Dogs, Lies, and Alibis: A Humorous Cozy Mystery (A Workings Stiffs Mystery Book 5)

by Wendy Delaney

Ben’s tan lips curled into a measured smile. “You’re obviously very busy today, but is there a chance you’ll have something for me later?”

  I had already known that the criminal prosecutor wasn’t a man who liked to be kept waiting. While I thought I’d earned his trust over the past eight months, I knew better than to push my luck—or his patience.

  “Absolutely,” I said, sitting on my heels. “I have one more person to speak with.” Possibly two if Mr. Paradiso, Stanley’s neighbor, would answer the voice message I left him before I started my filing marathon. “But I’ll have a report on your desk before I leave today.”

  “Good.” He backed away from the file drawer as if some toxic ooze could bubble out to ruin his shoes. “We wouldn’t want you to make a career out of filing.”

  I doubted that Ben cared anymore about my career than Patsy had when she made a similar remark yesterday. He just wanted to win his case.

  Understandable.

  And I was willing to do just about anything to make sure that didn’t happen.

  * * *

  “Charmaine, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” Eric Caldwell said, entering his office.

  Pasting a friendly smile on my face, I rose from the utilitarian vinyl chair I’d been fidgeting in for the last ten minutes, and gripped the hand he’d offered. “No problem. Thanks for making the time.”

  Eric stepped back and gave me a long look of appraisal that should have been reserved for the trade-ins that drove onto his lot. “Wow, you look great.”

  Okay, aside from some file cabinet dust, I had cleaned up pretty well today, but it didn’t merit the level of male interest he was making a show of generating.

  We weren’t in a bar, and he wasn’t going to buy me a drink. Nor did I want him to. What I wanted was to establish a professional boundary from which to assess him, so I took a seat and hoped that he’d do the same.

  “I think the last time I saw you was last summer at Duke’s,” Eric said, sitting in his desk chair.

  Two photos on the credenza behind him—one with Eric proudly holding the trophy salmon he’d caught, the other with his trophy wife—bookended his broad shoulders. Between them stood a half-dozen golf and bowling trophies. If Eric had wanted to make a statement of personal achievement beyond the salesman of the year awards hanging on his office walls, a flashing gold star would have been just the thing.

  Eric Caldwell was tall, tan, and ruggedly handsome with an athletic build—a muscled-up version of the teenager I’d shared a few classes with. While Eric the man exuded confidence, the winning smile of this success story was as fake as fool’s gold, and I knew he wasn’t happy to see me today.

  “It’s been a while.” I handed him a business card. “As I explained to your assistant, I work for the county now.”

  A smirk tugged at a corner of his mouth as he fingered the card. “Special Assistant to the Prosecutor/Coroner. Well, look at you.”

  He fixed his cool gaze on me, making me feel a little less special. The jerk.

  “Yes, and while it’s obvious what brings me here today, let me say how sorry I was to hear about Colt.”

  Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, Eric leaned back in his chair. “My aunt Tami is devastated.”

  “I spoke with her. Kendra, too. They both mentioned how grateful they were that you were there to help Colt out after he lost his job.”

  I was laying it on a little thick, but I thought the big man on campus might loosen up with a little ego-stroking.

  He shook his head. “I was more of a go-between than anything else. My wife needed some part-time help, and my cousin needed a job. Worked out great…for a while.”

  “Did Colt mention where else he was working?”

  “He said something about picking up some other odd jobs. Didn’t give me any specifics about where.”

  I got the sense Eric knew more than he was letting on, but I decided to let it go for now. “I assume he was making enough to cover his rent?”

  Furrowing his brow, he stared across the desk at me as if I’d asked a stupid question. “I guess.”

  “I ask because Kendra made it sound like you’d helped him out financially in the past.”

  “He was family. Also one of my best friends. That’s what you do.”

  “Had you given him any money lately?”

  “It was important for him to make it on his own.”

  Maybe, but we were also talking about a guy who wasn’t known for living very responsibly.

  I wrote a No next to the money question I’d recorded in my notebook. “I understand Colt had a problem with drug abuse.”

  Eric vented a breath as he hung his head. “We all have our demons. That was his.”

  “Do you have reason to believe that he was using again?”

  “If I had, I never would have recommended him to my wife, but after last Sunday…”

  I tightened my grip on my pen. “What do you mean?”

  “He showed such poor judgment, he had to have been on something.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “He obviously did something stupid that got himself killed,” Eric said, giving me a cold stare.

  “I know that Colt and Little Dog exchanged a couple of punches in high school, but there was no real bad blood between them, right?”

  “I hadn’t thought so. At least not recently, but that was before my cousin ended up dead.”

  Heck, Eric was starting to sound like Tami, and that didn’t help Georgie’s case one iota. But what he wasn’t sounding like was a man who had anything useful he was inclined to share with me.

  The phone on Eric’s desk rang. He focused on the blinking light with the intensity of a caged lion, and I knew I had only seconds before he’d pounce. “I know you’re busy, but I do have a couple more things I want to go over with you.”

  His gaze slashed back to me with clear irritation. “No problem. I’m here to help.”

  Only because it would look really bad if he didn’t appear interested in bringing Colt’s murderer to justice. “Could you give me the names of Colt’s closest friends?”

  Eric knitted his brows. “There was the guy he used to work with—Seth something. They used to hang out some. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell you.”

  I didn’t believe that for a minute. “How about a guy with a black car, possibly an old Cougar?”

  “If I’d sold him the Cougar, I’d remember.” Eric’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Speaking of old cars, how do you like that Jag?”

  My cowbell on wheels? Not much at the moment, but I was more than willing to play his game of avoidance if I could spin it to my advantage. “It’s a nice car—my ex’s, actually. But with all the driving I have to do with my job, I’ve pretty much decided that it’s time to get something more fuel-efficient.”

  He handed me his card. “Let me know when you’re ready to do that. You can trust me to make you a great deal.”

  I wasn’t sure I could trust Eric in any respect, but I made a show of pocketing the card. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

  After a couple beats of silence, he stood, signaling the end of the interview.

  I rose to my feet. “Thanks for your time.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” he said, stepping out from behind his desk.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to ask.” Instead of walking to the door, I turned to face him. “Why do you think Colt was trying to break into that limo?”

  Eric’s pupils dilated. “That’s something that doesn’t make a lot of sense. But that’s the way he was. Always doing stuff that didn’t make sense.”

  The physical response accompanying the safe non-answer he provided was curious, and I wished I could crack Eric’s head open to see what he knew about that stuff. “But you must have had some confidence in him to recommend him to your wife.”

  “We never want to give up on the people we care about.”

  Or Eric had been hoping for the best when he of
fered the person he cared about the most some cheap labor.

  I extended my hand. “Good to see you. I’m sorry it was under these circumstances.”

  “Come on. We’re old friends,” he said, giving me a warm hug. “It was great to see you. Give me a call when you’re ready for those new wheels.”

  Really? I come to his office to ask him about the death of his best friend, and he chooses to focus on the opportunity to sell me a car? Clearly, Eric Caldwell was skilled at compartmentalizing his emotions, but this felt plain weird.

  I forced a smile. “I will, and I hope you’ll call me if you think of anything else that might be relative to our investigation.”

  “You’ll be the first person I call.”

  More likely, my card would be round-filed the moment I left his office.

  Didn’t matter. We’d speak again soon enough.

  Because Eric Caldwell knew a heck of a lot more than he’d been willing to admit.

  * * *

  After picking up a protein bar and a copy of this week’s Gazette from the convenience store near my apartment, I sat in my car and read Renee Ireland’s front page story about Colt Ziegler’s murder while I ate.

  Since Renee was a friend of his mother I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t go into any detail with his personal struggles, instead portraying him like an underemployed choirboy. What did surprise me was that she had a quote about Colt from Eric Caldwell.

  My cousin was a sweet guy. I can’t imagine what transpired at Bassett Motor Works Sunday night, but he certainly deserved better than he got.

  That was a long way from what he’d told me—that his cousin did something stupid to get himself killed.

  Of course, Eric wouldn’t want to say anything publicly to upset his family members, but between his comment and those from Tami, the article made it very clear that the family was satisfied that the right man had been arrested.

  The only thing I found satisfying about it was that my name hadn’t been mentioned.

  Other than a summary that included some family members who lived out of state, the last line detailing a funeral service planned for this coming Saturday served as the only bit of real news for me.

  After I added that noon service to my calendar, I swung by my apartment to grab some carrots and to give Fozzie a pee break. I then spent the bulk of my afternoon crunching carrots and translating my notes into a five-page summation—a Colt’s world who’s who that I hoped would remove some heat from Little Dog.

  Ben was in a closed door meeting in his office, so I emailed him the report and sent a copy to his administrative assistant.

  Twenty minutes later, I was back on the floor, paying homage to that overstuffed filing cabinet when Ben’s oxfords made a repeat appearance.

  “We need to stop meeting like this,” I told him.

  A fake smile flickered at the corners of his lips. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

  Why? Had I done something wrong?

  While Ben headed for the break room, I scrambled to my feet and hoped that he’d walk in to find more than just a layer of sludge in that pot.

  I could smell the dregs cooking in the bottom of the carafe before I saw it, and I crossed the room to turn off the coffeemaker. “Sorry. Shall I make some fresh?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ben settled into one of the chairs at the table and pulled out the chair next to him. “Have a seat.”

  Uh-oh.

  He waited until I had parked my butt before he turned to me. “You know how I asked you to keep the project you’ve been working on under wraps?”

  I didn’t know where he was going with this. “Yeah?”

  “Who did you discuss it with?”

  “No one.” With the exception of Steve, and I hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. Plus, there was no mention of my interview with Tami in the paper, so that couldn’t have been what had put me in Ben’s crosshairs.

  “So, you didn’t say anything to a member of the Bassett family?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I just spoke to an attorney who had most of the information you included in your report.”

  “Not from me.”

  After giving me a hard stare, Ben pushed back his chair. “Okay, then.”

  That had to have been the lamest attagirl I’d ever received.

  I followed him to the door. “Since I was able to disprove Mrs. Ziegler’s claim, what does that do to the case?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s solid without any ancient history.”

  Heck. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE BULLETIN BOARD at the dog park kiosk had the same problem as the file cabinets that had frustrated me most of the afternoon: way too much paper for the available space.

  After I rearranged the postings for all the puppies for sale, I managed to free up enough real estate for the FREE CHOW MIX sign I’d printed at work.

  Fozzie straining at the leash, barking at every dog in sight, might not make a free dog look like much of a bargain, so I let him lead the way to the nearest bush, where he promptly relieved himself. That’s also when the cell phone in my jacket pocket started to ring.

  When I saw Steve’s name displayed, I hoped he was calling about a dinner date. “Hey.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “Not that far away if you have dinner in mind.”

  “Oh, I definitely have it in mind, so perhaps you’d like to join us.”

  Us?

  Stopping in my tracks, I sucked in a breath. “It’s Wednesday!” With everything going on, I had forgotten all about our usual Wednesday dinner with Gram. “Sorry, I’ll be right there.”

  I repeated my apology ten minutes later, when I stepped through the back door and inhaled the mouthwatering aroma of a pot roast in the oven.

  Gram aimed a brittle smile at me from behind the stove as my mother rounded the corner.

  “About time. I’m famished.” Marietta said, giving me a once-over. “I certainly hope that you didn’t go to work in that ensemble.”

  “No.” I had changed into a long-sleeved pullover and blue jeans before taking Fozzie to the park. Not that it was any of her concern.

  Since my mother’s ensemble included a designer silk shirt that she wouldn’t want to splash pot roast gravy on, I was more interested in what she was doing home. “Aren’t you going out with Barry?”

  “When your grandmother told me what was on the menu, I thought we could make it a quiet evening at home. But he’s at a meeting that’s running late, so we’re starting without him.”

  Swell. “Need any help, Gram?”

  “No. Why don’t you keep Stevie company for a few minutes.”

  In other words, rescue him from my mother.

  Marietta hooked her arm around mine and led me into the dining room. “Excellent idea, because we were just chatting about something I think you’ll find very interesting.”

  It had better not be wedding invitations.

  Steve looked up from the cell phone in his hand and nailed me with his cool gaze. “Nice of you to make it.”

  “Sorry, I got busy and lost track of time.”

  My mother patted my hand as she deposited me in the chair next to Steve. “Never mind that. You’ll never guess who’s getting married.”

  I stared across the table at Marietta. If you say Gina Campanella I’ll never forgive you. “Someone we know?”

  Her emerald eyes sparked. “Kelsey Donovan and Andy Falco.”

  Whew.

  The local couple had been an object of Gossip Central speculation ever since Andy’s brother died last fall, so the news of their engagement hadn’t come as a surprise as much as it had been a relief. “Good for them.”

  “Your grandmother received the invitation in the mail today.” Marietta aimed a predatory smile at Steve. “I assume you received an invitation.”

  I tried to kick her under the table and missed. “I’ll have to
check my mail when I get home, but unless they plan on a really small wedding, I can’t imagine that we all didn’t receive one.”

  “It’s in June. The weekend before mine.” She locked her gaze on Steve. “Think you’ll be free?”

  He shot me a quizzical glance. “No idea. It’ll depend on what’s going on at work.”

  “Such a busy time of year.” Marietta took a sip from the wine glass in front of her. “So many June weddings. And the weather can be so iffy here that time of year. Not like, say, Southern California. It’s so much easier to plan for an outdoor wedding down there.”

  “I’m sure your wedding will go off without a hitch,” I said to try to make this the last word on the subject. “They always do.”

  Marietta leveled a frosty glare at me. “I’m sure it will.”

  “I hope everyone’s hungry,” Gram said, carrying a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes to the table. “I made enough to feed a small army.”

  Good. Maybe that would give my mother something to chew on that had nothing to do with upcoming weddings.

  To that end, I fetched the roast beef and gravy from the kitchen and had just settled back into my chair when I heard my cell phone ringing in the other room. “Go ahead and start. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Retrieving my phone from my tote, I didn’t recognize the number, so I thought it might be someone calling about Fozzie until I heard the man say my name.

  “This is Lou Paradiso. You called me about who I used to paint my house.”

  “Yes, thanks for calling me back,” I said, grabbing my notebook and a pen.

  While Mr. Paradiso went into detail about Boynton House Painting’s quality of work as if I were looking for a recommendation, I noticed that Steve was standing at the refrigerator, fifteen feet away from me.

  I didn’t want to invite another lecture about staying out of his investigation so I kept my responses carefully vague, thanked the man, and ended the call.

  Tucking away my phone, I met Steve’s watchful gaze. “Did you get what you were after?” I asked, trying to act casual.

  “Yeah.” He lifted the bottle of water in his hand. “How about you?”