Bad Penny (3 page)

“Wayne Bedford…what on earth is the matter with you?” Shelly yelled, and kicked the bottom of Wayne’s boot. “You almost got us killed.”

“She’s got a gun,” Wayne said.

Shelly gave her Good Samaritan a nervous glance. “Yes, I see that, and she looks pissed enough to use it.”

“I’m right in front of you, so you can both quit talking as if I wasn’t here,” Cat muttered.

Shelly sucked in her lower lip. “I don’t feel so good,” Wayne said. Shelly sighed and looked at Cat. “Are you gonna shoot him?”

“I haven’t decided,” Cat said. Then she began to hear sirens. She glanced down at Wayne. “I guess not. Looks like you’ll live to screw up again another day.”

Two

After the way Wayne Bedford’s morning was going, he was more than happy to be handcuffed and on his way to jail. The crazy woman who’d pulled a gun on him wasn’t anything like Shelly. He didn’t know how to handle women who hit back.

Meanwhile, Cat had assessed the damage to her car and considered it well spent. But she certainly couldn’t drive it.

The tow trucks were on the way.

A second deputy had arrived to work the scene, while the first one hauled Bedford into booking. Cat was forced to accept the fact that she was going to have to call Wilson and tell him what happened.

She punched in the numbers, then cleared her throat as she waited for him to answer, which he did on the third ring.

“Hey, baby…what’s up?” he asked.

“I need a ride,” she said.

The tone of Wilson’s voice changed slightly. “What happened? Are you having car trouble?”

Cat eyed her smashed SUV and sighed.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Wilson heard the hesitation. “What the hell happened?” “I had a slight accident, but no one is hurt.”

Wilson’s heart skipped. “I’ll be right there. Where are you?” “I’m about fifteen miles from the ranch, toward Austin.” “You sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine. Just mad.”

That was when Wilson knew there was more to the story than what she’d told him, but knowing Cat, she’d said all she was going to say until he got there.

“I’ll be right there.”

Cat dropped her cell phone back in her pocket, then turned around. Shelly Green was watching her from the side of the road.

“Are you all right?” Cat asked.

Shelly touched her already swollen face, then nodded and said, “Them air bags are a bit startling, but they do the job, don’t they?”

Cat stifled a grin. Little Shelly did have a way with words. “Yes, they do.”

Shelly sat down on her suitcase, then braced her hands against her knees.

“I heard you call someone named Wilson. Is he one of Carter and Dorothy McKay’s boys?”

“Yes. Do you know him?” Cat asked.

“No, ma’am. I know some of their kids, but I don’t know him.” “He lives in Dallas,” Cat said.

Shelly nodded, then looked away, toward a small flower blooming up against the fence across the road.

Cat studied Shelly’s face, and as she did, realized that Shelly reminded her of her best friend, Marsha, when Marsha had been about that age. A quick shaft of pain came and went as she tried not to remember what Marsha’s dead and crumpled body had looked like, hanging in the broken boughs of the trees growing out of the side of the ravine—right where Mark Presley had tossed her.

She swallowed past the knot in her throat, then closed her eyes and took a slow breath. This was no time to get maudlin.

“I’m real sorry about your car,” Shelly said. “If you hadn’t picked me up, this wouldn’t have happened to you.”

Cat swiped at her eyes, then looked up.

Shelly’s hands were clenched into fists in her lap, and there were tears running down her cheeks. Add the black eye, the bloodied and swollen face, and she was a sight to behold.

Once more, Cat’s empathy kicked in.

“Honey, meaner men than your Wayne have tried to bring me down without success. Besides, if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Shelly sighed. “I have to say, I’m right glad I didn’t have to go back with him.”

“So am I,” Cat said, then patted the girl on the shoulder. “Next time you go hunting for a boyfriend, maybe you’ll choose more wisely.”

Shelly rolled her eyes, then winced from the pain. “There ain’t gonna be a next time…at least, not any time soon.”

Cat shook her head. “Never say never, kid.” Then she looked up the highway. “And here comes Wilson.”

Shelly stood up, then began smoothing her hands down the front of her

shirt.

“I look a sight,” she said.

Cat grinned. “You’re fine. Besides, I’m the one who’s gonna catch heck.” “But you didn’t cause this,” Shelly said.

“When I’m in trouble, Wilson loses sight of extenuating circumstances. All he wants is for me to be safe, and I keep getting myself into trouble.”

Shelly sighed. “That’s the kind of man I’m looking for.”

Cat laughed. “You just told me there wasn’t going to be another boyfriend.”

Shelly looked a little startled, then grinned shamefacedly. “Well, not for a bit, anyway.”

At that point Wilson pulled up. Cat and Shelly watched as he exited his truck. For someone who was still recovering from surgery, he was moving fast.

“Honey…Lord have mercy, what happened?” he asked, as he wrapped Cat in a big embrace.

“It was sort of my fault,” Shelly said.

Wilson had been so focused on Cat, he’d barely noticed the other woman

until she spoke, but when he turned and saw her face, he frowned. He looked at her long and hard, then turned to Cat. “Talk to me.”

Cat sighed. “It’s simple, really. I passed an abandoned vehicle, then I saw her walking, carrying a suitcase. I took one look at her face and picked her up, okay?”

Wilson eyed the state of Shelly’s face, and his expression stilled. “I take it that didn’t all happen in the wreck,” he said. Shelly sighed. “No, sir.”

He looked at Cat, then nodded. “It’s very okay.” “It was Wayne who caused the wreck,” Shelly said. Wilson frowned. “Wayne? Who’s Wayne?”

“Wayne Bedford. He is…was…um, I lived with him for the past two years.” “Not Shirley Bedford’s younger brother?”

“Yes, that’s Wayne’s sister. Do you know her?”

“I went to school with her.” Wilson pointed at Shelly’s face. “Did he do that to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wilson’s frown deepened. “Where is he now?”

“On the way to the slammer,” Cat said, then watched Wilson’s eyes narrow.

“I might need to have a word with him,” he said.

“The sheriff will deal with him,” Cat said, then pointed up the road. “Here come the wreckers, and I don’t know where to tell them to take my car.”

“I do,” Wilson said. “Let me take care of it.”

“Gladly,” Cat said. “In the meantime, Shelly and I are going to get in your truck and wait. Oh…and we need to drop her off at the bus station before we run your mother’s errands.”

“Yeah, sure,” Wilson said. “But are you sure you’re up to all that?” “I’m fine,” Cat said.

“Thanks to them air bags,” Shelly added, grinning.

Cat grinned, too. Wilson didn’t know that she’d precipitated the wreck, and she didn’t intend to tell him.

“Yeah. Air bags,” she echoed.

They were both still grinning as they headed for Wilson’s truck.

The bus station was a study in measured chaos as Wilson pulled into a parking place.

Shelly started to get out when Cat stopped her. “I’m coming in with you,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am, but there’s no need,” Shelly said.

But Cat didn’t listen. She got out and headed toward the entrance with Shelly in tow. When they got to the ticket counter, Cat stepped in front of her.

“How much for a one-way ticket to Seattle?”

The cashier entered the destination on her computer while Shelly stared in disbelief.

“I can’t afford that,” she said.

“Maybe not, but I can,” Cat said, and pulled a credit card out of her hip pocket.

Shelly eyes widened in disbelief, and then tears welled and spilled as Cat

paid for the ticket. She glanced at the itinerary, then handed it and the ticket to Shelly.

“The bus leaves in an hour and a half,” Cat said, then emptied her wallet of cash and gave that to Shelly, as well. “You’re going to need this until you can find yourself a job. Don’t fall for someone promising easy money. It isn’t worth it,” she added.

Shelly hugged Cat fiercely, then clutched the money to her chest.

“Oh, trust me. I’m not the kind to turn tricks. I ain’t afraid of hard work, and I will pay you back.”

“I don’t want it back,” Cat said. “But if the opportunity ever comes to you, maybe you can help someone else just like I’ve helped you.”

Shelly was dancing from one foot to the other. “I will. You’ll see. Oh lordy…I never dreamed in a million years that when I lit out this morning with my suitcase in my hand that I’d be living a dream.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve recently learned that it’s never too late to change your life. So…you be careful, Shelly Green,” Cat said.

“You know it,” Shelly said, and then added, “You know, you have a pretty short fuse yourself. Maybe you should be a little careful, too.”

Cat grinned. “Absolutely.”

Then she strode across the lobby, only to find Wilson standing at the door with his arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face. She

paused, a little startled that he’d been watching. “So how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to find out that my woman isn’t nearly as tough as I thought she was.”

“I just—”

He shook his head and pulled her into his arms.

“You don’t have to explain yourself—ever. And by the way, just so you know, I’m pretty damn proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

Cat sighed, then wrapped her arms around Wilson’s neck and kissed him— hard—and with thanksgiving that she was still alive to do it one more time. When she finally pulled back, he had a glint in his eye that she recognized all too well.

“Save it for later,” she said.

Sunlight caught on the gold hoop in his ear as he lowered his head and whispered, “You are in so much trouble.”

Cat swung out of his arms, then gave him a wink and a swift pat on the

rear, which made him grin.

“Let’s get moving,” she said. “Your mother will be waiting for her groceries, and I need to make a trip to the ATM. I just gave away all my money to a stranger.”

Jimmy Franks was leaning against a wall inside the doorway of Angels Mission, waiting for them to start serving the meal. The cops had picked him up yesterday for drunk and disorderly, and had turned him out less than an hour ago. When the priest who’d been standing outside the drunk tank had grabbed his arm and started praying for his immortal soul, Jimmy had been so startled that he’d actually stood there and listened.

The experience had reminded him of his childhood back in Horny Toad, Texas—sitting in church with his brother Houston and his mama, while Baxter Masters preached hell and damnation to his East Texas congregation. The street preacher’s words had struck a chord deep enough that Jimmy opted for food at the mission, rather than hunting up another meth dealer.

And so he waited, watching as a line began to form near the dining area, and thought about what he was going to do when he got his head on straight—how he was going to find Wilson McKay and blow his head clean off his shoulders.

“Welcome, brother. Have you come to eat with us?”

Jimmy eyed the small, wizened woman who was shuffling past him pushing a walker with yellow tennis balls on the legs in lieu of wheels.

“Yes, ma’am, I have,” Jimmy said, and then eyed the purse she was carrying over her arm. “Maybe you would allow me to help you to a seat?”

The old woman beamed. “Why thank you, brother.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jimmy muttered, and aimed her toward the nearest chair. As soon as he got himself some food, he was out of here—and dessert was going to be how much meth he could score with whatever she was carrying in her purse.

Luis Montoya shifted his stance as he bent over the table in the crime lab. He’d already been through what they’d confiscated from the fire. The coroner had found several entry and exit wounds during the autopsy, but the fire had been so intense that they’d never found any spent bullets and only a couple of casings.

What he was focusing on now were the contents of the box in front of him. Inside were all the items that the crime lab had taken from Solomon Tutuola’s car. They were the only things belonging to the victim that had not burned. He was hoping that something in here would give him a place to start—maybe clues as to a possible accomplice. A bagful of money had to have come from somewhere, and the items he had on the table were all he had to go on.