Mug Shot

by Caroline Fardig

Mortified, and at the same time pissed that Pete was so incredibly dense, I said, “I’m not telling you, because you’ll just make fun of me.”

  “I’ll make fun of you anyway. It’s what I do. Now come on and tell me!”

  I sighed. “Look, you don’t know him. It’s someone back home. Just a little fling this summer. It was nothing.”

  He looked back down at the lyrics. “This isn’t nothing, Jules. It’s a love song. And a hella good one, I have to say.”

  “Then do what you do best and put music to it,” I snapped, needing a subject change.

  “Okay, okay,” he had said, lifting his hands in surrender. “Maybe you should consider switching to decaf or something. Damn.”

  Present-day Pete was just finishing strumming the last chord to “You Are Mine” when I came back to reality. “That was beautiful, Jules,” he said, putting down my guitar.

  “Yeah,” I replied, surprised that I had basically zoned out during the entire song. Maybe it was some kind of unconscious defense mechanism or something.

  He pulled me into a hug. “Thanks for today. You helped pull me out of my funk, at least for a little while.”

  I leaned back and smiled. “Whoa, there. The fun isn’t over. I’ve got a bunch of things planned for us this week.”

  Pete didn’t let go of my waist, which was a little unnerving, but I didn’t say anything. He replied, “Oh, yeah?”

  “You know those cookies Savannah was talking about for her party? Well, she needs ten dozen. And since she wants linzer sandwich cookies, that means we actually have to bake twenty dozen cookies.”

  “Who’s we? You got a turd in your pocket?”

  “Yep. His name is Pete. We need to make the cookie dough tomorrow and then bake and decorate the cookies on Friday. Doesn’t that sound fun? And don’t forget, we have a date with Bastardo tonight.” I frowned. “Unfortunately, before that, I have to make an appearance at Cecilia’s visitation. I promised Stan.”

  “You should be off the hook. You dumped Stan.”

  “I did, but we’re buds now, so…”

  He put on a mock hurt expression. “Are you trying to replace me? I’m your number-one man friend.”

  I laughed. “Yes, you are. Always.”

  “Jules?”

  “What?”

  Pete was trying to hold back tears. He hugged me again, probably so I wouldn’t see any escape. He choked out, “I’m going to miss this.”

  His words nearly broke my heart. I rubbed his back and said soothingly, “Don’t think like that, Pete. We’re going to get your name cleared, and all of this will just be a bad memory. I’m not going to let you rot in prison. I promise.”

  He didn’t reply—he just let me hold him. After several minutes, he broke away and wiped his face. “You’re a good friend, Jules.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter 24

  When we got back to Java Jive, it was still as empty as it had been earlier. This was just another kick in the gut to Pete, because of course he thought it was all his fault. On top of being accused of murder, he was letting his father’s memory down. Pete went to the office to go through the mail while I had a meeting with the staff in the front of the house.

  “Guys, I have bad news. You all know that business is down,” I began.

  Cole guffawed. “Understatement of the year.”

  I continued, “So unfortunately, I’m going to have to start cutting some of your hours. I don’t want to do it, but I have no other choice. I can’t afford to pay four of you an hour’s wage when all we’ve sold during that time is one latte. It’s just math.”

  Clay, my new kitchen hire, said, “Half of us are going home for break, so won’t this work itself out next week anyway?”

  “Yes, but I have to put a Band-Aid on the problem now. I’m sorry. Cole and Shane will work tomorrow and Saturday. Clay and Tiffany will work Friday, then they’ll be gone for the following two weeks. During that time, we may have to play it by ear. Cole and Shane, you guys may be working your full schedule, maybe not. It just depends. Sorry I can’t be more specific right now. Did Haley officially quit yet, by the way?”

  “She came in while you were gone this afternoon. She left you a note,” said Shane. Well, that made one less person I had to piss off by cutting her hours.

  “Okay, thanks, guys. Just keep yourselves busy the rest of the day.”

  There was a lot of grumbling as my employees went back to their stations. No one had really liked me very much when I came in and started making changes a couple of months ago, but they had all since come around. Well, except for Rhonda, but that was just her. Now it seemed like I was back to square one with them.

  Pete and I holed up in the office and found a tattered old deck of cards. We played several games of War until Pete suddenly glanced at the clock and said, “Hey, it’s nearly five o’clock. Aren’t you supposed to call Bastardo’s office before they close to get the lowdown on your date?”

  “Thanks, I almost forgot,” I replied, taking out my phone and signaling for Pete to be quiet. I made sure to block the caller ID again before I made the call.

  Bastidas’s secretary answered on the first ring. “Bastidas Enterprises.”

  “Hello, this is Rosalie…um…” Damn it. I forgot my fake last name.

  She replied, “Oh, yes, Mrs. Ballard.” Whew. Good thing someone knew who I was. “Mr. Bastidas left me a message to give to you. He would like to meet you at Sinclair’s at nine o’clock. He has a booth reserved for the two of you in the bar. Will that be satisfactory?”

  Sinclair’s was a small, trendy restaurant downtown, impossible to get into at the last minute. I was impressed that Bastardo’s name bore some weight. “Yes, thank you. That will be fine. Please tell Mr. Bastidas that I am looking forward to seeing him tonight.” I hung up and tossed my phone onto the desk.

  Pete asked, “Well, where is Bastardo taking us tonight? Flamenco dancing?”

  I laughed. “Nope. Sinclair’s.”

  “That’s good. It’s dark. Maybe he won’t notice me lurking around.”

  “Please be discreet. I want to get my information and get the hell out of there. If you cause a scene, he’ll never open up to me.”

  “I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try.”

  “Good enough. Hey, I’m starving. Do you want some dinner? After that, I probably should head to the funeral home.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you go there now, and I’ll pick up Gertie and a pizza? We can all meet back at my place. She’s been bugging me to watch some new horror movie with her.”

  I chuckled. “Gertie and her horror movies. You’d think they would scare the old gal.”

  “Nothing scares the old gal.”

  Furrowing my brow, I replied, “Almost nothing, except the thought of you being in pain. So don’t get all sappy on her like you did on me earlier.”

  “What? Me, sappy? That must have been someone else.”

  —

  After changing into something somber, I drove to the funeral home. The place was packed, not surprisingly, so I had to park several blocks away and hoof it. Once I finally got to the building, the line to view the casket was practically out the door. I had already seen Cecilia dead and didn’t feel like revisiting it, so I cut through (getting a few disdainful looks) and scanned the room for Stan.

  He was in the corner, chatting up Jenny Vaughn. I snickered to myself. I was happy for him, but it was kind of ironic that the one thing that would make Cecilia turn in her grave would be the two of them getting together, especially at her own funeral. I walked over to them, and of course Jenny immediately scowled.

  “Hey, guys,” I said.

  “Juliet, you made it,” Stan said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Jenny’s eye twitched, and she snapped at Stan, “I’m going to talk to your sister, not that you’d care.”

  Stan sighed, watching her leave. “What did you ever do to that girl?”

 
“Me? You stole her virtue. I did nothing. I mean, we had one little argument, but that’s it.”

  Chuckling, he said, “Surely there was more to it than that. Maybe you did something else and didn’t even realize it.”

  I thought back. What had I done to Jenny besides have a little war of words with her once? Did she simply hate me by proxy because she was Cecilia’s BFF? Oh, wait. Upon searching my memories, I happened to recall who she went out with not long after her dalliance with jailbait Stan and was surprised that I’d never put it together until now.

  I cringed. “Yeah, now that I think about it, I may have done something to Jenny.”

  “What was it?”

  “It’s possible she thinks I stole Danny Wright from her. Inadvertently, of course.” Danny Wright had been the source of way too much drama during my college years. It was only now that I realized Jenny hated me because of him. He was so not worth all the trouble he caused.

  Stan shook his head. “How do you steal someone’s boyfriend inadvertently?”

  I explained, “They weren’t dating at the time, at least not according to Danny. He said they’d only gone out a couple of times during the previous school year. He insisted that she’d moved on, so I didn’t worry about it. Then again, he was a no-good dirty cheater, so he was probably lying to me from the start. Anyway, she became especially mean to me after I started dating Danny, and that could have been the reason why. She was particularly awful to me after everyone found out he cheated on me with my roommate.”

  “Ouch. So you got your karmic punishment, then,” he joked.

  “I guess you could say that. But hey, know who Jenny hated even more than me?”

  “Who?”

  “Pete.”

  “Why Pete?”

  “Just like Cecilia, Jenny always wanted to date Pete, but he wanted nothing to do with her. He told her that once, in no uncertain terms. She didn’t appreciate it. I honestly think her slutty act scared him off. He’s always been kind of a Boy Scout,” I replied.

  “Except for being accused of murder,” Stan pointed out dryly.

  I frowned. “Come on, I thought you were going to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Lowering his voice, he said, “I’m trying to, but someone killed my sister. He’s as good a suspect as anyone.”

  “Speaking of suspects, what do you know about Alejandro Bastidas?”

  “His work is overpriced.”

  I smiled. “Other than that. Did Cecilia ever introduce you to him?”

  “No. Are you sure he was the father of her baby?”

  “Unless there was a third guy we don’t know about.” That remark got me a glare from Stan. “Sorry. One more thing. Bastidas is known for seducing his clients. He did work for Abigail, too. Is there any chance he’s getting some on the side from your other sister?”

  His eyes bulged out. “If he is, I’ll—”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Settle down, there, big fella. Let’s get your face healed up first before you go kicking ass again.” I studied his bruised face. “Feeling any better today?”

  “I’m sore, and I have a terrible headache, but I’m better,” he replied. “This mess is far from resolved, though. All day, Kent has acted like I’m invisible. Abigail seems like she’s afraid to talk to me. I’m sure he’s got something to do with her unusual behavior.”

  “That’s too bad. You guys have enough to deal with without fighting amongst yourselves.” I noticed Jenny glaring at us, so I said, “I should get out of here so you and Jenny can hang out. I’m not doing my job as wingman if I’m keeping you away from your lady.”

  He chuckled, putting his hand on my back. “I’ll walk you out.”

  As we were walking down the sidewalk toward my car, I saw Kent coming our way, staring daggers at Stan. He was barreling at us, so I hopped into the grass to avoid him, but Stan stood his ground. Well, sort of.

  Kent lowered his shoulder and crashed right into Stan. Meathead that he was, Kent easily had a hundred pounds of muscle on Stan, so needless to say, Stan ended up on his ass.

  “Hey!” I yelled, grabbing Kent’s sleeve. “Watch it, numbnuts!”

  In hindsight, it was not my best idea to piss off a ’roid rage-y Neanderthal at night on a semi-deserted street, with no one but Stan as my backup. Kent swung his arm around as if to shake me off, but the back of his hand made solid contact with my jaw, making it seem a little intentional. A sharp pain exploded in my jaw and radiated through my entire head. Dazed, I stumbled back, but didn’t fall.

  “Leave her alone!” Stan gasped, obviously having had the wind knocked out of him.

  Kent laughed. “Hey, your girlfriend can take a punch better than you, you candy-ass!”

  “At least he’s not some sociopath who beats up and blackmails members of his own family!” I winced at the pain caused by moving my jaw.

  Kent turned on me menacingly. “You’d better keep your damn mouth shut.”

  “The hell I will!” I stuck my index finger in his face. “You’re not going to get away with it this time. I’m going to the cops! My boyfriend is—”

  I stopped short when he grabbed my finger and snapped it like a twig. I cried out in agony, aghast at the sight of my finger, which was sickeningly out of place. He said, “Talk to the cops, and I’ll break the rest of your fingers, one by one.”

  Stan was finally upright again by that point, and he got in between Kent and me. “That’s enough, Kent.”

  Getting right in his face, Kent spat, “You’d better put your bitch on a shorter leash. Keep her in her place or else.” Giving Stan one last shove, Kent turned and stalked off toward the funeral home.

  I was cradling my hand with the broken finger and trying not to lose my shit when Stan turned to me.

  He looked at me with anguished eyes. “Are you okay? I am so sorry you got caught in the middle of this. Let me take you to the hospital.”

  “Hospital? Oh, hell no. I’m going straight to the police station,” I replied, my voice wavering from the pain.

  “You heard what he said—he’ll break the rest of your fingers!”

  I let out a bark of laughter. “He won’t if Ryder gets to him first.”

  —

  “I’ll kill him,” Ryder fumed, for about the 457th time.

  When Stan and I arrived at the police station, Ryder was grilling a suspect, so another officer had taken my statement. He wouldn’t have been allowed to have any part in my case anyway, with us being in a relationship. I was just happy the other officer filled Ryder in before he came into the room with me, because he had a bad habit of trying to shoot the messenger.

  I sighed. “As I’ve said several times, you’re not going to kill Kent. One of my boys in trouble for murder is one too many for me.”

  He stopped pacing around the interrogation room and glared at me. “What the hell did you say to him to make him attack you?”

  “So this is my fault now?” I fired back.

  Ryder smiled condescendingly at me. “Sweetheart, this is me you’re talking to. Cut the bullshit and ’fess up.”

  “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I called him a numbnuts and a blackmailing sociopath and said I was going straight to the cops.”

  Shaking his head, he came over to sit on the edge of the table in front of me. He gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Are you trying to turn me prematurely gray?”

  I ran my good hand through his dark hair. “You like it that I keep you on your toes.”

  Taking my hand, he said, “Yes, but you need to bring it down a notch. I’m driving you home and taking care of you tonight.”

  As much as I relished the thought, that wasn’t going to work for me. It was almost eight o’clock, and I had a date with Bastidas at nine. I was not going to cancel it, because I had worked way too hard to get it. I didn’t want to lie to Ryder, but he would never go for the truth. Intent on making sure I had a couple of hours to myself, I replied, “Sounds good. I’ll come over after J
ava Jive closes.”

  “Shouldn’t you go get your hand looked at?”

  “Probably, but I’m not going to. I’ve had broken fingers before. All they’re going to do is look at it and say, ‘Yep, it’s broken,’ yank it back into place, and charge me a bunch of money I don’t have. I can do that myself.”

  Chuckling, he replied, “You’d think so, but it’s much easier if someone else does it for you.”

  “Know anyone who can help me?”

  “I could.”

  “Wow. You’re handsome, funny, tough as nails, and you can fix broken fingers, too. Is there anything you can’t do, Detective?”

  “Smart-ass,” he replied. “Downstairs in the zoo, guys are always breaking one another’s fingers, and we normally just pop them back into place. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” I demanded impatiently.

  “You’re feisty tonight. I like it.”

  I glared at him in response.

  “Okay, sit tight. I’ll go find a splint so we can do this thing.”

  Gossip seemed to travel around this police station faster than at a beauty shop. Ryder was barely gone a minute when Detective Cromwell stuck his head in the door.

  “What the hell happened to you?” he asked, his mustache twitching from trying not to smile.

  “I was assaulted,” I huffed. “What, were you coming in here to tell me I had it coming?”

  “Your words, Ms. Langley. Not mine.” He snickered and ducked back out the door, leaving me alone to fume.

  Ryder returned shortly with a finger splint. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

  I snapped, “Yes, just pull my finger and get it over with.”

  Chuckling, he said, “You said ‘pull my—’ ”

  “Do it!”

  Looking at me apologetically, he gently took hold of my finger. Even his light touch shot pain halfway up my arm. “I’m going to do it on three. One…two…”

  He yanked my finger quickly, and an excruciating pain engulfed my entire hand. I yelped, tears springing to my eyes as I tried not to make a big dramatic scene. Ryder adeptly placed my straightened finger in the splint and secured it with the Velcro strips.