Meeting Bradford at the desk, I linked my arm in his, and steered him to Deena’s office. When we pushed through the closed door, Deena glanced up from a pile of papers on her desk. “I was just going over the supplies list.” A worried looked creased her face. “What’s wrong?”
Bradford removed his hat. “The GBI wants to interview Jolene pertaining to the murder of Vanessa van Allen.” He rumpled his hair nervously with one hand. “I’m here to bring her in.”
Deena shot out of her chair and raced around the desk. “Oh my God, is she being arrested? Questioned for what? Should I call Mama and Daddy? T.J. Pickens?”
I grabbed her arm and brought her quaking body close. “Calm down, sis. Everything will work out. We have a wedding, you know. I’ll not let anything get in the way of your happiness.” We stood nose to nose. “Let Bradford explain.” I released her, and she sank down onto a chair.
Bradford set his hat down on the desktop and took Deena’s hands in his. “Jolene’s right, Deena. The GBI need more information for the investigation into Vanessa’s death. She’s only a witness.” He turned to me, and I instantly knew. For all his assuring words, he was worried. The emotion lined the crinkles around his eyes and mouth. And there, just a flicker of doubt reflected in the sapphire eyes.
I stilled myself and tried not to cry as fear’s icy fingers squeezed the breath from my lungs and the strength from my limbs. I dropped onto the chair next to my sister. “I need a minute, Bradford, and then we’ll head out for the station.”
He released Deena’s hands. “We need to talk, Jolene. About you know what.”
“Like how I’m going to explain my presence in the Maco mansion on the night Vanessa van Allen was murdered?”
He nodded. “Yeah, you can’t waltz in there and tell them the truth.”
“Why not?” Deena asked. “Jolene’s known for engaging in dangerous pursuits. She was only trying to help you.”
“That’s the cincher, Deena,” I spoke up. “I’m not supposed to be involved with this investigation. Bradford could end up losing his job.”
“I’m sorry, Sam, but you quit your job,” Deena pointed out. “What difference does it make if it gets Jolene out of trouble?”
“I’m not in trouble,” I countered. “I’m a witness.” I paused, then lifted my eyes to Bradford’s. “However, she’s right. I acted on my own. You had nothing to do with my decision to stake out Vanessa’s house. Or my decision to follow them to the Maco mansion. I thought I was helping you build a case.”
“But I’m the one who broke the rules when I sought your help.” He pushed away from the desk and paced the floor. “I’m responsible for you being in the position you’re in.”
“And what position is that?” I questioned with a spike of anxiety.
Bradford stopped his pacing to face me. “Honestly, I don’t know. The GBI has access to all your previous arrest records and Snellgrove’s report on Careen’s suicide with your gun.”
“My stolen gun, you mean,” I corrected him. “And Careen was accidently killed by her brother when he mistook her for Vanessa. I told you the story.”
“And I have no proof,” he stated, sounding exasperated. “You can’t tell the GBI ghost stories, Jolene. They depend on physical evidence to make their cases.”
“Then find the evidence to clear her.” Deena squeezed my hand.
“I’m working on it. In the meantime, we need to get down to the station before the GBI gets restless.” Bradford strode over to the desk to retrieve his hat. “I’ll have her back before the shop closes, Deena. Try not to worry.”
“And don’t call Mama,” I warned her. “She’ll make things worse for me.”
“I doubt that, Jolene, but I’ll keep quiet for now.” Deena squeezed my hand. “One phone call is all it takes, Jolene. I have T.J. Pickens on speed dial.”
I paused at the door. “I don’t need an attorney, yet. And again whatever you do, please don’t call Mama and Daddy. Or Billie Jo. They deserve a rest from my troubles. Besides, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Deena’s eyes watered. “Promise?”
I nodded my head and then laughed. “I’m beginning to sound like a politician with all these promises I’m making.”
Bradford cupped my elbow. “We need to get going before they come looking for us.”
I kissed my sister on the cheek and tasted her salty tears. “Call Ryder, if you need to talk. My soon to be brother-in-law knows how to keep a secret. Deena, I can’t leave my gun in my workstation. Lock it in the office safe box.”
We left the office, and I hurried over to my workstation to retrieve my shoulder bag with my gun stashed inside while Bradford went out to his unmarked police car. Back in Deena’s office, I handed over the gun, and ducked out of the salon without any fuss and climbed into his unmarked police car. He fired up the engine and backed out of the parking space, made a quick turn, and headed toward the station.
“I’m frightened, Bradford. I’ve never been questioned by the GBI,” I confessed as we wound around a quiet neighborhood street lined with tall pine and oak trees shedding their summer foliage. Leaves of red, orange, and muted yellow floated on the cool breeze to carpet the lawns and street in patches of color and pine needles. Ghosts and pumpkins, witches, and scarecrows still dotted the occasional lawn of a procrastinating homeowner.
Bradford’s hand gripped the steering wheel before he glanced over at me. “Just give them the details as you did me. However, leave Scarlett out of it. They wouldn’t understand. There’s an official report on the incident, so don’t worry.”
“But what if they suspect I had something to do with her murder? That could happen, you know. Daddy says the innocent end up in jail just like the guilty. I was at the scene of the crime. And Careen was killed with my stolen gun. Bad mojo is written all over this. I’m going down.”
He reached over the seat for my hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you, sweetie. You wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for me.”
“There’s no blame, Bradford.” I squeezed his hand. “Dealing with the dead has repercussions. You needed my help. What else could I do?”
I felt a bit unnerved at the prospect of the coming interview as the redbrick police station came into view, and we swung around to the rear of the building to Bradford’s parking space. Now that we were here, my hands grew clammy with my sinking mood.
Bradford unbuckled his seatbelt. “Okay, let’s do this.”
I forced my feet to move as my mind buzzed with thoughts of catastrophe. Not knowing what to expect, I sent a silent appeal heavenward for help. This could go either way—good or bad. My fate rested in the hands of the two GBI agents waiting beyond the steel, gray door.
****
The dreary, colorless waiting room hadn’t changed since my last visit. A dank, stale odor blanketed the room that never saw nature’s glowing sunlight or the fresh open country air streaming through an open window. I took the seat in the corner and waved off Bradford saying I needed a few minutes to steady myself. In reality, I didn’t want him to witness the full measure of anxiety making its way through my limbs. Taking several deep breaths, I crossed my fingers and sent another SOS heavenward that I wouldn’t barf at the GBI’s feet. Peanut butter and jelly doesn’t taste the same the second time around.
Five minutes passed before a uniformed policeman—Officer Brown, his nametag read—stepped into the room. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am. Agents Farmer and Stillwell are ready for you.”
My footsteps faltered. Farmer and Stillwell. Christ. My stomach heaved, and I swallowed hard. Bradford could’ve warned me I would be facing the same two agents that had arrested Daddy for the murder of Theodore Herrington. I’d pissed them off big time that Sunday morning when they accosted Daddy in the church parking lot with half the members staring on. God, I’d practically challenged them both to a duel. Now, to face them again when my ass is the one in the frying pan? Damn. I was going down for sure.
Agent Andy Stillwell stood to his towering six-foot-four inches and pointed to the chair opposite him across the desk. “Have a seat, Miz Claiborne. Coffee?” His bass tone chirped.
I darted a glance at the other man perched sidesaddle on the edge of a large desk. Agent Ian Farmer. Younger. Bald. Overweight. Shifty eyes. No smile. Taking the seat indicated, I placed my shoulder bag in my lap. “Coffee sounds wonderful.”
Ian Farmer slipped off the desk and sauntered over to the table. “Cream and sugar?”
I nodded. “A touch of both, please.”
He added a dollop of cream and a teaspoon of sugar, grabbed a plate and loaded it down with sweets, then placed them in front of me on the desktop. He resumed his perch, his eyes never leaving me. I reached for the hot coffee and sipped. At least the coffee was good.
“We brought you here, Miz Claiborne.” Agent Stillwell rested his forearms on the desk and leaned toward me, “because we believe you killed Miss van Allen and set fire to the old Maco house to cover your crime.”
His words slammed into me stealing my breath. My hands were shaking, and as casually as I could, I set the disposable cup down next to the plate of sweets to keep from dumping the hot liquid in my lap. Bradford got it wrong. I’m not a witness, but a suspect. “Have you figured out my motive?”
“Jealousy,” Ian Farmer said. “She was dating your ex, Detective Samuel Bradford.”
The back of my neck tingled. “Sam Bradford and I broke up months ago. I’m dating Preston Neally. A doctor. Well-respected doctor I might add.”
Stillwell opened a file. “Let’s review your file, shall we?” He held up a forefinger. “One. Your arrest record shows the pattern of a habitual violator.”
“Misunderstandings,” I huffed. “Read further and you’ll see all the charges were dropped.”
“Detective Bradford stated there was a scuffle between you and Miss van Allen on the evening of the thirty-first.”
I took a quick breath of utter astonishment at Agent Stillwell’s words. The sting of accusation nipped my skin, and I flushed with antagonism and humiliation. “Detective Bradford implicated me?” I grabbed the sides of the chair, my heartrate kicked into high gear. “He told you I picked a fight with Vanessa on Halloween?” I gave an anxious little cough. “I did no such thing. I might’ve spied on her, but fight? That’s ridiculous.”
“Tell us about the incident, Miz Claiborne.” Ian Farmer growled. “Detective Bradford gave the impression you upset the victim. Made her cry. He said, and I quote ‘Something clearly happened between them. Jolene has a quick temper. I was worried for Vanessa.’ ”
A whisper of terror shot through me at Bradford’s betrayal. The overhead fluorescent lights blinked several times mirroring my pounding heart. Adrenaline rushed through my veins like frozen needles. I gasped in several breaths in hopes of restoring oxygen to my panicked brain and slumped down in the hard chair. The seed of trust that had taken root shriveled in the dry dust of my shocked heart, and I felt the walls of self-protection close in. All the progress I’d made since opening my heart to love evaporated in the blink of my watery eyes. Anger burned so hot inside I thought I would melt the cold, hard steel chair. I shoved a hand across my wet cheeks. From the corner of the room I spied the familiar misty shape of a woman. Scarlett! Strength poured into my frame, and I straightened in my chair determined to thwart the GBI’s plans to pin Vanessa’s murder on me.
“I deny Detective Bradford’s statement,” I shot back. “I never had any bad words with Vanessa van Allen on Halloween. I never confronted her in any way. I overheard her conversation with another party which upset her. You have no proof I wanted to harm Vanessa.”
Agent Stillwell held up another finger. “Two. Do you deny the scene between you and the victim at the Baconton Writers’ Retreat last week?” His eyes narrowed. “You purposely vomited down the front of her dress in which she retaliated with a hard slap, knocking you to the floor.”
Another misty shape joined Scarlett. Vanessa. I shook my head. “I don’t deny it. She assaulted me, not the other way around. Again, you have no proof I wanted to harm Vanessa. If you persist on this line of questioning, I’ll answer no further questions without my attorney present.”
Farmer and Stillwell exchanged a look. Stillwell leafed through the file to bring out a single sheet of paper. “Tell us about the night you discovered the victim’s body at the Maco mansion.”
I gave the same skeletal account I’d given to the Whiskey Creek Police Department. I kept it short and sweet. My sense of civic duty had been sufficiently tested, and the authorities could go to hell as far as I was concerned. Bradford’s betrayal had sealed my lips, and I gave no consideration to the fact that they could be purposely leading me astray.
“Why didn’t you call 9-1-1 immediately upon discovering the body?”
I kept my face impassive. “Because I lost my phone while on stakeout, Agent Stillwell. Read my statement.” From the corner of my eye, I spied another white mist twist into the shape of a woman. Careen. Ah, the three musketeers had arrived.
The battering continued. The next question came from Agent Farmer. “Let’s go back to the stakeout, Miz Claiborne. Why were you spying on the van Allen’s? What’s your interest in this case?”
I gave it some thought, reaching for the coffee cup. Agent Farmer had dumped the perfect opportunity in my lap to rat out Bradford, but a rat I’m not. Taking a sip, I let them stew in their own impatient juices. “My mother is my interest, sir. I didn’t trust Vanessa or her agent with my mother’s financial stake in the published cookbook. Thieves crawl out of the woodwork when they smell a quick buck.”
Stillwell made a note. “So you suspected Vanessa and her agent”—he glanced down at the file—“Cash Hitchcock of swindling your mother?” He looked dubious.
I met his gaze equably. “Everyone has a price.” In my peripheral vision, I detected movement, and rested my gaze on Scarlett making her way to my side. She whispered in my ear. Now it was my turn to smile. “Let’s wrap this up, boys. I know you don’t seriously suspect me of killing Vanessa van Allen, otherwise you would’ve read me my rights. Remember, I’ve been down this road a couple of times and know the drill.” I could’ve kissed Scarlett for reminding me of this small detail.
Scarlett and the evil twins surrounded the two unsuspecting agents. Both men frowned as ghostly hands pinched and pulled at their flesh, and shouted horrible tidings with rotting breath. They flinched. Stillwell cursed. Farmer bolted up from the desk and dashed out of the room without as much as a goodbye. Agent Stillwell slapped the file closed. “We’re done for now, Miz Claiborne, but don’t leave town,” he snarled, and then followed his partner out of the office with the hounds of hell nipping at his heels.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Neutering the Hounds of Hell
Officer Diamond Presley was waiting for me in the hallway when I came out of the office. She pushed up from the wall she was leaning against and shot me a huge grin. “Damn girl, what-d-ya do to those two hell hounds? They almost mowed me down gettin’ outta there. What a bunch of asses.”
I shrugged. “Must’ve been something I said.” I laughed with her. “But thankfully, I don’t have to spend the night in your luxurious accommodations, although, I’m glad to run into you. Let’s have a girl’s night out after the dust settles.” I glanced at my watch. 5:00. The salon was probably closed by now. I hoped Deena wasn’t waiting on me.
“Sure thing, girlfriend, but I have a message for you from Sam.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Diamond.” I pivoted on my heel with the intention of finding the nearest exit. Diamond caught my arm and swung me around to face her.
“What’s got your ass in a
sling?”
I jerked my arm free. “That low-down, sniveling dog, Detective Samuel Bradford, that’s who. Don’t ever mention his name to me again, understand?”
A fierce scowl crossed her face. “Now you listen up real good because I’m only going to say this one time.” She pointed her finger under my nose. “No one says a bad word about Samuel Bradford to my face. Not even you. He’s a good man, and I don’t know what he’s done to tangle your panties in a wad, and that’s between y’all, but you need to stop spitting shit at me.”
A door opened, and an officer stepped out into the hall. “What’s the trouble, Presley?”
Diamond relaxed her stance. “No trouble, Sergeant. Just boyfriend trouble.”
“Take your girl chat elsewhere,” he ordered, then ducked back inside the door.
“We’ll continue this discussion in my patrol car,” Diamond growled in a tone of voice that let me know I was in for a stern putdown. “Sam’s been called away and asked me to get you back to the salon.” She shot me another cold look. “I’m more of a mind to take you out back and whoop your stupid ass.”
I let that zinger slide and trailed shamefully behind her to her patrol car parked in the back alley. She unlocked the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. I reached for the passenger door handle when her snide voice hollered out, “Oh, hell no. You ride in back where you belong.”
“Come on, Diamond, enough is enough. I know you’re mad at me, but don’t make me ride in back like a criminal.”
“You are one.”
“I’m also your friend. Or was.” I forced a weak smile. “There is my side of the story, you know. Give me a chance to explain.”
“Okay, get in, but leave the trash talk out there on the sidewalk.”
I slid in the passenger seat and buckled my seatbelt. “I’m not the bitch you’re making me out to be, Diamond. Your precious Sam ratted me out to the GBI.”
A Dead Pig in the Sunshine Page 24