RG2 - Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons (27 page)

He sighed. “I’m sure I deserved every bit of it.”

“Nevertheless, I’m sorry.”

“Will you
please
consider going somewhere else tonight?”

I paused, my back to him, my feet out the door and on the driveway. “I have nowhere else to go.” Why did I admit that?

Damn beer.

He sighed again and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Then I’ll see about getting the police to do some drive-bys. Just to be on the safe side.”

“The Henryetta Police are gonna be thrilled about that.”

“They’ll deal with it. Here.” He handed me a business card with a phone number written in ink. “My cell phone is on there. Call me if something happens.
Anything
.”

“Why?”

He groaned in frustration. “That again? Because I told that jerk your name. If he comes looking for you, it’s partly my fault.”

I climbed out of his car. “Thank you and goodnight Mr—er, Mason.”

“Good night, Rose. And
please
be careful.”

He stayed in the driveway until I was in the house and the lights were on. I let Muffy out, but encouraged her to hurry up and do her business. I checked my cell phone while I waited for her outside. I had several missed calls, mostly from Neely Kate, one from Violet and three from the number written on Mr. Deveraux’s—
Mason’s
—business card. Thankfully, no calls from Joe. I wasn’t ready to tell him what happened. I knew I’d have to tell him, just not tonight.

I lay in bed, half-terrified someone would break in to get me. I hadn’t lived with that fear since I was in the mess with Momma’s murder, and I really hadn’t missed it. Muffy snuggled against my body. I swore she glared at me before a stench filled the air.

“Look, I know I haven’t been the best pet owner lately…”

The stench grew worse. I grabbed a pillow and covered my face. “Muffy! Stop that right now!”

She spun around again, then laid her head on my leg and looked up at me with innocent eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t! I know that was you, and I promise to be better, but I need you to be a guard dog tonight.”

Nestling into her covers, she turned her backside to me. The smell that reached my face told me what she thought of that.

“Arg! Muffy, if I wake up dead tomorrow morning, I’m not gonna be happy!” Even in my drunken state, I knew what a ridiculous statement that was, but I was too tired to reason it out. Instead, I succumbed to my beer-induced sleepiness.

The next morning I woke up to light streaming in my bedroom window. Despite Mason Deveraux’s dire predictions, no one had snuck inside in the middle of the night. However, I had a more pressing issue. When I sat up, a piercing pain shot through my head and my stomach rolled.

One more reason I hated beer.

I ran into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet. There was no way I could go to work, and I found myself secretly happy to have an excuse to stay home. It was a sad day when you were thankful for a hangover, proving it was a good thing that I only had eight more days left at the DMV.

It was no surprise Suzanne gave me an earful when I called her. “Don’t you bother coming back, Rose Gardner!”

My pounding head couldn’t take the shrieking in my ear. “Thanks, Suzanne. I won’t.” I hung up, feeling wicked. Not only had I just quit, but I’d hung up on my boss too.

Momma had been right. Beer really was the fount of wickedness.

By mid-morning, I was feeling a bit back to normal and I needed to figure out what to do with myself for the rest of the day. Looking into Bruce Decker’s case wasn’t an option. Skeeter Malcolm wasn’t someone to mess around with. And in the light of day, sober except for my headache, I realized how naïve I’d been the night before.

I couldn’t just waltz in and grill shady characters. Shady characters tended to be suspicious by nature, and simply asking questions put me in danger. And the fact was, if I couldn’t ask questions, I had no other means to get answers. I was at a dead end. But the most disturbing realization of all was that Mason Deveraux had saved me from a compromising situation. Joe would have a fit if he knew. No,
when
he knew. I had to tell him, as difficult as it was going to be.

Sitting on my sofa, flipping through over a hundred channels and finding nothing to watch, I surprised myself by realizing Mason Deveraux was right. I had no business being in the middle of this mess. I needed to leave the investigating to trained professionals. I’d saved my own hide when I was suspected of murder. Bruce Wayne Decker needed to take care of his own exonerating. All I’d done was stir up trouble and maybe even put myself in danger.

I cast a glance toward my kitchen door. I told myself there was no shame in being scared. Only fools weren’t scared when in harm’s way, but it still seemed odd. This was Henryetta, Arkansas for heavens’ sake. How dangerous could it be?

Daniel Crocker’s image popped into my head.

I jumped off the sofa and hurried to my room to get dressed. Suddenly, packing boxes for my move to Little Rock sounded like a great plan. But I didn’t have any boxes. And I also didn’t have a car since I’d left the Nova at the pool hall. Groaning, I realized I’d either have to get a cab to take me to get my car or ask Violet. Since I didn’t feel like getting grilled and lectured, I called a cab.

Taxis weren’t a common occurrence in our neighborhood so when one pulled in front of my house an hour later, several faces peered out windows. The faces belonged to members of the Neighborhood Watch, also known as the Busybody Club. Since Miss Mildred was the most diligent of them all, she was president by default. I waved to her when I climbed in the cab’s backseat, trying not to gag from the thick smell of cigarette smoke.

The cab driver didn’t seem surprised when I told him where to go, even though I was secretly cringing. I hoped to high heaven I didn’t run into Skeeter again. I really needed to think about carrying a weapon, but I was too afraid of guns and my purse was too small for my rolling pin.

But I’d worried for nothing. The parking lot was nearly empty and no one hung around outside when I paid the taxi driver and got into my car. The memory of last night seemed like a bad dream until I noticed a piece of paper stuck under my windshield wiper.

My pulse pounded in my head as I climbed out and grabbed the slip, then jumped back into my car and locked the door. I carefully opened the paper as though the contents were going to jump out and bite me. I found a short message scrawled in block letters.

I don’t like people messing in my business
.

Moving to Little Rock seemed like the best idea since the Earl of Sandwich came up with his ingenious discovery. But moving meant packing.

I needed boxes.

I decided the hardware store was the best place to stop. Wandering the aisles proved fruitless—they must have been reorganized since the last time I’d bought packing supplies. Since I was close to the paint department, I decided to ask at the counter. Anne stood next to the paint machine, staring off into the distance. A smile brightened her face when she saw me and walked over.

“Hey, I remember you. How’d your paintin’ project go? You back for more?”

“Oh! It went great. My boyfriend ended up helping and I was done in no time.” I waved my hand. “This time I’m lookin’ for boxes. Moving boxes. They aren’t where I found them last time.”

“Take a look-see over by the lawn and garden aisle. I think the new manager moved ’em over there.”

“Thanks, Anne.”

She grinned when I said her name.

I started walking away when she hollered after me, “That guy was back this weekend.”

My breath caught in my chest, and I slowly spun around to face her. “The looky-loo guy?”

Pinching her lips together in a grimace, she nodded. “Yep.”

I took several steps closer. What was I doing? I was no longer interested in the Bruce Wayne Decker case. I reminded myself that Mason Deveraux was right. Bruce needed to stand up for himself.
Turn around and walk away
. Instead, I moved next to the counter, leaning close to Anne. “What was he doin’?”

“He was snoopin’ around the back.”

“Why?”

“Good question. The plumbing manger caught him back there and asked him what he was doin’, but the guy ran off before he answered.”

“Was he in his thirties? Big muscles and with tattoos on his arms?”

She shook her head, confused. “No, he’s a short bald guy.”

“What?” That didn’t match the description of any of the men I saw last night.

“Yeah, dress pants and shirt. Tie. Professional guy. Kind of mousy.”

I sagged into the counter. That wasn’t Skeeter or his pals at all.

“And it’s the same guy who kept showing up after the murder?”

“Yep, one and the same.”

That didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t Skeeter, who was he? It had to be the guy who wanted to buy Frank Mitchell’s house. And if Skeeter wasn’t the murderer, then I wasn’t in the danger that Mason Deveraux thought I was.

Stop thinking about it, Rose. You’ve let this go. You’re not working on this anymore
.

But I couldn’t let it go. It was information that could possibly prove Bruce Wayne Decker’s innocence. The only problem was I didn’t know what to do with it. Mason Deveraux wouldn’t listen. Loading boxes and packing tape into my cart, I realized there was one other person I could talk to. I just wasn’t sure how receptive he’d be. But I’d already made a fool of myself all over town. What was one more place?

It was time to talk to the accused himself. I needed to talk to Bruce Wayne Decker.

Chapter Twenty-One

Getting in to see Bruce Wayne Decker turned out to be harder than I thought. I found the number for William Yates’s office and told the secretary I had information that might help Bruce Decker’s case. When I told her my name, a long pause resulted before she told me she’d pass my message along.

I took that as legalese for “He’ll call when the next ice age covers Henryetta with a glacier.”

I was gonna have to take matters into my own hands.

Judge McClary usually broke for lunch right around noon and it was already eleven-forty-five when I found a parking space two blocks from the courthouse. I camped on a bench outside the courtroom and waited for Mr. Yates. Five minutes later, the doors opened and the occupants of the courtroom spilled out. As the crowd thinned, Mason Deveraux emerged, talking to his assistant. He had nearly turned the corner when he caught a glimpse of me.

He stopped and leaned over to the man next to him, who nodded and continued down the hall. Mr. Deveraux approached, a grim look on his face.

William Yates still hadn’t come out, and I didn’t want to miss him.

“Rose, is everything all right?”

I stood, clasping my hands in my nervousness. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

“You look upset. What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for someone.” I bit my lip.

“I see.” He shifted his weight and glanced down the hall then back at me. “The police drove by your house multiple times last night. They didn’t report anything suspicious. Did you have any trouble?”

“No, everything was fine.” He blocked my view of the courtroom doors and I shifted to the side. “Oh, yeah. I forgot something.” I dug into my purse and pulled out the note. “I found this on my car when I picked it up this morning.”

When he read it, his body stiffened and he looked into my face. “This is a threat, Rose.”

I didn’t have time to be distracted by Mason right now. “What? No. It just says he doesn’t like people messin’ in his business.”

He crossed his arms across his chest. “You can’t be serious. You honestly didn’t think this meant anything?”

William Yates pushed through the double court doors, a frown puckering his cheeks.

“Well, of course it did. It meant he doesn’t like people messin’ in his business, and I don’t intend to. Especially since I know he didn’t kill Mr. Mitchell.”

“Finally. That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say since I met you.”

“A bald guy killed Mr. Mitchell and Skeeter Malcolm definitely isn’t bald.” I pushed past him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to Mr. Yates.”

“Rose!” Mr. Deveraux shouted as I hurried after the defense attorney. “Rose!” He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a halt.

“He’s gettin’ away!”

I squirmed and he gripped both of my arms. “If you will stop and listen to me, I’ll make sure you get a personal meeting with him. That’s what you want, right?”

I huffed in frustration. “Well, yeah…and Bruce Wayne Decker too.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You have to take this threat seriously. I want to know what you’re planning to do about it.”

I was hot and my headache made me cranky. I jerked my arms free from his grasp. “I don’t know, Mr. Deveraux. There’s nothing
to
do.”

“Why won’t you go stay with your sister?”

I put my hand on my hip, my temper flaring. “How do you know I have a sister?”

“Your file.”

He stood there so arrogant, discussing my life as though it was merely the contents of a file. But then again, for him it was.

“How dare you!”

His eyes widened and he stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“
How dare you
? You read about my life, the private things
in my life
, like the fact I have a sister, or throwin’ in my face that Joe didn’t trust me when he met me. What gives you the right to snoop into my business and toss it around like it means
nothing
?”

His face reddened. “That is not what I intended, Rose. I was merely trying to find out—”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“
What
?”

“If you have a question about my personal life, ask me. Stop reading about me in a file. It’s violating!”

Taking a deep breath, he turned to the side and rubbed his chin. After staring at the wall for several moments, he exhaled and dropped his hand to his side. “You’re right. I’ve been very crass about the facts of your personal life. I apologize. But I swear I didn’t mean to violate your privacy. The first time I read your file was when I was convincing Judge McClary to let you out of lockup. I promise you that I did it with the best of intentions.”