by Julie Chase
The front door swung open with a flourish, and I nearly burned my fingers.
My best friend, Scarlet, marched toward me on three-inch platforms. “Hey, ladies.” Her skinny capris paired perfectly with her royal-blue baby-doll top. She had giant white-framed sunglasses on her head and the newest addition to her growing brood on one hip. Poppet was baby number four in the Hawthorne clan, a princess with three big brothers. Both ladies had hair the shade of red that women sold their souls for and smiles to charm the pearls off a church lady. The Hawthorne men were defenseless against them.
“Where have you been?” Scarlet asked. “I stopped by your house last night and you weren’t home. I thought about letting myself in and waiting in the dark to scare you, but this one was riding shotgun, so no fun for me.”
“Good job, Poppet.” I kissed her cheek. “Mommy thinks it’s funny when I wet my pants.”
Scarlet laughed. “I told you not to give me a key and the alarm code. I won’t rest until I’ve used it for evil.”
Someone had to have a spare key to my place, in case I ever went missing or worse, and I wasn’t giving a key to my mom. Scarlet had seemed the logical choice until I remembered how mischievous she was.
Scarlet and I had been best friends since we were in diapers. Then she married Carter Hawthorne at nineteen, and I went to college. She doubled her net worth through marriage, and I went broke, rejecting my family’s money in search of independence and a path I could control. Fast forward several years, and I was back where I’d started. Funny how life works sometimes.
I stroked Poppet’s chubby cheek and gave Scarlet a one-armed hug. “What are you doing out so early?”
“Ha,” Scarlet deadpanned. “It’s almost ten. We’ve been up for four hours. Carter took the boys to the French Market to get their faces painted, so I thought Poppet and I would come see you.” She jostled Poppet until she laughed. “I think they’re looking for valentine gifts for me, and the market was a ruse.”
“Nice. What did you get Carter this year?”
She shot a pointed look at the tiny person in her arms. “You know these don’t really come from the stork, right?”
“Yes.” I blushed, stupidly, as if Poppet might have read my mind.
“So what’s going on?” she asked. “Anything new?”
“Wallace Becker is dead,” I blurted. “He died inside a walk-in freezer last night. Dad was with him before it happened, and he was acting weird this morning. Dad, not Wallace, because . . . you know.” Wallace would never act weird, or any other way, ever again. I bit my bottom lip. “I’m nervous.”
Scarlet turned one hip away, separating Poppet from the awful conversation, and dipped her head. “You don’t think your dad . . .”
“No!” I covered my mouth. “No. Of course not. I’m just worried about the implication. He’s being given a community service award. Something like this could ruin his practice. Is there any chance you can get some more information for me?” I whispered. If anyone had access to the local scuttlebutt, it was Scarlet.
“Absolutely. Have you tried Jack?”
My expression must’ve answered for me.
“Right.” She bounced Poppet higher on her hip. “I’m on it. I’ll call you later.” She blew Imogene air kisses and turned for the door.
I followed her onto the sidewalk, waving to Poppet as they walked away.
Jack had been AWOL more than he’d been around lately. It might’ve had to do with a personal investigation he’d started last year, but I couldn’t be certain. He’d brought me in for help last fall, but I hadn’t learned anything useful, and he was tight-lipped on his findings.
I turned back for the door.
A sharp wolf whistle pierced the air and I smiled. Chase Hawthorne, Scarlet’s brother-in-law, clapped his hands slowly as he approached. “Darlin’, you need a sign on that dress to warn men that you’re coming. Tell me the truth. How many wives have slapped their husbands since you’ve been standing here?”
I lowered myself onto the bench outside my store and crossed my ankles. Chase made me weak in the knees. I had no intention of letting him know. His ego was too big already. The man would probably float away or fall over if his head got any larger.
He took a seat beside me and stared.
“What are you doing?”
He pointed a finger at my face and grinned. “I’m trying to be a gentleman and keep my eyes up here.”
“Fine. I’ll try to be a lady and not arch my back.”
His gaze dropped.
“Sucker.”
“That wasn’t fair,” he drawled. His bright-blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “You planted an image.”
“Don’t you have to be somewhere?” I teased.
Chase was an attorney at the Hawthorne family law practice, possibly the most powerful firm in all Louisiana—definitely the most influential in our parish. He had free reign, and I knew it.
“Yes, but I’m chasing an important lead. I need to know if you’ll be my date to your father’s fancy dinner next weekend.”
I leaned my head against his broad shoulder for a quick beat. “Mom says I have to work the dinner. She sent me a list of instructions. Actually,” I remembered, “one of my jobs is to bring a date.”
“Done. What else is on the list?”
“I didn’t open it.”
He laughed. “I accept. Half the work. Twice the fun.”
“Deal.” I lifted my head to smile at his handsome face. Chase had left professional volleyball last year to put down roots in the district. Despite his endless charm and playboy reputation, he’d never missed a night at my place while I recovered from a broken leg. He’d kept me company, carried everything I couldn’t, and let me cry when the frustration of needing so much help had gotten the best of me. He even watched my favorite romantic comedies without complaint. I wasn’t sure how, or if, he’d found time to date during those couple months, and I didn’t ask. Truthfully, I didn’t want to know.
I hated to admit it, but Chase had cracked my betrayal-hardened heart with his unyielding presence. So much so, I’d nearly made good on a certain promise many times since Christmas. Last summer, he’d helped rescue Penelope from Pete the Cheat. The agreed-upon payment was one kiss. The only condition on the kiss was that I kissed him, and that I had to want to do it. I’d agreed in haste, only thinking of holding Penelope again, but lately, I’d toiled over the possibility more than I cared to admit. I absolutely wanted to kiss Chase, but where did it go from there? Our families were Garden District royalty. Chase and I couldn’t play around at being a couple. The inevitable breakup would leave marks and wrinkles on everything and everyone we loved. Neither of us were ready for that kind of pressure.
“Your lips are drifting toward mine,” he whispered slowly, as if not to frighten me away.
I froze, inches from his mouth. “I didn’t realize,” I whispered back. Scents of his shampoo and cologne muddled my thoughts.
“You aren’t retreating.” He smiled. “Is this the moment I’ve been waiting for? Should I meet you halfway or are you still deliberating?”
I let my lids fall shut. “Shut up, I’m thinking.”
“All right then.” His breath washed over my face and my body went slack.
If he’d touched me, I’d have slid onto the sidewalk.
“Lacy?” His bottom lip brushed mine as he spoke. “People are starting to stare. I think a guy just dropped a dollar by my feet.”
I smiled, letting my nose touch his.
A car door slammed nearby and my phone began to ring on my lap. Jack’s ringtone.
“You want to answer that?” he asked.
My eyes popped open. I pulled back to glare at the phone, suddenly furious. I’d texted Jack thirty minutes ago. He couldn’t be bothered to respond for half an hour? Really? And how long did it take to answer my questions anyway? Why call? What if I was with a customer?
I rejected the call. Much as I needed to speak with Jack, I a
lso needed a minute to collect my marbles.
“Lacy.” Jack’s voice echoed through the air.
I twisted at the waist, befuddled.
He closed the distance between his truck and our bench in long, pretentious strides.
I jumped away from Chase. “What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” he parroted back. He stared down at Chase and me, hands on hips, judgmental frown on lips. Sunlight glinted off the silver detective badge hanging around his neck. “We need to talk.”
Chase kissed my cheek. “Looks like you two have business. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Wait.” I grabbed his hand. “I think I might need an attorney present.”
Chase barked a laugh and crossed his arms. He kicked back on the bench, apparently ready for a show. “All right. Go on, Detective Oliver.”
Jack shot him a droll look before turning his crystal-blue eyes on me. “I’m here as a courtesy.”
“What’s this about?” Chase asked, suddenly serious.
Jack crouched before me, elbows on knees, regret on his brow. “Wallace Becker was found dead this morning, and your father was the last known person to see him alive.”
“And?” I challenged.
“I’m on my way to your parents’ house to bring Dr. Crocker in for questioning.”
He turned his expressionless stare on Chase. “She’s right. It’d probably be wise if he had an attorney present.”
Chapter Three
Furry Godmother’s advice for changing the world: Start with your outfit.
The police station smelled like bratwurst and sweat. Men and women wearing stoic faces and navy uniforms ghosted around me, desk to desk, room to room, oblivious to my distress. Near-constant white noise and chatter spewed from walkie-talkies on officers’ hips and shoulders.
Chase rubbed Mom’s back as she chewed her thumbnail and stared down the hall where Jack had escorted her husband.
I’d opted for a seat on the bench across from a green-faced partygoer. The man was handcuffed to his bench and alternating between creepy winking in my direction and dry heaving into a wastebasket at his feet.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit?” I asked Mom for the tenth time.
She pivoted on her toes for another lap through the waiting area, her designer heels snapping and clicking against historic marble. She’d changed into a flowy black tunic and pencil skirt before leaving home. A far cry from the incessant pantsuits I’d found her in when I returned home ten months ago. “I’m too nervous. I can’t be still right now.”
She couldn’t sit down and I couldn’t stand up. Panic didn’t set me in motion; it stole my wind and rendered me useless. So I sat, deflated, on a questionable bench, imagining the absolute worst scenarios my mind could conjure.
Chase left Mom to pace and returned to my side on a long exhale. “How are you holding up?”
“I want to smack him.”
“Jack?” he guessed correctly.
“Yes.” Jack had been nice enough to allow my parents to ride with Chase and me to the station. Chase behaved as if the offer was glorious and remarkable instead of common courtesy. The last thing my parents needed was to be seen leaving home in a homicide detective’s truck. I ground my teeth at the thought. As if my fifty-five-year-old, community-advocate father could somehow be a killer.
I rubbed a shaky hand over my forehead. “Everything about this day is ridiculous. Why are we here? Jack knows Dad wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“True, but don’t fault the guy for doing his job. This is procedure. Your dad isn’t being treated any better or worse than anyone else, and that’s good. If Dr. Crocker appeared to be given special treatment, this would all go south fast.”
“I still don’t know why you couldn’t go back there with him. You’re a lawyer.”
“I’m not his lawyer.”
No, a portly cream puff of a man who specialized in veterinary malpractice, but also handled my parents’ general needs, was Dad’s attorney. If Dad ended up on trial for murder, his attorney wouldn’t know whether to scratch his head or wind his watch. My cheeks scorched as the reality of Dad’s situation grew heavier on my heart. “He needs you. Our family attorney doesn’t even practice this kind of law.”
Chase wrapped his hand around mine. “Your folks only hire the best. You know that. Besides, it’s not as if I’ve ever handled a case like this either. I help rich people hide things for a living.”
I snapped my hand away and curled ten fingers against my scalp.
“Hey,” Chase cooed, “there’s no reason to take this out on your hair.”
I dropped my hands into my lap.
Chase slung an arm across my shoulders and dipped his face to my ear. “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise. Your dad’s tough, and Jack respects him. It’s not like he’s being tortured.”
“It’s no fun in there,” I said. Last summer, I’d sat across from Jack in the interrogation room. The experience was horrifying. “I cried.”
“Well, that’s because you’re a girl.”
I kicked his shiny black shoe with my ballet flat. “Don’t try to distract me with misogyny.”
“Aw, come on. A good feminist rant could take your mind off things.”
“Maybe later.” I tipped my head against his shoulder. “Thanks for being here for this.”
He leaned his cheek into my hair. “Where else would I be?”
My phone buzzed with a text from Scarlet. “Finally.” I swiped my thumb over the photo of Penelope in a black flapper costume and read the message. “Scarlet says there’s a rumor going around about Mr. Becker. The gossips say he was seeing one of his Cuddle Brigade workers.” I made a quiet raspberry. “Men.”
Chase stiffened at my side. He lifted his head off mine and angled toward me until our knees bumped. “Who said that?”
“I don’t know. One of Scarlet’s contacts.” I sent a return text, thanking her.
Chase stared at the side of my face.
“What?” I asked after dropping the phone into my purse.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t, what?”
“Please don’t look into this. You’ve got a vested interest in learning the truth, plenty of motivation to get the right guy in cuffs, and you’ve already sent Scarlet on reconnaissance. You’re looking into the murder, and that never ends well for you.”
I guffawed. “I hardly think one text from my best friend is anything to get worked up about.”
“Did you ask Scarlet to look for gossip on the victim?”
I looked away. “So?”
Clearly, I had no future as a defense attorney. What I had was years of mandatory debutante training. I straightened my spine and tossed a mile of blonde curls off my shoulder. “Checking in with a few known gossips doesn’t qualify as ‘reconnaissance.’”
“Using finger quotes doesn’t make that true.”
I dropped my hands back to my lap. “Okay, but think about it. If Mr. Becker was seeing someone besides his wife, I can think of two women who had motive to lock him in a freezer.”
“Remind me never to cheat on you,” he murmured.
I gave him the stink eye.
Mom wandered closer and shook her phone at me. “Everyone knows we’re here now. I’m putting out fires left and right at the gossip mill.”
“I’m so sorry.” I tested my noodle legs. Mom needed me. The least I could do was give her a reassuring hug.
“If anyone asks,” she sniffled, “your father and I are here to pick you up again.”
I pursed my lips and closed my eyes so I could roll them privately. No hug for her.
“What’d you do this time?” Chase asked me.
I lifted a fist in his direction. “I think I might’ve assaulted a lawyer.”
He leaned away from me, bright smile gleaming.
I turned to Mom. “Scarlet heard Mr. Becker was seeing one of his employees.”
She gasped. “That’s fantastic
.”
Chase dropped his head back and sighed at the ceiling.
I swiveled to face him. “I think you need to help Dad with this. I don’t care if you don’t practice criminal law. I trust you, and I know you’d represent him with gusto. Please?”
He lifted his face, looking years older than he had a moment ago. “I”—he looked at Mom, then back to me—“can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Mom asked. Her voice hitched. “He doesn’t need you. I’m just curious.” Her pale cheeks whitened further, already washed out against the black blouse.
Chase rubbed massive palms over bobbing knees. “My firm represents Mr. Becker.”
I reared back. “What?”
He ducked his chin. “We represent his company.”
“When were you going to tell me this?” I asked, slowly filling with misplaced rage.
“Never.”
“Why not?”
“It’s uninteresting and irrelevant.”
I crossed my arms in protest. “That stopped being true the moment Jack hauled my dad to the police station.” Something else came to mind. “Is that why you told me not to look into Mr. Becker’s affair? You didn’t want me to find out you’re his attorney?”
“I told you it’s because you have a track record of getting yourself hurt.” He turned pleading eyes back to Mom. “You don’t need my help. You have incredibly strong connections, if you need them, which you won’t.”
“I already told you he doesn’t need you,” Mom said.
I went to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mom and glare at Chase. “Why do you represent his company? Was there a pending lawsuit? Someone angry with him about something? Are there allegations of wrongdoing against the Cuddle Brigade? Can you think of anyone with motive for his murder?”
“Jeez.” He kicked back against the icky police station wall. “No.”
“Then why’d he hire a powerhouse firm like yours? Anyone could’ve handled the company’s employee disputes and taxes.”
“I believe our retainer was a precautionary measure. That’s all. I’m not at liberty to discuss anything about the relationship, and honestly, I don’t know anything worth telling.” He gave me a mean face. “Ever consider that maybe this is why I didn’t voluntarily tell you about the situation? You overreact.”