Hell to Pay (What Doesn’t Kill You, #7): An Emily Romantic Mystery

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  My eyes watered as I peeked into the rear compartment and saw the swollen-to-almost-bursting plastic-wrapped roasting chicken that I had forgotten in the trunk. Mother had dropped by Sunday night to pick up the chickens from the freezer, and I’d never thought about them again. I groaned. Besides smelling to high heavens, the darn thing looked like it would explode if I touched it. I did a pirouette, looking for something to use to lift it out. I saw a newspaper in the yard. That would do. I rolled the rubber band off of it and grabbed a foldout sheet in both hands. Gingerly, I scooped the pages under the chicken and lifted. I race-walked around and through our side yard to our alley where the city maintained a dumpster. I hefted the chicken in and heard a pop and hiss. I ran for dear life.

  With a wet rag over my face and all the windows down, I drove the car in to The Works car wash. I walked to the counter.

  “Can I he’p you, ma’am?” Warm brown eyes regarded me.

  “I pray that you can. I accidentally left a chicken in my trunk and it rotted.”

  The warmth was replaced with mirth. The man pushed an intercom. “Thelma, to the front please, Thelma to the front, please. We’ve got another customer with a rotted chicken in a vehicle.” He grinned. “How aggressive would you like us to be, ma’am? And by that I mean, what’s your budget?”

  My beautiful Mustang, with years of kick left in her. I groaned and pulled out my credit card.

  ***

  It turned out that The Works was more than happy to offer me a ride to the car rental lot after I told them that price was no object, and they suggested I might want to leave my car with them for a few days. I picked out a red Mustang convertible with a black cloth roof, and the rental staff helped me sync my iPhone to its hands-free system. I roared up to the Maxor Building with the top off and trudged into the office an hour and a half later than I’d planned. Yet another day where life intruded on what was supposed to be a hot-yoga routine. I guess that was all I could expect when my life was such a hot mess.

  The light on the office phone told me Jack was on a call, so I dug into preparing a discovery request for information from the DA’s office on Phil’s case. Snowflake jingled her way from Jack’s office to my desk and flopped onto the bed I kept for her under it.

  “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what’s going on back there, do you, girl?” I scratched her behind both ears, but she didn’t say a word. “Fine.”

  I turned my attention back to my computer screen and evidence for Phil’s case. We couldn’t get the DA’s witness statements, but we could find out who they had talked to and get out there and talk to them ourselves. Not to mention that we could learn what they’d found, if anything, in the search at Phil’s place. I’d made these types of requests many times in the months since I switched from civil litigation to criminal law with Jack, and I worked quickly from a template on my desktop. I had a draft for Jack’s review fifteen minutes later, about the time the light went off on the phone.

  I grabbed a small handbell from my drawer and started ringing it as I walked the draft back to his office, Snowflake strutting at my heels. We tromped down the narrow hall that connected my work area (aka the lobby) with the rest of our space. Horses and a buffalo or two galloped by on my left in Western paintings, and I passed the very white and very functional kitchen on my right before I came to Jack’s office door.

  Back when I first came to work for him, Jack gave me the bell and made me promise never to walk down the hall without ringing it first. I had assumed he was up to something perverted, or at the very least, tawdry and inappropriate. When I refused to use the bell one day, I burst in on his big secret: he lived a solitary life in his office where he kept a virtual shrine to the family he’d lost. And that day? He was painting a portrait of his daughter. I’d felt two inches tall. Since then, he’d told me to ditch the bell. I still rang it, though, out of lingering guilt for barging in on him. I gave it one last ring as I came to his doorway.

  I knocked on the doorframe. Snowflake ran to sit at the edge of Jack’s desk. Ever since her training classes, he kept freeze-dried liver treats in his top drawer, and she knew it.

  Jack had inherited an amazing office from Clyde. There was a running dispute between the two as to Clyde’s role in the firm now that he was pushing ninety. He reclaimed his desk as often as he could. I’d revisit my office if it was as nice as this one, too. It wouldn’t appeal to anyone who didn’t like natural wood, but I wasn’t one of those people. A whole wall of windows, a wall of bookshelves and built-ins, and a wall of diplomas, certificates, and art that included an original Remington painting? Yes, please, and may I have another? In fact, the only thing that I would change, if I could, were all the photographs by Lena Holden interspersed in the artwork. There were even more of them in Jack’s Tularosa office. They were lovely. She was talented. And I was a shrew, jealous of a dead woman.

  Jack grunted, but he didn’t look up from his laptop screen. Snowflake whined to no avail.

  “Can I get you to review this discovery request so I can get it over to Melinda today?”

  His fingers typed fast and furious.

  “Jack Ass.” I used dulcet tones for this term of endearment. “Your hair is on fire.”

  He looked up, his topaz eyes glazed and irritable. He’d been in a hurry that morning even before his surprise announcement while I was in the shower, too much of a hurry to notice my snuggling him, naked and hopeful. I was trying not to get a complex about it, but he wasn’t making it easy. “Huh?” He shook his head, and the normal Jack returned. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  I walked in and set the pages in front of him. “Review these so I can get them out ASAP. Please.”

  He flipped, scanned, and scratched his physician-worthy signature at the end.

  I put the back of my hand to his forehead. “Are you ill? Where’s the red pen that’s normally attached to your right hand?”

  Snowflake cocked her head at him like she was befuddled, too.

  He smiled, but it wasn’t lopsided and left-dimpled and wonderful like usual. “I trust you.”

  I plopped down in the chair in front of his desk. “Jack Holden, what is the matter with you?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. A lot on my mind. Phil’s condition.” Which was unchanged, I knew from Nadine’s group text an hour before. “A couple of new DWI cases in New Mexico. And they’re already going to the grand jury with Phil’s case, so we should have an indictment—or not—today.”

  And Betsy, I mentally added to his list, and the Hodges’ application to adopt her. Or maybe it was just on my mind and not his. “Okay.”

  He tapped his pen on his desk once, hard. “John said they located me on the video at the time Dennis died, so I’m off the suspicious person list.”

  “That’s good.”

  “He let me drop by to see it.”

  “See what?”

  “The surveillance video.”

  I leaned forward. “And?”

  He looked over my left shoulder up at his wall of fame. “Nothing helpful.”

  I tried to catch his gaze, but his eyes didn’t come back to me. “Was my guy on it?”

  “Can’t be sure.”

  I could have. My fists clenched. I couldn’t believe he’d gone to see the video without me. Was that where he was called to so early this morning? “So has anyone identified him?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, I almost forgot. This came in.” He looked down and shoved a paper across the desk to me.

  “What is it?” I asked, not picking it up.

  “Betsy’s permanent visa was approved.”

  “That’s wonderful news!”

  He smiled, but it was so watered down that the edges were balanced and no dimple appeared. Where was the left-centric grin that I loved?

  My excitement slowly fizzled. “So what do you want me focusing on?”

  “Phil. We embarrassed Melinda in the burglary trial. We need to know more than her—yesterday.”<
br />
  “Any ideas?”

  He shook his head, and his eyes went someplace else. “You know what to do.” Which didn’t normally stop him from telling me anyway. “I’m going to be out most of the day.”

  I stayed silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

  He rose, stuffing keys in the pocket of his threadbare blue jeans and grabbing an unlabeled file from his desk. He put his gray cowboy hat on, leaned down and kissed me on the lips in a quick and distracted way, and walked out. His weathered boots clomped down the hall.

  As the door shut, I said, “Well, alrighty, then,” realizing that he hadn’t asked me anything about my day and that I hadn’t even told him about the chicken. What kind of relationship did we have if we didn’t watch surveillance videos together and I couldn’t even tell him about rotten chicken stink in my car?

  Snowflake whined and licked my hand.

  I returned to my desk dejected. Jack had sucked all the life out of the office. I tried to refocus on the boring but necessary early stages of information gathering, but not very successfully. Partly because of Jack and partly because I kept thinking of Betsy, which led me to thoughts of the Hodges, which got me nowhere. I needed action. I needed—

  The door to the offices opened, revealing the stooped figure of Clyde Williams. His normally dapper attire was askew. His tweed jacket hung lopsided off one shoulder. His bow tie was crooked. His oxford shirt was untucked on one side. His pants cuff was stuck in the top of one sagging plaid knee sock.

  I stood. Clyde waved me off. “No, no, don’t get up. I’m just here dropping off some documents I signed for Jack.”

  His nurse, Betty, stood holding the door. Her ample frame barely fit through it behind him. Jack had urged Clyde to hire her originally, in part because she was big and strong enough to keep Clyde in hand. He was wily and had repeatedly escaped his former nurse, a slight young man who lacked the necessary self-confidence to go toe-to-toe with Clyde.

  I came out from behind my desk and waited for him. “How are you today, Clyde?”

  “Can’t complain too much.” Clyde scooted his walker forward an inch then shuffled after it. He repeated this process one hundred and thirty-seven times or so and positioned himself in front of my desk, Betty behind him, her eyes sparkling but her face stern. I winked at her when Clyde was looking down. “Betty, can you get the papers for her out of my briefcase, please?”

  “Certainly.” Betty already clutched the papers but she didn’t tell Clyde that. She handed them to me and winked back.

  “Thanks, Betty.” I glanced at the top line: Last Will and Testament of Clyde Joseph Williams. “Oh my. You’ve redone your will?”

  Clyde coughed, long and deep. His back heaved and his face turned red. He let go of his walker with one hand to cover his mouth and Betty stepped closer, but he recovered and straightened. When he spoke, his voice was thinner than before. “Yes. My only surviving child has decided I’m an antichrist who represents evil people who deserve to be punished. He’s disowned me.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Joined some damn church that makes him the judge of everyone. Changed his name and everything. I don’t know how many more trips around the sun I’ve got in me, so I figured I’d better make sure I don’t offend him by leaving him any of my tainted money.”

  Not to mention the law firm. I was never sure whether to believe Clyde’s claim of ownership or Jack’s that he bought the practice. If Clyde’s version was true, then having a disapproving owner like his son would certainly throw a monkey wrench in things for us. I knew how important it was to Clyde that we carry on his life’s work preserving civil rights and human dignity through defense work. “Well, I’m sorry you had to do this, Clyde. I hope he comes to his senses.”

  “He won’t. Stubborn like his mother was.” Clyde spoke to Betty from the side of his mouth, his version of turning around, “Can you get the door for me?”

  “Bye, y’all,” I said. I blew Clyde a kiss. “Be nice to Betty, now.”

  Clyde shifted his body to the right, dragging the walker this time.

  Brrrring! The office phone rang. Jack’s line.

  I wriggled my fingers at Clyde and Betty. “Williams and Associates. This is Emily Bernal speaking.”

  “Good morning, Emily. May I speak to Jack, please?” The familiar, soothing voice in my ear made me smile, partly out of affection, and partly because I could always count on Jack’s secretary, Judith, to be keeping tabs on him.

  “You could if he was here. Or if he’d taken his cell phone with him. I’ve been hearing it ring back in his office.” I looked at the clock above the couch. It was already eleven. I glanced back at Clyde. He’d made it halfway to the door when he stumbled. Betty was there and caught him by the shoulder before he went down. She put her hand at the small of his back and he resumed his journey.

  “Okay. Can you tell him I pulled the old files he asked for when we met Friday night? I need to know whether to scan them and email them, or to put them in an envelope and send them to him, or what.”

  I typed an email to Jack rapidly, seething. Why couldn’t he have just told me he met with Judith? “Got it. And this is on which case, again?”

  “Oh, he didn’t tell you? Huh. Well, it’s not my place.”

  Betty turned and saluted me as she closed the door behind Clyde. Her eyes were troubled.

  “Judith, he’s acting weird. I’m worried. What’s going on?”

  “Uh, just an old case. I’m sure he’ll tell you in good time.”

  I made sure she got the full impact of my enormous sigh, pausing for effect, but she didn’t elaborate further. Her loyalty was to Jack, even if she and I had become friendly. “I don’t like it, but I’ll give him the message.” I bit down hard before I continued. “Everything good with you?”

  “I can’t complain. My brother visited me last weekend, and the wildflowers are starting to bloom.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Oh, and Nell said your wedding is coming up soon. I’m looking forward to it.”

  My stomach clenched. “Uh-huh. Well, I’ll see you soon, then. Buh-bye.” I clicked send on the email to Jack as I ended the call.

  I shoved my laptop into its bag and grabbed my purse and Snowflake’s leash. “Come on, girl. Let’s go cause some trouble.”

  Chapter Nine

  Snowflake’s toenails clicked on the concrete floor of the parking garage as she trotted beside me to the rental Mustang. I opened the door to the backseat and she leapt in gracefully. I pulled the spare doggie seatbelt/harness I carried from my purse and buckled her in.

  “Where to?” I asked her, as we pulled out of the parking garage onto the wet street. The sun was shining, though, so the shower must’ve been short-lived.

  She thought about it for a few moments, then barked.

  “Drive by Betsy’s school and wave to her? Great idea!” I was relieved the dog hadn’t guilted me into yoga.

  The wind in my hair and the lingering fresh smell in the air did wonders for my attitude by the time I parked beside the playground at Windsor Elementary. I was a little early for lunch recess, so I booted up my laptop and tethered it to my iPhone’s connection. I could work as well here as in the stuffy, lonely old office. Before I could start, the phone rang, setting Snowflake off into a tizzy. I seriously needed to pull my dog training videos back out and refresh myself on how to allay Snowflake’s phone phobia. The caller ID on the dash said KATIE, but I couldn’t remember how to answer it hands-free. I snatched the phone up before Snowflake could get to it.

  “Katie!”

  “Emily! I just got through talking to Michele, and she said she’s staying with you next week. I’m so jealous.” The beautiful voice of my former boss and longtime best friend sang across the line.

  “You should be. We’re going to have fun. And it’s so good to hear your voice.”

  “What’s the matter? You sound a little poopy.”

  In the background, I heard a young boy. “Mo
mmy, you said a bad word.”

  Something muffled their voices a little, but I could still hear them. “No, I didn’t. Taylor, Mommy’s on the phone. Can you please go play with your sisters?”

  “They’re too little.”

  “Oh, look, there’s Oso,” she said, referring to their enormous German shepherd.

  “Oso,” the boy’s voice screamed, fading as the word dragged out.

  Katie’s voice came back full volume. “Okay, I’m back. I swear, they don’t give me a moment of peace, ever. If it’s not one of them crying, it’s another whining, and the third one has a dirty diaper, or worse yet, dirty training pants.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” I told her, meaning it.

  “Oh, it is. I know I shouldn’t bitch about it. Plus, I’ve got my in-laws, who help a ton. And business is really good, which keeps Nick hopping, and he’s letting me play detective, too, sometimes.” She had gone from practicing law to singing in clubs and in the last year she’d started working with her husband, Nick, in his private investigations business. “Hey, have you heard from my brother?”

  Her brother, Collin, was also a good friend of mine. He worked in the Taos area with the New Mexico State Police. “Not in months, why?”

  “I think he has a girlfriend. That’s the rumor circulating with our high school friends, anyway.”

  My brain froze. Last time I’d seen Collin, he was making eyes at Ava, Katie’s friend and former singing partner from St. Marcos. Ava’d been in the states on a string of gigs. I hadn’t told Katie about her and Collin, because I wasn’t sure there was a her and Collin. Knowing Collin, though, he might be dating someone completely different by now. He was a notorious womanizer. He’d even tried his moves on me, which ended his engagement and nearly put the kibosh on my relationship with Jack before it started. It seemed like years ago, even though it was only months.

  But I kept that all to myself and went with, “Huh. Wow. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “If you get any scoop, call me.”