Revenge

by Debra Webb

  Jess held up her hands and the two gentlemen shushed. ‘One at a time, please. But first’ – she turned to Lori – ‘Detective Wells, why don’t you take Mr Brewer—’

  ‘Foster’s right,’ Brewer interrupted, determined to get his two cents in. ‘I hadn’t thought about it until he said it.’

  Before Jess could respond, the obviously agitated man said to his coworker, ‘Tell her, man.’

  ‘Mr Baker’s been fighting with the widows for months,’ Foster explained, picking the story up from there.

  ‘Widows?’ Jess looked from one to the other. Oh hell. She had a very bad feeling where this was going.

  Foster nodded, his eyes wide with equal measures certainty and worry. ‘The widows are big-time upset about the new building that’s going up. During the last meeting, one of the women threatened Mr Baker.’

  ‘You heard this yourself?’ Jess countered. She needed clarification. If he was repeating hearsay, that was something else altogether.

  Brewer shook his head before Foster could answer. ‘We didn’t exactly hear it. Claire Warren heard it. She runs the dining hall. The meeting was in there and she was still closing up after serving dinner.’

  ‘We’ll need to take her statement,’ Jess said to Lori. ‘Mr Brewer’ – Jess looked from him to the other man – ‘Mr Foster, who are these widows?’

  ‘Residents,’ Foster explained. ‘They’ve had the others staging sit-ins. Once they even formed a picket line out front. They keep everybody here upset about one thing or another. It’s always something.’

  ‘The widows are residents,’ Jess reiterated just to be sure she’d heard correctly, really hoping she hadn’t, ‘of this facility?’

  Both men nodded adamantly.

  They were talking about old people, like Frances. Whoever killed Baker had to have been strong enough to wield a heavy object. Jess wasn’t so sure an elderly female – she wouldn’t name names – would be able to manage such a feat. ‘Exactly how old are these widows?’

  ‘The youngest is seventy-five,’ Brewer said with a nod to Foster for confirmation. ‘She’s the ringleader.’

  ‘She sure is,’ Foster agreed. ‘That woman is a mess.’

  ‘Who’s the ringleader?’ Again Jess looked from Brewer to Foster, bracing for the name she did not want to hear.

  ‘She’s been riling up those other old ladies since day one,’ Foster said, his tone firm.

  With a big emphatic nod, Brewer added, ‘She’s the one threatened to kill Mr Baker – there’s witnesses to that.’

  ‘I need a name, gentlemen,’ Jess nudged. She appreciated their thoughts on the woman but a name would come in far handier.

  ‘Frances Wallace,’ the men said in unison.

  And there it was. Frances had admitted to motive. Certainly she’d had opportunity. Now, for all the world to see, there were witnesses to the public declaration of her motive.

  Oh God. This was going to get complicated . . .

  The medical examiner had just estimated time of death between 8.00 and 10.00 P.M. Frances had showed up at Jess’s door around eleven or shortly after with her shocking announcement.

  Dread settled on her shoulders. Jess had spent a lifetime looking up to Frances Wallace. Making sure this case was investigated properly and the real murderer found would be a piece of cake.

  Protecting her friend’s reputation was going to be the fly in the frosting.

  Chapter Three

  3.40 A.M.

  Jess entered the Vestavia Village library and suggested the officer watching over Frances Wallace take a short break. When he’d closed the door behind him, Jess turned to the woman who’d curled up like a cat and fallen asleep in one of the large, comfortable chairs scattered around the book- and magazine-filled room.

  Whatever other mischief Frances had gotten herself into during the past twenty-four hours, murder was not among her activities. Jess would lay odds on that. There was, however, no way to prevent viewing her as a person of interest and pursuing the necessary accounting of her movements during the past six or so hours that would clear her. Even Frances would understand that reality. In any event, she had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

  Preferably before Burnett and the mayor got involved in the investigation any more deeply than they already were. That kind of interference always complicated an investigation. Made Jess want to tear out her hair.

  She set her bag down and dragged over another chair. As she settled in, Frances opened her eyes and straightened. ‘Had myself a little nap.’ She fanned away the loose strands of hair that had slipped free of her trademark bun and adjusted her blouse. ‘Did I miss anything?’

  With monumental effort, Jess resisted the urge to roll her eyes. ‘You mean, other than the body down the hall?’ Jess shook her head. ‘You didn’t miss a thing.’

  ‘Well.’ Frances cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap. ‘I warned you that was coming.’

  Somehow, while listening to her sketchy story on the way here, Jess had hoped to discover the victim’s death had been an accident. Maybe he’d tripped and hit his head. It happened. Hundreds of Americans died every year just getting out of bed.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, you sure did.’ Jess retrieved her notepad and pencil. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you were doing before you decided to pay a visit to our murder victim?’

  The older woman’s head reared back just a little. ‘So it was murder?’

  ‘The official ruling will come after the autopsy but the ME has indicated we have a homicide on our hands.’

  ‘Good heavens.’ Frances put a hand to her chest. ‘Am I going to jail? My daughter will never forgive me. It’s a good thing Orson is dead already or this would kill him.’

  ‘Whether you’re going to jail,’ Jess assured her, ‘is entirely dependent upon whether you only threatened to kill Scott Baker in front of about a dozen witnesses.’ Frustration puckered Jess’s face, which only irritated her all the more. ‘For Pete’s sake, you couldn’t have told the man in private that you were going to kill him?’

  Fingers twiddling with the collar of her blouse and the antique brooch fastened there, Frances let a hint of trepidation show. ‘Well, gracious no, Jess. The whole impact would have been lost had there not been any witnesses. I was making a point,’ she insisted, as if Jess should understand perfectly what she’d intended.

  God, she needed coffee. But going to the dining hall would be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire with all the village residents camped out there. ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning and bring me all the way up to now,’ Jess suggested, ‘and tell me what the point was. While you’re at it, explain this Widows club thing you’ve got going.’

  Frances grunted. ‘We’re going to need to send that nice young man who’s been keeping me company for tea. This might take a while.’

  Jess sent Officer Gillam for tea and coffee before settling her full attention on Frances once more.

  ‘Nine years ago, Orson and I bought into this retirement facility. We paid big money for condos in the building that overlooked the lake. As did a number of our friends, at our urging, I might add.’ She visibly struggled to contain the hurt that still lingered with the loss of her life mate. ‘Many invested their whole life savings. Then two years ago there was a change of command. Out with the old and in with the new. Suddenly we had Scott Baker and a new corporation, Your Life, who cared only for making more money on this investment.’

  Anger lit in Jess’s belly. That was something she despised more than most anything else. Those who bullied or took advantage of children and the elderly.

  ‘What steps have they taken to that end?’ Jess jotted the names Frances had mentioned.

  ‘They’re constructing a new building between ours and the lake. Stealing our bought-and-paid-for view of nature and giving us a massive brick wall in its place.’ Her lips tightened in fury. ‘Perhaps some would consider that a nonissue but we have the right to the quality of living w
e were promised. I’ve been spearheading the group of widows fighting the project. That’s all I’m guilty of, Jessie Lee. Beyond a few not-so-pleasant thoughts about Baker and his cronies.’

  ‘Which brings me back to the question,’ Jess countered, refusing to allow her adoration for the lady to throw her off her game. ‘Why were you in his office tonight?’

  ‘I’d just come in from dinner at my daughter’s home. She and I had discussed how Baker was ignoring all our efforts and I was a little worked up.’ Frances lifted her chin and said the rest. ‘I saw his car was still here and I decided to demand some answers. But he was dead.’

  Well, there was a truckload of motive. Jesus. ‘Did you see any other vehicles in the parking lot?’ Jess went on, hoping for additional answers that would clear the lady, not make her look guiltier. ‘Any other persons, even from a distance? Think hard, Frances. Was there anyone else in the parking lot or lobby area? Did you meet another vehicle as you were driving up to the facility?’

  Frances opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. She furrowed her brow in thought, then said, ‘You know, I did meet another car after turning into the entrance.’

  Anticipation pumped through Jess. Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Can you describe the car?’

  Her shoulders slumped. ‘No. Their headlights were on bright. I cursed them all the way to my parking spot.’ She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t even have recalled that nuisance if you hadn’t asked.’

  Jess’s disappointment at not getting a description must have been visible since Frances tacked on, ‘Get ready for it, Jessie Lee. That’s how it is when you get old. Can’t see, can’t hear. Forget every damned thing. The children you gave everything to are just glad you’re some place like this instead of in their way more than one evening a week.’

  Jess’s heart broke just a little. ‘It’s the same whether a witness is eighteen or eighty, Frances. There’s a lot they forget to mention unless asked specific questions. Why don’t you just relax a few minutes and I’ll be back in a bit.’

  4.49 A.M.

  As hard as she tried to keep her emotions in check, Jess dabbed at her eyes as she left Frances cuddled up in that same chair with a cup of hot tea. Jess left her cup on the table. The dining hall had run out of regular coffee. The only thing worse than no coffee at all was decaf. She closed the door behind her and gave the waiting officer strict orders not to allow anyone in or out of the library.

  Burnett was here and he had sent Jess a text demanding to see her pronto. He couched the string of words with please but that was just code for Don’t make me send someone to get you.

  She took a breath and reached for the door that stood between her and the man who’d made love to her only a few hours ago. He was going to let her have it for ignoring his calls all morning.

  Wouldn’t be the first time or the last, she suspected.

  He was on his cell when she stepped into the room. Whoever was on the other end, he wasn’t making Burnett happy, or maybe it was the other way around. Oblivious to her arrival, Burnett gestured in frustration with his free hand – or more specifically the hand holding a cup of Starbucks coffee. Jess licked her lips in anticipation. Another cup sat on a nearby table. Was that one for her? If it was, that would be an answered prayer. Considering how long she’d kept Burnett waiting, the coffee was no doubt cold but she didn’t care. She seriously needed caffeine.

  He snapped a cutting remark at his caller. Something about keeping the investigation low-key for now. Usually unable to control her curiosity, she would try figuring out who was on the other end of that conversation. Not this morning. She had bigger issues with this case. But neither the case nor the promise of Starbucks could prevent the way she studied his every move. He had his back to her and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that side of him. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and, well, things just got better from there. The elegantly tailored suit accentuated his every asset. Most of them, anyway. There were some that were best admired without any sort of embellishments.

  A smile tugged at her lips when she thought of the way his skin smelled. Clean and masculine. He’d always been subtle with his aftershave or cologne. They shared that habit. Give Jess a softly scented lotion any day over perfume.

  He ended the call and turned as if he’d suddenly sensed her presence. Her breath hitched. Looking at him head-on had always managed that feat. How could he be more handsome now than he had been as an ambitious senior in high school? His dark hair scarcely showed even a hint of gray. Jess had to get her roots touched up most every month. It was the bane of her existence.

  Not fair.

  And how the hell could so much time have passed? They’d known each other since they were kids. God she felt old. Forty-two really sucked so far.

  Those blue eyes of his zeroed in on hers. ‘I called.’

  She nodded. ‘Four times.’

  He dropped his cell into his jacket pocket, then bracketed his coffee-free hand at his waist in an authoritative maneuver. All the move did for Jess was point out that, like Sylvia Baron, Burnett always looked expertly put together. Crisp, creamy white shirt and tan trousers topped off with a navy jacket and tie. When he wore that color, those blue eyes of his appeared even more vivid.

  ‘You enjoy ignoring me like that?’

  Jess sighed. She could lie but he would know. ‘Immensely.’

  Burnett frowned but he moved on. ‘Sylvia says this appears to be a homicide.’

  ‘I never had a doubt.’ Vaguely she wondered if he’d been speaking so sharply to Sylvia. But mostly she was amazed at how the sound of his voice disrupted her heart’s natural rhythm even now when the topic of conversation was murder. That was something she probably should never say out loud. And just went to show how very much sleep deprivation affected one’s ability to reason and stay on track.

  Get to the point, Jess. ‘Is SPU keeping this case?’

  The hesitation before he answered had her heart thumping for a completely different reason. Her Special Problems Unit often had to go to war with Crimes Against Persons for cases like this. Jess had her own motives for needing to see this one through, but she didn’t want to bring up Frances Wallace just yet. Knowing Burnett, he would insist a conflict of interest existed and the case would go to Deputy Chief Harold Black.

  ‘Harold has his hands full with the Ted Allen situation.’

  When a cop went missing, the first assumption was always foul play. Between that and the bomb planted in the department vehicle she had been driving last week, there were lots of questions and endless speculation going around. For example, had her interference in the Lopez case gotten Allen killed? That was one place she had no desire to go at the moment. She had done her job. Still, she hadn’t missed the suspicious glances being cast her way around the department. The clashes between her and Allen were well and widely known.

  Yes, he didn’t like her. Yes, she felt no love loss toward him. But making him disappear was not her way of handling departmental rivalry. Otherwise there were a number of others who would go missing as well.

  Not funny, Jess.

  Whatever happened, she held no power over Leonardo Lopez and the actions he chose to take.

  ‘It’s certainly nice to be needed,’ she said, hopefully diverting the course of the conversation away from another reminder of how she took too many risks. ‘Why is it that every single time my team is assigned a case of this caliber it’s because Black is busy?’

  Burnett gave her that look – the one that warned she was being petty. She was. She waved him off. ‘Forget I said anything.’ She’d gotten in the dig. He’d remember her smart-ass remark next time that same old tug-of-war surfaced. And he would think twice about letting Black have first dibs just to prove her wrong. She knew him like a book. Dan Burnett was all about fair. Fairness and justice. He didn’t like breaking the rules – that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t, but he didn’t like it.

  ‘I need you to tread carefully on this one, Jess,’ B
urnett continued, ignoring her question entirely but, thankfully, skipping the I’m-worried-about-you spiel. ‘The victim’s family roots go all the way back to the founding of Birmingham. Try not to offend anyone – especially if his or her name is Baker. He has an older brother who’s a lobbyist in Montgomery and I’d like to keep him on good terms with the department. His support is invaluable.’

  If her eyes had rolled any farther back in her head, she would have seen her roots going gray even as she stood there enduring this needless lecture. ‘I wouldn’t dream of stepping on any toes, especially any important ones.’ One month in the department and she had a reputation that ensured her boss felt compelled to give her a talking-to before each case. ‘Anything else you want to correct about my work before I get back to it?’

  His gaze narrowed. ‘No one who matters can fault your performance on the job, Jess. For your information, Mayor Pratt suggested you were the one he wanted on this case.’

  Jess snorted. She cleared her throat and resisted the urge to ask if Pratt had somehow acquired amnesia. Like so many of her colleagues, as well as the brass around here, Pratt didn’t like Jess’s style or her methods. He spent more time complaining about her tactics than the city’s anti-establishment reporters.

  ‘Pratt asked for me?’ There had to be a motive she wasn’t going to like.

  ‘I think you’ve shown him what you’re made of,’ Burnett said. ‘He knows no one else will do the job better.’

  Okay, this was too over the top to handle with no caffeine. She desperately needed a second wind about now. ‘Is that Starbucks for me?’

  He picked up the cup and passed it to her. ‘It would still be warm if you hadn’t ignored me when I first arrived thirty-five minutes ago.’

  It was warm enough. The strong, rich taste had her stifling a moan. ‘Thanks.’

  He gave her a moment to relish her coffee before starting his interrogations. ‘What’s the deal with this group of widows Baker was having trouble with?’

  He’d been briefed on the statements they’d collected so far. Good. Kept her from having to repeat the whole sordid story. ‘There’s a group of seven elderly residents who, along with their husbands, who’ve since passed on, bought into the village nine years ago when it was in the development phase.’