equally honored, terrified, and devastated.

So I went back and spent my money wisely. I’d always been good with numbers, so I opened a pool hall and became a bookie, quickly growing my income and buying respectable property under a dummy corporation in Texarkana, all while working on building illegal businesses across the county. I asked Jed to help me build my empire, promising him a share of the profits. He was several years younger than me, but we’d grown up together. I knew I could trust him to have my back.

When I came back to town and people asked where I’d gone, I lied, saying I’d run off to Memphis to earn my fortune before returning home.

Working for J.R. as one of The Twelve was like Fight Club. You never talked about it. Not if you were smart.

Not even Jed knew what I’d done, and he was smart enough to know that if I wasn’t volunteering, he shouldn’t ask.

My businesses grew, and sure enough, J.R. still called upon my services from time to time. But the more distance I got from him, the more I began to resent his disruptions. His business always pulled me away from my own—often for days at a time—and the absences were hard to explain.

Most had to do with the messes his son had created. There was a reason Joe Simmons got out of all those charges for his misdeeds: J.R. always sent in the cleanup team to either pay off officials or convince the victims to drop charges. The convincing part was easy enough with money and, if necessary, physical violence.

My resentment continued to grow. Then, five years ago, he came to me with a completely different sort of job.

He’d summoned me to his business office in El Dorado on a Monday evening. He was waiting for me at his desk when I slipped in through the back door. He handed me a folder and waited for me to scan the contents. Once I was done, I gave him a leery look. “I don’t understand.”

But I did. I understood all too well.

“Do you have a problem with this, James?”

I tossed the file onto his desk in disgust. “Hell yeah, I have a problem with it. I’m not doin’ it.”

“You are.”

“Is this some kind of test?”

His voice hardened. “No, it’s an assignment.”

I took a step back. “No. I’m not doin’ it.”

“No is not an acceptable response. Let me explain the rules to you, James. They’re very simple. I tell you to jump and you ask how high.”

I released a low growl. “You sent me back to Fenton County—the very place I was trying to escape when I first came to you. You told me to build my own empire and that’s what I’m doing. Do
you
answer to someone? Do
you
jump at their beck and call?” I shook my head in disgust and pointed to the folder. “I am
not
doin’ that. I can’t believe you’re askin’ it of me or anyone else for that matter.
I’m done
.”

J.R. stood, his eyes cold and hard. It was a look I’d seen many times, but never once directed at me. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”

“It’s time for me to cut the umbilical cord, J.R.”

He pointed his finger at the exit. “If you walk out that door, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

I shrugged, my heart divided between grief and relief to finally be done with this man. “Then I’ll just have to learn to live with it.”

I drove back to Fenton County, straight to the pool hall. Since it was a slow Monday night, Jed was tending bar. I took a seat at the counter.

He gave me a sideways glance and handed me a beer. “You back from your business already?”

“Got a problem with that?” I asked with more irritation than was warranted. I took a drag of the beer. I shouldn’t have been so surprised by his inquiry. I always left Jed in charge when I went to do Simmons’ bidding, although Jed never knew where I went or why. But this unfinished business with J.R. had left me justifiably anxious.

He shrugged. “Your business is your own.”

J.R. Simmons didn’t see it that way.

So I waited for my punishment. Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Months turned to years. When it never came, I managed to convince myself that my previous loyalty had granted me safety.

And then last spring, Mason Deveraux showed up in town, a bulldog for the law if ever I’d seen one. I knew deep in my gut that J.R. Simmons had somehow arranged it as a reminder of my disobedience. But then nothing happened for months. I figured I’d been paranoid.

Instead, I’d been a fool.

But I had an advantage most of J.R.’s adversaries didn’t—I’d spent seven years learning at the man’s knee. I knew his strengths and I knew his weaknesses.

I wasn’t going down without a fight.