Arson Takes a Dare: The Third Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 3) (20 page)

“Am I under arrest?” Marisa looked around the tiny room and swallowed. The window was the size of a picture frame, and bare. She could see tree limbs, stripped of the colorful leaves and tossing in the chilly October wind.
I will not panic, I will not panic—

“Officially, yes, you’re under arrest, Marisa.” Dreamus looked up from the yellow legal pad in front of him. “Given the evidence, I had to take that step. If I hadn’t, I would be guilty of favoritism.”

Panic—Panic—Panic
—Marisa clenched her fists under the scarred table top.

“Let’s get through the questions and see if we can clear this up. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.” The lieutenant’s hands were on the table between them, relaxed and still. “Alisa Atkins was killed at the hospital two nights ago. The fatal bullet matched the one you put in her at the University. The two bullets were fired from the same gun.”

Marisa’s chest felt tight. “That’s impossible. I had my gun when Alex, Diana, and I talked to the retired Sheriff Creeter about Mayla Kenton’s death. I keep my weapon in a locked box in my bedroom. If you’ll check the house, you’ll find—”

Dreamus shook his head in regret. “I got a warrant to search the house. The gun is missing.”

Marisa swallowed. “My house is full of people. And animals. My mother and Berea Kenton are staying there, along with Berea’s dog. Laithe is there. He would have let me know if a stranger was in the house.”

“Laithe is not a watch cat, Marisa. Anyway, Barbara and Berea said they spent most of the night Alisa was killed at Verna’s house. They took the animals with them. They compiled the notes from of all of your interviews with people about Mayla Kenton’s death. They stated that you stayed at the house, alone.”

“Someone came into the house while I was sleeping,” Marisa insisted. “He stole my gun and shot Alisa.”

The lawman ignored her theory. “Do you know a woman named Clarinda Meyers?”

Marisa blinked at the odd verbal tangent.
Oh, no
. Her stomach lurched. “She’s a Radiology Technician at the hospital.”
Clarinda overheard my mother’s threats against Alisa,
she thought in dismay.

“Ms. Meyers states she overheard you talking in your office,” Dreamus said. “You threatened to kill Alisa. You said she didn’t deserve to live.”

I didn’t say that. Mom did. But I can’t throw Mom under the bus. Someone killed Alisa, but it wasn’t my mother.
“Clarinda is a disgruntled employee. She called me a racist because I won’t let her use Goth-related materials with patients.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” The lawman’s eyebrows rose.

“Of course it doesn’t make sense.” Marisa tamped down her rising temper. “She was angry with me and threatened to call the EEOC to report me. She was in the outer office, listening to a private conversation. She’s mistaken about what she thought she heard.”

“Some days ago, you told me that you were going to find Alisa and confront her,” Dreamus said. “She’d been a childhood bully. Then, as an adult, she singled your brother Mosely out for her special treatment. She posted lies about him on her site. She made his life miserable. He even attempted suicide.”

“I did talk to her,” Marisa admitted, thinking the officers had probably already told him about the conversation at the hospital. “My mother and I saw her in the ICU—”

“What?” Dreamus was shocked. “How could you see her? She was under police guard.”

“Josh and the officer who looks like a pumpkin carved for Halloween were guarding the door.” Marisa felt like a tattletale. “They left to investigate a disturbance in the hall. Mom and I slipped inside Alisa’s room.”

“Landis and Daviess.” Dreamus turned and glared at the mirror that comprised a large section of the concrete wall.

The officers must be watching us,
Marisa thought. “I thought you already knew about it,” she said, raising her voice so the officers could hear her.

“Forget about the officers,” Dreamus ordered. He narrowed his eyes. “At least for now,” he said, the statement sounding like a promise to deal with them later.

“I had to see her after the incident at the University.” Marisa met the lawman’s intent gaze. “I didn’t know at the time it was Alisa. She was going by Tamara. My mom saw her on television after the shooting and recognized her. Alisa told us she’d been molested as a child, and her parents had accepted a substantial bribe to cover it up. I reached an understanding with her. I forgave her. When I left, we were on good terms.”

“You were on good terms with the woman who as a child had made your life a living hell?” Dreamus’ voice rose in disbelief. “You were good terms with the woman who caused your brother to attempt suicide?”

This has to be a nightmare
, Marisa thought
. Wake up
—
Wake up
—
Wake up
—The small room didn’t waver and disappear.

“You were on good terms with the woman who taunted your brother with the name ‘Brace Boy’ and kicked his crutches out from under him?”

“I want a lawyer.” Marisa buried her face in her hands.

I didn’t kill Alisa. But how can I prove it?
Marisa huddled in her hard wooden seat at the front of the dark paneled courtroom. She’d scraped her wild hair into a braid and fastened it with a piece of fabric from her shirt tail. Someone had dropped off a suit, blouse, and shoes for her to wear. She wished for pants rather than a skirt. She was so cold she was shivering. She could still smell the antiseptic soap of the jail shower and the dank mold of the cell on her own skin. 
I’m here for the bail hearing. Will the judge even grant bail? How much will it be? Didn’t I read something about paying ten percent through a bail bondsman?

“Dreamus, you know Marisa is innocent. If you don’t let her go, I’ll never speak to you again.”

The rising tones of her best friend’s voice penetrated Marisa’s misery. She turned her head.

Tara’s black suit and white blouse were as conservative as a funeral director’s work clothes. Her blonde curls were ruthlessly tamed into a chignon around her head. Her pretty face was flushed with anger.

With his boyishly handsome face and slight build, Dreamus looked like he should be wearing a high school letterman jacket and faded jeans rather than the somber dark suit. His short blonde hair caught the light like duckling fuzz. His face hardened. “Tara, I’m sick of your ultimatums. You know how much I like and respect Marisa. If you can’t trust me to do the right thing, then we’re done.”

Tara’s body was stiff. She clenched her hands into tiny fists. She opened her mouth.

Tara is going to go off on him like a ballistic missile.
Marisa braced herself for the verbal explosion.

She took a deep breath, expanding her chest under her jacket. She expelled it. “You’re right, Dreamus. I do trust you.” She slid into a seat directly behind the gleaming thigh-high oak wall that separated Marisa from the rest of the courtroom. She caught Marisa’s gaze and waved.

The wooden barrier might as well be a ten-foot tall granite wall,
Marisa thought miserably.
I’m on the working side of the courtroom. Lawyers and the judge will vie to decide my fate. They are the participants.

On the other side the wall, the observers watch, as if the participant area were a theater with a show just for their pleasure.
Marisa frowned.
Am I a participant or an observer? Does it even matter?

The rows of faces behind Tara transformed from blurry to in focus.
Familiar faces.
Marisa finally noticed.

The bright light reflected on gleaming metal. The body seemed too small for the wheelchair. The thin, curly hair was tangled above the angry face.
It’s Maupin,
Marisa thought,
the mascot for the club where Diana works as a dancer. His dream is to be a photo journalist. Will he take pictures of me, the accused murderer, for his portfolio?

Maupin bracketed one end of the row of attractive dancers from the club. At the other end, Diana was dressed in her conservative suit, her bun and glasses firmly in place. Her giant bag reposed in her lap.

Marisa’s gaze shifted. Another long wooden bench held the amateur detectives. Fred, dressed in a dark suit that appeared too snug, had his arm on the back of the bench, touching Clara’s broad shoulders. Next to them, Althea and Clay were solemn. Althea’s eyes were glittering emeralds in her catlike face, while Clay’s face was as hard as rock. Burke Lee Creed, the famous Florida detective, was bent over his tablet. An older man dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans didn’t look familiar. Next to him, Berea Kenton, Verna, and Marisa’s mother Barbara possessed matching expressions of doom and giant bags. Movement caught Marisa’s attention. Punky, Princess, and Laithe peered out of the depths of each bag.

Laithe met her eyes across the rows of benches. As if in response to a secret signal, he slid from the bag on Barbara’s lap. She bent over and tried to grab him. He flowed through her hands like orange-tinted water. Keeping his stomach low to the hardwood floor, he sidled under the benches like a scout on a reconnaissance mission. When he reached the low wall bisecting the courtroom, he leaped to the top of the wall. A short jump landed him in Marisa’s lap.

The cat’s body warmed her freezing hands as his rough purr soothed Marisa’s raw soul. She sighed, hugging him under the plain wooden table.    

At the open double doors, people filed into the courtroom. Marisa gasped in surprise. Officer Landis and Officer Daviess were at the doors, acting as ushers.
I thought they used bailiffs in courtrooms.
Marisa blinked in disbelief. Each officer was paired with a familiar figure.

The Knight in Shining Armor assisted Officer Landis, while the Fire Breathing Dragon helped Officer Daviess. The two were lower tier wrestlers, eking out meager livings on the wrestling circuit. They were not in their character costumes today. The Knight was wearing a powder blue leisure suit, while the Dragon was attired in a green jump suit with a high collar.

Last spring, Marisa had participated in their wrestling show as Wanda Bra Woman. The show had gone off the always rickety rails, dissolving into a riot. Fred and Alex had rescued her from the rioting wrestling fans.
I started out as a participant in the wrestling show last spring. When Fred and Alex used heavy equipment to save me, I turned into an observer,
she thought.

With the grace of a panther, Alex slid into the seat next to Tara. His suit was perfectly pressed. The dark blue tie matched his eyes. His black hair was spiked on top. His electronic tablet was gripped in his hands. His dark face was unreadable as he held Marisa’s gaze. He dropped one eyelid in a slow wink.

Marisa was surprised.
What is Alex trying to tell me?

When fingers touched her arm, Marisa twisted in her chair. Her attorney looked radically different than the last time she’d seen him before Alisa’s murder. At the last addiction support meeting, with his arms covered with tattoos, his sturdy legs encased in leather biker chaps, and his body hung with enough chains to secure a junkyard, he had appeared tough and intimidating. Marisa knew Jason was actually a very intelligent and intuitive man. He’d also finished his law degree and recently passed the bar. Marisa was his first client.

“How are you, Marisa?” Jason whispered.

“It was confusing getting here to the courtroom.” Marisa frowned. “Officers I didn’t know first took me to a different courtroom upstairs. Then, they hauled me to this one in the basement. They used a giant key, one I’d imagine would fit the Tower of London.” She sighed. “Do you really think I can get bail, Jason?”

“Don’t worry, Marisa. The only thing on your record is a DUI. You went through treatment. We’ll make a compelling case for the judge.” Jason’s gray suit and white shirt looked brand new. Tiny gold studs flashed at his ears. His hair was buzzed close to his scalp. His face was tight with tension, and his fists were clenched on the table.

“What are you not telling me, Jason?”

“Marisa, we have lived our lives outside the lines,” he replied. “You’re going to see some very odd coloring today.”

A drop of perspiration on his smooth forehead caught and reflected the overhead light. It rolled down the side of his face and dripped on his white shirt.
I’ve known Jason for years through the support group,
Marisa thought.
I’ve never seen him sweat. Even when he was on the verge of losing his home in the mortgage debacle, he didn’t perspire.
She put her hand on top of his. The rough hand trembled under hers.

A man passed through the swinging door set in the low wall. He paused at Marisa and Jason’s table. His face was the dark color of rich coffee, strong and hot. He extended a hand the size of a ham. “How are you, Marisa?” His French accent seemed in tune with his beautifully tailored charcoal suit, black shirt, and gray-and-black striped tie.

“Maurice?” Marisa lowered her voice. “From the addiction group? What are you doing here?”

His teeth flashed white against his dark skin, but his smile was devoid of humor. “I’m an Assistant Prosecutor. Our paths never crossed outside the support group. Now, it seems our destinies are entwined.”

Jason rose from his seat to shake the older man’s hand. “You moved heaven and earth to help our fellow support group member Chase find the strength buried under years of hopelessness and despair. You’re a good man, Maurice.”

“Jason, you’re the selfless leader of our little band of addicts.” Maurice ignored the hand, pulling the taller man into a hug. He released Jason. “You’re also skilled in helping people find the best within themselves, as well as helping them recognize the worst. You help people understand that to see the power of our addiction is to help take away its hold over us.”

Marisa and Jason’s table was on the left side of the front sector of the courtroom. Maurice strode to the table in the right section.

Dreamus moved to the front of the room. “Quiet, everyone. Once court is in session, no one may enter or leave the courtroom. Anyone who causes a disturbance will be removed to the anteroom.” He turned to a door behind the judge’s platform. “All rise, Judge Jayna Camden presiding.”

Judge Jayna Camden? The lieutenant’s last name is Camden. Is the judge related to Dreamus?
The judge’s even features and pale blonde hair reminded Marisa of the lieutenant.

“Is the defense ready to present its case for bail?” The judge stared over her half glasses at Jason.

“I thought the prosecution went first.” Marisa whispered.

“You watch too much television.” Jason patted her hand. He rose. “I call Sheriff Knox Creeter to the stand.”

The younger Sheriff Creeter? What the hell is he doing at my bail hearing?
Marisa reached for Jason’s sleeve.

He avoided her hand and strode to meet the sheriff at the witness box.

Marisa met Maurice’s dark, liquid gaze. He raised one hand.
Patience,
the Assistant Prosecutor seemed to signal.

“Your Honor, there’s been a misunderstanding.” Knox Creeter said. “I received a call from the courthouse, requesting my help with a potentially volatile trial. I got separated from my deputy. He’s around here somewhere, and I don’t have a cell signal. I need to find him.”

“Sit down, Sheriff Creeter,” the judge ordered. “The defense has questions for you.”

“Put your ass in the chair, son. Don’t make me come up there.”

The crusty voice from the far side of the courtroom caused Marisa’s head to swivel. The retired sheriff was squeezed between Diana and Kitty, a waitress from the club. Luke Creeter looked as if he’d much rather stay in his seat between the women rather than discipline his wayward son. His blue denim shirt was clean and gleamed with pearl buttons down the front and on the breast pockets. His thick hair, brown with gray strands, was smoothed carefully over to one side. He raised a gnarled hand in Marisa’s direction.

“Sheriff Knox Creeter, you’ve told many people, some of them present in this courtroom, about your plans to purchase a gentleman’s club,” Jason said. “Is that true?”

“It’s not a secret. I’m going to buy the club.” His olive green uniform was pressed and clean, the star shining bright against the fabric. The shirt was tight, the overtaxed seams straining to hold the broad width of his shoulders. The uniform pants bulged with the sheriff’s thigh muscles. The black cowboy boots were scuffed.

“In front of witnesses, you’ve also referred to a silent partner who is going help you with the funding. Please name the person for the court.” Jason waited.

The sheriff straightened, the deep set dark eyes flashing in anger. He touched his long nose, marred with a bump from an old break. His clenched, square jaw was rigid with temper. “It’s none of your—or the court’s—business.”

The judge leaned over to glare at the sheriff. “Answer the question, or I’ll find you in contempt.”

“Fine.” The sheriff huffed out a breath. “Fulton Hart is the silent partner.”

Marisa gasped.
The teacher who molested Alisa?

“Whose idea was the partnership, Sheriff Creeter?” Jason asked.

“It was my idea,” the sheriff bragged. “I have the smarts to make the club a huge success. Fulton has the money for the funding.”

Jason smiled. “No more questions.” He waited for the sheriff to leave the box. “Please don’t leave the courtroom just yet, Sheriff Creeter. Have a seat in the back.”

“I can’t stay. I have sheriff work to do.”

“The court is closed until I say otherwise. You will stay, Sheriff Creeter.” The judge pointed to an empty chair in the corner. “Sit.”

The retired sheriff threw back his head and laughed. “That’s telling him! I like women with spunk!”

“Order in the court.” The judge glared at Luke Creeter. She turned to Jason. “Mr. Thornton, please call your next defense witness.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I call Fulton Hart to the stand.”

The former teacher was square and bulky. He looked like what he was: a former football star whose muscle had atrophied to fat. He overfilled the wide witness chair with his bulk, the sides of his thighs overlapping the edges of the seat. “I protest. Officer Josh Landis brought me here under false pretenses. He said the man who’d robbed my house last year was on trial, and I was needed to give eyewitness testimony.”