“That’s pretty much the gist of it.”
“We know he didn’t do it,” Christine said. “But from what I hear, they got a bunch of evidence that makes him look guilty.”
“I heard that somebody spotted him near Jodi’s house the same morning she was murdered,” Carly said.
“Who told you that?” Amanda asked.
“Oh hell, I don’t know. I just heard it somewhere.”
“All I know is that I miss her an awful lot. She was such a sweetheart,” said Summer.
“Remember that time she took us all out in her new car? God did she ever love that car—wouldn’t even let us smoke in it!”
“That car was her baby,” Carly said. “I think that—”
“What have we here?” Amanda heard behind her. She turned and saw Sheriff Foley standing over her. He suddenly recognized her and his dopey smile turned into an even dopier sneer.
“Well I’ll be, if it’s not the PI from Cowtown!”
“Hello, Sheriff,” Amanda said.
“Where’s your sidekick?” he asked.
“Somewhere else.”
“Hmm, still a smartass—even when you’re by yourself.”
“I’m not by myself, as you can see.”
He laughed heartily. “Don’t think I can’t see these other beautiful women sitting here! How’s it going, girls?”
“Good, Sheriff,” Carly replied.
It became evident to Amanda that this scenario with the sheriff had most likely played itself out before. He seemed to be about half-lit, but she couldn’t tell for sure.
He knelt down beside Amanda and drew close to her face, making her want to vomit.
“Hey, no hard feelings, eh? I’m willin’ to forget our little differences if you are. What do ya say?”
“That’s fine.”
“I’ve gotta go to the lady’s room,” Christine said, getting to her feet.
Foley stood up and said, “I’ll keep your chair warm.”
He eased his girth down in Christine’s place and smiled confidently, as though he was doing everybody a favor.
“Good band,” he said.
“Not bad,” said Summer. “Wish they’d play something that was released within the last twenty years, though.”
Foley laughed. “That’s classic rock they’re playing—best music ever!”
“So who’s your favorite all time rock band, Sheriff?” Amanda asked.
“Hmm, I’d have to think about that. Probably Marshall Tucker.”
Figures he’d choose a southern rock band, she thought.
“I always liked Can’t You See?” she said.
“Is that right? I would’ve never thought you’d say that.”
“I’m full of surprises,” she said, in disbelief that she was actually leading this slob on.
“You’re dry—let me get you another drink,” he offered.
“Why thank-you.”
Foley looked around, spotted one of the servers and whistled at her.
“Hey Janie, how about another round over here?” he hollered.
The woman held up a finger for him to hold on a sec then came over to their table.
“What are we having, Sheriff?”
“A margarita for our beautiful visitor from up north. What you girls drinking?”
“I’m good, sheriff,” Carly said.
“Me too.”
“I’ll take another Jack on the rocks, Janie.”
“How did you know what I was drinking?” Amanda asked.
“Salt on the rim of the glass—a dead giveaway.”
She tried to look impressed. “You’re very observant.”
His eyes travelled down to her breasts. “Very observant.”
Just then a guy wearing a cowboy hat and jeans jacket came over and spoke to Summer.
“We’re going over to the One-Eye. Ya wanna go?”
Summer eyed Carly. “Want to?”
“Yeah, might as well.”
Christine returned, saw that Foley had taken her chair and looked at Summer questioningly.
“The guys are all going to One-Eye’s,” Summer said. “We are too.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Summer picked up her drink, drained it and smiled at Amanda.
“You want to go with us, Mandy?”
She could feel the sheriff’s eyes on her, hoping she would say no.
“Thanks, but I’m turning in early.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where we’ll be. Nice seeing you again.”
“Me too. Nice meeting you guys,” she said.
They took a last sip and left a tip before leaving the table.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” the sheriff said.
“Thanks for the drink.”
“So where you staying while you’re in town?”
“At my uncle’s house.”
“Your partner, too?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“I guess so—not sure I’ll give you an answer, though.”
“Fair enough. Are you and your partner—Swansea, isn’t it? Are you two a number?”
“You mean are we seeing each other?”
“Yeah, whatever you want to call it.”
“Not really. We’re just good friends—after all, we work together. A romantic relationship wouldn’t make for a very professional arrangement, would it?”
“Nope, reckon not.”
“May I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you married?”
“Used to be, but I’m divorced. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
Their drinks came. Foley nearly drained his in a couple of gulps. Amanda wanted to drain hers and try to forget what she was about to do.
“Have any kids?” she asked.
“Yeah, two—a son and a daughter.”
“That’s nice. They still live around here?”
He nodded, a look of surprise on his face that she had even asked the question. “They would never dream of leaving Milldale.”
Amanda caught him staring at her breasts again and was repulsed. She had to force herself not to show it—to act like she was actually enjoying the company of this fucking asshole.
“You by any chance like antiques?” he asked.
Here it comes, she thought. “I do, as a matter of fact. Why?”
He smiled brightly. “I’m a collector of sorts—a hobby of mine. I’ve got some beautiful pieces that go back as far as the early seventeen hundreds.”
“Wow, that’s interesting. I would never have thought of you as an antique collector.”
“Just like you, I’m full of surprises. Would you like to come to over and see my collection?”
“I don’t know, sheriff. It’s getting late and I really should be going.”
“It won’t take long. Tell you what, let me take you to my place just long enough for you see my stuff and then I’ll bring you back the second you say you want to go.”
“Well. . . Okay, I guess so. But I can’t stay long, remember.”
“Fair enough. We’ll leave as soon as you finish that drink.”
Amanda chugged it down effortlessly. “I’m finished.”
He guffawed and managed to heave his ungodly mass out of the chair. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the table. Amanda followed him out of the bar, feeling the eyes of everybody in the place upon her.
“I can just follow you,” Amanda said when they were outside.
“Be a lot simpler if I just drive. Only take ten minutes.”
She walked along side the sheriff, feeling like a slut. What in the hell am I doing? Alan would shit a golden brick if he could see her now.
It wasn’t until he opened the door to his Suburban and she got inside that she actually starting feeling apprehensive. Although this huge, gross bastard was a lawman, he could also
be a serial killer for all she knew. When he got in and started up the engine, she drew in a deep breath in an effort to compose herself, making a silent vow to quit watching so many crime documentaries on TV.
He backed out of the parking space, reached into the console and pulled out a pint of Jack Daniels. When he noticed Amanda staring at him, he cast her a sheepish grin as he removed the cap and took a gulp.
“One of the perks of being sheriff,” he said. “Nobody would ever bust my ass for DUI in this town. They’d burn in hell.”
All Amanda could think at that moment was if the sheriff could so blatantly break the open container law without fear of any consequences, what would keep him from robbing and murdering Jodi Wilburn? The man apparently thought himself invincible.
“Want a snort?” he offered.
“No thanks.”
He turned on the stereo and tuned in a country station. The nasal whine of Randy Travis filled the SUV for about five seconds before Foley promptly changed stations.
“Can’t stand that little twerp,” he declared.
He found a classic rock station and left it there. They were heading east on Route 52 toward the outskirts of Milldale. She recalled from the Google satellite image that he lived on a good-sized plot of land about three miles from the highway. The sheriff spoke very little along the way, seemingly in his own world, no doubt with visions of a sexual conquest dancing in his bald head.
When they arrived at Foley’s home, Amanda was impressed by the layout of the property. The house had obviously been built very recently and had a modern look to it. She could see an in-ground pool in the side yard as well as a natural wood gazebo and massive greenhouse occupying the grounds, which were now bathed in bright floodlights. She realized that real estate was cheap in this struggling town but she seriously doubted that what she saw could be built on just a small town sheriff’s salary.
He pulled into the driveway outside the three-car garage and shut off the engine.
“Welcome to my abode.”
“Very nice,” Amanda replied.
“Thank-you.”
He stuck the Jack back into the console before getting out and leading the way to the sprawling split-level home. He held the door open for her as she stepped inside. The first thing to catch her eye was a beautiful baby grand piano visible through the atrium.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” he said, following her eyes. “That actually belonged to Wolfgang Mozart.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He chuckled. “I am, but you wouldn’t believe how many yahoos around here have fallen for that!”
The pot calling the kettle black, she thought.
“How about a drink before we begin the tour?”
“Maybe just a short one,” Amanda replied, walking over to the piano. “So how old is this?”
“Actually it’s old enough to have been Mozart’s—it was built in Vienna in 1786. See how small the keyboard is? It’s two octaves shy of a modern grand.”
As she admired the instrument, Amanda had to admit she was impressed with Foley’s apparent knowledge of antiques. She looked around the room in awe of the beautiful pieces: what looked to be a Louis XIV bureau, a pair of matching chairs and a giltwood center table. Seeing such elegant pieces of French furniture in the home of an overweight, overbearing county sheriff in southern Ohio was nothing short of surreal.
She followed the sheriff into the kitchen and looked around while he fixed their drinks. The kitchen was clean and modern with all stainless steel appliances and granite counters. If she didn’t know better, the cabinets could be antiques with their richly detailed accents and crafted ebony wood.
Foley produced a bottle each of Tequila and Triple Sec and began preparing a margarita, winking at Amanda as he rubbed the rim of the glass with a lime slice before adding the rock salt.
“I always keep a fully stocked bar—just in case a pretty girl like you shows up,” he explained.
If she didn’t despise him so much, she would have allowed herself to be impressed with how much he was doting on her. He had so far been a perfect host.
After mixing the drinks he handed Amanda her margarita and tapped her glass.
“To my guest, one of Milldale’s most beautiful losses.”
It took her a moment to decipher what he had just said before she got it. “How should I respond to that, sheriff?”
“No need to. Just know I meant it.”
“Thanks, then.”
“Follow me—I’ll show you my most prized possession.”
Thus began the tour. For the next fifteen minutes the sheriff led her through his home to share his collection of antiques, which was stunning. Amanda wasn’t knowledgeable of what the market value of such an array of antique pieces would be but it didn’t take a genius to realize that it had to be a small fortune. When the sheriff had first mentioned an antique collection she envisioned something like stuff from the thirties or forties or maybe even dating back to the early nineteen hundreds. Instead what she was seeing were museum quality pieces of exceptional value and rarity.
Furthermore, her host was quite knowledgeable about history and how each piece reflected the time period in which it was built. She would never have guessed she’d admit it, but the sheriff was not quite the redneck boor he appeared to be; but rather he was a well educated, nearly likeable individual.
One thing bothered her though. How in the hell was he able to acquire what appeared to be a priceless collection of antiques on a public servant’s salary? Not to mention this custom built house?
Unless he came from a wealthy family—which she doubted based on what she had found in her research—the sheriff was involved in something to boost his income. Probably illegal too, like drugs, extortion, or something as simple as burglary. Like Jodi Wilburn’s inheritance, for example, which had included several valuable pieces of antiquity and precious jewelry.
Could Sheriff Foley have robbed Jodi to help finance his passion for antiquity?
They had returned to the kitchen for another drink. Amanda let him talk her into one more only because she needed to buy some more time. After he handed her a drink, she decided to cut to the chase.
“How can you be so sure that Nick Wilburn murdered his wife, sheriff?”
The question caught him off guard and for a moment she thought he was going to go off on her. But he didn’t.
“I should have known this was going too well,” he complained. “Can’t you just forget about business for a change and relax, woman? That’s the problem with all you big-city folks. You never take the time to just have a good time.”
She forced a laugh. “I am relaxed, sheriff—probably too much in fact. I just really care about Nick and don’t believe he killed his wife. But you seem to be dead set on convicting him based on what can only be considered circumstantial evidence. You have no proof.”
“You’re shitting me, right? Everything points to Wilburn’s guilt—the coins in his car, the call to his ex-wife on his cellphone; plus he had motive, opportunity, everything! And you know what they say, if its quacks like a duck—”
“But you haven’t even considered the possibility it could be somebody else.”
“And how could you possibly know that?”
“Well, I don’t know for certain. But it sure seems that way from what I’ve heard.”
“So you believe all the gossip you hear?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that I’ve read the police reports and there hasn’t been a single mention of anybody else being considered as a suspect. It’s like it has to be Nick Wilburn and can’t possibly be anybody else. You call that good police work?”
“What you’ve read is the city’s side of the story. You don’t know what all my department has done in this case, now do you?”
“No, I don’t,” she admitted. “If you’ll just answer one more question for me, I promise to drop this whole conversation.”
“Promise?”
; “Cross my heart.”
“Okay, what’s the question?”
“Is it really true that somebody saw Nick near Jodi’s house the morning of the murder?”
He paused a moment and grinned like a fox. “What’s it worth to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s it worth for me to answer? What will you give me in return?”
She gathered every ounce of resolve she could muster before responding. Then she cast her finest coquettish smile. “You’ll see.”
The sheriff beamed, confident that his conquest with this chick from the big city would be successful.
“Nobody has reported seeing Nick in the area that morning. Now you see why you should never believe any of the gossip you hear in this town.”
Amanda’s relief was palpable. This is huge, she thought. Without an eyewitness, there was still a chance Nick could be exonerated.
“Thank you, sheriff. For your honesty.”
“Anytime. Now, let’s see what my honesty has earned me.”
“I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait. I’m really tired and need to go. But I won’t go back on my word. How about us getting together again tomorrow night?”
“But you said—”
“I told you that you’d see—and now you’ve seen. We will continue where we left off tomorrow. That’s the best I can give you.”
“How do I know you won’t welch on your promise?”
“I am a woman of my word.”
“I think I’m being shanghaied is what I think. I need some collateral. How about a little down payment, just to seal the deal?”
“Like what?”
Amanda held her breath. She didn’t like the way this conversation was heading and it was obvious that the sheriff was getting hot and bothered now that she’d gotten him primed up. The liquor was coming into play, too—his perfect host persona was slipping swiftly.
“A look at those,” he replied, eying her breasts hungrily.
Amanda was mortified—an embrace or even a kiss she may have been able to deliver—she would have just closed her eyes and pretended that this insidious slob was anything other than what he was. Afterwards she would be free to leave and never be in a room alone with him again.
But not that!
“Can’t we just wait until tomorrow?”
Double Trouble Page 12