by Celia Aaron
Her partner glanced between us uneasily.
She smiled calmly, almost lazily. It would have been believable if it weren’t for the sharpness of her eyes. “If you won’t cooperate with this investigation, I’ll get a warrant for the files.”
“A warrant won’t be able to get past attorney-client privilege.”
She stood and grabbed her notepad from the table. “I may not be an attorney, but I’m pretty sure I can get a judge to issue a warrant for all of Mr. King’s files, particularly if I request an in camera review by the court to determine if any of the documents should be withheld based on your claim of privilege.”
“Can we do that?” Porter asked her.
She cocked her head to the side. “Sheriff, are you asking me if law enforcement can get and enforce a warrant from a judge?”
Porter squinted a bit. “Um, no?”
She shook her head and gave her partner an exasperated glance.
I shrugged. “You do what you have to do, Detective, and I’ll do what I have to do.” Of course, part of what I had to do was go through each of those files myself to see if I could find any reason for my father’s murder. I wasn’t going to trust such a crucial part of the investigation to the bumbling B-team from the Azalea City Police Department.
“I’ll see you in court.” She brushed off my objections like dust from her shoulder. “Now, on the other matters, I’ll need a key to your father’s house. Do you have one? Unless you’d like me to arrange a warrant for that, too.”
I considered my options as she continued making notes. The house was a warrant fight I wouldn’t win. A murder victim’s home? A judge would grant that warrant request over the phone. Dad had always taught me to choose my battles, and this was one I’d have to let go. I dug around in my pocket and pulled out a key ring. Slipping off the silver one with the square head, I handed it to her. “This will get you in the front door. But I’d like to be present during the search.”
She took it and handed it to her partner, then fixed her gaze on me. “If you don’t mind, would you tell me where you were last night?”
“Come on.” Porter slapped his hat against his leg. “Is this really necessary?”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. I had dinner at about 6 o’clock last night. Then I spent the rest of the evening going over a case file and drafting a brief. I went to bed at about 10:30.” I held her gaze to make it stick.
Her eyes narrowed a tiny bit, but she turned to Porter. “And you?”
“Seriously, Arabella?”
“Porter, you know as well as I do that I have to cover all the bases here. Just tell me where you were.” Her phone beeped and she pulled it from her pocket and read the screen. “Dr. Monroe, the forensic analyst, is almost here.”
He snugged his hat on his head. “I had supper at Shady’s Diner and then I went over to Vorayna Clearwater’s house.”
The male detective shifted on his feet and glowered at Porter, but stayed silent.
“You spend the night there?”
Porter chuckled. “Hell no. I was there for two hours tops. Then I went home and played Call of Duty online for an hour before bed.”
She nodded. “That’s all I need for now. But if I have to verify the hours, would you be willing to submit your gaming console to determine when you were online—” She glanced at me. “And your laptop for evaluation so we can determine the times you were writing your brief?”
I ground my teeth together. “If your investigation proceeds any further into my brother or me, we will lawyer up and fight you every inch of the way. Mainly because you’d be wasting your time instead of doing your job and catching who actually killed our father.”
Her direct stare probably made most people sweat. Not me. Though looking at her determined face, her green eyes luminous, was no hardship on my part. “If that’s all, I’ll show you out.” I stood and walked them to the front door. “Please keep me informed of what you discover.”
“I’m sorry Mr. King, but this is an active investigation.” She strode out the front door, her partner on her heels. “We’ll keep our information close to the vest for as long as necessary to solve this crime. I’m also going to send Brody over to keep an eye on the firm until the evidence has been bagged and the body removed. Given the nature of the note left on the body, I think it would be prudent for us to station a uniform outside your home for the next few days.”
I waved the suggestion away. “That won’t be necessary. We don’t even know who the note was intended for.”
She paused, her hand on the Greek column at the head of the stairs. “We don’t, but better safe than sorry. There’s a killer on the loose.”
“I’ll just stay over with Benton until this is cleared up,” Porter offered. “I don’t think anybody’s going to roll up on us when they see the Sheriff’s car out front.”
I didn’t particularly want Porter staying at my place, especially considering his love for making a mess and never cleaning up after himself, but it would certainly be preferable to having a police cruiser parked across the street. All my neighbors would be talking as it was.
She stashed her notepad inside her jacket. “You okay with letting him stay, Mr. King?”
I grudgingly gave my answer. “Yes.”
“Good. Logan and I are going to head over to your father’s house. You’re welcome to come and watch the search.”
“I will after I speak to the staff.”
“Fair enough, but I’m warning you, Mr. King.” She put iron in her tone. “Don’t get in our way.”
“My intention isn’t to get in your way, it’s to make sure you do your job adequately.”
She turned to fully face me. “Let’s get one thing straight before we go any further. I’m in charge of this investigation. Not you. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with Chief Garvey. But if you want your father’s killer found, you’ll let me do my job. And if I decide that you are willfully interfering in my investigation, I won’t hesitate to charge you with obstruction.”
Porter held out a hand. “Hey now. We don’t need to turn on each other. All of us want to find who did this, me and Benton especially. It was our father, after all.” His voice shook before he cleared his throat. “The sheriff’s department is at your disposal if you need any assistance.”
“Thanks for the offer.” She tempered her words, though I could feel irritation simmering beneath her surface. “I realize both of you went through quite a shock, and I’m not trying to be insensitive. But I am going to work this case, and I would prefer to have cooperation—from both of you—as we move forward. All right?” She peered up at me.
I chewed my words before spitting them out. “I’m not changing my stance on the attorney-client privilege, but I want to find who did this. I’ll help you all I can.”
“That’s good enough for me. Detective Dearborn and I are going to head to the house.” She turned and dropped down the stairs.
“Don’t go in until I get there.”
Detective Dearborn gave me a half-ass salute and followed Matthews to their car.
A white Camry pulled into the lot, parked, and a woman stepped out. She wore professional attire, and I could have believed she was an attorney coming for business. A young man stepped from the passenger side, his simple khakis and green polo giving the impression of an intern.
“Pauline.” Detective Matthews walked down the front steps and greeted the woman. They exchanged words for a few moments before Pauline, her blonde hair restrained in a tight bun at the crown of her head, opened the trunk and directed the man to collect a few items.
“That’s the forensic doctor woman from Tupelo and her tech assistant.” Porter’s stage whisper wafted through the humid air.
The detectives piled into their cruiser as the forensics doctor and her assistant approached.
“Sheriff.” The doctor gave a nod of recognition to Porter. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Then her tone turned all business. “Show
me the way.”
Porter walked her into the building, the crime scene tech on her heels, as I watched the detectives pull into the street and head toward the residential area of town.
Porter reappeared. “She’s doing her thing, and she said she’s already called the coroner to come in behind her. The guy’s taking pics and collecting evidence.” He put his hands on his belt and stared out at the perfect square of green lawn in front of the firm. We used to play on it when we were kids. Dad would be shut up in his office or meeting with a client, and we’d play tag or toss a football until it was time to go home. I could almost feel the warm sun from those days, but now I stood in the shade.
Porter stirred, kicking the toe of his boot against the railing. “What the hell just happened?”
“I have no idea.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone.” His brows drew together as he stared at the flowers along the front walk. “This doesn’t seem real.”
I had nothing to say. He was right. It didn’t feel real. It was as if I could walk into the office and hear my father’s voice floating down the hall. But I couldn’t. We’d never hear his voice again.
“One question.” He stopped his kicking. “Why’d you lie about where you were last night?”
I met his eye. “I could ask you the same thing.”
5
Arabella
“The lawyer one has a stick up his ass, huh?” Logan pulled a can of snuff from his shirt pocket.
“Not in my car.” I gave a firm shake of my head. “You know this.”
“Come on.” He tapped the lid on the Skoal. “Just one little dip.”
“Not a chance.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as we cut through Azalea’s square. The city hadn’t changed much over the years, and the square still served as the hub of commerce and government. Large oaks lined the park and fountain at the center, and mom and pop storefronts, some of them older than I was, formed the backbone of Azalea’s small-town shopping district.
Many of them had fallen into disrepair over the last decade or so, the paint fading from their signs and business evaporating as big box shopping centers opened on the outskirts of town near the Interstate. Despite the downturn, a few of the businesses had managed to revamp within the last couple of years—the drug store converting to a coffee shop, the old Sears becoming an antique store, and the florist undergoing a flashy renovation. The windows of the brand-new burger joint glinted as we rode past, though I had no idea how it stayed afloat. The food was terrible and the clientele slim.
Logan stuffed the can back into his pocket with a hrmph. “Porter and his brother couldn’t be more different.”
“I know. I had no idea those two were so night and day.”
“Not all different.” A sly smirk twisted the corner of his mouth. “They were both eyeing you a little too much.”
I arched a brow. “Jealous?”
“Amused.” He sighed and settled back into his seat as we passed the older homes along Main Street, their antebellum look heightened by all the columns, balconies, and never-ending azalea bushes along the walks.
“They might look at me differently if I arrest one of them for their father’s murder.”
“You got a bead on one of them for it?”
“No.” In fact, I didn’t get a gut feeling about either of them. Nothing bad, anyway. Benton looked down his nose with a haughty arrogance I should have expected from the eldest King, and Porter was the same old jokester I remembered from high school. Neither of them sweated my questions, though I had no doubt they had something to hide. Everyone in a small town like Azalea had more than a few skeletons in the closet, myself included.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out. The daycare was calling.
“Detective Matthews.” I answered.
“Hi Arabella. Vivi is running a fever and complaining about her throat being sore. Seems like whatever crud she had over the weekend isn’t letting go. I’m afraid we’ll have to send her home for the day.”
Bad timing. I sighed. “I’ll send May Bell to get her, but make sure and help her get Vivienne into the car seat for me, would you?”
“Sure thing. Sorry about this, but we can’t keep her with the fever. State regulations—”
“No, it’s cool. Not your fault at all. I’ll give May Bell a call. She’ll be there soon.” I hung up and flipped to my mom’s number.
“Vivi?” Logan asked.
“Still sick. Has a fever.”
“Poor thing.” Logan was like an uncle to her, and he gave her more attention and love than her actual father ever had. “Can May Bell handle it?”
“She’s going to have to.” I called her number. She answered right before it went to voice mail. “Belly?”
“Hey Mom. Can you do me a favor and pick up Vivi from daycare? They called. She’s running a fever.”
“Sure, of course.” She coughed a little.
“Make sure you take your oxygen tank with you.”
“This thing is like an albatross around my neck, always trying to drown me.” Mixed metaphors were one of my mother’s specialties.
She’d lived with us for the past four years, ever since Vivienne was born. Her lung cancer diagnosis came just a year later, but she kept fighting the disease, sending it into remission after a series of treatments that almost claimed her life. Helpful and loving, she was also foul-mouthed and had a penchant for gambling. And did I mention fiercely independent? I could hear her voice, the one that used to be as clear as a piano note, in my mind: “I never could be just one thing, Belly. You don’t have to be, either.”
“Just put the oxygen tank on your little pull cart and take it, okay? I can’t have you gasping for breath while you’re behind the wheel with Vivienne in the car.”
“Fine.” She grumbled, but I knew she’d do whatever was necessary to keep Vivienne safe. Sometimes it seemed like Vivi was just as much her baby as mine. “Enough jawing. Let me go get her.”
“Okay. Drive safe.” I hung up and got the sneaking suspicion that May Bell would solve Vivi’s sore throat with copious amounts of ice cream.
Logan watched as I turned down a lane situated between two long stands of pecan trees. “You know where the Kings live by heart, huh?”
“Everybody knows.”
The smooth road unfurled ahead of us like a long black tongue, dappled here and there with patches of sunshine. I knew the way because I’d been out here before. Several times, in fact. When I was younger, poorer, and with a little more time on my hands, I’d drive my old beater down this road and simply sit and stare at the grand King house. It was one of the few truly antebellum homes in Azalea, its white columns rising two stories along the front porch and wide windows casting light out into the sultry summer air.
We passed the spot beneath a magnolia where I’d sit in my car and daydream about living in such a beautiful place. I’d stare for a while, give away my time like it was pennies through my fingers. Then, once I’d been there long enough to feel creepy about it, I would leave and go back to my mom’s place on Razor Row—a line of shotgun houses built so close together and so thin that the locals likened them to razors stacked against each other.
The sun was high by the time we rolled up to the side of the house, and my stomach gave a rumble as we exited the car.
Logan didn’t seem to notice as he kept his head on a swivel, peering at the carriage house, then the grounds, and finally back to the white mansion. “I’ll check out the garage and then the back. Wait for me.”
My phone buzzed again. I pulled it out and pressed the button to answer. “Detective Matthews.”
“What the hell is going on? Randall King dead?” Chief Garvey’s weathered voice crackled like dry logs on a fire.
“Yeah. Pauline is doing the scene now. We’re out at Randall’s place to have a look. How’s Lina?”
“About the same.” He coughed. “Hasn’t opened her eyes. But they’re going to keep trying.”
“Sorry Chief.” I frowned at Logan, who shook his head, then turned to walk to the garage.
Chief Garvey cleared his throat, the strain evident. “Found anything out yet?”
“No. Both King sons have alibis. We haven’t met with their sister yet, but it looks like she was out of town when the killing happened. Got involved in that whole cleanup going on in Browerton where they found those bodies.”
“The Blackwood thing? What a mess.”
“Yeah. Anyway, King was found slumped over at his desk, one shot through his head. A safe in his desk was open, but empty. And one last thing, there was a note stabbed into his back, post mortem, that said You’re next.”
“Holy shit. I should have been there.”
“No, you needed to be with Lina. It’s all right. Logan and I are your detectives. Let us detect.”
“I’m going to catch hell from Benton King for not showing up personally. I’ll head on over to the law firm now. See if the tech has turned up anything.” He cursed under his breath. “In my town, and now of all times.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“You better.” A hint of the gruff Chief Garvey reappeared. “I’ve got voicemails from Judge Ingles, half the city council, Mayor Baker, and Letty Cline, just to name a few. Word’s spread, and people are already hovering around like flies on shit.”
“We’re on it.”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?” I stepped out of the car.
“Millie Lagner’s left me a shit ton of messages about her missing okra.”
I shook my head. “Logan will be all over that as soon as we’re done with this King business.”
“He better. I’m tired of hearing about it. The woman’s a nutjob. Logan needs to get his goddamn ass in gear and handle this shit!”
“Yes, sir.” I smirked at Logan as he reappeared from the side of the house.
“And be careful.” Chief Garvey ended the call.