Killerfind (15 page)

hetta’s
head spun. Grabbing
the edge of Adams’ desk, she stood and whirled around.

“Where’s Ashton Kutcher?” She swiveled her head and
looked back at the door. “I’m getting punk’d, right? There’s no other
explanation for that kind of question.”

Randolph stood when she did, and lay his hand on her
arm. “Rhetta, please, sit down and be quiet.” His voice was firm, professional.
She had never heard him use that tone with her before. Turning to Adams, he
said, “I’m no longer just Mrs. McCarter’s husband. I am now her attorney. She
isn’t going to answer any questions like that unless you arrest her and
Mirandize her. In fact, you made a serious mistake. You can’t use anything you
get off her phone, since you haven’t Mirandized her. That phone can’t be used
as evidence.”

Rhetta grabbed Randolph’s arm. “For God’s sake,
Randolph, don’t give him any ideas!”

Adams spread his hands apart, palms out, and shook
his head. “Hold on, Judge. I’m not going to arrest your wife, I mean client.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s just a question I needed to ask, to get it out of
the way. We weren’t looking for evidence on her phone.”

“Either ask what you need to know to determine if
she’s a witness, or my client and I will be leaving. As she told you, she’s
here voluntarily. That means she’s free to go.”

Rhetta’s heart hammered against her ribs. Did this
cop really think she had anything to do with Jeremy’s death? Her head broke out
in beads of perspiration. She had an immense dislike for Jeremy Spears, but
unless she’d had an out-of-body experience, she hadn’t killed him.

“Are you warm, Mrs. McCarter?” Adams asked,
obviously noticing her glistening brow.

“As a matter of fact, I’m burning up. Doesn’t the
air conditioning work in this place?” She snatched a nearby magazine and began
fanning herself.

Randolph took her hand and gave her The Look. She
shut up.

Adams cleared his throat. “All we need to see is her
recent call list. We need to find this woman who supposedly called your wife.”
He paused to scan his notes. “Mylene Allard.”

Randolph again asked Rhetta to point out Mylene
Allard’s phone number on the list. “Write this number down, Lieutenant.” He
rattled off the number, then lifted his head and addressed Rhetta.

“I don’t have any further questions, Mrs. McCarter,
so yes, you’re free to leave.” Adams motioned to the door. He didn’t bother
escorting her to the door or down the hall like he had with the two previous
women.

Probably because they weren’t
murder suspects, like me.

They walked a few steps, then Randolph turned back
to Adams. “You sure you got that number, Lieutenant?” Adams nodded. “Good, then
have a nice day.”

Randolph held the door for his wife, then followed
her into the hall.

*
* *

“The
nerve of Adams accusing me of killing Jeremy Spears. Especially after we came
down here voluntarily to try and help,” Rhetta fumed.

“He’s only doing his job.” Randolph opened the
passenger door of his truck. Rhetta climbed in. “I wish you hadn’t gone back to
that barn.” He shook his head. She began to protest and he raised his hand to
silence her. “What’s done is done. I know you didn’t have anything to do with
Jeremy Spears’ death, or with Malcom Griffith’s. With these two deaths, the
sheriff’s department has its hands full now, no doubt about it. I guess we
could cut them a little slack.”

While Randolph and Rhetta were elbowing their way
out through the waiting room amidst an even larger gaggle of reporters and
media people, through a tangle of wires and laptops, cell phones and microphone
stands, Sheriff Reasoner had announced over a public address system that he’d
be giving a news briefing in thirty minutes. The media folks had surged forward
when the door from the back had opened and were visibly disappointed when they
spotted Rhetta and Randolph instead of the sheriff. Grumbling, they returned to
scanning their iPhones, iPads and whatever else “i” that abounded.

Randolph maneuvered the Artmobile 2 out of the
crowded parking lot and onto Highway 61, and aimed it for home. After cranking
the air conditioner on high, Rhetta sank back against the plush comfort of the
seat and headrest. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she snapped them
open. “What about Streak? It’s still at my office.”

“Text Woody to lock it up and leave the keys in your
desk. I’ll take you to work tomorrow. We need to go home.”

“Good idea.” Rhetta searched out her iPhone and
texted Woody. She received an immediate answer. He’d take care of it. “Woody’s
a lifesaver,” Rhetta said, and sat back again.

Randolph fiddled with the radio until he located the
local all-news station. “Maybe we can catch Talbot’s press statement.”

“I’d rather listen to oldies music than that
windbag,” Rhetta said, closing her eyes and savoring the cool air.

“I had always had respect for Reasoner, but I’ve
changed my mind. You have me convinced. I’m not going to support him this next
election. He didn’t bother to come in and talk to you and me himself while we
were there. Just hid away in his office, and let Adams do all the interviewing.
He’s a real rodent.”

Rhetta cut her gaze across to Randolph. He never
said ugly things about people. That Sheriff Talbot Reasoner hadn’t troubled
himself to speak to his supposed friend must have spoken volumes to Randolph.

Just as they pulled off on the gravel county road
that led home, the station broke in with a live news feed to present the press
conference. Talbot Reasoner cleared his throat, then tapped the mike. “Good
afternoon ladies and gentlemen. First, off let me tell y’all, this won’t be a
question-and-answer session.” A collective groan vibrated from the reporters in
attendance. Following the murmuring, paper rattled loudly into the mike,
probably the sheriff scanning his notes. Reasoner continued. “As you know, the
body of Jeremy Spears was found early this morning in a barn on property he was
developing into a subdivision in Gordonville. The murder weapon has been
identified, and we now have a suspect in custody.” The crowd murmured.

Randolph and Rhetta stared at each other.

“We’ve arrested Mr. Spears’ girlfriend, Victoria
Lane. That’s all for now.” The clamor that followed was interrupted by the
studio feed “Kool Kape Radio will bring you the latest developments as they
break,” warbled a deep-voiced announcer.

Randolph punched the radio off, and shook his head.
“I hope she knows a good lawyer.”

his is
just plain
crazy.
Nuts!” Rhetta fumed as she slammed the newspaper on to Woody’s desk the next
morning.

He rolled his chair backward and raised his arms in
surrender. “I didn’t write the story, Rhetta. I just brought in the paper.”

She paced between their desks. “I know. I’m sorry.
It’s not your fault. It’s not even the newspaper’s fault for reporting the
news. And it seems to be very big news.” She pointed to the headline splashed
in bold type across the top third of the paper:
GIRLFRIEND ARRESTED IN LOCAL
DEVELOPER’S DEATH.

“There is absolutely no way on God’s green earth
that Ricky could have hurt Jeremy or anybody else. She’s the softhearted one
who rescues animals. Last year, she made a pet out of a baby ’possum she found,
remember?”

Woody only nodded.

Rhetta plopped down at her desk, and blew across the
top of her coffee. Randolph had dropped her off earlier, so that she had plenty
of time to get the coffee made and all the computers started before Woody came
in, local paper tucked under his arm. When he mentioned the arrest was all over
the front page, she’d insisted on reading the story. She hadn’t bought the St.
Louis paper. She didn’t want to know if the news had reached the Big Lou.

“Oh, no!” Rhetta said, leaping up.

Woody’s head swiveled around. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Speaking of rescued animals, Ricky has two house
dogs. I don’t know who she’d get to go over there to let them out. She always
calls me to check on her dogs if she’s going to be gone overnight. She didn’t
call me, and I forgot all about Taffy and Tater.” Rhetta grabbed her purse, and
searched for her keys. Unable to find them, she turned her purse over and
dumped everything on to her desk. A tube of lipstick rolled off the desk to the
floor. “I can’t find my keys. Where are they?” she groused as she riffled
through the checkbook, her wallet, her set of office keys, and miscellaneous
papers before stuffing everything back into her bag. Still no keys. She looked
around frantically.

“Uh, Rhetta? Did you look in your desk drawer? You
asked me to lock up your car and leave the keys in your desk.”

She yanked open the top middle drawer. “I found
them.” It was too late to avoid feeling really foolish. As soon as he told her,
she remembered texting him.

“I’m going out there and take care of her dogs. I’ll
be back soon.”

LuEllen arrived just as Rhetta was sailing out the
door. She rested her hand on Rhetta’s arm, stopping her boss. “Wait, Rhetta.
Are you leaving again? You know you have two closings today, don’t you? Mrs.
Gentry really didn’t like talking to me yesterday about her loan. She wants you
to be at her closing.” For emphasis, LuEllen tapped on the wall calendar, which
had two notations circled on it. Rhetta glanced at her watch. “What time are
they scheduled?”

“Mrs. Gentry’s reverse mortgage closing is first, at
10:30. The Rigdon purchase isn’t until 2:00.” She sat at her desk, tucked a
tiny purse away and brought her monitor to life. Rhetta had often asked herself
how the woman could get by with a purse that was smaller than Rhetta’s wallet.

“You’re right, LuEllen. I need to be here with Mrs.
Gentry. The dear old soul is frightened enough of all this paperwork. I’ll go
out to Ricky’s later.” Rhetta returned to her desk, stuffed her purse into the
bottom drawer and adjusted the height of her chair, a daily requirement. Every
night the chair sank all the way down which necessitated Rhetta adjusting it
upward every morning. When she forgot, her chin would nearly touch her desktop.

Woody stood and rolled his chair to park it in front
of his desk, then headed for the front door. “I don’t have any appointments
until late this afternoon. I’ll go out there for you and let the dogs out and
feed them, too.”

“Thanks, Woody, you’re a doll. Her keys are under a
grey faux rock by the back door. The rock has the words “The Rock” painted on
it. Don’t let them out without their leashes. They don’t know you and may try
to run off. Their kibbles are in the pantry on the back porch.”

“Got it,” he said, digging in his pants pockets for
his car keys.

“And don’t forget to give them fresh water,” Rhetta
shouted as he was leaving.

He turned around and sighed. “Really? I hadn’t
thought of that.”

She waved him off. “I’m sorry. Of course, you know
that.” He merely nodded as he closed the door. Woody was the proud daddy of Lela
and Lottie, two gorgeous Boxers that he’d adopted. He and Jenn were childless,
like Rhetta and Randolph. Woody’s dogs were his kids. Rhetta and Randolph’s fur
babies were feline.

*
* *

Woody
returned just as Mrs. Gentry was getting ready to leave following her closing.
He held the door for her. She paused to give Rhetta a hug. “Thank you, Rhetta.
Thanks to you, I can keep my home.”

“Thanks for bringing us brownies. I’ll be by soon
for some more, Mrs. Gentry,” Rhetta said, and glanced at the plate of chocolate
brownies beckoning to her from the closing table. She mentally calculated how
many calories were in each one. Her mouth watered.

Once the door was closed, she turned to Woody. “Did you
run into any trouble at Ricky’s?”

“No.” Woody rolled his desk chair out and sat. He
touched the mouse and his computer sprang to life.

“Just, ‘no?’ Are the dogs okay?”

“The dogs are just fine.” He began tapping on his
keyboard.

Rhetta looked at LuEllen, who shrugged.

“So, what did happen out there?” Rhetta cocked her
head and watched Woody.

He turned slowly. “What makes you think anything
happened?”

“Because you said you didn’t run into any trouble
out there, but you were gone a long time. What happened?”

He threw up his hands. “Taffy escaped. Took me
forty-five minutes to round him up.”

“I told you not to take them out without a leash.”

“The silly mutt rocketed through my legs the instant
I opened the door.” Woody’s gaze returned to his monitor. “But I lured him back
with the promise of my hamburger.”

Rhetta grinned. “Did you have to give him your
lunch?”

“Yes.” He ignored Rhetta’s laughter. “While I was
there a delivery truck came and I signed for a motor the driver wanted to
unload.” He obviously wanted to change the subject away from his dog adventure.

Rhetta groaned. “I think that’s the LS1 for my
now-police-evidence-Z28. Did you see the waybill?”

“Nope. The driver wanted to take it into the shop
where it would be safe. I finally found the shop keys and let him leave it
inside. It took a while for him to get it off the back of the truck. At that,
he grumbled the whole time for me to help him.”

Woody spun his chair around. “By the way, didn’t
Ricky sell her car? I saw her Trans Am was still in the shop, all polished up.
There was another car there, too. I was checking out where to leave the motor
and saw it in the paint booth. Looks like another second generation Camaro.”

“Are you sure about the other car being a Camaro?”

“Pretty sure. You and Ricky have educated me on the
body style of those cars.” He pulled up a web page devoted to Camaros between
1970 and 1981. “Yep, it looks like this.” He swiveled the monitor so she could
see what he pointed at. It was a 1979 Camaro. “Wasn’t Cami a ’79 Camaro?”