“Sir, could I speak to you for a minute?” Tucker asked him once he’d expressed his condolences.
“Who’re you?” Rowe inquired with a trace of impatience. “I’ve got a car waiting to take me back to Richmond.”
“Then I’ll walk outside with you,” Tucker said. “I’m helping with the investigation into Larry Chandler’s murder. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The delegate’s steely gray eyes chilled. “You with the police?”
“I’m working privately on this case, but I’m the sheriff of this county.”
“How the devil did you land in a situation like that?” he asked.
Tucker grinned. “Long story. Mrs. Chandler and I are old friends. She asked for my assistance.”
“And you had the good sense to take a leave so you could do it, rather than getting embroiled in a controversy about conflict of interest,” Rowe concluded. “Good for you, young man. Too few public servants take such precautions these days.”
“Was Chandler one who knew the distinction?” Tucker asked him.
Rowe’s expression grew thoughtful. “You know he and I didn’t get along, I imagine?”
“I’d heard you disagreed about one particular issue.”
“More than one, as it happens, but I respected him. He was an honorable man. Made his position clear from the outset, so I always knew where he stood. Hardheaded as they come,” he noted. “But that’s not a sin, I suppose, just a danged nuisance.”
Tucker laughed. “I imagine it would be.”
“You’re looking to see if we were sworn enemies, I imagine,” Rowe said. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but we weren’t. We disagreed about how some things ought to be done for the good of the people, but we never had words over it, never called each other names in public or in private. You dig as deep as you want, Sheriff, you won’t find any bad blood between me and Chandler—just honest differences of opinion.”
“Can you say the same about his relationship with all of your colleagues?”
Rowe hooted at that. “Now that is another kettle of fish entirely. Not all politicians take the pragmatic view of the world that I do. Some take defeat of their bills downright personally, and when it comes to that and Chandler’s leadership role in those defeats, well, you could say the man had a whole legion of enemies in Richmond. Yes, indeed, a whole legion of them.”
“Care to name a few?”
“I wish I could. I surely do, but the governor’s waiting right over there. Since I want to talk him into supporting a bill of mine, I don’t want to start the ride back to Richmond with him being annoyed about me being late. You check the record from the last legislative session, Sheriff. I’m sure you’ll find yourself a whole passel of suspects.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you for your time,” he said, and watched as Devlin Rowe strode over to the black Cadillac waiting in the No Parking zone in front of the church. He had half a mind to go over and write a ticket, but since he was officially off-duty, he figured he’d better restrain himself.
He was about to go back inside when he was joined by Walker.
“You finding out anything interesting?” Walker asked.
“No hard leads,” Tucker said. “You?”
“Nothing. The bad thing about dealing with a whole passel of politicians is that they’re used to lying their heads off. I did spend a little time with that Miles woman. I was a little surprised she had the guts to show up here.”
“Not me,” Tucker said. “She had the guts to sleep with Chandler right under his wife’s nose only weeks after the wedding. Showing up here is nothing compared to that. She’s got a lot of anger in her, but most of it’s directed at Mary Elizabeth.”
Walker nodded. “That was my take, too.” He sighed. “And now here comes Richard. That man may run a small-town weekly, but those years at the Washington Post have made him as tenacious as the rest of these media pests.”
“I heard that,” Richard said. “Since you have so little respect for what I do, I guess that means you don’t want to know what I heard a few minutes ago.”
Tucker scowled at him. “Don’t play games. I’m not in the mood. I’ll tell your wife.”
Richard laughed. “Now there’s an ingenious threat for a lawman to pull out. Damned effective, too. Okay, here’s the deal. I talked with a guy named Ainsley Hayden. Liz introduced me. He was Chandler’s chief of staff. The guy is smooth as silk, said all the right words about his boss, dropped a few hints about how he’d like to persuade Liz to take over Chandler’s seat, but something didn’t ring true to me, so I asked around. Some of the other delegates thought Hayden was getting tired of staying in the background. One even said he suspected he was planning his own run for office.”
Tucker frowned at that. “From here? I’ve never even heard of him. He’s never lived in the district.”
“Maybe not, but he knows the politics. He’d have to as Chandler’s right-hand man. All he’d have to do is buy a place around here, spend a little time hanging out at Earlene’s and some other local spots where the movers and shakers congregate. Next thing you know, he can slide right into the job, especially if the governor were to appoint him to fill the position till the next election.”
“Wait a minute,” Tucker protested. “How likely is that? The governor’s going to want his own person in that seat. He’s reportedly miffed that Chandler didn’t work with him on the voucher bill. That same animosity is bound to carry over to Hayden.”
“Ah, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Richard agreed. “But my source told me that Hayden practically jumped through hoops trying to bring Chandler around on that bill. They fought over it just before the bill came to the floor for a vote. And he apparently he made sure that their exchange was very public, so naturally the governor heard about it.”
Tucker held up his hand. “Okay, enough. That’s exactly the reason I hate politicians. You can’t tell what sort of backroom deals are being made at any given moment.”
“Hold it,” Walker said. “Richard could be onto something. What if Hayden used that incident to ingratiate himself with the governor, then saw to it that Chandler conveniently was taken out of the picture to set up his own advancement?”
Mary Elizabeth joined them just in time to hear Walker’s speculation. “You can’t be serious?” she said, then blinked at his unyielding expression. “You are, aren’t you? You honestly think Ainsley had something to do with killing Larry?”
“I’m just saying it’s possible,” Walker said. “We can’t rule out anything at this point.”
“That’s almost as ridiculous as saying I did it,” Mary Elizabeth countered. “Ainsley Hayden was the most loyal man in Richmond. He would have done anything for Larry. He certainly didn’t shoot him.”
“In your opinion,” Walker pointed out quietly.
Mary Elizabeth’s chin rose. “Yes,” she said with dignity. “In my opinion, and I’ve known him a whole lot longer than any of you have.”
“What kind of relationship did you have with him?” Walker asked.
Fury stained her cheeks red. Tucker decided he’d better intercede before Mary Elizabeth slapped the acting sheriff silly. She was capable of doing it if he riled her enough.
“Okay, enough, both of you,” Tucker said as if he were dealing with a pair of squabbling five-year-olds. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“I think maybe it is,” Walker retorted. “Well, Mrs. Chandler? How close were you and Hayden?”
“How close are you and Michele?” she shot back.
Walker stared at her with obvious indignation. “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
“You work together,” she snapped. “So did Ainsley and I. Period. That was the extent of our involvement.”
“You sound a little defensive,” Walker challenged.
“So did you when I asked about your relationship with the dispatcher,” she reminded him. “That doesn’t make either one of us guilty of any
thing.”
Richard, who had listened to the entire exchange without comment, turned to Walker. “I think she’s got you there.”
“She gets my vote, too,” Tucker said.
Walker regarded the whole lot of them with a sour expression. “Then isn’t it a damned good thing that I’m trying to solve a murder, instead of running for office?”
With that he turned and walked away. Tucker winced. “That was probably not the smartest thing we’ve ever done.”
Mary Elizabeth sighed. “Probably not, but I am so tired of people twisting things to suit them, your buddy Walker included. I just want to go home.”
“Fine,” Tucker said at once. “I’ll take you back to my place.”
“No,” she said at once. “I want to go home. Walker told me earlier that they’ve finished at Swan Ridge. I’m free to go back there.”
The thought of Mary Elizabeth rattling around all alone in that huge old house with all of its past and recent ghosts bothered Tucker. “Do you really think that’s wise?”
“I think it’s a whole lot smarter than prolonging my stay with you,” she said. “The sooner I settle back into something that passes for a normal routine, the better. Besides, it will make King happy.”
Tucker should have expected his father’s involvement, but he’d actually hoped that for once the old man would manage to keep his opinions to himself. “What did he say?” Tucker asked wearily.
“Nothing that I didn’t already know,” she said. “Don’t blame him, Tucker. He’s right about this. It’s enough that you’ve taken a leave from your job to help me. I don’t want to ruin your reputation on top of that.”
“My reputation can withstand a few knocks.”
“But it shouldn’t have to,” she insisted. “Will you take me to Swan Ridge, or should I ask Frances to drive me? She’s waiting to see if I need anything else before she leaves.”
“I’ll take you,” he said tightly.
Mary Elizabeth looked at Richard then. “And will you report that I am now living in my family home?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Even King ought to be satisfied with that,” she said.
“Yeah, right,” Tucker said skeptically.
He had a hunch the only way his father would be totally satisfied was if Mary Elizabeth moved halfway round the world without leaving a forwarding address. And that, Tucker decided, was only going to happen over his dead body.
10
Liz knew she was doing the right thing by leaving Tucker’s and returning to her own home, but as she stood at the bottom of the steps at Swan Ridge, she hesitated. With dusk starting to close in around them, the place looked dark and imposing, not welcoming at all.
“You don’t have to do this tonight,” Tucker said. “Tomorrow would be soon enough. You’ve already had a stressful day.”
“I have a hunch it’s just one of many stressful days I’m likely to face in the coming weeks,” Liz told him. “I might as well get this over with.”
“Why don’t I go inside first, take a look around and make sure the police haven’t left too much of a mess?”
She smiled at the gallant offer. “No matter how they tidied up, they couldn’t wash away the memories,” she said.
“Maybe you should call the housekeeper, get her over here to give the place a thorough going over before you come back,” he suggested. “I’m sure Mrs. Gilman won’t mind.”
“Same problem,” she said. “It won’t change the memories. I have to do this, Tucker. It’s my home. I’m the only one who can reclaim it. Maybe giving the place a good, thorough cleaning myself will help me do that.”
He sighed. “Darlin’, I know you have to move back in here, but it doesn’t have to be tonight.”
“We’re talking in circles,” she said, then chuckled as a memory came flooding back. “Remember, we used to do that whenever we didn’t want to separate at the end of the day? You’d say you had to leave. I’d ask you to stay a little longer. You’d say you had to go sometime. I’d plead for a few more minutes. We managed to prolong the good-nights for a half hour or so, but for what? You still had to go home and I had to go inside alone, and those extra minutes were wasted arguing.”
“I think this is a little different,” Tucker said dryly. “Your husband was murdered inside this house just a few days ago.”
Liz’s knees wobbled at the blunt reminder. Tucker caught her around the waist and steadied her.
“See?” he said with a hint of impatience. “You’re not ready for this.”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, stiffening her resolve. There was only one way to do it…quickly. She broke free, marched up the steps, put her key into the lock and turned it. But when it came time to open the door, she froze again.
“I can do this,” she muttered under her breath before Tucker could use her inaction to once again push for retreat. She drew in a deep breath and stepped across the threshold.
The air was still and hot inside. Someone had cut off the air-conditioning. The house smelled musty, as if it had been shut up and empty for months rather than days. And yet, cutting through the stale air, there was the lingering scent of the roses she’d brought in from the garden on her return that first day before everything had fallen apart.
She turned to Tucker and said staunchly, “You can go now. I’ll be fine.”
“I am not leaving here until we’ve been through the place and checked it out,” he said stubbornly.
“Tucker, the killer’s not hiding out in a closet,” she said.
“You know that for a fact?”
A little twinge of alarm made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “You don’t seriously think…?”
“Humor me. I’ll feel better when I’ve been over the place from top to bottom.”
She nodded finally, hating the relief that flooded through her. It was a sign of weakness, something she’d been taught to ignore. “I’ll make some iced tea,” she said a little too eagerly.
In the kitchen, she flipped on the bright lights, filled the teakettle with water and put it on to boil. She found the tea bags in the cupboard and a pitcher in the cabinet above the sink. Everything was exactly where it had always been, yet it all felt different.
Once upon a time, in the early days of her teenage romance with Tucker, they had spent a lot of late-night hours sitting at the round oak table in this room, confiding their hopes and dreams for the future. Ironically, the man with whom she’d eventually shared her future had seldom set foot in here. He’d considered it the housekeeper’s domain.
Struck by a sudden need to recall something that had once been as familiar to her as breathing, she poked around in the refrigerator until she found a package of already prepared chocolate-chip cookie dough. She’d developed an addiction to chocolate-chip cookies years ago because of Tucker, and it had been the one thing she’d clung to during the years since. Whenever she was feeling down, she baked chocolate-chip cookies. It was her secret way of going back to a happier time. Mrs. Gilman had been instructed that there was always to be a package of ready-to-bake dough in the refrigerator.
Liz broke the pieces apart and placed them on a cookie sheet, then popped them into the oven. By the time Tucker finally joined her, the room was filled with their sweet scent.
Tucker regarded her with surprise. “You’re baking at this hour?”
She gestured toward the package. “I’m cheating, but yes. I wanted to do something that would remind me of simpler, happier times.” She met his gaze. “Will you stay a little longer?”
“As long as you want,” he said, pulling out a chair, then gesturing toward the oven with a grin. “But if you burn those, I’m out of here.”
Liz sniffed the air. Sure enough, the aroma was subtly shifting to something less appetizing. “Blast it all,” she said, whipping open the door, grabbing the sheet of cookies, then yelping in pain. “Blast and damn!”
Tucker was on his feet at once. �
��What?”
“No oven mitt,” she muttered, her teeth clenched.
“Sit,” he ordered. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”
“I’ll get it. You save the cookies.”
He pushed her none-too-gently back into the chair. “I can do both.”
The cookies Tucker scooted onto a plate were a little dark and crisp around the edges, but looked edible, she concluded, then suddenly grinned. “Maybe my skill in the kitchen hasn’t changed all that much, after all,” she said.
Tucker joined her at the table and cast a critical eye at the cookies. He plucked one off the plate and took a bite, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “Obviously you were subconsciously going for the nostalgia factor. For a long time, I didn’t know chocolate-chip cookies weren’t supposed to taste this way.”
“Of course you did. Daisy’s never turned out like this.”
His gaze met hers and the amusement faded. Something familiar sizzled between them as he said quietly, “Why would I eat hers, when I had yours?”
Tears stung Liz’s eyes. “Oh, Tucker,” she whispered.
Before she knew it, great, gulping sobs were rising up in her throat and hot, salty tears were splashing down her cheeks. Tucker reached for her.
“Oh, darlin’, don’t cry,” he whispered, holding her close. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. Everything is going to be okay.”
“How can it be?” she choked out between sobs. “I’ve made such a mess of everything.”
“And we’re going to fix it,” he told her, smoothing her hair back from her face, his gaze locked with hers.
“But—”
“No buts,” he insisted. “We’re going to find out what happened here, and then you’re going to put that part of your life to rest and move on.”
“To what?” she asked, swiping at the tears with the back of her hand. “I’m obviously an emotional mess. I haven’t cried this much in years.”
“Then you’re long overdue,” he told her. “And you are not a mess. Anyone would be distraught after what you’ve been through. Deciding to ask for a divorce is a big step in anyone’s life. Having your husband murdered is beyond what most people ever have to deal with. You’re a strong woman. You’ll find your way again. What were you planning to do after the divorce?”
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