Tried & True (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Jerusha Jones

  The hours crept by. Just how long did it take for a judge to make a decision? Any why didn’t she have any more questions for me? I would rather have been grilled all over again than stare at the walls of my hotel room for another second. And let’s just say that daytime television is inane twaddle beyond all description.

  I punched the off button on the remote and jumped up from the rumpled bed to pace between the large window overlooking the hotel next door and the closet. I wore a groove in the carpet.

  When phone rang late in the afternoon, I pounced on it, not bothering to check who was calling. “Yes?”

  If someone replied, I didn’t hear it, because there was so much mechanical wailing and rattling in the background.

  “Hello?” I hollered.

  “Nora?” Loretta’s voice was a faint whisper. “We’re on our way to the hospital.”

  “What? Who?” Panic swelled in my throat.

  “Des and me. We have Tarq loaded in Des’s Jeep. He couldn’t breathe, Nora. I didn’t know what else to do.” Loretta broke into rough sobs. “He was struggling to breathe, thrashing.”

  I gripped the bathroom doorjamb to keep from sagging to the floor. “Okay, okay. Shhhh,” I murmured into the phone. “Okay.” The nonsense words were for my benefit as much as for Loretta’s, to give me time to form thoughts. “Des is with you?” Of course, I knew the answer—the wailing siren in the background confirmed it—but I wanted the solid foundation of reliable information before I tried to process the dreadful facts.

  “There wasn’t time to wait for an ambulance. Are you coming home?” Loretta whimpered. “He wants to see you before—before—”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “Yes. Now. Is he awake for—for this?” How horrible. I held my breath, waiting for Loretta’s answer.

  There was murmuring and rustling, then her voice returned. “Des helped me get him comfortable, lying in the back of the Jeep. I’m holding his hand. He knows I’m talking to you. Come home, Nora.”

  “Call me back after you get to the hospital. I’ll let you know which flight I’m on.” I hung up and stood staring blankly at the white walls and generic furniture which distorted into wavy lines through my tears.

  Move. Move. Move. I’d collapse in a permanent puddle of grief if I didn’t get moving.

  CHAPTER 17

  I did what any lost soul would do in that situation—I called my executive assistant. Through my blubbering Clarice figured out exactly what was needed and issued a string of commands that jolted me out of my teary stupor and into the productive task of packing.

  Which took two minutes.

  And then I was stuck pacing again, waiting for another phone call. Any phone call. Either to tell me that Tarq was safely admitted to the hospital and breathing successfully with the assistance of all their fancy equipment or that I had a flight reservation to whisk me home as quickly as possible. Or both. I desperately wanted that phone to ring twice.

  Still, when it did ring, I just about jumped out of my skin. “How is he?” I pivoted, narrowly missing dead-ending in the open closet.

  “I don’t know about him, but I’m fine, Ms. Ingram-Sheldon. Thanks for asking,” Judge Trane said evenly.

  “Oh,” I gulped. “I have to go.”

  “I don’t know in what sense you mean the word go, Ms. Ingram-Sheldon, but as I explicitly and rather forcefully requested earlier, you will need to meet with me before you leave the city. Can you be in my chambers by six o’clock? Theo will have the documents ready by then.”

  I said what I had to, to get her off the line. “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” She hung up abruptly.

  Which had been my goal. But documents? What documents? The judge’s decision had dropped so low on my priority list that I hadn’t thought to ask about the fate of Turbo-Tidy’s bankruptcy case.

  I’d reached the other side of the room and pressed my forehead against the window. On the street below, traffic flowed between the two tall rival hotels in fits and spurts of red taillights, as though it was lifeblood pulsing from a wound.

  The phone in my hand rang again. This time I remembered to check the caller ID. “I have bad news,” I said by way of greeting.

  “Worse than Tarq being hospitalized?” Clarice snapped.

  “No. Yes—maybe. I have to meet with the judge before I can leave. I won’t be able to slip out of town unnoticed now.”

  “What time?” I could hear Clarice’s fingers clicking rapidly over a laptop’s keyboard. She was as steady as granite.

  I tried to absorb some of her calmness. “Six.”

  “No problem. I wasn’t able to get you on a flight until 7:56 p.m. anyway. But the airport’s almost an hour away from the judge’s chambers, so it’ll be up to you to make that meeting short. Got it?”

  I swallowed and nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see me. “Yeah.” I’d wanted to board a plane immediately, but the days of chartered flights were long gone. I was constrained to the schedule of commercial airlines.

  “I’m getting you town car service for the next few hours. Better than a taxi since they’re paid for their time instead of their mileage. It’ll be at the door to your hotel in about twenty minutes. Tell the driver you’ll tip him handsomely if he exceeds the speed limit.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “Call me every step of the way, girl. I’m sitting right here in front of this computer until you set foot in May County. I’ll get you whatever you need.”

  “I know.” I quietly hung up and wondered why I’d ever left Mayfield. Was chasing down a mobster worth this separation from all I held dear? Well, almost all. Dad was my only tie to San Francisco now, but he too was fading away from me.

  My focus shortened, and I became aware of my own reflection in the glass. It was a ghostly image, and I barely recognized myself, even though my scar formed a startlingly white streak above my lip. What would it take to make time stand still?

  But I couldn’t afford to stand still. I turned off all the lights, slung my carry-on bag over my shoulder, and swiped the room key card off the table. I was halfway down the hall toward Josh’s room when my phone rang.

  My stomach clenched into tight knots as I slumped against the wall to answer it.

  “We’re here,” Loretta murmured. “At the hospital. They have Tarq hooked up to all kinds of machines. Beeping and clicking. Tubes.”

  I wanted more than anything to be able to wrap my arms around her.

  “They gave him some kind of sedative. He’s breathing okay now,” she continued. “But they won’t let me sit with him—” Her voice trailed off into soft sobs.

  And then I understood why she was so distressed. The separation was worse for her than Tarq’s medical emergency. Because she was determined to be there for him, no matter what.

  “Can I talk to Des?” I asked. I needed particulars and an objective analysis, and I just couldn’t bring myself to put Loretta through that kind of interrogation. Earlier, I hadn’t suggested that she contact Des if she needed help because he was so often working, away on patrol or holed up in his office. But I should have known he’d make himself available for Tarq.

  There was a brief moment of swooshing white noise, then Des came on the line. I didn’t have to utter a word. He launched into a concise description of Tarq’s status without preamble, calmly and slowly, with reassuring words like “stable” and “resting comfortably.”

  But then there was a pause and Des’s voice lowered. “He won’t be going home, Nora. The doctor says this is the beginning of the very end. He won’t live long enough now to set him up with hospice care. Loretta doesn’t know that yet. Do you want me to tell her?”

  I groaned. “Did the doctor say how much time?”

  “A few days, at the outside, since Tarq has refused a feeding tube. But his lungs are fairly clear right now. There should be time for you to get here, but these things are never really predictable.”

  “I understand,” I whispered. My han
ds were shaking. I asked to speak to Loretta again, just so I could tell her I loved her. It was no longer possible to say those words too often, to anyone.

  I pounded on Josh’s door. He opened the door with a phone pressed to his ear, took one look at my face, and told the person on the other end of the line that he’d call back.

  He had returned the motorcycle to his friend who was going to quarantine it in his garage for a few weeks. Which meant Josh was also without transportation at the moment. But he insisted on accompanying me to Judge Trane’s office and the airport in the town car Clarice had ordered.

  We were silent in the backseat of the sleek black Lincoln, my carry-on bag wedged between us. I felt as though I was inside a thick bubble that shaded my whole view gray—I was watching the city zip by the window without really seeing it. Sounds were both sharper and duller at the same time, and everything was happening to somebody else who happened to be residing in my body.

  Josh nudged my shoulder, dropping me like sack of cement back into the present tense. “Would you like some good news?”

  I turned to him, struggled to bring his serious brown eyes into focus, and nodded dumbly.

  He leaned over my bag and spoke in a low voice, so the driver wouldn’t overhear. “I spent most of the day on the phone, gleaning information from my friends at law enforcement agencies in the area. The party at Blandings’ house was for his wife’s birthday. No one was hurt, although he does have a wicked Mongrels bulldog logo carved into his front door. Three people inside the house dialed 911. Four neighbors also called 911. One of those calls was a hang up.” Josh smirked. “That would have been the FBI surveillance team just making sure help was on the way. They didn’t want to reveal their presence by stepping into the fray themselves.”

  I bit my lip and interlaced my fingers in my lap. As much as I disliked the guy, I hoped Blandings—and his wife—weren’t terribly traumatized. My main concern was how he would interpret the Mongrels’ message—and if he would act upon it.

  Josh patted my knee. “All in all, last night went down the way it should have. The whole thing. It was a good idea. But there’s something else.”

  I glanced up at the eagerness in his voice.

  “The ATF is very interested in the barn we found near Emeryville. The property is owned by a dispatcher for the California Highway Patrol.”

  My jaw dropped. “Uh, conflict of interest?” I blurted. “But that would explain how Ebersole’s been able to operate with so few repercussions for so long—if he has advance warning of raids, or even of investigations. He might have similar connections in other agencies too.”

  “Exactly. So my friend at ATF is going to keep this knowledge strictly in house. They don’t want to raid the place immediately. And when they do, they do it on the sly, with only their own team to execute the search warrant.”

  “Baiting the trap after it’s already been sprung. You know what I think about that,” I muttered. “Patience doesn’t always pay off—at least not the way you hope it will.”

  “The more charges against him, the longer he’ll go away for.”

  Josh had a point. Ebersole wasn’t a young man anymore. Maybe the threat of a hefty sentence that would leave him behind bars for the rest of his life would encourage him to turn the tables on his organization. Maybe self-interest would usurp loyalty. It wouldn’t be the first time. Ebersole demanded loyalty from others, but I wasn’t sure he gave that much in return.

  “I’m going to stay here for a while, keep tabs on things.” Josh peered at me, his face lit intermittently by the headlights of passing cars.

  “Thanks for everything.” I reached over and squeezed his hand. “Everything.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Nora,” he replied. “You’ve given me a chance to clear my name, helped me clarify my own goals. It’s been a good ride.”

  I chuckled at that, and felt some of the muscles in my abdomen relax. A good ride, both literally and figuratively.

  “Let’s get you out of here.” Josh opened his door and stepped out of the car.

  I hadn’t even noticed that we’d stopped, but the solemn glass and concrete monolith that held Judge Trane’s chambers loomed over us.

  An elderly security guard with a handgun holster and a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt let us in at the main entrance—a much cleaner and more welcoming portal than the delivery dock we’d used earlier, with manicured plants in decorative containers and a few weirdly modern sculptures that I thought might have been expected to double as seats in the lobby. He quickly relocked the door behind us. He’d obviously been given instructions about our arrival, and he ushered us past the empty reception desk to a bank of elevators where one set of doors yawned open.

  That waiting cavity made me think of Jonah’s whale, like a vessel sent to retrieve us and then propel us onward toward the mission, intact but repentant. I shook my head. Clearly, the pressing surge of worry and apprehension and hope and grief and—I couldn’t even name all the emotions that seemed to be eddying about my knees—was also befuddling my gray cells.

  The security guard was either mute or didn’t feel the need to be sociable. He was a small, thin-boned man, and he watched us with a tense bouncing on the balls of his trim feet as though he expected us to take flight at any moment. Once we had obediently entered the elevator, he reached inside and pressed the button for the seventeenth floor. The closing doors narrowed my view of him until he was gone.

  “Bet that was a first for him,” Josh murmured.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Letting people into the building late on a Sunday without signing them in or asking to see their ID. It’s so far against regulations, he’s probably wondering if he’s going to get fired. If anyone finds out, that is.”

  I frowned at Josh. “We didn’t sign in before either.”

  “Exactly. We’ve never been here.” A slight grin angled across his face. “I’d say that bodes well for Judge Trane ruling in your favor. For this to work, it has to look like it was all her decision and you had nothing to do with it. So your name will not appear on anything in this building—not on visitor logs or noted in any records of official proceedings. How does it feel to be invisible?” He playfully poked me in the side. “Because this is as close as you’ll ever get.”

  CHAPTER 18

  We tread the hushed halls past empty cubicles where Justice recuperated in the off-hours, her arm weary from holding up those scales, her blindfold conveniently doubling as a sleep mask. Josh tapped on the glass door burnished with Judge Trane’s name and position in discrete gold letters.

  Theo, Judge Trane’s judicial assistant, whirled around from where he’d been collating papers on a credenza. He hurried over and let us in.

  “You’re early,” he wheezed.

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  “Of course, of course.” He backed away and returned to the whirring printer. “Uh, do you need anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?” he chattered over his shoulder. His white dress shirt was damp and clinging in a wide streak of greater transparency down his back. I wondered just how physically demanding preparing documents was—or how long he’d been at it. I suspected Judge Trane could be a very exacting woman to work for.

  Josh and I murmured our refusals of the offered hospitality. I didn’t want to harry Theo any more than he already was.

  His pants were a size or two too small, and from behind I could see the white lining of his pockets as the fabric stretched to accommodate his girth. That’s what sitting in an office chair all day will do to you. The poor guy needed more fresh air and a hobby.

  I’d been whisked straight through this anteroom and into Judge Trane’s chambers earlier, so I studied the decor for lack of anything else to do. There was no place for visitors to sit—and, curiously, there were no personal or celebratory tchotchkes or certificates or photos on display. Judge Trane appeared to concentrate the trappings of her persona in her private chambers and not inflict them on others
, which I rather appreciated.

  But it made the minutes slow to eons without distraction.

  Theo straightened and hefted a pile of papers against his belly. “If you’ll just give me a moment.” Sweat trickled from his receding hairline and down the side of his face, but he seemed not to notice. He padded across the thick carpet and knocked lightly on Judge Trane’s door. Then he spun the knob and shouldered his way into her chambers with his burden.

  Two minutes later, I was back in the overstuffed armchair I’d occupied earlier with Josh seated in the chair beside me. Again, Judge Trane sat across from me, with Theo’s pile of papers anchoring the low table between us. Theo himself hovered in attendance, ready to fetch whatever we might need.

  I couldn’t see a clock, but there was definitely a ticking in my head as Judge Trane methodically explained the meaning of the documents. The legalese was so much gibberish I could only hope the words would get trapped in my brain for future review, when maybe they would make sense.

  But Josh proved to be incredibly prescient because I was not going to be required to sign anything. In fact, Judge Trane used her mother-of-pearl pen only as a pointer, indicating pertinent sections of the ruling as she flipped the pages over one at a time.

  At a point deep in the stack, her green eyes narrowed, and I became aware that the pause in her modulated soliloquy had grown uncomfortably long. My lack of attention had been noticed. I clasped my hands between my knees and tilted forward, willing myself to return her gaze and for my legs to stop jittering with the passing seconds.

  “Forgive an old contract attorney for her ebullience.” The corners of Judge Trane’s lips lifted in a wry smile. “To summarize, I will hold the disbursement of non-liquid assets for further review, and in the meantime I’m giving you power of attorney to consider all reasonable offers to purchase the business intact, including putting it to auction. It could be a viable and even profitable company with the right leadership. I expect there will be bidders. As far as settling accounts goes, there is very little debt other than some back pay for employees because the FBI seized the bank accounts in the middle of a payroll cycle and the related withholding for the IRS. The assets should also cover the modest severance you requested for the employees who were laid off. I’ll make sure the IRS is amenable to a speedy resolution in that matter.”