Thirty-Four and a Half Predicaments Bonus Chapters: Rose Gardner Mystery (3 page)

R
onnie jumped
up off the couch as I grabbed my purse and headed for the front door. “Neely Kate! Where are you going? What’s going on?”

“Rose got arrested by that low-life, bottom-dwelling, yellow-bellied swine and I’m about to give him a piece of my mind.”

I reached for the doorknob, but Ronnie stepped in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders.

“Slow down. One thing at a time. Rose got
arrested
?”

“Yes, for murdering her mother, which anyone with a lick of sense in their head knows is crazy. So I’m going to the sheriff’s department to give that man a piece of my mind. And if he’s not there, then I’m going to his house.”

“Joe?” he asked in disbelief.

“
Yes
, Joe,” I spat in disgust.

He shook his head as though trying to clear it. “Neely Kate, that doesn’t make any sense. I know he and Rose haven’t seen eye to eye lately, but why in tarnation would he do that?”

“I’m about to find out.”

I tried to get around him, but he continued to hold onto my shoulders. “
Neely Kate
.
Stop
. Maybe you should stay out of this.”

I took a step back and put my hands on my hips. “
Excuse me
?”

Hesitation flickered in his eyes but was quickly replaced by a steely resolve. “You’re talkin’ about going to the sheriff’s department and confrontin’ the chief deputy sheriff. That’s crazy, Neely Kate!”

“Are you calling me crazy?”

“No! I’m saying what you’re fixin’ to do is crazy!”

“That’s the same thing, Ronnie!”

He groaned. “If you
do
this, you’re liable to get arrested too. Did you stop and consider that? What if you were still pregnant? Would you have put our babies in danger?”

I gasped and jerked out of his grasp as his words sunk deep into my heart like a white-hot poker. Tears stung my eyes as I thought back on all the things I
had
done while I was pregnant.

Ronnie went stock-still when he realized what he’d said.

My chin trembled. “But I’m not pregnant, am I? So I can do all kinds of things I couldn’t do before I killed our babies.” I hurried around him, heading straight for my car.

By the time he’d gathered his wits and followed, I was climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Neely Kate!”

I ignored him. I was tired of dwelling on something that I had no control over. My babies were gone. No amount of crying or coddling were gonna bring them back. But my best friend in the whole world was behind bars for ridiculous charges and there was something I
could
do about that.

It was nearly 8:30 p.m. when I pulled in the Fenton County sheriff’s parking lot. Joe should have gone home by now, but there was no way in heaven he would arrest the woman he claimed to love, then go home and kick back with a beer and his TV.

I stomped through the door, right up to the receptionist’s window. “I’m here to see Joe Simmons.”

She glanced up from her magazine, sighing with irritation. “Chief Deputy Simmons is busy with important county business. If you have a complaint, fill out one of these forms.” She shoved a clipboard through the window opening. As if she could get rid of me that easy.

“Chief Deputy Simmons better get his hiney out here within thirty seconds or there’ll be hell to pay!” I said, my voice growing louder with every word.

The receptionist pursed her lips. “Ma’am, just fill out the form and someone will get back to you.”

A door opened and a deputy walked out, paying attention to his phone instead of the commotion in the reception area. I rushed over and grabbed the doorknob before it closed, then slipped in through the opening.

“Miss!” the receptionist shouted.

The deputy realized his mistake and turned around and ran after me, but I was faster.

“Joe Simmons! You get your sorry ass out here and face me!”

There were only a few deputies sitting at desks in the open office area. They looked up in disbelief as I made a beeline to the back of the building.

“Joe!” I shouted. “You chicken shit! Get out here and talk to me!” I found his office at the far end of the floor—the placard on the door read
Joe Simmons, Chief Deputy Sheriff
plain as day.

“You can’t just barge in here, miss,” a deputy hollered as he reached for my arm.

I ducked to the side. “Don’t think you can hide in your office, Joe Simmons!” I shouted, getting more and more pissed by the minute.

The deputy got a grip on my arm and started to drag me back to the front.

“You can’t face me, can you?” I shouted, digging in my feet and resisting the deputy’s pull. “What did I expect from a coward?”

The deputies around me wore a variety of expressions. One looked downright pissed, but the deputy who’d gotten stuck doing Joe’s dirty business of hauling me out of the building looked sympathetic. “I know you’re upset—” he started to say.

But his platitude was interrupted when Joe’s door flew open. He filled the doorway, his face red with rage. “Let her go,” he barked.

The deputy holding my arm stopped. “But sir—”

“
I said, let her go
.” He didn’t raise his voice, but there was no need. The authority in his tone was enough to make us all stop and gawk.

The deputy released his hold and I jerked away, still furious.

Joe stepped to the side of his doorway, his eyes narrowed. “Neely Kate, come into my office.”

I wanted to tell him that he couldn’t order me around, but that was exactly what I wanted, wasn’t it? So I gritted my teeth and stomped into the small room, waiting as he walked in and shut the door behind him. I expected him to start defending himself right off—he had to know why I was there—but instead, he walked behind his desk and sat in his chair, waiting for me to speak first.

Our stare-off lasted a good five seconds before his eyebrows rose slightly. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re here, or are you just going to look at me all night? Because if it’s the latter, I’m going to get started on the mountain of paperwork that needs my attention.”

That worked my tongue loose. I put my hands on my hips and stomped my foot. “What in the Sam Hill are you doin’, Joe Simmons?”

His jaw tightened. “My job.”

“
By arresting an innocent woman
?”

His eyes remained focused on mine. “It’s not up to me to decide a suspect’s innocence or guilt. It’s my job to collect the evidence, hand it over to the district attorney, then let him do his job.”

“And you made darn sure Mason was gone so you could arrest Rose without interference.” It wasn’t a question. It was as obvious as the nose on his face.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss official county business with you, Neely Kate.”

That did it. I stomped over to his desk and leaned over, placing my hands on either side of the surface. “Don’t you dare pull that
bullshit
on me!”

He sat back in his chair, his face turning red.

“So you’re in charge of witch hunts now?”

“I’m simply doin’ my job.”

“Cut the damn bullshit, Joe! What’s this really about? Rose wouldn’t go back with you, so you arrested her?”

His jaw tensed and the veins on his neck bulged.

“What was up yesterday when you said, ‘Take care of our girl’? Were you just trying to throw me off?”

“No!”

“Then let her go!”

He leaned forward until his face was less than a foot from mine. “It’s out of my hands! There’s nothing I can do!”

I stood up, so mad I was seeing spots. “Mason said you were doin’ your daddy’s dirty work. Is that true?”

His eyelid twitched. “I’m doin’ my job. It has nothing to do with my father.”

I put my hands on my hips. “I knew you turned out to be a snake, Joe Simmons, so why am I surprised that you’re a dagnabbit liar too?”

He swallowed, then stood. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

I shook my head, looking up at him with a glare. “You are a sorry excuse for a man. Because of you, one of the nicest, sweetest people on the face of this earth is sitting in a jail cell for something she didn’t do.” I pointed my finger at him. “You did that, Joe.
You
!” Pain flickered in his eyes and satisfaction lapped over me. He deserved every bit of pain he was getting, and I intended to throw him some more fire and brimstone. “I wish to God Rose had never met you, and I bet you she’s sitting in that jail cell wishing the same thing.”

He sucked in a breath and his eyes turned glassy.

I spun around on my heels and left his office. If Joe wouldn’t help me, I decided to go to the one man who could.

Skeeter Malcolm.

T
he world is
full of haves and have-nots. I was born into the latter group.

My parents were tenant farmers on a small property in southern Arkansas that never produced much. My father claimed his family had owned slaves back in the day, like it was something to be proud of. Our relatives had owned a plantation with twenty slaves, but thanks to Abe Lincoln, we’d lost it all and had been thrust into a century of misfortune.

I was still young when I first realized my father spouted a mess of nonsense. His eighth-grade education had only varnished his ignorance, and my mother wasn’t much better. She’d dropped out of ninth grade to have my older brother. We lived in a two-bedroom shack—my parents and four kids, all boys.

I became fascinated with our sixteenth president. Maybe because my father blamed his bad luck on a man who had been dead for well over a hundred years. But the more I read about him, the more I realized my similarities to Abe Lincoln. Both our parents lived on a small farm and in a small house. He loved to read and so did I. Abe was mostly self-educated, and I strived to learn anything and everything that I could. It was a no-brainer when I decided on a profession. I was determined to follow in my idol’s footsteps.

I was going to be a lawyer.

Now, I was bright, but I wasn’t the brightest kid in high school and college. While my lack of income helped me qualify for grants and student loans, there weren’t a lot of scholarships to be had. When I left Fenton County for college, I had big dreams of moving as far away from Arkansas as possible, leaving my family and all the memories of my youth behind. But fate had other plans. Buried under a mountain of debt and desperate for any free money I could get, I took a scholarship from the University of Little Rock law school that required me to practice law for three years in a small Arkansas town. And damned if fate wasn’t laughing in my face. They sent me to Fenton County. The one place I was dying to escape.

The conditions of my scholarship obligations allowed me to have my own practice, but I was required to take a preset number of state-appointed cases per month. It wasn’t difficult work. The Fenton County DA didn’t give a gorilla’s ass about most of the cases and his assistant wasn’t much better, at least until Mason Deveraux came to town. But over the past two years in Henryetta, I’d gotten acquainted with a population I’d had no contact with before leaving town as an idealistic eighteen-year-old.

The Fenton County underworld.

Daniel Crocker was king when I rolled back into town, and he had his own legal team, not that I would have worked with him on a regular basis anyway. The man was like a powder keg getting ready to blow. Three months after I opened my practice, I took a simple breaking and entering case, second offense. I was sure the ADA would plea down to probation. I wasn’t prepared for a phone call from the Fenton County king.

“What’s your plan of attack with Walt Thibodaux?” Crocker asked.

“With all due respect, Mr. Crocker,” I said, proud of myself for not letting my nervousness slip through. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out where he fit in the criminal hierarchy. “That is confidential information.”

He laughed, but it didn’t sound friendly. “Now, listen here, boy. I run this town, and half the people in this county are on my payroll in some way. So what happens to anyone in Henryetta is my business, but Thibodaux is on
my
payroll, so I’m all over
his
business. Here’s what’s gonna happen: he’s gonna plead guilty.”

My jaw dropped. “There’s no reason for him to plead guilty. I’m certain I can get him a reduced sentence.”

“I don’t think you heard me,” he said with a sharp edge in his voice. “He’s gonna plead guilty. Make sure it happens or you might find yourself wishing you hadn’t come back to Fenton County.” Of course, I already had that wish.

I hung up, terrified, yet resolved to give my client the best possible representation I could, which did
not
include pleading guilty. But Walt Thibodaux had other ideas. No amount of coaxing, cajoling, and finally outright begging could convince him to do otherwise. When I asked him why he was insisting on such a path of foolishness, he clamped his lips into a tight line.

“I know you’re doing this for Crocker,” I said. “But I can help you if you’ll just let me.”

When he finally met my gaze, I saw fear in his eyes. “I’ve got my reasons. Now either butt out or I’ll get me a new lawyer.”

It didn’t take me long to figure out his motivations. Only days after Thibodaux arrived at the state pen, he was accused of killing a fellow inmate, a former associate of Crocker’s who had made an agreement to testify about Crocker’s criminal business in exchange for a reduced sentence.

I’d failed my client.

Disheartened over the situation with Thibodaux, I was wading through my ass-deep pile of cases, questioning my profession, when my legal assistant appeared in my doorway.

“Mr. Hale,” she said, her eyes as big as half dollars. “A man is here to see you.”

Already in a piss-poor mood, I didn’t have the time or the stomach for interruptions. “Does he have an appointment?”

“No.” Her voice shook. “But I think you’re gonna want to see him.”

I glanced up, ready to blast her for her persistence, but I stopped short when I recognized the man filling my doorway.

Skeeter Malcolm.

I stood and tried to find my tongue, which seemed to have stuck to the bottom of my mouth.

“I hate to interrupt,
counselor
.” There was a slight hint of condescension in the word.

I motioned to the chair in front of my desk. “No trouble at all. Celia, hold my calls.”

My assistant shut the door behind her, leaving the second most powerful criminal in Fenton County inside my closed office.

I could see why she was nervous. Even if I hadn’t known who he was, his persona alone would have been intimidating. He was over six feet tall and his muscles filled out the T-shirt he wore. I’d never seen him up close and personal before, and I had to wonder how he ranked second to Crocker, who was shorter and less bulky. But pure brawn wasn’t enough to run a crime organization. It took brains too. Maybe Crocker had him outstripped there.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Malcolm?”

He chuckled, moving along the perimeter of my office, picking up a scale off a small table. “It’s more like what you can do for me.”

Still standing, I tried to swallow my anxiety. What was the worst this man could do to me? Okay, he could have me killed, but I wasn’t going to let anyone else push me around. It was time for me to take a stand. “And what might that be exactly?”

When he heard my tone, he swung around to face me, surprise in his eyes. He set the scale down and moved closer to my desk. “I’d like to strike a deal.”

I paused, weighing my words carefully. “To the best of my knowledge, you have no current charges against you. Do you anticipate any in the near future?”

He laughed, but it was tight and forced. “I’m always at risk of facing charges, but no, I don’t anticipate any in the near future.”

“Then I don’t see how I can possibly help you.”

A slow grin spread across his face, not quite reaching his eyes. “You don’t say.”

I stared him down, trying to keep my expression blank. I knew he wanted a reaction out of me, but I was tired of these men shouting
jump
and expecting me to ask
how high
?

He slowly sat in one of the two chairs in front of my desk, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

Resisting the urge to heave out a sigh, I sank in my own chair and placed my forearms on the desk in front of me. “So what do you think I can do for you, Mr. Malcolm?”

“I’d like to put you on retainer.”

My eyebrows shot up this time. “Me? For what?”

“As the head of my legal team.”

“Surely you have your own attorneys. Why would you need me?”

“You’re young. You’re fresh.”

“You think I’m malleable.” I took a deep breath and tried to release some of my anger when I heaved it out. “I don’t take bribes, Mr. Malcolm, and I don’t intend to be corrupted. In fact,”—I leaned back in my seat with a nonchalance I didn’t feel—“I think you’ve come to the wrong side of the street. You should be talking to the attorneys in the courthouse if you’re looking to manipulate the court system. I hear they are easily swayed.”

He laughed, a genuine sound that made him slightly less intimidating. Only slightly. “I’m not looking to corrupt anyone, with the possible exception of that sweet thing in your reception area.” He winked as he shot a glance over his shoulder toward the door. “What I
am
looking for is a man who will grow with me and my business.”

“You mean get you out of trouble when you’ve been naughty?” I sounded more flippant than I intended.

He smirked. “Exactly.”

“You’re planning to expand your business?” I asked. “It seems like Crocker has most of Fenton County locked up tight.”

He shrugged. “Things change. It’s good to be prepared.”

“Why do I think you have trouble up your sleeve?”

He lifted his bare arms and held them up, showing me both sides of them. “No sleeves here.” Then he leaned back in his chair. “The best sleight-of-hand tricks are always the ones that appear out of thin air.”

So he
was
up to something. Malcolm had brawn and possibly brains, which meant he had a shot at taking Crocker down. But would he be any better? “I’m still not sure how I can help you.”

“Like I said, I want to keep you on retainer. I’ll ask you questions from time to time about the legalities of a situation. You’ll represent me and a few key men in my organization should the need for legal counsel arise. In return, I’ll offer you money and protection.”

“Protection?” I asked, incredulous. “From whom?”

“You have to know you’re on Crocker’s list.”

Well, shit. “I take it it’s not his Christmas list.”

He cracked a grin, more genuine this time. “Definitely not.”

“What earned me that honor?”

“Questioning him in regards to the Thibodaux situation.”

“So basically for doin’ my job.”

He shifted in his seat. “Here’s what I’m looking for—a man who will shoot it to me straight, even if it’s not necessarily what I want to hear.”

“Then let me offer you some
free
advice. Criminal activity equals bad. Non-criminal activity equals good.”

Malcolm lifted his chin and looked me in the eye. I resisted the urge to squirm. “I like you, Hale. But don’t push it.”

“Got it.” He relaxed and I sucked in a deep breath and said, “I won’t do anything illegal.”

“Which is why I’m here. I want someone on the mostly straight and narrow.”

“Mostly?”

“I know you’re good at finding loopholes and technicalities to get charges dropped. That’s all I’m asking for. A top-notch attorney who thinks outside the box.”

“That’s it?”

“One other condition: If I ask you to take a case, you don’t refuse it.”

I weighed my options. Crocker might be gunning for me. Malcolm was clearly smarter than I’d thought, and he was offering me protection. But the two men could end up in a turf war. Did I really want to be caught in the middle?

“Did I mention the monthly retainer fee?” he asked. “I was thinking two grand a month.”

I cocked my head. “About how many cases do you expect me to take?”

He shrugged and smirked again. “Run-of-the-mill crimes. Nothing you can’t handle.”

So we shook hands and I agreed to be his bitch. What can I say? I needed the money and I actually
wanted
to be on a team opposing Crocker. Lucky for me, Malcolm’s men were good at laying low—far better than Crocker’s malcontents. Still, I found out everything I could about the top men in his organization, preparing myself in case I got called in as legal counsel. We met weekly to discuss his business. The more I learned, the more impressed I became. Skeeter Malcolm not only controlled his men, but had a level head for business.

Then, a year into my agreement with Malcolm, the Fenton County ADA left abruptly and Mason Deveraux took his place. I could see from the start that Deveraux wasn’t like his predecessor—in more ways than one. He wasn’t about to be bought, but he also looked down his genteel nose at everyone in the Fenton County legal system. By now, I had a solid practice and a lot more confidence. I wasn’t about to let some pseudo-Ivy League undergrad from Little Rock treat me like a piece of shit on his shoe.

We came to heads one hot summer afternoon, about a week before the case he was trying got turned on its head when a juror proved Deveraux had the wrong guy. I was representing a colleague of Malcolm’s, which ironically enough, had nothing to do with Malcolm’s criminal business. He’d been picked up on a DUI inside Henryetta city limits by Henryetta’s finest of the fine—Officer Ernie Hagan—which was my ace in the hole. Too bad Deveraux hadn’t been around long enough to figure that out yet.

Within ten minutes the DUI case had been thrown out due to Hagan’s incompetence, and I was standing in the hallway outside the courtroom, admiring the ass of the pretty blonde who worked in the personal property department. Rumor had it she had a fiancé, but I was considering asking her out anyway when Deveraux strode from the courtroom like he had a burr up his ass.

I was pretty damn sure I was the one who’d put it there.

“So Malcolm’s got you in his back pocket?” he demanded, a fire in his eyes.

I lifted my eyebrows in mock offense. “I realize you’re incapable of recognizing inadmissible evidence,
counselor
, but I should hope you’d get my client’s name correct. I was representing
Mr. Homer
.” I grinned. “But then maybe you’re not a fan of
reading
up there in the big city.” It was a low blow. Deveraux had treated it as a simple DUI, but I’d spent a few sleepless nights figuring out how to weasel Homer out of it. I’d blindsided Deveraux, and his high society ego didn’t like it.

“Homer’s a known associate of Skeeter Malcolm’s.”

“So? The last time I checked, the U.S. Constitution allows me to pick whichever clients I would like.” With the exception of the handful of state cases I was still fulfilling to work off my scholarship. No need to tell him that part. “What proof do you have?”