by Cindy Sample
Geez. Was someone robbing the bank?
No, that couldn’t be the case because the officers were heading away from the bank, striding toward the Bell Tower. Some shoppers stopped to watch the men. Others scurried in the opposite direction. Something I should have done myself. Instead, I watched a deputy stop in front of the Hangtown Hotel, grab my ex-husband’s forearm and twist it behind his back.
Then he handcuffed him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it. My ex-husband Mirandized on Main Street then shoved into the backseat of a squad car. I darted between two SUVs crawling down the street, their drivers gawking at the scene, paying no heed to pedestrians attempting to cross to the other side.
The squad car flashed its left turn signal and pulled out seconds before I reached it. Through the dust-spotted rear window, Hank’s frightened eyes met mine. He mouthed the words “help me” as the vehicle merged into traffic.
Fletch busied himself with pedestrian traffic control, attempting to persuade the numerous bystanders to go their merry way. Not being in a merry mood myself, I marched up to the deputy and punched him on his khaki-clad arm.
His hand instantly moved to his holster. When Fletch realized who’d hit him, he had the decency to look abashed. “Sorry, I didn’t find out about the arrest until I got that radio call.”
“Some friend you are, Deputy.” I spat out the words. “What was that all about? Why did they handcuff Hank?”
Fletch put a hand under my elbow and tried to lead me down the street. “Do you want to get some coffee so we can talk?”
“I don’t have time for chit chat. Why did they haul my husband away?” I shook my head, so rattled I wasn’t thinking clearly. “I mean my ex-husband. I have a right to know what’s going on.” I ducked around Fletch then noticed a short man with a brown goatee and a zealous gleam in his eyes loping down the sidewalk in our direction. “Before my kids and I find out in the local paper. Here comes Neil Schwartz from the Mountain Democrat.”
Fletch whipped his head around. “Shoot, there’s no way I’m going to be responsible for telling the paper they arrested Hank for murder. That’s the lieutenant’s job.”
I froze, my stomach feeling as if I had swallowed a fifty-six ounce slushie. “You’re not serious.”
Fletch nodded. “Dead serious.”
“But Tom didn’t say anything to me.” Not one single word.
“Oh, c’mon, Laurel, you can’t expect Tom to share stuff like this with you.”
“He’s had no problem sharing my…” I said then stopped. My personal business was none of Fletch’s business.
Fletch led me to the gelato café a few doors down. He ordered a small cup of chocolate for each of us. I told him that I felt too upset to eat, but he insisted on treating. He must have thought the frozen dessert would cool me down. We took our bowls to the back of the restaurant and sat at a corner table.
“So you have no idea what evidence they have on Hank?” I stared at the gelato as if the frozen dessert could miraculously provide answers to my questions.
“Nope. I’m not even sure Tom has been kept abreast of everything. From what I’ve heard around the office, I think he was concerned about a conflict because of your relationship with him. That’s why he brought in investigators from Sacramento County.”
I dipped into the gelato to be polite. It did make me feel better––for all of two seconds.
“I don’t understand how Tom could arrest Hank without discussing it with me first. What does that say about our relationship?”
Fletch looked confused. “But you don’t even like Hank.”
“That’s irrelevant.” I frowned at the deputy. “Plus now that Hank’s been arrested, who’s going to look for the actual murderer?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Despite my protestations that I was too upset to eat any gelato, I managed to finish every bite. With my brain and body re-energized, I jumped out of my chair with new resolve. I had an ex-husband to get out of jail. Then I peeked at my watch. And a job to get back to before my boss noticed my disappearance.
I thanked Fletch for the gelato, gave him my cell number and asked him to call when he had any news he felt he could share. He encouraged me to contact Tom for more details, but I was still too annoyed to call my boyfriend.
I realized that as head of the homicide division, Tom had no obligation to keep me informed of his crime-fighting activities. But I also felt, however irrationally, that Dear Abby would concur that proper etiquette decrees your boyfriend should warn you when he’s about to arrest your ex-husband.
I shoved open the door to the bank and found the lobby devoid of customers. And cookies. Only a few crumbs littered the trays. I trotted down the hallway hoping my lengthy absence had gone unnoticed. I zipped through the doorway, completely forgetting about the boxes Stan and I had carried in earlier. I crashed into a stack of cartons knocking one of them over as well as myself.
Seconds later, Stan found me sprawled on the floor with a mountain of fake gold nuggets and coins strewn on my lap and around the carpet.
“Did you decide to decorate without me?” he asked. He lent me a hand and pulled me up off the floor.
“No, only moving too quickly,” I said ruefully. “I have some urgent business to attend to.”
Stan picked up the fallen box and started repacking it. “Like getting Hank out of jail?”
“You heard?”
He stuck the carton on top of a shorter, sturdier stack of boxes then sat down. “Mary Lou saw his arrest on her lunch break.” Stan looked at me. “Did you see that one coming?”
I glared at him. “Of course not.”
“Don’t forget Hank punched Darius Spencer at the fundraiser.”
“Yeah, but they worked everything out. Hank didn’t mention any issues other than Spencer being a cheapskate.”
“Well, sweetie, your ex isn’t the most communicative of men, is he?” Stan crossed his legs, brushing off a minuscule fleck of gold from his pressed taupe trousers.
“True.” I sighed. “Hank either under-communicates or over-communicates.”
“Maybe he and Spencer over-communicated together and got into another fight. Didn’t Hank mention a problem with some cost-cutting measures Spencer wanted to implement that would affect the safety of the building?”
“Yes, but that’s not a good reason to murder someone.”
Stan cocked his head. “So there are good reasons for murder?”
I threw my hands in the air. “You know what I mean.”
“Have you talked to your honey?”
“I’m not sure I still have a honey,” I corrected him.
“Did you and Tom have an argument over Hank’s arrest?”
“Tom and I haven’t spoken,” I said, my voice chillier than the gelato I’d eaten earlier.
“Hey, you can’t blame the man for doing his job.”
“His job entails arresting the right person. There are a lot of people who didn’t care for Darius Spencer.”
Stan grinned. “So it looks like another case for us. I hope my detecting skills haven’t gotten rusty since Hawaii.”
From what I could recall, the extent of Stan’s detecting on the Big Island consisted of him infiltrating his scrawny body into a troupe of super-sized Samoan dancers supposedly in search of clues. But at this point I would take what I could get.
My cell rang with my mother’s ring tone. I dug into my purse and caught it before she hung up. I flicked my head in the direction of the door. Stan amazingly got the hint and left my office.
I hit the green answer button and greeted my mother with a dejected hello.
“I gather from your tone of voice you’ve heard the news about Hank,” she said.
“I had the honor of watching him get cuffed then thrown in the back seat of the squad car. How did you find out? It only happened a little while ago.”
“Tom called Robert
earlier today to get his advice.”
“Gee, it would have been nice if he’d asked me for some guidance,” I grumbled. “Do you or your husband have any idea why they think Hank killed Spencer?”
“Tom may have shared that information with Robert but, if so, he didn’t choose to pass it on to me. I assume my husband would prefer that I stay out of police business.”
“Hank is the father of your grandchildren,” I pointed out. “That makes it our business.”
“True.” Mother giggled. “Maybe I can seduce Robert into revealing something to me tonight in bed.”
Ick! I closed my eyes hoping she wouldn’t feel the need to reveal anything further to her daughter––like their favorite position.
“Okay, Mom, why don’t you, um, implement your plan,” I replied, trying not to visualize any nighttime frolicking between the couple. “And I’ll work on mine.”
I hung up the phone and leaned back in my chair. Maybe I was looking at this situation the wrong way. If Mother could use her womanly wiles on her husband, perhaps the same method could work with my detective.
It was time that I embarked on an undercover mission.
Forget the trench coat and deerstalker hat.
My next stop would be Naughty Nellie’s.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I had barely hung up the phone when bank employees began wandering into my office to commiserate with me. While Facebook and Twitter might represent the new information highway, small town gossip frequently outpaced online avenues. By day’s end, I felt grateful my tiny office only held room for a couple of gossip girls at a time. The one bright spot in this disastrous day was a personal visit from the bank president.
Having been embroiled in a murder investigation himself five months ago, Mr. Chandler lent a sympathetic ear to my situation. He stopped by to see how I was holding up. His gesture touched me, although I realized it might have something to do with me providing him with a “get out of jail free” card last year.
Now I needed to figure out how to do the same for Hank.
I asked Mr. Chandler if I could leave early and he agreed. I needed to discuss Hank’s arrest with my kids before they heard about it through the media. Although the odds of my children watching the evening news were low, the odds of someone posting the arrest on Facebook were high. Mr. Boxer seemed unsympathetic about my situation, but he could hardly overrule the bank president. I promised my boss I would come in early on Monday to begin my new project and that seemed to pacify him.
I left work and drove to Greenhills, our semi-rural subdivision located six miles west of downtown Placerville. My cell rang when I was less than a mile from home. Rather than risk an accident trying to locate my Bluetooth, I decided to wait until I reached the house to return the call.
I hit the remote door opener and pulled into the two-car garage of the Craftsman-styled home built shortly after Jenna’s birth. Seconds later, the door leading into the house opened, and my two kids sprinted across the garage.
“Mommy, Daddy’s in trouble,” yelled Ben.
I opened the car door, grabbed my purse, and eased myself out. Ben flung himself at me, almost knocking me over.
Jenna hovered behind him. “Did you hear what happened to Dad?” Her eyes were red-rimmed and dried tears streaked her freckled cheeks.
I hugged both kids and with an arm around each of them, led them into the house. Despite my stomach feeling as if it was tied in multiple knots, I attempted to maintain a calm demeanor as we walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. “How did you learn about your father?” I asked.
Ben pointed at his sister. “Jenna saw Daddy on TV.”
“I turned on Ellen to catch her Taylor Swift interview,” Jenna said. “During the commercial, that woman broadcaster, the one with the real short skirts––”
I interrupted her. “You mean Leila Hansen?”
Jenna nodded. “Yeah, the slutty looking one. She announced the sheriff had arrested the ‘Hangtown Killer’ and that more information would follow on the six o’clock news. Then they showed Dad being walked into the jail with two deputies by his side.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she made no effort to staunch the flow.
I stood and grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter then kissed her on the forehead. As if being a teenager doesn’t provide enough angst, murder kept intruding into her life.
“Why would anyone think Dad killed Mr. Spencer?” Jenna asked.
“I wish I knew,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “I spoke with your grandmother, and she’s hoping your grandfather can find out more details from Tom.”
Assuming Mother didn’t get too distracted herself tonight. Sometimes it irked me a little that my baby boomer mother had more passion in her life than I did.
Prior to Hank’s arrest, I’d thought Tom and I were finally making progress on the romantic front. But his career continually interfered with our relationship coming to a climax––so to speak.
“Why don’t you call Tom and ask him why they put Daddy in jail?” questioned Ben, his green eyes that so resembled his father’s wide and concerned.
“Well, I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed? Certainly in the course of their investigation, the detectives must have interviewed plenty of people with opinions about Spencer’s possible killer. Why didn’t they bother to interrogate the ex-wife of the primary suspect?
I hugged my son. “You’ll make a better detective than your mother someday. And, you’re right, it’s long past time that I called Kristy’s father.”
Before I could call Tom, the home phone rang and I recognized his cell number on Caller ID. I picked up the cordless phone and headed for the stairs and my bedroom.
I took a deep breath so I wouldn’t feel compelled to blast the man on the other end.
“I bet you never want to see me again,” said Tom, his voice low and apologetic, his comment unerringly accurate.
“That thought crossed my mind once or ten times today,” I replied.
“Look, I wish I could have warned you, but I’ve never experienced a situation like this before. I need to ensure everything is correctly handled and processed.”
“I realize your predicament, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t give me advance warning, or at least ask my opinion.”
“No one else is so closely tied to a suspect. I couldn’t take a chance on you warning Hank and him taking off. Leaving the area or even the country.”
“Hank would never disappear like that,” I argued. “And he would certainly never kill someone.”
“You never know what sets people off.”
“Tom, I know Hank didn’t do it.”
“That’s your emotions talking.”
“Obviously I’m emotional about it. But from an intellectual standpoint, Hank doesn’t hold up as a killer.”
“We have evidence that says otherwise.”
“What kind of evidence?” Maybe I could weasel some answers without resorting to a trip to Naughty Nellie’s. Although I was somewhat curious as to how naughty Nellie’s nighties were.
“I can’t share that information with you,” Tom said through what sounded like gritted teeth, a frequent occurrence in our rocky relationship.
“You’ll have to release your evidence to Hank’s defense attorney, so you might as well share it with me. I’ll find out sooner or later.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“It will, if I have any choice in his attorney. Do you know who Hank hired?”
“I’m not sure. Detective Hennessey is the lead detective. He’s on loan from Sacramento County, but he’ll be working with the El Dorado County District Attorney’s office.”
“I don’t suppose Brian…” I began.
Tom interrupted. “Don’t even think of getting Brian involved. And I have no idea which Deputy DA will get assigned the case.”
“So…?” My head spun with unanswered questi
ons about Hank’s arrest.
“So, are we good?” Tom asked.
ARE WE GOOD? Was he serious?
“With the investigation closed, I can keep our date tomorrow night.” Tom’s voice softened. “Any chance the two of us can be alone?”
“Since you’ve locked up the kids’ weekend babysitter, what do you think?” Could he hear the frost dripping over the line?
“Look, Laurel, I really want to see you. We need to discuss this face to face, not over the phone.”
“Well…,” I hesitated.
“It’s been a long time since I held you in my arms,” he coaxed. “I’ve missed you.”
My girls perked up at his tender words. So much for my resolve.
“Okay, we’ll keep our date tomorrow night,” I agreed. I mentally vowed to stay cool and composed during our time together. I’d firmly resist Tom’s toffee brown eyes, full lips, muscular chest, and born-to-wear-tight-jeans tush.
And I had exactly twenty-four hours to figure out how I would actually do that.
I’d barely hung up the phone when it rang again. I didn’t recognize the number, but since it belonged in our area code, I answered it. When the operator asked if I would accept a collect call, I knew immediately who was on the other end.
“Thank goodness I got you,” Hank said. “I worried one of the kids would pick up the phone, and I didn’t want them to know what was going on.”
“It’s a little late for that. You made the evening news tonight.”
“This is a freaking nightmare. Are Jenna and Ben okay?”
“They’re upset, of course. But more important, how are you?”
“How do you think I am?” Hank’s tone sounded as bitter as week-old espresso. “I’m in a cell near a drunk who’s been singing ‘Home on the Range’ nonstop for the last three hours. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Have you hired an attorney?”
“They said I don’t qualify for a public defender. That I make too much income. That’s a laugh,” he said, although I could tell from his tone that he was closer to crying than laughing. “So what should I do? I don’t hang out with criminal attorneys. Can you help me?”