by Debra Webb
“Dr. Dwight Holderfield was found dead in his home this morning,” Lynch explained.
Dead? The idea that he hadn’t used the word murdered struck her as odd considering the context of the discussion thus far. Murder was by far the better choice when paired with alibi. Regardless of who had pulled the trigger, she understood that Holderfield had been murdered. “And you believe he was murdered?”
“We haven’t ruled out that possibility,” Lynch said, steering clear of a simple yes or no.
“We do know,” Tanner pointed out, “that he had an appointment with you last evening after five.”
Now, there was something he would never be able to verify. “Actually,” she countered, “I had no appointments last evening.” She took note of the time once more, further agitating Tanner. “I had drinks with a friend around five-thirty and returned home shortly before seven. I’m certain you can confirm that as well through the FBI’s surveillance. Or perhaps you know something the feds don’t.” That she spoke so candidly about the surveillance didn’t appear to sit well with Tanner or Lynch. Her last remark had the desired effect. Tanner glowered at her but made no further accusations regarding her surveillance.
“You had no business dealings with Dr. Holderfield?” Lynch queried.
“We chatted from time to time regarding various fundraising efforts. As administrator of one of the most celebrated hospitals in this city, he or a member of his staff often called upon my expertise.”
Tanner scrutinized her posture, her expression. He was looking for an angle to snare her without exposing himself. She had worked very hard for many years to conquer her emotions and reactions, as she did with all that she sought to learn. Tanner wouldn’t find what he was looking for.
“When did you last speak with him?” Lynch prodded.
She gave the impression of mulling over the question. “I can’t recall the date.” Annette stared directly at Tanner then. “But the last time Dr. Holderfield and I spoke he was very much alive. Although, I will say that he appeared very upset. His son was missing, and he was extremely agitated.” She glanced at her watch again. “Really, gentlemen, if you have no more questions, I have a pressing appointment.”
Tanner seethed.
Lynch looked from the DDA to her once more. His instincts were no doubt humming. “Be aware, ma’am,” he warned, “that we may need to question you again once we’ve confirmed the information you’ve given us.”
Annette nodded. “I’m happy to cooperate. But now, I really must go.” She wondered if half this effort was being expended to solve Jazel Ramirez’s death. Of course not. She was no one. Insignificant.
“Thank you for your time.” Lynch closed his notepad and led the way to the door.
Tanner followed but not without pausing to look back once. Those dark eyes targeted hers, and she froze. In the five or so seconds that he held her gaze she understood indisputably that he wasn’t finished yet.
“In the event charges are filed, Ms. Baxter,” he said with a knowing look, “is there anyone we should call? A relative perhaps?”
Alarm flared.
Impossible.
He was guessing. Fishing for a reaction.
Whatever he thought he knew, he would not win this battle.
They were both good at censoring outward displays and manipulating others, but she had far more years of hard-core experience under her belt. He should admit defeat now.
“If the need arises,” she responded, “I’ll call my attorney.”
The corners of Tanner’s mouth lifted ever so slightly, and then he walked away.
Uncertainty congealed in her stomach.
He knew something. But how? That was impossible.
If he had discovered her sister...he would have used that knowledge already.
Annette could not let that happen.
12:45 p.m.
Jefferson County Courthouse
Mayor Gordon Duke represented Birmingham’s old school. He served as mayor for the power and prestige, but he lived lavishly on the money he had inherited from his daddy. Educated at Auburn, he was an Alabama boy through and through. He’d made his share of enemies, but most of Birmingham’s citizens looked up to him as if he were the second coming of Christ.
Even at quarter of one on a Saturday his office was bustling with activity. The hallowed halls of the courthouse provided the perfect setting for his ego. Always plenty of attention and no end to the ways to get into other people’s business.
“Ms. Baxter.”
Annette looked up from her phone as the mayor’s secretary approached. Annette had been waiting in the mayor’s private lobby for around fifteen minutes. He’d done that on purpose. Made her wait the same as she had been forced to make him.
“Yes.” Annette produced the requisite smile.
“The mayor will see you now.”
Annette uncrossed her ankles and rose from her chair. She followed the secretary, who matched the decor perfectly: antiquated yet classic.
They approached the mayor’s office. His door was open, and he was shaking hands with two gentlemen. His guests wore elegant business suits befitting a visit to this esteemed office. Both looked to be in their late forties to mid-fifties. Their mission was anyone’s guess.
“Ms. Baxter,” Gordon Duke proclaimed, drawing the attention of his guests to her arrival. “Come on in.” He met her in the middle of his vast office and gave her a welcoming but brisk hug. “It’s always a pleasure.” He drew back but didn’t release her shoulders. “Let me introduce you to two movers and shakers who are determined to invest in our fine city.”
Introductions were made leaving her less than impressed, and final handshakes were exchanged. Each man nodded politely to Annette as he passed on his way out. The secretary checked to see if Annette needed anything then closed the door.
The bright smile on the mayor’s face vanished before the thud of the door stopped echoing in the room. “What the hell do you want?”
Annette lowered her bag into the closest chair and folded her arms over her chest. When she’d studied the mayor’s well-maintained face and glowering eyes for just long enough to infuriate him all the more, she said, “The same thing you want, Gordon. Power, money, respect.” She offered her palms in confusion. “It’s that last one I seem to be having trouble with lately.”
His lips curled into a hateful sneer. “What would a whore like you know about respect?”
She laughed softly. “I know your definition of a whore, Gordon, and I certainly don’t fit into that category. That little hottie who serves as your latest intern, now, there’s a whore.”
“Go to hell,” he snarled.
He wished.
For half a lifetime, Gordon Duke had screwed anything that would lie still for him and some that wouldn’t. One such encounter had ended rather abruptly and quite badly. But Annette had resolved his problem. That had been five years ago. He’d been in her debt ever since. Now she was about to call in his marker.
“State your business,” he snapped. “The sooner you’re out of here the happier I’ll be.”
Predictable. Clients were always eager to please and sucked up to her when they needed her, but after she had fixed their problem and gotten their balls out of the vise, they turned into rude, belligerent assholes. It was a vicious cycle. The trouble was, somehow they—they being men—were never able to stop themselves from fucking up. “I’m calling in your marker, Gordon. Take care of this problem for me and we’ll be even.”
Suspicion joined the fury clouding his face. “What kind of problem?”
“Someone has grown a backbone. I think you and I both know who that someone is. I need you to find out what his end game is so that I can neutralize the situation before it becomes a problem for certain high-value clients.”
Rage glittered in the mayor’s too-wide-set eyes. “Is that a threat?” Like all her clients when faced with paying up, his posture went rigid and fire practically blazed from his flaring
nostrils.
“Yes, Gordon,” she said calmly. “That is a threat.”
Then he did the exact opposite of what she expected.
He laughed.
Long and loud.
She kept her surprise as well as her annoyance in check. She would not give him the satisfaction. “What do you find so amusing?”
“You.” He laughed some more, had to wipe his eyes. “Take my advice, prepare for a major lifestyle change.” All signs of mirth disappeared. “Because you are definitely fucked.”
She acknowledged his defiance with a nod. “Then you’re no longer concerned with the evidence I have at my disposal.”
A vile grin spread across his face. “Not in the least, you loathsome bitch. My back is covered.” He tilted his head in disdain. “Can you say the same?”
“Well.” She reached for her bag. “I’m glad to see our fearless city leader has finally sprouted some balls.” She started to turn away but thought better of it. “Just remember, I know all your secrets. If I go down, I won’t be alone.”
She left the office, and oddly the halls had cleared as if everyone present had known that a storm was brewing.
Much to her displeasure, it was. And she was dead center in its path.
As she climbed into her Lexus, her cell buzzed. One look at the display and she knew her life was about to get exponentially more complicated.
Chapter Twenty
1:05 p.m.
Jefferson County Courthouse
Elizabeth reread the press release. Each word had to be perfect, had to relay a precise meaning. Mayor Duke’s reputation was on the line with each statement, each image provided to the media. Elizabeth wasn’t sure anyone understood that quite the way she did.
Otherwise—she glared at the final paragraph—senseless mistakes would not be made on such a regular basis.
She pressed the intercom button. “Michelle, I need a moment of your time.”
Michelle Carson was Elizabeth’s third assistant in two years. It was ridiculous that good clerical help was so difficult to find. Unfortunately, it appeared that Michelle was no different from the others. Such a shame. She certainly possessed all the other assets Elizabeth had been looking for. Distinguished bearing, well dressed, and well mannered.
But no one was perfect, and this final paragraph certainly hailed that truth.
“Yes, ma’am?” Michelle hurried to Elizabeth’s desk. “I was just on my way out the door.” Her harried gaze met Elizabeth’s. “Remember I mentioned that my eight-year-old has her first dance competition today.” She glanced at the clock. “I really need to be out the door already.”
Three children. Two years younger than Elizabeth and the woman had three children already. Elizabeth understood how important parenting was and how challenging holding down a full-time job on top of that must be. Still, there was work to be done. And this simply would not wait.
“I really hate to do this to you,” Elizabeth said with heavy regret, “but this press release has to be perfect before it goes out.” She pointed to the final paragraph. “There’s something not quite right with the wording here. The mayor needs to come across as firm, not harsh. Soften the verbiage a bit.” She smiled, not wanting to sound overbearing. “Then you can be on your way.”
Michelle blinked, her expression somewhere between horrified and frustrated. “But we’ve changed that paragraph three times already.”
Elizabeth tamped down her impatience. “I know and I’m so sorry. But this is extremely important. I’m sure you’re aware that both our jobs depend upon moments like this.”
Her assistant nodded jerkily. “Yes, ma’am.”
Elizabeth wasn’t particularly fond of making the hard decisions, but someone had to do it. And it was her job to ensure the mayor always looked good. No matter the inconvenience to others. What would happen to those poor patients at the center if Elizabeth failed to follow through with her work when plying money from the wealthy of Birmingham? A large portion of the patients in residence depended upon the contributions of others. Her family had been hefty donors for decades. Ever since Congressman Weller’s favorite cousin had been diagnosed as autistic.
One didn’t walk away from a challenge until it had been conquered.
Michelle hesitated at the door, then turned back to face Elizabeth. “I’m sorry. I almost forgot. The vet’s office called. Gallagher is fine. He’ll be ready for pickup around five. No broken bones, just a little banged up.”
Relief poured through Elizabeth. “Excellent. Thank you, Michelle.”
That was good news indeed. Elizabeth had been so worried about her new baby. She’d have to teach him to stay out of the street. Perhaps he had learned his lesson this time. Thank God her mother had been there to take care of him when the hit-and-run happened.
Surveying her desk to ensure that all was neatly organized and nothing left undone, Elizabeth considered that tomorrow was her first date with Carson in more than fifteen years. Excitement fizzed in her tummy. She couldn’t wait to see him dressed in a tux. He was so handsome. He worked so hard. The evening would be a nice break for the both of them, though it would assuredly be work for her. There was always a good cause in need of funds.
She had waited so long to have her life get back to the way it used to be. The way it was supposed to be.
No one knew how long she had wanted this time to come.
Perhaps she should invite Carson to participate in the telethon for the Children’s Hospital. Last year had been a resounding success. She particularly loved helping the children. One day she hoped to have children of her own.
Probably already would if her parents hadn’t ruined everything. She should never have listened to them. Elizabeth should have stayed right here in Birmingham and comforted Carson in his greatest time of need. But she had been a good daughter. She had listened to her father and mother, allowed them to make all the decisions. Even after returning to Birmingham and earning this prestigious position, she had permitted her father to be in control.
No more. She and Carson belonged together. That source of tranquility that was always her saving grace overflowed for her now, filled her completely. It was well past time Elizabeth took charge of her own life.
Tomorrow night was only the beginning.
Nothing would ever get in her way again.
This time she would not fail to protect what she and Carson shared.
Chapter Twenty-One
2:40 p.m.
Magnolia Hills Individualized Care Center
Annette sat in her car for long minutes after arriving at the center. She had handled her two o’clock with Campbell by phone. Now Annette had to get out and take care of her sister. There was no way around it. But she dreaded with all her heart the trouble that might lie inside.
She was strong. She would handle whatever fate tossed in her lap.
Hadn’t she been doing that her whole life?
In just a few hours she had a historical society fundraiser to attend. No matter that everything was falling apart; she had commitments. She had to hold whatever ground she had left until the bitter end.
Not once had she given up, however bad things were. She wouldn’t now.
Annette emerged from her Lexus and walked with determination to the front entrance. After keying in the security code, she entered the nauseatingly quiet building.
The clinical smell immediately assaulted her. Reminded her of the worst times from her past. Visions of blood, sounds of screaming bombarded her. The pruning shears protruding from that bastard’s back. Her working with all her might to dislodge the shears. She shuddered, pushed the memories away.
Leave it in the past. Before she could usher the images completely away, more joined the parade. Blood...all over her hands, her blouse. She blinked, pushed all of it aside. She had to attend to this issue. Right now, nothing else mattered.
The corridors were deserted since visiting hours ended at two and didn’t resume until five. Classical music p
layed softly, banishing the silence and at the same time masking the sterile sounds of treatment. She made her way to the second floor information desk and identified herself to the nurse on duty. She must be new; Annette hadn’t seen her before.
The nurse entered Annette’s name and security code into the computer on the desk. “Ah, there you are, Ms. Anderson. You’re here to see your sister Paula.”
Annette had long ago gotten used to being called Ms. Anderson. The step was necessary to ensure that Paula was never connected to Annette or her work. “Yes.” Annette stiffened, steeled herself for bad news.
“Dr. Roland is on duty,” the nurse explained. “I’ll call her to the desk for you.”
“Thank you.”
Annette wandered a few steps from the desk to wait for the doctor. Roland wasn’t Paula’s primary care physician, but Annette had worked with her before.
“Ms. Anderson.”
Annette turned toward the gentle voice. “Hello, Dr. Roland. I hope Paula is all right.”
“Why don’t we step into the lounge so we can talk,” Roland suggested.
A scarcely subdued panic clawing at her, Annette followed the doctor to the private lounge and settled into a chair directly across the designed-for-function coffee table from where the doctor took a seat.
Dr. Roland shoved her stethoscope into the pocket of her lab coat before resting her full attention on Annette. “There was a strange incident this afternoon.”
“But Paula is all right?” Every incident involving Paula was strange. The doctor’s reluctance to share the details had the dread swelling.
“Yes.” The doctor nodded. “Paula is fine, physically. But the incident triggered a severe reaction. We were forced to medicate her more heavily than usual.”
Annette clasped the arms of her chair to keep in check the emotions roiling inside her. “You keep talking about the incident. Can you explain what happened, please?”