Worked to Death (Working Stiff Mysteries Book 2) (7 page)

"Wait a minute… Teensy is nineteen. Mick is…" I paused for a moment. Almost catching myself and correcting myself to say "was" instead of present tense. "Mick is twenty-nine. There is no way…"

"Not Teensy. My other daughter, Bitsy. She's only eight."

Teensy and Bitsy? The poor girls. Southern name-ism strikes again.

"So…um…" I stopped pressing on his arm and waited. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it would be easier if we had blood samples from both of you. That would be just a quick and easy test. Are you sure you don't want to go home and think about this—maybe talk to your wife some more."

He shook his head vigorously. "No. I want to do it now. I brought this." He reached behind him and extracted what looked like a Disney Princess little pink toothbrush sealed in a Ziploc bag.

"So, you want a full DNA screening, not just a blood marker paternity test?" A small part of me was excited that I might get to take part in the lab work on this type of screening collection—certainly not something I'd been able to do in my short time here yet.

"Yes. Please. I need this to remain totally confidential, and I'll pay whatever it takes to put a rush on this." He sniffed his nose. The tears in his eyes started receding.

"Of course, all test results are fully confidential. Don't worry yourself about that."

But I wondered if in a situation like this—where a murder victim might be the father of an illegitimate child, if these results would be of interest to the police. I wondered what our policy would be on that.

"Good. Yes, when do you think I can get the results?"

"Honestly, Mr. Jamison, I'm not sure. I'll have to check with my boss. We'll have to send this off for testing. We won't be equipped to do this here."

He nodded. I completed my blood draw and wrapped his arm in a pressure dressing.

He cleared his throat as he rolled down his sleeve. "This is embarrassing, Mandy. I wish I didn't have to ask for this. I just need to be…sure."

"I understand. But—" I paused, not sure if I should delve into this man's private matters further.

"But what?" He encouraged, slipping on his business suit coat.

"But, does your wife believe that Bitsy was Mick's child, or did she just admit to an affair?"

He stared at me for a long moment, and just when I was sure that he wouldn't answer, he said, "She didn't say, and I didn't ask, but I just can't get it off my mind. Since I started suspecting that some sort of funny business was going on in my own home—I just had to finally confront her. I never expected something like this."

"I'm sorry. But if this was something that happened eight or more years ago, are you sure you want to bring it all up now?" I knew I was treading on thin ice here.

He raised his eyebrows. I had come to believe that all attorneys were suspicious by nature, and I could see it in his face now.

"Why wouldn't I? I have a right to know." He took a step toward the door and then stopped, looking back over his shoulder. "You and Mick and his wife were friends back then. Do you know something about this, Mandy?"

"Oh no. Gosh no." I didn't want to go down that road. He'd find out soon enough that Mick was dead, and I wasn't going to be the one to tell him. Unless…

"You're not going to confront Mick with these results, are you?" It was kind of a test question to see what he knew.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Mandy. But right now, I wish he was dead."

"Let's run it up a flagpole and see who salutes it." —Things We Say in the South

My shift had ended without further drama, and I'd checked and double-checked all my paperwork before clocking out at the exact correct minute. I didn't want to irritate my boss any more than usual. And, as an added effort at showing employee dedication, I'd taken some envelopes from Mr. Andrulis' outbox to drop off at the post office on my way home.

Of course, the post office was closed, but the lobby door remained open to allow post office box owners to pick up their mail at their convenience. So, I hotfooted it inside to drop off my stack of outgoing mail.

With my head down and thoughts of Randall Jamison and Mick Thibault on my mind, I didn't see the large mass of man in front of me until I'd bumped into him and dropped my letters all over the floor.

"Oh, excuse me," I said before looking up to find a muscle-bound man wearing a tank top, cutoff jean shorts, and no shoes at all.

He glared down at me and then seemed to start sizing me up in a way that made me feel more than a little uncomfortable. "Awe. It's all right. Being bumped into by a pretty young thing like you is the best part of my day."

His deep southern drawl and odd state of dress caused my brain to suddenly label him as the Barefoot Redneck. On any account, he sort of creeped me out.

I distracted myself by crouching down to gather my mail and used that moment to reach into my purse in search of my pepper spray. There was just something about him.

He bent down and started picking up envelopes and clutching them in his thick, meaty hand as he spoke. "Name's Brady Blue. I own the True Blue Fitness over on Highway 14. You ever come there to work out?"

Working out to me was nothing short of a trip to the dentist's office, but I was sure that insulting his livelihood was not the way to go with this man.

"Uh, no. I can't say that I've had the pleasure of stopping by. I work a lot so I don't have much free time." I'd finally rounded up the envelopes and stood up to take the ones from him.

He held on tight when I tried to take them from his hand. Causing us to play a little envelope tug of war. "You know I hear that excuse a lot. It's real important to take care of your body." When he said the word "body" his eyes sunk down to my boob level.

I pulled on the envelopes again, and he let go this time. I turned and shoved them into the Outgoing Mail drop box on the wall.

"I'll have to remember that. Maybe I'll stop by sometime." I had zero intentions of ever going by there, but I thought that I should be polite in my response and then get the heck out of there.

"Well, your body looks like it's in good shape already. But if you ever need a little special juice to help you work more efficiently, I can hook you up." He sucked in some saliva between his teeth as he announced his offering with pride.

Special juice?
I was curious as to what he meant. But not curious enough to hang around.

I pushed through the door and made hay toward Stella at a fast clip.

"Will do." I tossed the words over my shoulder, as I couldn't shake this feeling of impending doom.

"Hey! I didn't catch your name, sweetie pie," he hollered out as I slipped inside the car and gave him a quick wave.

I backed the car out and took off down the street. The creepy crawlies running up and down my arms. I wasn't sure exactly what it had been about this man that had frightened me so, but I just knew that I needed to get out of there.

Maybe I was just tired and overreacting. But this had been a long day, and I needed a night out in a desperate way.

I felt better by the time I pulled in to my driveway and parked at the back of the house. I thought about heading straight inside but knew that if I didn't stop by Ms. Lanier's house for a quick check-in that she'd hunt me down before the night was over.

I knocked on her door, and she yelled for me to enter.

I pulled the screen door closed behind me as I pushed through her wooden door.

"Is that you, Mandy?" Her voice sounded from the back of the house.

"Yes, ma'am. It's me," I called back—noticing that an episode of a gangster-related drama was currently playing courtesy of HBO on her television.

"I'll be right out. You hungry?"

Yes. I was always hungry. But while things were slow at the clinic, I'd set up a night out at O'Hannigan's with Penny and Sundae. We were going to the Wednesday night Steak and Karaoke Bonanza, and I was looking forward to that.

"I'm going out to dinner so you have the night off," I responded. Ms. Lanier, my elderly neighbor, provided about seventy percent of the meals for Paget and me. As she enjoyed cooking and we enjoyed eating—it was a copasetic arrangement.

"Where are you off to?" Her round face appeared in the doorway. She was dressed up in a trench coat and black boots.

I tried not to act surprised by her attire. "Uh, me and the girls are going to O'Hannigan's."

"Yeah, I should've figured. When Denise came by to pick up some things for Paget, I knew you'd made other plans." Her voice sounded a little dejected.

I felt a little guilty, but I hadn't had a night out in ages, and I was reluctant to change my plans for tonight. I didn't do karaoke, but the all-you-can-eat steak buffet was screaming my name.

"What are you up to?" I dared to ask.

"Do you think you'll be back in time for my web meeting with Maimie?"

Ah, I'd forgotten about the web meeting as set up by Ms. Maimie's grandson—Officer Hands-On.

"I doubt it. We may hang out for a bit after dinner. What's the meeting about anyway? We don't have enough details to start an investigation, do we?"

I wasn't sure what all the Hoots knew about the dead body yet, and I wasn't about to share the identity. I was too scared that either Matty or Randall Jamison was involved, and I just wasn't ready to throw either one of them to the gossip wolves as of yet.

The Hoots was the nickname that Ms. Maimie and Ms. Lanier had come up with last fall in order to give their crime-solving duo a more official presence—or so they'd said. While they didn't exactly
solve
crimes, it was uncanny how their wild conspiracy theories weren't always totally off the mark. The Hoots were made up of Ms. Lanier, Ms. Maimie, and sometimes—reluctantly—me, and we had become a sort of crime-fighting, mystery-solving, gossip-sharing crew of misfits.

"Well sure we do. Just about everyone in the county is a suspect. I mean, my Lord, that radio show was terrible. I'm surprised that the Mick and Matty show hadn't brought about a murder before now."

I stared at her. My eyebrows inched up a notch.

"How do you already know that the body was Mick Thibault?" Again, I was scared to hear the answer but couldn't stop myself from speaking.

"It is all over town. Matty was at Mane Street Styles when Ty picked her up for questioning. Everyone north of the Alabama River knows by now that Mick left her for another woman, and she may have knocked him off. Only, we need to know who the other woman was—you don't know—do you?"

"No. Noooo," I responded. "I don't know who the other woman was, and you need to stop gossiping. What if Matty's not involved with his death? We don't know anything yet. All we do know is she's lost her husband. She's in mourning."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it?" Ms. Lanier's voice was suspicious and unsympathetic.

"Why are you wearing that coat in the house? Did you forget to get your propane tank refilled?" I studied my neighbor's attire and tried to change the subject.

"No, my heating is fine. This is what we're wearing when we do our meeting tonight. Since Maimie and I are private dicks, we need the proper wardrobe." She stuck out her skinny chest proudly.

"Private di—?" I let out a little cough.

"Yes, we will solve this thing with or without you. But I hope you'll help, seeing as how you discovered the body and how we're hoping that you can infiltrate the police station with your feminine whiles."

"My feminine—?" I couldn't seem to complete a sentence suddenly.

"Look, you've already got Ty under your thumb. The man loves you and will do anything for you."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she waved me off.

"And then Maimie is trying to steer that handsome grandson of hers your way. That will be two cops under your belt. Way under your belt, I hope."

I gagged a little at her innuendo.

"Look. Once again, I'm trying to stay out of this. I've already given my statement to Ty. That's all I know."

I spoke the words but knew that it wasn't the complete truth. After all, I knew that Randall Jamison's wife had been involved with Mick at some point in time. What if they'd rekindled their affair and Mrs. Jamison had been the woman that Mick was leaving Matty for? What if Randall had killed Mick?

"Okay… Okay… Enjoy your night out. I'll see you in the morning for breakfast, and we'll have a report for you then. Be safe out there." She walked over to me and gave me a tender caress on the cheek.

I gave her a hug and took her up on an offer of a fresh-baked loaf of bread as I headed out the door. I might need a little snack before dinner after all.

*  *  *

Penny and Sundae sat across from me in the corner booth at O'Hannigan's. I hadn't been there that often since the fateful night last summer when I was roofied and left for dead in the bathroom. That type of thing tends to leave a sour taste in your mouth.

But I'd fallen prey to the promise of all-you-can-eat Wednesdays that they advertised every week on the giant flashing sign out front. This week it was steak, and I couldn't wait to fill my plate with meat, potatoes, and the requisite healthy serving of green salad. On second thought, maybe not the salad.

Currently, we were waiting on the waiter to bring our drinks and our first round of plates.

"Why don't they just put the plates on one end of the bar so we can serve ourselves?" I kept looking around the bar wondering what was taking our waiter so dang long.

"I heard it was because Allyson Harlow complained about someone sneezing on the plates and threatened to report them to the Health Department. Now they are being extra careful about how they handle the serving stuff." Sundae offered the reasonable but frustrating behind-the-scenes information.

I grimaced. Not so much at the delay of dishes but more so at the mention of my high school nemesis with the sizeable body attributes and my accidental viewing of said attributes on Ty's phone this morning.

I wanted to tell my friends all about it. But since Penny was Ty's sister, I just couldn't bring myself to rat him out. I wasn't sure why—but I knew that it just wasn't a good idea at the moment. Penny seemed irritated.

"I can't believe that you didn't call me," Penny said. And the reasoning behind her sour mood started to come out without provocation.

"For the hundredth time, I—am—sorry. Your brother asked me not to, and since I'd already been handcuffed and manhandled once already, I decided to follow his instructions," I offered.

"I can't believe that hunk, Devon Keith, handcuffed you. He's hot, but I would have gone to pieces if he had manhandled me like that." Sundae smiled at me, her eyes glowing beneath gold sparkly eye shadow.

"Yeah, well… Ms. Maimie tried to set us up on a date tonight. Luckily, I got out of it gracefully."

Penny coughed and then fanned herself with her napkin as she tried to suppress a fit of laughter. "You did something gracefully? I would have loved to have been there to see that."

I gave her a look. It was true that I'd never really been the most graceful person on earth and usually found myself in one awkward situation after another. But it wasn't nice for my childhood friend to point it out to me so rudely.

"Gee thanks, Penny. I can be quite clever when I need to be." I sat up straighter as if trying to prove that I was in control and mature.

"Yeah, I didn't say anything about being smart. We all know how smart you are." Her little jibe at my decision to leave and run off to med school didn't go unnoticed, but I decided not to engage her in the mood she was in.

Luckily, the waiter arrived at that moment to serve us our drinks and three empty dinner plates.

"Oh goodie, my Cabana Boy is here," Sundae said, then giggled. "Grash-ious." She added with more pseudo Spanish.

I looked behind me, wondering when and how Sundae had hired a cabana boy. "Where?" I asked.

"My drink. My drink. Isn't it cute?" I turned my attention back to the table and noticed that her fruity cocktail was complete with an umbrella and a tiny plastic surfboard.

"Ah. Great. Are we gonna get something to eat or not? I can't stay long," Penny insisted. "Have to get back to the office and write up an article on Mick Thibault's death. It's not breaking news anymore, but I still have to write something." Penny's sour mood carried over and quashed Sundae's excitement over her drink.

"Penny, look, I'm trying to stay out of this thing. And just like always, I get sucked into it whether I want to or not. I am out to have dinner with my two best friends, and I was hoping to have a good time. Please let it go and just have some fun. Please." I tried once more to lighten the mood. "I might even get up there and sing after I hit the buffet a couple of times.