Worked to Death (Working Stiff Mysteries Book 2) (21 page)

"This ain't my first rodeo." —Things We Say in the South

Before we pulled out of the driveway, I sent Ty a text—'cause it was always best to have backup when you were heading into a potentially confrontational situation. I'd learned this the hard way. And sometimes one cop wasn't enough, but I hoped that he didn't arrive blaring sirens like gangbusters.

This meeting was going to be emotional, and I only hoped that things didn't get out of hand.

As we arrived at the home office of Randall Jamison, my family's oldest friend and my own attorney, I noticed that all seemed quiet. The office side of the home was dark and only the flicker of what I assumed to be a television lit the window on the opposite side of the building.

"So, you think I need an attorney already?" she asked, turning to face me as I shut down the engine.

"I think you should probably get one, but I'm not sure Randall will be the impartial representative you'll want to choose this time around."

She squinted her eyes at me. "I'm not following. What are we doing here then?"

"C'mon. Let's have a chat with the Jamison family."

I exited the car, and she followed. Moments later I rang the bell and waited.

She leaned against me a little, and I wrapped my arm around her for support. The porch light cut on, and we were met by Randall Jamison dressed in only a thick, burgundy-colored plush robe. His bare legs were chubby beneath the robe.

"Mandy, Matty…what brings you by at this time of night?" He swirled something around in a highball glass. I saw Matty follow the sight of it with her watery eyes.

Oh great. Alcohol always made situations less complicated.

"We need to have a word with you and your family, Randall. Are Ms. Jamison and Teensy here by chance?"

He looked back and forth between the two of us. "What's this about?" His eyes suspicious.

I reached down in my purse and pulled out the lab report. I waved it in front of him.

"I'd rather discuss this inside, if you don't mind."

He opened his mouth as if to speak but then stepped back, allowing us entrance.

I glanced over at the clock on the wall. It had been only ten minutes since I'd texted Ty. I wondered if he'd seen the text and if he was on his way. What if he was wrapped up in a sex-capade with Horny Harlow?

I shuddered at the thought.

We followed him down a hallway that was full of dead animal heads. Randall Jamison was an avid hunter as were a lot of men in Elmore County. And, like a lot of good old country boys, he liked to make furry trophies out of his kills.

They'd always given me the heebie-jeebies, and tonight was no exception.

"Honey!" Randall hollered toward the kitchen as we passed by it to reach the den. He indicated for us to sit on the vacant sofa, and he returned to where I assumed he'd been lounging before we'd interrupted his evening of watching what I believed to be the History Channel.

He turned it off with the remote as Ms. Jamison, a short rotund woman, entered the room.

"What is it Randy?" she asked, her tone not at all happy to have been interrupted. But then she saw us, and a smile filled her face.

"Well, my word… You didn't tell me we had company. How are you ladies? Can I get you something to drink? Matty, I'm so sorry to hear about Mick." The smile never left her face. It kind of made her look like a ventriloquist dummy.

Randall broke into the conversation. "Honey, would you have Teensy join us. Mandy said she had something to chat with the three of us about."

She wiped her hands on the front of her slacks. I imagined that she was missing an apron or something that she normally wiped her hands on, but it came across as a sort of nervous gesture.

"Uh, okay." She puttered off down the hallway. Not waiting for us to add more.

"Mandy, do you have something to show me before they get here?" He leaned forward in the chair, his bathrobe opening a little in the midsection, and I looked away. That was something I did not want to see.

"No, I think we should all chat together."

He took another swig of his beverage of choice, and I could almost feel Matty fighting her urge to ask for one of the same.

I was afraid that my old friend had developed a drinking issue, and I wondered if it had become an issue just since Mick's diagnosis. I made a mental note to talk to Dr. C. about getting her some help.

A few seconds later, a tall lanky blonde sauntered down the hallway and into the den. She was dressed in dark jeans with holes ripped in them, a too big T-shirt, and high-top tennis shoes. She reeked of smoke. She was muttering something under her breath, and as she came into view, I could see her mother's head looking down as if embarrassed by her daughter's arrival.

When she spotted us in the den, she stopped, glared at me and Matty, and then turned as if to return from whence she'd come. I had an idea that she knew why we were there, but obviously Ty hadn't already spilled the beans of her earlier escapades to her family. He was probably still getting his ducks in a row and gathering the paperwork he needed before he came and questioned her himself.

"Hold it," Randall said, and she froze.

"Daddy, I don't know these people and what do they want with me?" The lie slid off her tongue as easy as I'd ever seen. She knew who we were. The look of guilt was written on her face, and it confirmed everything I'd suspected.

"Please, Teensy, come on in a have a word with us. I believe you do know us." I stood and offered her my seat. Somehow I felt more comfortable standing. I edged my way toward the door of the den. After all, this was the kid who'd given my sister drugs, offered her a gun, and left a bomb threat for me and my house.

She gave a typical teenage shrug and plopped down next to Matty, turning her glare on her with no shortage of animosity. Yep, she definitely knew who Matty was, and I believed that Matty was finally starting to piece together why we'd come here tonight.

The two women exchanged stares and started sizing one another up.

"Ca—can I offer you ladies some refreshments?" Ms. Jamison asked, her hands nervously wringing in front of her as if she could squeeze us some fresh lemonade without the help of a juicer.

"Mandy, what is this about exactly?" Randall had finally abandoned his drink and sat up in his recliner to study the situation. He wasn't wrong to notice—the tension in the room was ample by this point.

"I'm not sure where to start, but I guess let's start with where your daughter gets off luring my sister out of the park, giving her drugs, and then leaving her with a gun and a bomb threat at my home?"

Her mother gasped, and Randall stood up. "Now wait a minute—" he began, righteous indignation on his face and in his tone of voice.

I held out my hand to stop him. "No, Randall, this is true. Teensy tempted Paget out of the park. I have at least one witness who saw them together, and she gave her drugs—I'm pretty sure a modified version of Oxy, something called 'special juice' that she may have been involved in distributing around town already. To teen athletes at school most likely."

We both turned to Teensy, waiting for a full explanation or for her to refute the charges, but all we got was an eye-roll followed by a shrug.

I realized then that my hands were balled into fists—sweaty palms on the inside.

"What the hell? Teensy did you do this?" Randall glared down at her, and she shrunk ever so slightly.

"Whatever. I didn't
lure
her anywhere. She came of her own free will. She said she wanted to try the meds. Said that Adam would think she was cool if she did some like other kids at school." She gave another shrug as if that explained everything.

"Where did you even get any such drugs?" Randall said.

I held my words. I wanted to scream at her. Did she have any idea what kind of condition Paget had? How easily she could be manipulated? I only hoped to God that Adam wasn't taking these drugs. Why would Paget have thought that this would make her cool?

No answer came from the teen.

"Teensy!" Randall's voice boomed, and all of us in the room jumped in unison.

"I think I know," Matty spoke her first words since arriving.

All eyes turned on her. She looked down at her hands. She put them on her knees and then clasped them back together. It was as if she didn't know what to do with them. As if they were foreign to her.

We waited. The tension at peak levels.

"A few months ago, my husband, Mick, was diagnosed with inoperable stomach cancer."

Teensy gasped, sitting straight up. We turned our eyes on her, and she shrank back into the cushions. But it was too late. Everyone had taken note of her reaction. She hadn't known about the cancer.

No one spoke. So, Matty began talking again. "He decided that he wanted to go out with certain things accomplished in his life, not the least of which was that he wanted to investigate something newsworthy."

"I'm sorry about your husband, Matty. But I don't see how this involves Teensy and drugs. I'm sorry about Paget, Mandy. We'll handle this somehow. "

"Randall, give her a minute," I interjected. He looked at me and then stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest—suddenly a lot more sober.

Everything was kind of moving in slow motion.

"He found out that there was a drug ring running out of Millbrook. They were trafficking in some illegal drugs and selling some of it on the side to teens. Pretending it was steroids and hooking some of the athletes on it in order to gain repeat customers," Matty continued.

"Good Lord," Randall said.

I was surprised at how much Matty knew, but then again…she and Mick had planned this whole thing.

"Anyway, once he suspected what was happening, he needed a confidential source. Someone on the inside whom he could use to prove this was really happening—a back-up for his article." She turned to look at Teensy. "I didn't know it was you—that was the one thing he never told me. He protected you until the very end."

"You? You were his source? But how?" Randall seemed to be struggling to catch up to the moment. Ms. Jamison had sunk down onto a footstool at the end of the sofa. She looked pale.

"I did the drugs, okay? I sold the drugs, too. I worked at O'Hannigan's, and Hank was involved with this business. He offered me a shot." Teensy didn't sound at all remorseful, but a single tear was rolling down her cheek.

"You did
what
?" Randall's voice was up a few octaves now.

That's where I'd seen her. She was the one with the vacant stare at the salad bar the other night. I hoped that Ty hurried up. I didn't want this to turn into a full on domestic dispute before he got here.

"Look, I just wanted some extra money so I could move out of here. I can't wait to leave this house and this town. I hate it here." Teensy jumped up and made a move for the door—I stopped her by stepping in front of her exit.

"Wait, you owe her this much." I motioned to Matty who had shrunk down on the sofa. She looked so small. So tired.

"I don't owe
her
anything. I loved him. But he loved her. He wouldn't leave her and run away with me. He just used me for his story," Teensy was screaming and hiccupping with sobs between each word.

"Is that why you killed him?" The words came from the corner. We all turned to look at Ms. Jamison who was wiping her nose frantically with a Kleenex.

"What in the Sam hell are you talking about?" Randall's voice was at top volume now.

Ty, where are you?

"I didn't kill him. Didn't you just hear me? I loved him.
Loved
him," Teensy was screeching the words at her mother.

Ms. Jamison looked up, a wave of relief washed over her face. "But that's what—I mean, I covered for you because—I thought…"

I held up the paper in my hand, reaching it out to Randall. "Here are the results of the DNA test. I think you'll find that your wife most likely had nothing to do with Mick Thibault, and that Bitsy is all yours."

Randall took the paper. Ms. Jamison stood up. "You had a DNA test?"

"You thought Mom was screwing Mick?" Teensy's voice came out in a sort of laugh-sob. "I couldn't even get him to sleep with me, and you think he'd go for
her
?"

Ms. Jamison straightened her back. "I was a hottie once upon a time."

I felt sorry for her—almost. Her secret and cover story had been meant to protect her daughter, but it had hurt way more than it had helped.

"So, when I saw his car here. He was here for her. To interview her or whatever? And you let me think that you two had a thing? Why didn't you just tell me the truth?" Randall's voice was calmer now, as if a weight had been lifted off his chest for the moment.

"I didn't know the truth. I just knew that you'd kill him and maybe her if you found out they were having an affair. I didn't know about the drugs or about the story he was working on." Ms. Jamison sat back down. "I'm sorry." She directed the comment at Matty, but Matty didn't seem to notice.