Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8) (8 page)

She could see her mother’s car. It was wedged between a blue Buick with front-end damage and a maroon Honda with a cracked windshield. All she needed to do was drive the car off the lot, and no one would be the wiser about her mother’s connection to Bob Hoskins. When Detective Arroyo ran the plates and inventoried the lot, her mother’s name would come up, which meant Lacy’s name would come up. Even if he didn’t pounce on that connection, he would prolong the process of releasing the car. It was better for everyone involved for Lacy to get the car out and remove any chance of her mother’s name being connected to Bob Hoskins.

Technically, she wasn’t breaking the law, or so she told herself. It wasn’t stealing if you were removing your own property. And could it be termed breaking and entering if the owner of the property was dead? All she was doing was retrieving what rightfully belonged to her mother.

Then why are you sneaking in after hours when it’s dark? Why don’t you come back when it’s daylight and the lot is open?
Jason’s insistent little warning whispered in her mind again.

“Shh, I’m thinking,” she said, and jumped at the sound of her own voice.

When she dropped off the car with her mother, she saw Bob hang the keys just inside the door. There were a lot of key holders, and one of them had been marked, “GATE” in bold letters. Lacy remembered because she had thought it funny that he would so clearly mark the key to his security gate. She also had a vague memory of duct tape covering the lock on the door between the shop and the yard. She would be able to open the door, grab her mother’s keys, unlock the gate, drive out, and lock the gate behind her. No harm, no foul. All she had to do was get over the fence, and she would be home free.

There was no razor wire over the gate, but it was tall and she had never scaled a fence before. That didn’t mean she couldn’t, though. How hard could it be? In movies, people being chased did it all the time.

She shook the fence, testing its durability. It felt sturdy enough to hold her weight. With one last furtive sweep of the area, she grabbed hold and began to climb.

Two feet up, her right foot began to protest. It was bent at a funny angle to fit in the holes of the fence, the metal shoved hard into her arch.

After another foot, she got a Charlie horse that almost sent her plummeting. She tightened her grip on the fence and loosened her foot, shaking it to restore feeling and ease the cramp. As soon as the pain went away in the right one, her left one started to cramp. She switched legs and shook that one vigorously, the fence rattling noisily in the process.

The pain eased and she went still as she made her inspection of the area. Had anyone watched her shake like a wet dog? No, all was clear and she resumed climbing.

She reached the top and faced a new problem. How did one get over? In theory, it had seemed like an easy thing to reach the apex and swing over, but the gate wasn’t sturdy enough to support her weight while she stood upright and moved her legs over. She would have to slide, shimmy, and hope she didn’t plop onto the cement below. This was where physical conditioning and good hand-eye coordination would have come in handy. Unfortunately for Lacy, she had neither of those things. All she had was a strong desire not to die. She clutched and rolled, awkwardly passing from one side to the other. Who needed razor wire when the top of the fence poked relentlessly into her tender flesh?

When all of her finally reached the other side, she encountered a new problem: she was facing the wrong way. Somehow during the transition she had turned herself around so she was no longer hugging the fence. She had a clear view of the lot, but the metal mesh dug into her back and she couldn’t move. For a moment, she panicked. But then she quickly talked herself back to calm.

“This isn’t a problem. All I have to do is let go with one hand, swing around, and catch the fence. Easy-peasy.” Still, it took another minute to convince herself to let go of the security of the fence. At last she unclenched her right hand and used her foot to push off, giving herself the momentum to swing forward.

But instead of swinging hard to the left, she jerked to a sudden stop, and then everything happened at once. She immediately comprehended that her pants were caught on the fence. Instinct took over and she gave a rough jerk to tear them free. The quick motion worked to dislodge her from her entanglement, but it also released her from the safety of the fence. Her arms windmilled, trying to catch anything to break her fall, but she was facing the wrong way. With nothing to grab onto, she plummeted through the air, arms swinging in aimless circles.

The ground rushed up to meet her, and she hit it hard. Many years of falling had taught her a few things, so her head was protected. Her arms and legs took the brunt of the impact, and she rolled slightly to absorb the shock.

After a few seconds of stunned disbelief, she took stock of her condition. Everything hurt, but not badly. Nothing was broken. She opened her eyes and inspected her arms. They were covered in road rash from landing on soft gravel and hard cement, but they weren’t as shredded as they could have been.

Gingerly, she sat up and inspected her legs. Her knees were a little bloody, but nothing she couldn’t manage.

She leaned in for a closer inspection and froze. Why were her knees bloody? Because they were exposed. But why were they exposed?

Her baleful gaze swung to the fence. The tattered remains of her pants hung there like a cicada’s discarded shell. They were beyond repair, but she didn’t need pants to drive a car. All she had to do was tear them down, get her mother’s car, and go home. No one would ever know about this.

Tremulously, she tottered to her feet and reached for the pants. Just as her fingers brushed the hem, a spotlight illuminated her in its beam. A warning siren gave a brief WHOOP and a man spoke.

“Ma’am, step away from the fence.” He stepped out of his car, and even with the glaring spotlight blinding her, Lacy knew he was a cop.

This is not going to end well for me,
Lacy thought as she took a step away from her pants and put up her hands.

He moved forward and pushed open the gate, which Lacy now realized wasn’t locked. “Ma’am, what are you doing?” he asked. In the darkness, Lacy couldn’t tell who it was. She knew some of the deputies, but not all. This one was older. The face was familiar, but she couldn’t remember his name. His flashlight beam landed on her face. “Hey, don’t I know you?”

“No,” Lacy said.

“You’re Cantor’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Uh…” Her mind was blank. How was she going to get out of this without Jason finding out?

“You are. I remember you now. What are you doing here? And where are your pants?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” she said. “One I tell better while wearing clothes. Do you mind?” She motioned to her pants.

He tore them down and inspected them. “I don’t think these are going to do you much good.” He sounded amused as he tossed the pants toward her.

She tried to catch them, missed, and bent to pick them up. He was right; she realized when she made her own inspection. The pants had ripped almost in half from top to bottom. Only the seams at the ankles still held together. She dangled them in front of her, for all the good they did. Her kneecaps were now modestly concealed, but her hindquarters were still flapping in the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was coming to get my mom’s car,” she said.

“Now?” he asked, incredulous.

“He said it would be ready today,” she said, stamping her foot in frustration. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so humiliated. In her life, a lot of embarrassing things had happened, but she was usually wearing pants. This was like a bad dream, one from which she couldn’t wake. 

“Ma’am, are you aware that the owner of this shop is dead?”

“Please stop calling me ma’am. It’s Lacy, and yes, I’m aware. Look, I’m really sorry. I can see this was a miscalculation on my part. Can I please go?”

His smile slipped. “If it were up to me, yes, but Detective Arroyo gave us specific instructions to pick up anyone we find here. It’s almost like he knew this was going to happen.”

“Please, I can’t go to the station like this,” she pled. Her voice wobbled.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, and he sounded sincere. “We like to take care of our own, but Detective Arroyo has a way of finding things out. If he knew I let you go, he’d have my job.”

She nodded, defeated. It wasn’t fair of her to ask him to cover for her.

“I won’t cuff you,” he said.

“Oh, goody,” she said, although she was thankful for the small favor. He held open the back door of his cruiser. Lacy ducked inside. The backs of her thighs stuck on the leather and made a loud ripping noise when she tried to slide across. She was almost positive she saw the deputy’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter as he got behind the wheel and closed the door. She turned her head out the window and tried to tamp down the rolling tides of mortification.

She would never get over this, never. It was bad enough that she was being hauled in to the sheriff’s office without pants, but it was her boyfriend’s place of work. Did these things happen to other women? Did they ever accidentally show up at their boyfriends’ offices in a t-shirt and underwear? Lacy hoped so. She would hate to think she was the only one.

“Is there any way we could not tell Jason about this?” she asked.

The deputy cleared his throat a couple of times before answering. “He won’t hear it from me,” he said, and she believed him. Regardless of whether he was only doing his job, Jason wouldn’t be happy with the man who brought in his pantless girlfriend. And a righteously indignant Jason was a fearsome thing.

They arrived at the sheriff’s station. He drove around to the back.

“You’re taking me through the jail?” she said, abashed.

“Policy,” he said.

She squeezed the bridge of her nose and tried not to cry. The jail was for criminals and drunks, not hapless business owners who fell off a fence and lost their pants.

He opened the car door for her. She considered refusing to get out, but given his strict adherence to the rules, he would probably pull out his Taser and zap her. There was no need to add loss of bladder control to the situation.

Gingerly, she eased from the car and followed him inside. Maybe if she kept her head down, no one would recognize her.

“Lacy!” Travis’s voice seemed to come from everywhere. He was the one manning the doors and operating the radio. He must have pressed the speaker button by accident when he saw her because her name echoed around the jail and through each deputy’s collar radio. She winced as a few men in the holding cell woke up and started to make catcalls.

Travis intercepted them on the long march through the jail. “Lacy, are you okay?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“What happened?”

She shrugged.

He shoved an orange ball of something into her hands. They unfurled as she looked down. Prisoner pants. Was that better than no pants? She wasn’t sure, but she stepped into them, holding Travis’s arm to keep her balance.

“It was the only size I could find,” he explained.

They were acres too big. Either she could maintain a constant hand on her waist to keep the pants from falling, or she could hike them up over her chest. She chose the latter, not caring at this point how ridiculous she looked. At least she was covered now.

“I have no more words,” Travis said.

Neither did she. She wanted nothing more than to go home, bury herself under the covers, and forget this night had ever happened. But that wasn’t to be, and she knew exactly where the deputy was taking her.

He led her to an interview room, showed her inside, and left her alone, the door firmly closed behind him. Lacy didn’t have to wait very long. Detective Arroyo was so excited she was surprised he didn’t show up still in his pajamas.

“Well, Lacy,” he said, his tone affable.

“Detective,” she said, nodding coolly. Let him think she wasn’t affected by this. He needn’t know this was one of the worst nights of her life. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Nice pants,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Although I’ve never thought redheads could pull off orange. Too much clashing.”

“I didn’t realize you were a fashion maven. Should I run all my outfits by you?” she asked.

He didn’t like that. His happy smile slipped as he sat down. “Breaking and entering is a serious offense, as I’m sure you know.”

“Good thing that wasn’t what I was doing,” she said.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? What were you doing? Because, I have to say, it doesn’t look good. Scaling the fence of a private business after hours, a business that you were warned to stay away from, that’s big. Might be a felony. And I don’t think your so-called press credentials will work as a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

“I was simply retrieving personal property,” she said.

“Hoskins was working on your car?” he asked.

“No, my mother’s car.”

“Then that’s hardly your personal property.”

“I was trying to help her out. I didn’t want the car to become bogged down in the investigation. It’s a stressful time for our family. My mother is here from Florida because my sister is due to deliver her baby any day.”

“And that’s your excuse for breaking into a car lot?”

“You’ve obviously never met my mother,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” he said.

“It means that she’s been putting a lot of pressure on me since her arrival. She wanted her car, so I was trying to get her car. It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

“And all this had nothing to do with your investigation into Bob Hoskins death,” he said.

“How would it? How could my mother’s car possibly connect to a dead man, even a man who was most likely murdered?” she said.

He smacked his palm on the table. “He wasn’t murdered. Stop saying that. You’re going to start rumors.”

“Have you looked into the possibility? Have you even considered that his death might not have been an accident?” she asked.