Lethal Lifestyles (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 6) Page 5

  6.

  Slime and crime

  I clawed gouges in my scalp scrubbing my hair, the hot water streaming down my cheeks mingling with tears. Bob, of all people. On both counts. I couldn’t believe I’d yelled at my beloved editor any more than I could believe he’d looked so suspicious of Parker. What the hell happened to my fairy-tale rehearsal weekend?

  By the time I had some makeup and a pair of gray linen shorts on, I was ready to get it back. Add a peach silk tank top and my favorite nude Tory Burch wedges, and I was downright determined.

  My phone buzzed against the marble of the bar top as I strode into the living room. Sliding my finger across the screen, I raised it to my ear. “Hey, Mom.”

  “How’s it going, baby? All those plates still spinning?” Her voice was bright.

  Barely. Not that I was telling Mom that. “Dinner last night was great, and wait ’til you see the photos Larry got when they arrived. This was a spectacular idea.”

  “I’m so glad they’re having fun,” she said. “How about you? Ready for a break yet?”

  “More than ready.” Every word true. In more than one sense. “I’m headed up to the lodge to talk to someone about lunch right this second.” And I would. I just wanted to talk about the murder victim too.

  She wished me a good day, and I told her I loved her and clicked off. The phone rattled against my car keys when I slid it into my pocket.

  Plopping my sunglasses in place as I jerked the front door open, I decided Sammons or one of his minions were my best bet for information.

  I half-jogged toward the lodge and made it a quarter of the way there before I noticed Hulk, coming out of the far end of the field nearest the barns.

  Spinning mid-stride, I kept myself from tripping only because I’d had a lot of practice (long legs plus lack of grace equals tumbling experience).

  Hurrying his direction, I slowed my steps when he saw me and started my way.

  “Good morning,” he said, putting out a hand. “I was kind of hoping I’d run into you. Wanted to say thanks for helping us keep our heads last night. I grew up on a farm, but that was a sight different than a hog slaughter.”

  I shaded my eyes with one hand, dropping my head back to look up at him. This was a mountain of man—he had to be six foot seven at least, and his shoulders probably had a couple inches on my entire arm span. My inner Lois Lane whispered that cause of death was among the first answers I needed.

  “Believe me, I sympathize,” I said. “My work tends to involve corpses fairly often, and the scenes still aren’t easy to stomach. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  I paused, keeping an interested smile in place. Old reporter trick: Most people don’t like silence. If you keep quiet long enough, they’ll start talking to avoid it.

  His massive shoulders lifted with a sigh. “I wish I could’ve been more help to the sheriff. I was surveying crops all afternoon until I went into the barn to check those barrels. The next few weeks are important for last summer’s vintage, and timing is everything.”

  I nodded, keeping my lips tight together. Keep talking.

  He looked around, throwing his hands up and letting them slap down against his dusty jeans. “Nothing gets murdered out here but a few deer during hunting season. Who would do something like this? I mean, sure, Burke was a dick, but come on. Nobody deserves that.”

  My eyebrows floated up. The way Bob told it, Parker had good reason to dislike Burke. General unpopularity could be helpful to my friend if Bob was right about him being a suspect. “The victim wasn’t everyone’s favorite guy?”

  Hulk snorted. “If that tool was his own momma’s favorite guy, I’ll eat my socks.”

  Yikes. But…yay. In a weird way.

  “Anyone in particular that really hated him?” I kept my tone light, my eyes wide, and my smile in place.

  He shrugged. “You could start with probably half the women in the commonwealth.”

  Womanizer. Not surprising. Though a quarter of the population of Virginia was a mighty large suspect pool. I studied Hulk’s face, wondering how far I wanted to push with the questions. I might want to talk to him again, and I didn’t want him to get wary.

  Before I could decide, a Ford King Ranch pulled up and Dale Sammons kicked the door open. “Morning, Franklin,” he called, settling his Ostrich boots on the grass. “Morning…?” He let the word trail and lifted his eyebrows at me, his eyes darting back to Franklin.

  “Nichelle,” I blurted, stepping forward and putting a hand out. “I’m the maid of honor in Grant and Melanie’s wedding.”

  “That’s right.” Sammons nodded, flipping my hand and brushing his lips across my knuckles. “You came down with them to look the place over at Thanksgiving. Enchanted. Again.”

  I smiled, letting my hand drop back to my side and resisting the urge to wipe it on my shorts. “Nice to see you again, sir.” I hit the last word a bit hard, keeping the smile pasted in place. “Thank you again for everything you’re doing for Grant and Mel. This is a beautiful place you have.”

  Sammons glanced around, a smirk replacing the grin. “Wasn’t much to look at when I inherited it, and look what I’ve created. What good is there in doing something if you’re not going to do it all the way?” His tone stayed pleasant, but the razor edge just beneath the chipper would’ve sliced through one of the hundred-foot oaks lining the drive. I slid my eyes to Hulk and caught a flash of a scowl so brief I might’ve imagined it.

  Huh.

  I didn’t get my mouth open to reply before Sammons tipped his head back to address Hulk. “You’re out early for a Saturday. Everything still moving on schedule? We can’t allow this unfortunate mishap to derail anything.”

  Franklin nodded. “I was concerned about the south fields, so I left the drips on overnight and came back to check them.”

  “And?” Every trace of chipper vanished from Sammons’ face and tone. I mimed a statue, afraid to breathe and remind him I was there. Eavesdropping in plain sight was a handy skill for a reporter, and I’d spent years perfecting blending into the background when necessary.

  “Perking back up,” Franklin said. “We’ll keep an eye on them through the week, but I think we’re in the clear.”

  “What about the other barrels?”

  “I haven’t checked them yet,” Franklin said. “I was kind of afraid to.”

  Sammons blinked, his face falling as he nodded. “Of course. This tragedy has taken a toll on us all. Poor Mitch.”

  Everyone’s eyes dropped to their shoes, and Franklin scuffed the dusty toe of one kayak-sized boot back and forth across the dewy grass until it shone like a new penny.

  After ten beats, I cleared my throat. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Sammons.”

  “I appreciate that. Mitch was a good boy.”

  Franklin coughed over a snort and I fought to keep my eyebrows where they belonged.

  Sammons shot Franklin a shut-the-hell-up look and offered me a melancholy half-smile, shoving his hands into the pockets of starched designer jeans that had never seen the business end of a farm day. “It’s sad for the whole Generals family. I thought we’d had our share of tragedy when we lost Nate.”

  His mention of the pitcher whose death in a fiery boating crash had exposed Richmond’s sinister side brought back memories that hit me like a swift roundhouse to the gut, even two years later. I blinked as I nodded. “That you did.”

  “It’s such a shame this had to happen in the middle of Grant’s wedding,” Sammons continued, his eyes on the field behind me. “Though I suppose if we were going to lose someone, at least there was never any love lost between him and Mitch. We won’t have a groom who’s in mourning.”

  Franklin’s head tipped again, and I narrowed my eyes at Sammons, not caring for his syrupy tone or his insinuation.

  “I’m afraid you might be mistaken there, sir.” I let a blast of frost coat the words. “Parker isn’t the type to be unmoved by a young man losing his life, no matter ho
w poorly they got along.”

  What was with everyone? First Bob, then Sammons. I wanted to build a wall around Parker before these men he’d respected for years hurt him with their lack of faith.

  Sammons nodded, but didn’t speak again, motioning for Hulk to follow him and walking back toward the barns.

  Wow. I’d never been quite so unceremoniously dismissed.

  And I covered cops.

  Shaking my head and muttering a colorful descriptor I’d picked up from said cops, I whirled for my car, fishing a notebook out of the console and jotting a few lines:

  Women: Did Burke have a girlfriend? Or five? Any with access to barn?

  Hulk/Franklin: Could know more than he thinks. Might be a good source. Avoid spooking him.

  Sammons: slime ball extraordinaire. Where was he yesterday? Verify DC alibi he tossed out last night?

  Across the bottom of the page, I scrawled in all caps: WHAT DOESN’T HE WANT “DERAILED?”

  Wondering if the sheriff might talk to me, I tossed the notebook and pen into the passenger seat and set my GPS for his office.

  The building’s exterior was straight out of The Brady Bunch, deco architecture with a cream and chocolate rock facade and dark wood trim. I pulled the smoked-glass front door open to find a dispatcher sitting behind a wall of Plexiglas and faux-wood paneling. She pursed her rose-pink lips when she looked up, scanning me from head to knees before she raised her pencil-thin brows and offered a drawling “Can I help you?”

  Not fazed by the unwelcoming attitude, I smiled and pulled my driver’s license from my bag. “I’m wondering if the sheriff might have a moment to talk this morning.”

  Her scarlet acrylic claws clicked against the little plastic card, her blue eyes narrowing as she stared at it long enough to read every line five times.

  “This is a Richmond address,” she said when she finally looked up. “What do you want out here?”

  Deep breath, bright smile. “I just came from talking to Dale Sammons,” every word true, “and I think I might have some information that could be of use to y’all.”

  Her eyes went so soft and shiny at Sammons’s name I wasn’t sure she heard the rest of what I said. “Mitch,” she whispered.

  I studied her a little closer. Late twenties, big blonde hair, a touch too much makeup. The kind of beer-commercial pretty I used to think Parker would go for before I knew him better. And she knew the victim. From the quaver in her voice, she might’ve known him well.

  There was my way past the front desk.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I dropped my voice three octaves. “What a terrible shock, and then for you to have to come to work today.”

  A tear hovered on her mascara-thickened lashes for a long second before it splattered onto the paperwork in front of her, followed by a small shower of friends.

  She nodded, hiccupping twice and blowing her nose before she took a deep breath and looked up at me. “We don’t get too many murders out here.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as she looked over her shoulder. “He said he wasn’t to be bothered this morning, but…”

  “I’d sure like to help if I can.” I fixed a soft smile on my face and held her gaze.

  Nodding slowly, she buzzed me through the heavy double doors, pointing down the hallway that stretched beyond them. “Next to last door on the left,” she said. “His name’s Jim. Jim Rutledge.”

  The phone let out a string of sharp bleeps.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed as she reached for the handset.

  I strode down the wide hallway, squaring my shoulders before I rapped on the burnished mahogany with Rutledge’s name affixed to it via brass plate.

  “What, Ella Jane? I told you twice, leave me the hell alone today. I’m not up for listening to you cry over Burke anymore until I figure out what happened to him.”

  Hulk’s comment about women rang in my ears. Was Ella Jane really distraught, or could she be putting on a good show? I filed that for later as I turned the knob and poked my head into his office. “Good morning, sir,” I said in my most earnest voice.

  Rutledge was considerably shorter without his hat, the still-tight upper body evidence of a fit form that had softened around the middle with age. From the lines framing his eyes and the snowy hair at his temples, I’d put the sheriff in his mid-fifties. He held a sheaf of papers, photos spread on the desk before him, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his wide nose.

  He raised his blue eyes to my face for a full thirty seconds before the nose wrinkled as his eyes narrowed. “Who in God’s name are you, and how’d you get in here? Ella Jane!”

  Before I could open my mouth to explain, a crash that sounded an awful lot like a rolling desk chair colliding with a filing cabinet rang down the hallway, a panicked scream rattling the framed photos on the walls: “Daddy!”

  Rutledge jumped to his feet, charging straight at me. I leapt backward, narrowly missing a sprinting Ella Jane. She stopped short when the sheriff appeared in the doorway, her matching blue eyes wide as she reached for his shoulders.

  “What now?” Rutledge’s voice was tight with frustration, but he didn’t yell.

  I flattened myself against the wall and stayed quiet.

  “Where are your keys?” She gulped a deep breath. “Leroy Fulton just called hollering about thieves again, and when I tried to talk him down like usual, he said he’s got a Winchester auto and he doesn’t need your help.”

  Rutledge’s eyes fell shut. “Dammit, Leroy.”

  He pulled the keys from his pocket and whirled for the back of the building, hollering for a deputy as Ella Jane trailed behind him.

  Forgotten in the melee, I tapped one foot and pulled out a notebook, scribbling as fast as my hand would fly. Names. Relationships. Gun manufacturer.

  Big ol’ question mark.

  Sigh.

  I’d come here to earn the sheriff’s trust—and the glare he shot me before everything went batshit told me that might not be easy. But while I wasn’t walking out with exactly what I’d hoped for, priority one was keeping Rutledge off Parker’s tail for a while longer.

  It sounded like Mr. Fulton was handling that for the immediate future.

  Which gave me a bit more time to check off priority two: proving Bob wrong.

  7.

  En Garde

  I’d just started the car when my phone went to buzzing in my bag. I checked the caller ID as I frowned at the clock—how in God’s name was it only eight thirty in the morning? It felt like it should be at least noon.

  “Hey there.” I put the car in reverse, pinching the phone between my shoulder and my ear.

  “Good morning, beautiful.” Joey’s low sexy voice made my insides go mushy. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I was trying to let you sleep.”

  I snorted. “Bob woke me. Three hours ago.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Dead guy in a wine barrel that’s a very long story I’d rather not rehash right now.”

  The pause was so long I pulled the phone away from my head to see if the signal had dropped. “Joey?”

  “You—there’s a corpse? Are you kidding?”

  “Boy, how I wish I was. Just left the local sheriff’s office. Trying to keep this wedding from imploding at the last minute.”

  “Can’t you ever have boring days?”

  “I’ll be plenty bored next Saturday night, dancing all by myself.” There was no bite to the words, but they hit the air before I could stop them.

  The biggest here-we-go-again sigh I’d ever heard rushed out of the phone speaker. “Baby, it’s a bad idea for me to show up at a big social event with a room full of nosy news people. I wish like hell…” He trailed off.

  “Don’t.” I choked on the word. “Please don’t say things you don’t mean.”

  “Where in the name of all that is holy would you get the idea that I don’t mean that with everything in me?” His tone so
ftened and my defenses crumbled into a pile of rubble I was terrified my heart would join soon.

  Why did everything have to be so damned complicated?

  I was falling for this man. After months of something resembling a real relationship—the very best months I’d ever spent with anyone—I was sure of that. And as hard as I tried to keep my heart insulated, the falling part wasn’t even the problem.

  Joey was…amazing. Sweet and thoughtful and protective. Not to mention sexy as hell.

  Nope. He wasn’t any problem at all.

  The problem was his “business,” which had ties to organized crime.

  Which meant everything about our relationship had to be a secret. I knew he was right. That’s why I hadn’t said anything to Bob the night before. But it meant dancing with my guy at Mel’s wedding was off limits. As was talking to anyone but my BFF about him, and I’d about given up on that lately because Jenna didn’t love me being with Joey. Even my mom was dropping not-so-subtle get-serious-or-move-on hints, though they came mostly from an increasing fear that she’d never have a grandchild.

  All of that well and truly sucked.

  I let out a wistful sigh. “Maybe we’re overthinking this. Nobody I work with knows you.” Parker did, judging by his half-comment the night before, but he’d be so wrapped up in Mel he wouldn’t notice if Amy Adams streaked his reception.

  “And you don’t think they’re all going to be clamoring for a background check the moment I lay a finger on you?” Joey’s voice was soft. “You don’t just want me to be there, you want me to be there with you. I won’t make it to the second dance before we’ll be swamped with questions we can’t answer.”

  “Why can’t you be a random guy I just met? I’ll tell them I joined eHarmony.”

  “Because your friend the groom saw me at the hospital last fall, and you can’t be sure he won’t remember. If you get caught in a lie about who I am, they’ll really start digging.”

  “Parker will be so busy he won’t have time to look at us.”

  “At his good friend, who’s the maid of honor, and the mystery man she deemed important enough to bring to his wedding?”