Grill on Friday night. When I’d finished, he blew out a long breath and shook his head. “Women. You haven’t picked a good one since Maria. I still can’t believe you let her go.”
I stared past my reflection in the window, remembering my first meeting with Maria. I could still see the flash of her tanned legs as she fanned her long white skirt, her dark hair pulled up in a careless ponytail, her pursed lips, the tiny furrow between her brows as she bent to inspect one of the hand-tinted prints she’d brought to the craft fair at Centennial Park.
I was in college, one month shy of my twentieth birthday and working part-time for a man whose handcrafted dulcimers were on display in the tent next to Maria’s.
Best assignment of my life.
She was four years older than I was, which always bothered her. But she was beautiful then, and she was beautiful now. I suspected she’d be beautiful when she had silver hair and wrinkles.
I looked back at Randall and said, “You can’t cage a hummingbird.”
“That’s a load of bull. She wasn’t the one who couldn’t be caged.” He shot me an annoyed look. “And stop that drumming.”
I froze, hands poised above the dashboard. His bobblehead Superman, fraternal twin to the Batman on mine, gave an approving nod. Slowly, pointedly, I placed my palms flat on my thighs and said, “You’re mad at me. I get the point. But what I don’t get is why. I didn’t kill that woman. And as far as Maria goes, I’m not the one who ended it.”
“She put up twenty thousand dollars of your bond. She and D.W. You know that?”
“No. I didn’t know.”
“Maria asked him, and D.W. coughed up the money. No questions asked. They must have liquidated half their assets.”
“And the rest?”
“Besides what your lawyer got out of your accounts? Wendy and I took out a second mortgage on the house. Jay cashed in some stocks he had. Some of the guys on the force chipped in a little. Guys you used to work with. Even a couple of your clients. A hundred here, a couple thousand there. We’ve been raising the money since Sunday night.”
“Jesus, Randall.”
When he spoke again, his voice was hard. “Had to get you out so you could solve this thing. I don’t want to have to visit you in prison.”
“You won’t.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.
We rode in silence for a few minutes. Then I broached another sensitive subject. “What’s up with Josh these days? The other night, he looked . . .”
“He looked like shit. I don’t know what’s going on with him. Wendy says I have to let him have his ‘space.’ ” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “He’s into all this occult stuff. I think he might be into drugs. Or worse.”
I had no idea what to say. In the middle of a family crisis, my brother had taken a second mortgage just to get me out of a jam. And Maria and D.W. Where had that come from?
“I’m sorry,” I said at last.
“Yeah, so am I.” He gave a bark of nervous laughter. “I didn’t mean to dump this on you.”
“Dump away.” I stared out at the scenery as we whizzed past. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Getting yourself out of this jam is the least you can do. Manage that, and we’ll call it even.”
I caught myself before I started drumming on my thighs. “I’m on the job,” I said. And I was. The only problem was, I had no idea where to start.
THAT WASN’T ENTIRELY TRUE . I had a few ideas, but I was hampered by the fact that my name—and, thanks to Ashleigh, my face—had been plastered all over the news. I could disguise the latter, but Tennessee detective licenses were photo I.D.s. It would be tough to conduct an investigation without showing my credentials.
Before I worried about any of that, though, I wanted a hot shower, a home-cooked meal, and a night in my own bed. With clean sheets. And a real, honest-to-God pillow.
Randall dropped me off at Jay’s place in Mt. Juliet and waved goodbye. I watched
I stared past my reflection in the window, remembering my first meeting with Maria. I could still see the flash of her tanned legs as she fanned her long white skirt, her dark hair pulled up in a careless ponytail, her pursed lips, the tiny furrow between her brows as she bent to inspect one of the hand-tinted prints she’d brought to the craft fair at Centennial Park.
I was in college, one month shy of my twentieth birthday and working part-time for a man whose handcrafted dulcimers were on display in the tent next to Maria’s.
Best assignment of my life.
She was four years older than I was, which always bothered her. But she was beautiful then, and she was beautiful now. I suspected she’d be beautiful when she had silver hair and wrinkles.
I looked back at Randall and said, “You can’t cage a hummingbird.”
“That’s a load of bull. She wasn’t the one who couldn’t be caged.” He shot me an annoyed look. “And stop that drumming.”
I froze, hands poised above the dashboard. His bobblehead Superman, fraternal twin to the Batman on mine, gave an approving nod. Slowly, pointedly, I placed my palms flat on my thighs and said, “You’re mad at me. I get the point. But what I don’t get is why. I didn’t kill that woman. And as far as Maria goes, I’m not the one who ended it.”
“She put up twenty thousand dollars of your bond. She and D.W. You know that?”
“No. I didn’t know.”
“Maria asked him, and D.W. coughed up the money. No questions asked. They must have liquidated half their assets.”
“And the rest?”
“Besides what your lawyer got out of your accounts? Wendy and I took out a second mortgage on the house. Jay cashed in some stocks he had. Some of the guys on the force chipped in a little. Guys you used to work with. Even a couple of your clients. A hundred here, a couple thousand there. We’ve been raising the money since Sunday night.”
“Jesus, Randall.”
When he spoke again, his voice was hard. “Had to get you out so you could solve this thing. I don’t want to have to visit you in prison.”
“You won’t.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.
We rode in silence for a few minutes. Then I broached another sensitive subject. “What’s up with Josh these days? The other night, he looked . . .”
“He looked like shit. I don’t know what’s going on with him. Wendy says I have to let him have his ‘space.’ ” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “He’s into all this occult stuff. I think he might be into drugs. Or worse.”
I had no idea what to say. In the middle of a family crisis, my brother had taken a second mortgage just to get me out of a jam. And Maria and D.W. Where had that come from?
“I’m sorry,” I said at last.
“Yeah, so am I.” He gave a bark of nervous laughter. “I didn’t mean to dump this on you.”
“Dump away.” I stared out at the scenery as we whizzed past. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Getting yourself out of this jam is the least you can do. Manage that, and we’ll call it even.”
I caught myself before I started drumming on my thighs. “I’m on the job,” I said. And I was. The only problem was, I had no idea where to start.
THAT WASN’T ENTIRELY TRUE . I had a few ideas, but I was hampered by the fact that my name—and, thanks to Ashleigh, my face—had been plastered all over the news. I could disguise the latter, but Tennessee detective licenses were photo I.D.s. It would be tough to conduct an investigation without showing my credentials.
Before I worried about any of that, though, I wanted a hot shower, a home-cooked meal, and a night in my own bed. With clean sheets. And a real, honest-to-God pillow.
Randall dropped me off at Jay’s place in Mt. Juliet and waved goodbye. I watched
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