Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) Page 14

  Jenna placed the lid on the pan and turned to face me. “Tom called. His mother had an eye appointment and Kristy’s grandfather needed to drive her to Sacramento. Tom asked if I could watch Kristy and I said yes. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Of course not. Anything to keep Ben occupied.”

  “Exactly.” Jenna’s grin displayed her orthodontic-perfected and financially crushing set of teeth. “I also invited Tom for dinner.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her initiative. “Did he accept?”

  The doorbell rang answering my question. I trotted to the front door and flung it wide open. The man standing on my doorstep may have been partially responsible for putting my ex-husband in jail, but I couldn’t deny my attraction to him.

  He shoved his hand through his wind-whipped hair and hesitated, as if trying to gauge my reaction to his presence. Then he smiled that sexy smile I could never resist.

  My heart executed two double back flips and some other invested body parts applauded with wicked abandon. Tom’s arms reached for me and I moved into his welcoming embrace. He smelled like a lime daiquiri and tasted even better.

  The fireworks I felt from his smoldering kiss were hotter than the curry Jenna would be serving for dinner. They were louder too. Thirty seconds into Tom’s embrace I broke away when I realized we had an audience of two kids providing surround sound fireworks with their portable video games.

  “Hi, Daddy,” said Kristy.

  Tom removed his arms from around me and shifted them to his daughter.

  “Can I stay and eat dinner with Ben?” she asked, snuggling against her father’s broad chest.

  “We can both stay,” he said, “but as soon as dinner is over, we need to go home. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

  Jenna announced dinner and led us to our formal dining room. She’d set the table with the gold-trimmed wedding china that normally appeared only at holiday functions. I began to have an inkling Jenna had cooked up something besides dinner tonight.

  The California Curry turned out to be a nice surprise, flavorful but not overpowering. The spices simmered on my tongue instead of burning my taste buds.

  “Terrific meal,” Tom said to my daughter. “You must have inherited your mother’s cooking skills.”

  Jenna choked on her water but politely refrained from telling Tom that the only person who raved about my culinary expertise was Ben, whose gourmet favorites included hot dogs and pizza––the kind delivered to our doorstep.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal,” said Jenna. “I realize you’ve been working long hours trying to get our father released from jail.”

  I gagged on my iced tea. My daughter really was a chip off her mother’s block. I managed a straight face while I waited for the detective’s response.

  His right shoe bumped against my left sandal. If Tom expected me to come to his rescue, he could be waiting until we served breakfast the next morning.

  “So how come you arrested Ben’s dad?” asked Kristy, turning a puzzled look to her own father. “Did he do something bad?”

  Tom cleared his throat as four pairs of eyes stared at him. “Detectives don’t decide if people did bad things. That’s what juries are for, and technically, I didn’t arrest their father. The Sacramento detectives handling this case made that call.”

  Jenna’s dropped fork clinked against her china plate. “But you didn’t do anything to stop them, did you?”

  I felt horrible that Jenna had maneuvered Tom into this awkward discussion although her train of thought was hurtling down the same track as mine.

  Tom pushed his plate aside, but he didn’t shy away from meeting her accusing gaze. “There’s evidence you don’t know about, Jenna, evidence I can’t possibly share with you. Since I’m dating your mother, the county hired outside help to ensure there was no conflict of interest. Based on their discoveries, they had no choice but to arrest your father. I’m as sorry as you are about the situation.”

  Jenna rose from the table, her body rigid. “Yeah, right. If you really cared about my mother,” her voice shook, “and us, you wouldn’t rely on their so-called ‘evidence.’ You’d try to find the real killer.”

  She flounced out of the room. The sound of the kitchen screen door banging shut indicated her departure from the house. I hoped the cool night air would calm down her redheaded temper.

  Ben and Kristy exchanged glances but remained silent. Tom stood up from the table, holding a plate full of his unfinished dinner. “It’s time to go, Kristy. Let’s take our dishes to the kitchen and leave.”

  Tom and his daughter placed their plates on my tiled counter. Then Kristy grabbed her backpack from the family room and mumbled a quiet goodbye to Ben. I followed them to the front porch. Tom told his daughter to wait in his car while we said goodbye.

  “Sorry about the grilling,” I said. “My daughter is sneakier than I realized. I’ll get her so she can apologize.”

  “No, it’s okay. I hope Kristy would defend me just as fiercely as Jenna’s doing for her dad.” He tried for a smile. “I’m not even going to comment about any resemblance between mother and daughter. I’m in enough hot water to fill a hot tub.”

  “You can’t blame my kids. This is a monstrous situation.”

  Tom looked down at his feet. “Look, I truly feel powerless at this point, but I’ve seen the evidence and it’s a solid case.”

  “You don’t feel the detectives acted prematurely in arresting Hank? Did they interview every potential suspect? From what I’ve gathered, enough people disliked Spencer to fill a town hall meeting.”

  “Laurel, you know as well as I do that merely because there’s enmity between two people, it doesn’t turn one of them into a homicidal killer.”

  “So you’re just going to sit and do nothing despite a list of suspects longer than Ben’s Christmas list?”

  Tom put his arms around me. “My hands are tied. Don’t you realize that?”

  I stepped back from his embrace. “I’m trying, but it isn’t easy. And I hope you can understand I’ll continue doing whatever I can to free Hank.”

  Tom’s eyes darkened as they locked with mine. “Not that long ago you couldn’t stand the man’s guts. Has something changed between the two of you?”

  “Of course not,” I protested, “But…

  The shriek of a car horn startled us before I could expand on my reply. Kristy waved at her father to hurry up.

  “You better go,” I said to Tom. “Your daughter is waiting for you. And my daughter needs her mother more than ever right now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The next morning, I woke with my cotton sheet wrapped around me and my blanket on the floor. My bedtime antics were burning off calories faster than my Zumba class. In my opinion, tossing and turning all night attempting to sleep is not the highest and best use of a king-size bed.

  I reflected on my problematic relationship with Tom. Maybe I should resign myself to spending the rest of my life as a single woman, growing old with my kids and making weekly visits to my ex-husband in prison.

  I groaned thinking about the arraignment today. I’d told Hank when I visited him in jail that I wanted to go to the courthouse to show support, but he’d been resolute about me not attending the brief hearing. Hank said seeing my tearful face in public would be too traumatic for him. Plus it could take hours for the court to process their huge caseload.

  Instead, I would occupy my time getting my bank errands out of the way.

  I whipped up a blueberry protein shake and poured it into a travel mug. Then I grabbed my purse and headed to the garage. Mornings were so much easier with the kids out of school.

  The drive down Green Valley Road lightened my somber mood. The snow-tipped Sierras smiled a sunny good morning at me as I headed east toward Coloma. My favorite winery bordered Vicky’s property, but they weren’t open this early. Depending on how Hank’s arraignment went, I might want to curl up in their tasting room later today. />
  The Prius hugged the twisty curves of Gold Hill Road. To the right, miniature horses grazed and galloped along the fence. With their short legs, they’d be ready for a nap by the time they rounded the property. After my sleepless night worrying about the men in my life, a nap sounded fantastic.

  I drove down the long gravel driveway to Vicky’s farmhouse-style residence. She met me on the front porch, a mug of coffee in each hand.

  “How well you know me.” I chuckled as I reached for the steaming cup.

  “I know Mr. Boxer, too.” She grimaced. “And I don’t envy your job.”

  I glanced around her white-fenced property, at the colorful roses climbing up the latticework of the covered porch, the bucolic pastures in the distance. “Maybe someday I can afford to retire too. What a way to spend your days.”

  “Hey, it’s not all sunshine and roses. Most of the time I’m either shoveling hay or shoveling shit.” She cracked a smile as we reached her large red barn. “But I do love my four-legged friends.”

  Vicky introduced me to her equine family. She lent me some spare horse tack I promised to return as soon as the contest ended. We squeezed three saddles and two hay bales into my car, all my Prius could handle and strapped one additional bale to the roof.

  “You should stop at Scott Shelton’s ranch next door,” she said. “His family has owned that place for over a century. As I recall, he has some interesting antiques in the house. He might let you borrow them.”

  “I’ve never been formally introduced to him, but we bumped into each other at Antiques Galore last Saturday when he sold some guns to Abe…” My voice trailed off as I realized I shouldn’t discuss Scott’s financial woes with his neighbor.

  “That’s okay. Scott’s had it tough since he lost the Hangtown Hotel. He feels like a failure.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “Yes and no.” She gazed in the direction of her neighbor’s ranch. “Scott’s a typical strong silent cowboy type. Doesn’t stick his nose in anyone’s business and expects others to do the same. But when Brad is out of town on sales calls, I can always count on Scott to help me with this place if necessary.”

  “That’s the kind of neighbor you need. Is there a Mrs. Scott Shelton?”

  Her eyebrows veered upward. “Not for a long time. But he’s a little old for you. And aren’t you seeing that good-looking detective?”

  Yes and no.

  “Hey, speaking of my neighbor.” Vicky pointed at the gray truck moving up her driveway, a cloud of dust following behind. The driver parked next to my overloaded Prius, which now looked more dusty beige than periwinkle.

  Scott extended one long denim-clad leg out of the cab of his truck. A black lab stuck its curious head out the window, greeting us with a lonely woof. The rancher motioned at his pet. It lay down in the passenger seat as quiet as a sleeping turtle. His dog appeared better trained than my son.

  “Morning, Scott,” Vicky said then introduced me to her neighbor.

  “We crossed paths last Saturday in Antiques Galore,” I added.

  Scott merely nodded and turned to Vicky. “I have to leave a day earlier than expected to get the rig over the hill, so you’ll need to watch Polly starting tomorrow.”

  “Is Polly your dog?” I asked.

  “She’s his favorite mare,” Vicky answered for him. “Polly is pregnant so she doesn’t get to go on the Wagon Train this trip. But there’s always next year.”

  Scott frowned. “We’ll see. This could be my last ride. I’m thinking of selling the homestead and moving to Alaska. Someplace not so crowded.”

  “Scott, I can’t believe you’d sell your family home,” Vicky exclaimed.

  He stared at the ground. “Too many snakes in this part of the country.”

  I wondered if the reptiles the cowboy alluded to were the ones who crawled on the ground. Maybe a compliment would encourage him to open up. “I’ve always admired the people who participate in the Wagon Train year after year. I’d like to try it myself sometime.”

  “Takes dedication, hard work and money.” His sharp gray eyes assessed my well-filled lacy white top and flowered skirt. His gaze eventually landed on my three-inch wedge sandals. “Not much fun for a city gal.”

  I bristled at his assessment. Liking cute shoes didn’t automatically proclaim me a wimpy city girl. I tried to come up with a brilliant rebuttal, but he mumbled goodbye and sauntered back to his truck.

  “Not the friendliest guy in town,” I muttered.

  “Aw, did he hurt your feelings, city girl?” asked Vicky, falling into a fit of giggles.

  I frowned then joined in. “I prefer to think of myself as an urban cowgirl. But maybe it’s time to get some manure-kicking boots to demonstrate my country roots.”

  On that note, Vicky and I hugged each other goodbye. With my car crammed full, I decided to forego stopping at Scott Shelton’s ranch for additional antiques. It sounded like he had enough on his mind without this city gal annoying him.

  I drove out Vicky’s long driveway then turned right on Cold Springs Road toward Placerville. The hay bales in my car smelled heavenly for all of three minutes until I began to sneeze and the interior of my car turned into hay fever hell.

  So much for riding in a covered wagon. I was relegated back to wussy wimp status. Scott Shelton didn’t have to worry about me annoying him on his Wagon Train journey.

  After hauling all of the items from my car into my office, I checked to see if any other marketing duties awaited my attention. A new “to do today or else” list prepared by Mr. Boxer glared at me and I glared back. I whipped out a flyer extolling the bank’s hot rates on our CD accounts and another one for a new loan program. Once I completed those two exciting projects, I picked up the phone to call Gran.

  The phone rang seven times before she answered.

  “Hold your horses, toots,” she said. “I need to put my hearing aid in.”

  I waited almost four minutes before she got back on the line. “What took so long?” I asked.

  “Oh, Judge Judy is on and I wanted to see if she gave the jackass who sued his mother any money.”

  “Well…?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Did the jack… er, did the plaintiff win?”

  “Nope. That is one smart judge. We could use her in this county.”

  I wagered if Judge Judy heard the charges against Hank, she’d have him out of jail by the end of her show.

  “Hey, Gran, I’m decorating the bank and many of our supplies are eroded and corroded. Do you have any memorabilia I could borrow? Anything that would fit in with a gold mining or western theme.”

  “Your mother’s been bugging me to get rid of the stuff stored in the shed. How ‘bout I check it out and call you back.”

  “Thanks. You’re the best. But don’t go lifting anything too heavy. Promise?”

  She muttered something about young whippersnappers and bid me farewell. My grandmother had been an active woman all of her life, first raising my mother and my uncle then working as a bookkeeper. After retirement, she became involved with a variety of community activities, including the historical society. She fought the physical realities of aging with every tool she could––including weekly Tai Chi classes.

  I’d missed a call on my cell while chatting with my grandmother. I checked voicemail and discovered a message from Hank’s attorney. I hoped he had good news after the arraignment. Assuming good news was even an option.

  I called Rex back, but he’d left the office. His secretary promised to have him return my call.

  A few minutes later, my cell rang again, but it was neither the attorney nor Gran.

  “Hello, luv, what are you up to?” asked Liz.

  “My life seems to be on perpetual hold. I’m waiting for the attorney to call back with an update on Hank’s hearing and waiting for Gran to call back with an update on old crap. Waiting for Tom to call back and admit he’s full of …” My voice petered out as Liz’s throaty chuckle
floated over the line.

  “My word. You are in a pissy mood today. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Can you talk your husband into finding out what evidence the prosecution has on Hank?”

  “Hah,” she said. “I have a better chance of winning the lottery than getting anything out of my tight-lipped husband. I take it you haven’t been able to crack your boyfriend’s code of silence either.”

  “I’m not sure I still have a boyfriend. Hank’s arrest has driven a huge wedge between us.”

  The phone remained silent for so long, I thought we’d lost our connection. Then Liz said, “You don’t suppose Tom is jealous of Hank, do you?”

  I snorted. “Don’t be silly. What does Tom have to be jealous about?”

  “Hank hangs around you and the kids a lot. At least, he did before they arrested him. Which I’m sure Tom had nothing to do with.”

  “If Tom’s detectives hadn’t thrown my husband in jail, I could have dealt with the situation.”

  Liz waited a few seconds before replying. “You realize you referred to Hank as your husband?”

  “A slip of the tongue. You know what I mean.”

  “I may know what you mean, Laurel,” she replied. “But do you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I spent the remainder of the afternoon completing a variety of minor tasks while I waited for a multitude of people to return my phone calls. My best friend’s implication that I still had feelings for Hank gave me heartburn. When his attorney called back to inform me that the court would not grant Hank bail, my gastric inferno reached volcanic proportions.

  I phoned Gran several times, but she never answered. My request must have prompted her to clean out her shed. Or she tired herself out and fell asleep. By six, Gran still hadn’t called back. As I walked to the parking lot, an uneasy feeling waged war with the flames burning in my belly. If something happened to my grandmother while she searched for stuff for me, I would never forgive myself.

  I gobbled two pastel-colored Tums found in the bottom of my purse that I hoped were no more than a decade past their expiration date. I called the kids and told them to eat dinner without me then aimed the Prius east toward Bedford Street.