Crimes of Passion

by Toni Anderson

  I sat at the table in the tiny break room, looking at the bulletin board. One of the other employees had posted pictures of her teenage son from his high school graduation. Betty had posted pictures of her grandkids, right next to the invitation to her retirement party. She only had a few weeks left.

  I pulled my turkey sandwich out of a brown paper bag, courtesy of Joe. He was appalled at the lack of food in my house and insisted on packing my lunch. When I pulled out an apple, a note fell out onto the table, written on the back of a short grocery store receipt.

  I’m counting the hours until I see you tonight.

  Joe

  I wondered again how I got so lucky. I had a smile on my face when Betty walked in.

  “How’re ya doin’?” She asked, sitting down in chair next to me.

  “Pretty good.”

  “You look like your doin’ really well after all you’ve been through. I didn’t expect you to be in today.”

  In the middle of taking a bite of my apple, I nearly froze. Was she talking about Momma or the weekend?

  “You know, if you need more time off, you can take it without pay. I know it’s against the rules, but considerin’ all ya been through…” She patted my hand, giving me a look of motherly compassion.

  My heart raced. “So Betty, you must be excited about your retirement. Do you have any big trips planned?”

  “Nope, not unless you count movin’ as a trip. We’re movin’ to Dallas, to be close to my kids and grandbabies.”

  I suddenly remembered Betty had a son who moved to Dallas before I started at the DMV. He had been arrested for drug possession and trafficking right about the time I started, five years ago. It wasn’t any secret he’d been involved in a gang. I racked my brain, trying to remember his name. Bobby Joe.

  “I bet you’re excited about spending more time with those grandbabies,” I said, taking a nibble of my sandwich, trying to choke it down along with my anxiety.

  Betty’s face lit up. “Oh, they’re getting so big without me. I’m movin’ down the street from ‘em. I’ll get to see ‘em every day.”

  My heart in my throat, I asked. “How’s Bobby Joe? He still at Hutchins Prison?”

  Betty’s mouth and eyes froze in her smile but the sparkle vanished. She looked like a wax replica of the smiling Betty who was there a moment ago.

  “He’s doin’ just fine. Why’d you ask, Rose?” She still appeared friendly, but her left eyelid began to twitch.

  A tight smile hardened on my face. “I dunno. I was just thinkin’ about him.”

  She continued watching me with her plastered-on smile, and I lost my appetite. “Well, I need to get back to work,” I said, getting up and throwing my bag in the trash. I had forgotten Joe’s note on the table and reached over to pick it up.

  “Is that from your new boyfriend?” she asked, her words like imitation maple syrup. They sounded sweet, but left an artificial aftertaste. “You waited so long for him. It’d be a shame if you lost him so soon.”

  I turned around and hurried to my desk, scared witless. What did she mean by that? I reached into my drawer, to get my cell phone out of my purse and send Joe a text message, but as soon as I opened the drawer I remembered I didn’t have my cell phone. For all I knew, it was still at The Trading Post, stuffed under a counter. I couldn’t call him on the DMV phone. For one thing, personal calls were strictly forbidden. For another, if I got on the phone, Betty would surely come over and investigate.

  I just had to wait for Joe to pick me up at five o’clock. It was two-thirty now; I could surely last a few more hours.

  We were slammed with customers at the end. It was a good thing because it kept me busy, but I couldn’t concentrate. Suzanne gave me weird looks and Betty looked at me with a knowing expression that looked more and more grim the closer it got to five.

  When the last customer left, Betty locked the front doors and she walked over to my counter. “Rose, could you stay a little late so we can discuss your vacation situation?”

  It was such a reasonable request, how could I refuse? “Um,” my tongue stumbled, searching for words, “Joe’s pickin’ me up. I don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

  Betty smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting up, but her eyes cold and hard. No one but me seemed to notice. “That’s okay, honey. It won’t take but a minute.”

  Everyone packed up their belongings and headed for the back door. I started out the door, too.

  “Rose,” Betty called. “It’s only gonna take a minute.” Her words were thick and sweet like honey off a comb, yet I heard the threat that hid beneath.

  I was already out the door, my heart beating frantically while I searched the parking lot for Joe’s car. “I was just lookin’ for Joe. I wanted to tell him I’d be another minute.”

  “Come on, darlin’.” Her grip told me she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Before she pulled me in, I dropped my purse to the ground, propping the door open.

  “Now, let’s just go to my office, shall we? I have some paperwork you need to fill out.”

  “But Joe…”

  “Didn’t I tell you? Joe called and said he was gonna be a few minutes late. But I told him that I needed to keep you for a bit, and I’d bring you home.”

  My heart fell into a pit of fear in my stomach. I pulled harder, knowing full well I’d look like an idiot if I was wrong about Betty. Who would believe it? This was Betty, everybody’s mother, yet self-preservation overrode idiocy as I struggled against her grasp. In the end, it was pointless to struggle. Betty was taller than me and outweighed me by a good seventy pounds.

  “Rose, if you just cooperate, this’ll all be done in a minute and you’ll be free to go.”

  She dragged me into her office and shoved me into her chair. A piece of paper and a pen sat on the desk. I looked up confused.

  “I need you to write me a note. Then you’re free to go. That sounds okay, right?”

  I nodded, my chin trembling, to my disgust. When was I ever going to be strong?

  “You can thank your boyfriend and his love note for this idea.”

  I picked the pen up in my hand and tried to calm my panic. She wanted me to write a note, how bad could that be?

  “Okay, now start writin’. I, Rose Gardner, confess to possession of the flash drive.”

  “What?”

  “Write.” It was the first time I had ever heard Betty sound really mean.

  “Why would I do that?” I asked. She had lost her mind.

  “I know how much you love that sister of yours and her kids. It’d be shame if something happened to ‘em. Now write.”

  I had pinned my hopes on Joe showing up, but that dream was gone. I had to go along with her until I could figure out how to get away. I wrote, my handwriting looking like scribbles from my shaking hand.

  “That’s good, makes you look upset.” Betty said looking over my shoulder. She made me write a confession admitting to owning the flash drive, destroying it, and duping Daniel Crocker. “Now, they’ll think you did it and they’ll stop lookin’.”

  “You didn’t really destroy it, did you, Betty? Where is it?”

  “It’s in my safe deposit box. After I made my deal with Sloan, I realized I could get more money for it in a bigger city.”

  “I don’t even know what’s on it!” I cried out in frustration. “If I’m gonna die for a stupid piece of plastic I should at least know what’s on it.”

  “Information about several gangs in Dallas and Houston, their weak spots, their business activities and partners. Interestin’ stuff.”

  I realized she didn’t deny I was going to die. I felt nauseated. “And you got it from Bobby Joe?”

  “Yeah, stuff he knew from the gang he was in, other information he stumbled upon in prison. He finally came through for his Momma. Are ya done?”

  I handed her the paper and she read it over. “Okay, looks good, let’s go.”

  I got up and she grabbed my arm again, leading me out of the offi
ce to the back door. “Where are we going?” I asked as we walked through the darkened back room.

  “We’re goin’ to set up your suicide.”

  I thought about digging in my heels and trying to fight her, but figured I had a better shot at getting away outside. Fear made my stomach churn. Maybe I could throw up on Betty and work it into an escape plan.

  The cracked back door made Betty stop.

  “How’d that door get propped open?”

  She swiveled her head around, then stuck her foot forward to kick my purse out of the way. She was promptly tackled by none other than Joe. I barely got my arm out of Betty’s grasp before she tumbled to the ground.

  You would think it would have been an easy match for Joe, but Betty was scrappier than she looked. It took Joe a good minute to get her handcuffed.

  “Are you okay?” he asked me when he finished, panting from his exertion.

  I nodded. “What are you doing here? I thought Betty said she’d bring me home.”

  “She did, but I didn’t want to wait, so I came by anyway and found your purse in the door.” He helped me outside and around Betty, who lay rolling around on the ground. “You know, you lose more purses than any other woman I’ve ever met. What’s this, three in one week?”

  I glared at him.

  He pulled me into a hug. “I didn’t think you’d just leave your purse in the door, in spite of your track record, so I snuck in and listened.”

  “You left me in there with her, Joe McAllister?” I pulled back in dismay, looking up at his face.

  “Sorry.” He looked sheepish. “But it seemed safer than coming in. I was ready to act if I needed to.” He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss. “Surely, you’ve figured out I wouldn’t let anything happen to you if I could help it.”

  He was right. I knew he’d risk his life to save me. He already had and his job, too. I heard sirens in the distance.

  “Henryetta’s finest on their way.” Joe snorted. “I called them once I knew what was going on, even though I told them no sirens. They sure love their sirens. I’d dare to say they’ve seen more action in the last couple of weeks than they’ve had in the past ten years.”

  I laughed. “I know I sure have.”

  Joe laughed too then gave me a serious look. “Rose, it’s only just begun, you know.”

  I didn’t know if he meant the action with criminals or the action between the two of us. I was just about to ask, but then he kissed me…and I just plain forgot.

  Joe broke our kiss, leaving me breathless. “Oh, I forgot to mention one more thing.” He lifted his head with a grin. “My name’s not Joe McAllister.”

  ***

  The fun with Rose continues with Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons.

  Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes is now available in audiobook format!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First, I want to thank my children, especially my younger ones—Julia, Jenna, Ryan and Emma—for their patience, or at least their tolerance of all the time Mommy spends in front the computer working. I’m sorry for the literally countless times you’ve called my name and I didn’t hear you because I had my headphones in. Mommy loves you.

  Second, many thanks to my alpha readers for Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes: Brandy Underwood, who’s read every novel I’ve written, God love her, and isn’t afraid to tell me when something doesn’t work. And Kristi Eggleston who beta read a previous book, Chosen, and loved it so much that she eagerly volunteered to read again. My goal was to make her love this book as much as Chosen.

  Third, Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes wouldn’t be the book it is today without the invaluable help of my critique partners—Trisha Leigh, Eisley Jacobs and Kathy Collins. They loved this book and believed in it as much as I did, so much so they weren’t afraid help me make it better. A special thanks to Trisha for not only being a crit partner but a friend, who’s watched me laugh and cry (literally) over this book and offered me wine and encouragement. She always believed it was “the one.”

  And lastly, thank you to my family, friends and blog readers of my family blog, There’s Always Room for One More, who didn’t call me crazy when I announced I was going to write a novel for NaNoWriMo in November of 2009. Three books later I had Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes. Your encouragement and love for all the stories I write keep me going.

  That and the voices in my head.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomadic gypsy, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

  You can find out more about Denise and her other books at

  www.denisegroverswank.com

  or you can email her at

  denisegroverswank@gmail.com

  Don’t miss out on Denise’s newest releases! Join her mailing list at

  http://denisegroverswank.com/mailing-list/

  OTHER BOOKS BY DENISE GROVER SWANK:

  Rose Gardner Mysteries

  (Humorous Southern mysteries)

  TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES

  TWENTY-NINE AND A HALF REASONS

  THIRTY AND A HALF EXCUSES

  FALLING TO PIECES (novella)

  THIRTY-ONE AND A HALF REGRETS

  THIRTY-TWO AND A HALF COMPLICATIONS

  Chosen Series

  (Paranormal thriller/Urban fantasy)

  CHOSEN

  HUNTED

  SACRIFICE

  REDEMPTION

  On the Otherside Series

  (Young adult science fiction/romance)

  HERE

  THERE

  The Curse Keepers

  (Adult urban fantasy)

  THE CURSE KEEPERS

  THE CURSE BREAKERS

  THE CURSE DEFIERS

  New Adult Contemporary Romance

  AFTER MATH

  REDESIGNED

  BUSINESS AS USUAL

  LOOSE ENDS

  A MARY O’REILLY PARANORMAL MYSTERY

  TERRI REID

  Copyright © 2010 by Terri Reid

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dedicated to my family, my friends, my readers and all those who hear a noise at night, blame it on the cat…but really know what made the sound.

  PROLOGUE

  Galena, Illinois—1980s

  The candidate stood at the front of the ballroom a few feet behind the podium on a makeshift stage. He was young, tall and handsome. And behind the pretty-boy looks was a shrewd intelligence and quick wit that had won him respect, especially from his opponents. His lopsided grin, the one that could break hearts and win votes, was present as he had g
reeted his faithful volunteers and supporters.

  The variety of the guests portrayed the eclectic spirit of the eighties. ”Miami Vice” and “Material Girl” look-alikes mingled with Ralph Lauren and Armani aficionados. Wine, hard liquor and other, more discreetly served stimulants of choice, were sipped or inhaled in various venues throughout the mansion.

  Trays of hors d’oeuvres were efficiently served and champagne was free flowing.

  Soft lights emphasized subtle shades of blush and eye shadow, and flattered the complexions of aging society matrons. Clicking spiked heels crossing the marble floor from the doorway to the ballroom added a discordant beat to The Bangles’ “Walk Like An Egyptian.”

  Red, white and blue crepe paper hung garishly against the oak paneled walls. Their patriotic theme was continued with bright banners hanging from the soaring ceiling of the ballroom.

  The candidate surveyed his kingdom, smiled to himself in satisfaction and moved to the podium. He lifted his hands in welcome. The music was silenced, but the conversation of the crowd was deafening.

  “We did it,” he yelled above the clamoring of the crowd. “No, you did it! I would not be here tonight if not for you!”

  As he expected, the crowd went wild. He had them convinced he was the only one capable of being their representative in the state senate. But that was only his first step; he had plans which included sitting behind the desk in the Oval Office.

  “Of course, now comes the hard part,” he yelled over the crowd, “saying something nice about my opponent to the media.”

  Once again the crowd responded with delight, chanting his name. “Ryerson, Ryerson, Ryerson!”

  He waved at the crowd once more and stepped down from the stage. His eyes sought the corner of the room. His campaign manager, Hank Montague, stood at the back of the room, nodding his approval. The rest of the support staff—Jerry, Mike and Renee—stood next to Hank, raising their glasses in celebration. He smiled at them and then let his eyes rest for a moment longer on Renee.