Mug Shot (11 page)

“She a baby madda? Ohhh, no!” She muttered, almost to herself, “Only good come of this is she not have to raise no baby wit dat samfi mon.”

“What did you say?” asked Savannah, wrinkling her brow.

Talicia looked startled. “Oh, nothing, sistah. I should not—”

“What's a ‘samfi'?” I asked.

“A swindler. Dat mon she was…”

“The one she was sleeping with,” I supplied for her.

She turned up her nose. “He sleep wit more than only Sistah Hollingsworth.”

“Really? With someone else you know?” I asked.

“Oh,” she replied, looking embarrassed. “I say too much. I chatty-chatty all di while.”

“You're not being too chatty, Talicia,” Savannah said warmly. “We're enjoying getting to know you.”

I pressed, “Who is the man? Do you know him?”

“Oh, no, sistah. I say too much already. You show me around now. We talk about cleaning job.”

“Sure,” I said, desperate to think of a way to get her to spill that one little scrap of information I needed. I led the way, not exactly thrilled that I had to keep up the charade. “This is the kitchen.” I gestured through the kitchen door, then turned immediately back in the direction we came. “And this is the office and the supply room.” Going back out into the dining area, I said, “Of course this is the front of the house.” Hurrying across the room and down another hallway, I said, “And these are the bathrooms. Any questions?”

Talicia and Savannah were both staring at me, wide-eyed and confused.

Perhaps I was a little abrupt with my tour. I said, “Sorry for the quick tour, it's just that Java Jive isn't that large of a place. Maybe you could come up with a quote and…we could talk again?” I was drawing a blank as to how to get her to tell me Cecilia's lover's name. Maybe if we had another meeting she would tell me then.

“A'right. I do dat fa you.” As we were walking toward the door, Talicia stopped, a puzzled look on her face. “Java Jive sound so familiar to me, but I never been here before…” Her eyes suddenly bulged out, and her voice changed completely. “Son of a bitch! The killer! The man who killed Ms. Hollingsworth owns this place! Oh,
hell,
no! Huh-uh. I ain't working for no killer!” Her Jamaican accent had vanished, as had her laid-back Rasta attitude. Talicia was no more Jamaican than I was.

I raised an eyebrow at her and remarked dryly, “Careful, mon. Your accent is slipping.”

Talicia was already on her way out the door, yelling, “You tell anybody about that, and I will cut you bitches!” She slammed the door behind her.

Exasperated, I said, “Well, I guess we just lost that lead. Damn it!”

Savannah held a trembling hand to her chest. I figured the drama was a little much for her, but she had held up so far. She breathed, “She's going to ‘cut' us?”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Nah. Just don't go blabbing to Beth Greenwalt that her Jamaican cleaning lady is a poser and you should be fine.” Showing off my scarred forearm from where I'd been “cut,” I added, “Besides, getting cut won't kill you. See?”

“That is
not
funny, Juliet.”

Chuckling, I said, “Nut up, my friend. You haven't even seen crazy yet.”

After Savannah left, I busied myself getting things ready to make dinner for Stan. What a waste of a nice date. I wished I were doing this for Ryder instead. As I was taking out my aggression by beating the hell out of some biscuit dough, my phone rang.

“Hello,” I said warmly.

“ ‘She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel!' ” quoted Ryder's deep voice.

“Ooh, someone's been working on his Shakespeare.”

“Are you in the mood yet?”

Yes, but he didn't need to know that. “Is this some kind of creepy, Shakespearean-themed booty call?”

He laughed. “No, I'm calling to see if you'd like to go out with me tonight.”

“Yes, I would. But it'll have to be after eight.”

“Isn't today your day off?”

I hesitated. I definitely didn't want to tell Ryder about my dinner with Stan. “Yes, but I have a thing.”

“You have a thing,” he said dubiously.

“I can have a thing,” I grumbled. “Pick me up at my place at eight.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I hung up the phone and sighed. I did
not
want to start my relationship with Ryder with a bunch of lies, not that he'd probably buy any of them anyway because he could spot a lie a mile away, especially out of me. He was just going to have to accept the fact that I was meddling in police business again and deal with it. I wasn't going to give up until I cleared Pete's name, even if it meant screwing up my relationship with Ryder.

The sleigh bells on the front door jingled, which meant Stan was here. It was go time. I put on my sweetest smile and headed out to meet him. He looked a little wary, but he still greeted me kindly. “Good evening, Juliet.”

“Hi, Stan. Dinner's almost ready. I'd better check on the chicken.” I retreated back into the kitchen. As soon as the chicken and biscuits were done, my meal would be finished. I planned for our food to be ready when he got here so the evening would move along as quickly as possible.

Stan followed me into the kitchen. “So this is Java Jive's inner sanctum?”

“Yes, lovely, isn't it?” I glanced around at the aging room, which was in dire need of a new paint job. One thing at a time, though—first get the owner out of jail, then worry about minor cosmetic issues.

“You certainly know your way around in here. Do you spend most of your time in the kitchen or out front?”

I got the biscuits out of the oven and set them aside to cool. “I kind of float around to whatever area needs extra help. I do spend a lot of time in here before everyone gets to work in the morning, making all of the bakery items for the day.” I frowned. “And now, of course, with Pete in jail, I'll have to do all of the accounting and payroll, too.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“Yeah,” I replied, thinking of how horrible the upcoming week was going to be without Pete's help, and more importantly without his presence. He
was
Java Jive, just like his father had been. I didn't know if I could handle being here day after day without him. Brushing away my emotions, I hardened my resolve. I was getting the information I needed out of Stan, and I was getting it tonight.

I plated our food quickly, saying, “Follow me,” to Stan as I led him out to the table I had already set for us. If I started getting a murderous vibe from him, I wouldn't want this dinner to go on a minute longer than necessary.

He sat down. “This looks great, Juliet.”

“Thanks. Eat up.” Once he had focused his attention on his meal, I discreetly turned my phone's voice recorder on and tucked it into my apron pocket. Launching into my interrogation, I began, “I know we had our differences, but I can't get poor Cecilia out of my mind. I know the two of you weren't particularly close either, but I can't imagine what you're going through.”

Stan put down his fork and grimaced. “I think about her all the time. I wish we could have been closer, but our relationship was never that great. The whole situation has me thrown for a loop. I'm not myself.”

Hmm. Interesting choice of words. I smiled sympathetically. “I noticed. You weren't yourself at all yesterday afternoon.” Taking his hand to soften the blow of what I was about to say, I continued, my voice light, “You were acting so strangely, I almost thought…”

“What?” he asked, not betraying any emotion.

I laughed. “It's totally ridiculous.”

“What is it?”

“I thought for a moment there…that
you
killed Cecilia.” I watched him closely as I said that, waiting for him to sweat or seem uncomfortable, but his eyes didn't look the least bit strained, nor did his grip on my hand change.

Chuckling, he said, “You're right, that's absolutely ridiculous.”

“I know.
So
ridiculous.” Damn. He hadn't given me the slightest indication that my comment had bothered him in any way. That didn't prove his innocence, though. Time to switch tactics. “Is it true what Pete said about you inheriting Hollingsworth Industries from Cecilia?”

Letting go of my hand and picking his fork back up, he said sadly, “Yes, it's true. It was stipulated that way in Grandmother's will.” He absently stabbed at a piece of chicken on his plate.

Weird response from someone who had been pissed about
not
inheriting it a week ago. “I thought that's what you wanted.”

“It is, but not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

Stan explained earnestly, “Call me crazy, but once I stopped to think about it, Cecilia inheriting Hollingsworth Industries was a great opportunity for me. It was my chance to prove to her that I was worth something. All my life, I've been a screwup in one way or another. I never was the smartest or the best at sports, but my father always bought my way onto the dean's list and onto the teams. It embarrassed my mother, and Cecilia hated me for it. She worked hard and got onto the dean's list and the sports teams by herself. You know how she was—driven and always striving to be perfect.”

“Yes, she definitely was. She was always the one in college who would stay in her room studying while everyone else went out partying.”

“Exactly. Things really got bad between us when she was in college. After that incident with her friend Jenny, I thought she was never going to speak to me again.”

“Jenny Vaughn? Why was Cecilia angry at you for that?”

“So you know the story,” he said, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

I shrugged. “Yes, but it's nothing for you to be ashamed of. Jenny was a total slut, but even she should have known better than to seduce a high school kid. That was a little much, even for her. I mean, you were a virgin, right?”

He chuckled. “Is that what she told everyone?”

“Yeah. She was bragging about it when everyone got back from Thanksgiving break. Cecilia was not pleased.”

“It was actually the other way around. Jenny was the virgin and wanted to have sex so no one at Belmont would find out she'd been lying the whole time to cover her lack of experience. In high school, I was sort of a player, and Jenny knew that. And besides, no high school boy is going to pass up sex with a college girl, no matter who she is.”

I gasped. “So Jenny was a fake slut?”

“Yes, I suppose you could call her that.”

“I still don't get why Cecilia wouldn't talk to you over the whole Jenny issue.”

“My sister walked into my room and caught Jenny and me together, so of course that was awkward. And, considering my reputation, she assumed I had instigated the entire thing. She was livid at the thought of her little brother seducing her virginal best friend in her own house. Cecilia barely gave me the time of day since then.”

I had no idea. “Wow. She ruined your sibling relationship over stupid Jenny Vaughn? She was definitely not worth it.”

Stan's eyes clouded over. “I tried to talk to Cecilia about it, but she refused. In the meantime, my dad kept bailing me out of my mistakes and shortcomings. He bought my way into Vanderbilt, and then I flunked out, so he bought my way back in again.” He shook his head. “My father always used to laugh and say ‘Boys will be boys,' which only made my mother and sisters angry, usually at me. Abigail wasn't so bad, but sometimes Cecilia and my mother would ignore me for days.”

Wow. Stan had sibling issues
and
mommy issues. Now I really felt bad for the guy. I placed my hand over his. “That's terrible, Stan. I don't think you had anything to prove to her, considering the way she treated you.”

“Thank you, and I know that, but I couldn't help thinking if I could show her I was actually good at something, it might fix our relationship somehow. My father gave me a job at Hollingsworth Industries right out of college, because it was obvious I wouldn't work hard enough to hold down a job anywhere else. I coasted through until about a year ago, when my dad died. His death changed me. I suddenly woke up and realized I had to make it on my own. After that, I put everything I had into my job. I worked day and night learning everything about the company, something I should have been doing for years. I proved myself to Charles, the CEO—you met him at the gala—and he made me VP of operations.”

“I can't believe your grandmother gave the company to Cecilia instead of you. You're the perfect choice.”

“I thought that at first, but like I said, it would have meant more to me that Cecilia recognize my potential and promote me herself. That's why I went out to the park on Friday night—I knew she'd be there, and I wanted to talk to her.”

My ears perked up. Now we were getting somewhere. “You said you heard Cecilia and Pete arguing. Did you hear what it was about?”

He shook his head. “No. I heard them yelling and saw Pete rush out of there. I figured since she and Pete were fighting, I would give her some time to cool off, so I wandered around. Wish I hadn't.” He looked sad for a moment, but continued, “My brother-in-law, Kent, stopped me and got in my face about Abigail's fall down the stairs.”

“Why was he there?” I asked uneasily. He also might have stood to profit from Cecilia's death.

“He was setting up a vendor tent for the 5K for Music City Fitness, his chain of local gyms.”

“I see. So he accosted you?”

“Yes. He was pretty angry with me, so I left before things got out of hand. I never got a chance to speak to Cecilia.”

Stan the Man he was not. Wussy. Kent the Meathead, however, was worth checking out. “And that's when you came and got me for our date?”

If he noticed that I was trying to get a time line out of him, he didn't show it. “No, I went back to my apartment and changed clothes. Then I came and got you.” So Stan was unaccounted for during about thirty minutes of Cecilia's two-hour time-of-death window.

I nodded. “I think I derailed your story. Sorry about that.”

Stan smiled. “No problem. Where was I?”

“Um…something about Cecilia recognizing your potential and promoting you.”

“Oh, right. You see, I didn't expect Cecilia to want to run a manufacturing plant for long. I figured she'd miss the glamour of the Nashville music scene in a few months and be begging me to take over the family business. If she handed over the reins to me, then I would finally feel like her equal.” He sighed, seeming deflated. “That's not going to happen now. I wanted to run Hollingsworth Industries, but not by default.”

As I listened to him, I got absolutely no indication he wasn't telling me the truth. He didn't fidget in his chair. His eyes weren't tight or shifty, and he looked me in the eye while he was speaking. His voice was normal. His story seemed consistent. Unless his degree was in acting, I didn't think he was lying, at least about his inheritance.

“So you're saying she was worth more to you alive than dead,” I said bluntly.

Stiffening in his chair, he seemed a little taken aback, but replied, “That's a strange way of putting it…but yes, I guess you could say that. I didn't wish her dead, Juliet. Please understand that.”

“Oh, I know,” I said quickly, not wanting him to think I suspected him. One more test. “And I bet you were looking forward to being an uncle again, too.”

“An uncle again?” he asked, his expression puzzled.

“You don't know about the baby?”

Rolling his eyes, he groaned. “Is Abigail pregnant
again
? Good grief. She barely takes care of the four she already has. Poor things are with their nanny more than they're with her.”

He wasn't acting like he knew, not that it proved his guilt or innocence. If he didn't know about the baby, and he
had
killed Cecilia, I was hoping to get some kind of remorse out of him for ending a child's life.

“No, Cecilia was the one who was pregnant.”

He froze. “
Cecilia
was pregnant?” he choked out, thunderstruck.

Nodding, I replied, “Yeah. I think she had just found out.”

Hopping out of his chair, he began pacing around the room. “He's dead,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Who's dead?”

“That son of a bitch Pete. He got her pregnant, and then he murdered her. He's going to pay for what he did to my sister.” Stan was pissed now. He never cussed. Luckily, Pete was “safe” in jail.

Walking over to stand in front of him, I said firmly, “You're not going to make anyone pay, especially Pete. Come on, Stan. You've known Pete for a long time. Do you
really
think he could have killed Cecilia? The idea is absurd.”

“Then why is he in jail? Obviously the police think he killed her. They couldn't have arrested him without evidence.”

“I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's no killer. And you didn't exactly help him by tattling to the police about seeing him running away from the tent around the time your sister was killed.”