A bench warrant had been issued for the contents of Natalie’s condo in New Orleans, and we were digging through the whole bunch of nothing retrieved from there. No other warrants had been issued, because the last thing we wanted to do was scare her away. All of us held out the hope she’d stumble and we’d nail her.
I was hard at work when I felt No Hair staring at me, and not for the first time since we’d returned.
“What’s eating at you, Davis?” he asked.
I had nothing to lose by saying it out loud. “It’s George.”
“The cab driver?”
PMS, or PMDD, or INSANITY took over, because it turned out I did have something to lose by saying it aloud—hydration. I started crying and I couldn’t stop.
“Good Lord.” No Hair jumped up and began looking for something—a baseball bat, a tranquilizer gun, a box of Kleenex. “Get a grip, Davis.” He stood two feet away from me and awkwardly patted my back. “There, there, now. Come on and stop leaking. What’s the problem?” No Hair scanned the room, looking for backup, I imagine. “Has something happened to the old guy?”
“That’s just it, No Hair.” I used my sleeve. And then I used my other sleeve. “I think Natalie got to him. He’s nowhere! He’s disappeared!”
“I didn’t realize you two were so close.” Beads of sweat had popped out all over No Hair. He tugged on Albert Einstein, who was on his tie. You’d think after twenty-two years of marriage, the guy would have witnessed a female having a smallish meltdown. He stumbled around, then found a seat a comfortable distance from me. “He’s probably right outside, sleeping in his cab.”
“He is not,” I barely said it aloud. “I kept an eye out for him the entire time we were in Vegas, and I’ve checked the VIP entrance a dozen times a day since we’ve been back.” I launched into that kind of crying where it’s hard to catch your breath. “The only one as smart as her is him, No Hair! George probably figured it out days before we did and she killed him.” I took a deep shaky breath. “And that’s it for George! There’ll never be justice for his son’s death, and now there’ll never be justice for his!”
“You don’t know that,” No Hair said. “I’ll tell you what, Davis. I’ll help you look into it just as soon as this court stuff is over.”
I sniffed. “You promise?”
No Hair tried to crack a smile, and I recognized it as such because I’d seen him do it before, but the first few times I mistook it for food poisoning.
“So, how’s it going with you and the lawyer?” he cautiously changed the subject.
I mopped my tears, sat back, and sighed/smiled.
“See?” No Hair asked. “I told you.”
“You didn’t tell me shit, No Hair.”
“I wish you’d watch your language, Davis. Do you talk like that in front of him?”
* * *
The first of what would be many hearings was set for Monday morning, eight sharp, all parties be present or be in contempt. The proceedings were closed so that the media might get as little information as possible, because wherever Natalie Middleton was, she was staying on top of things, of that we had no doubt. If just one reporter got a hold of her name, it’d be over.
The State would drop all charges against me after I proved myself innocent in a court of law. That meant Bianca Sanders on the stand, testifying on my behalf.
The media was starving for any crumb of news. To compensate for what they didn’t know, they filled the airways and information outlets with what they did know, which was amazingly little. The evening before, Bradley and I, having taken a break from watching the Wild Bill surveillance footage for the umpteenth time, were channel surfing, and breezed by a still of a high school yearbook photograph of me in my retro majorette finery. I grabbed for the remote to make it go away.
“No!” Bradley held it a mile out of my reach. “Let me see this!”
Agents from several government agencies had several things to discuss with Eddie Crawford, so naturally, he’d disappeared.
Fine by me.
Bianca Sanders told the authorities Edward was dead to her, and don’t bring up his name again in her presence, which forced the rest of us to do all the Eddie explaining, including what we knew of the Sanders’ Open Marriage policy.
“Do you have any idea where he might be?” a state gaming agent asked me.
“Pine Apple, Alabama,” I said.
He scribbled it down.
“No,” I said. “Two words. Pine. Apple.”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s hilarious. And what did you say your name was?”
* * *
We knew there’d be media coverage, but we had absolutely no idea there’d be a convention. Halfway down the courthouse steps and bunched in a semi-circle around the doors, reporters and cameras were twenty-deep.
“What the hell?” Bradley asked.
“I wish I had a hat,” I said.
“Bianca must be up there holding her own court.”
We couldn’t find an empty parking space for several blocks.
“Should we go in the back way?”
“No,” Bradley said. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
Bradley took two steps, then turned around to see me rooted to the sidewalk.
“Come on, Davis. You’ve got to do this.” He held his hand out. “Whatever they ask, just say no comment.”
I was afraid that as soon as one of them saw me we’d be trampled. A few at the back of the pack seemed to recognize me, but only glanced. No microphones were shoved my way.
Bradley and I shrugged.
“Maybe this will go easier than we thought,” he said.
“What in the world are they all looking at?”
Natalie Middleton, wearing the same clothes she’d been in eleven days ago, looked like she’d crawled to Biloxi on her hands and knees from Wild Bill’s Casino in Primm, Nevada. She was chained to the massive courthouse doors. She was so thoroughly chained that upon being discovered, a welding crew had been called. That idea was scrapped after they all but fried her leg, so a second crew had been called in, this one with chainsaws. It would seem that chainsaw crews didn’t move with anywhere near the efficiency that news crews did, because the only tools present were cameras.
The crowd, recognizing me, parted. Bradley and I stopped a few feet away.
Her left leg was tucked beneath her, propping her up. Her right arm, twisted behind her head, was chained to the bent leg pulley fashion, so if she moved one she risked injury to the other. She looked mighty uncomfortable. Her left arm was stretched above her head, chained to the brass handles of the massive courthouse doors, the opposite leg, the one that had a big red welding welt across her bare ankle, to a stone pillar.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Good God,” Bradley said.
Natalie and I shared a long, cold look.
There were so many things I wanted to say to her. I’d been rehearsing for days: while brushing my teeth, to the steering wheel of my Volkswagen, at three in the morning with Bradley. Yet I found I couldn’t. My mouth was wide open, but nothing would come out. The pathetic position she was in took my speech away.
They say every path has its puddle. Natalie Middleton had landed in hers face-first and she would drown in it. She knew it. She didn’t need to hear it from me.
I stepped away, shielded my eyes against the sun, and began searching the street.
He was standing at parade rest beside his cab.
My hands flew to my heart.
He saluted me, got in, and drove away.
About Gretchen Archer
Gretchen Archer is a Tennessee housewife who began writing when her daughters, seeking higher educations, ran off and left her. She lives on Lookout Mountain with her husband, son, and a Yorkie named Bently. Double Whammy is her first Davis Way crime caper. You can visit her at www.gretchenarcher.com.
Don’t miss DOUBLE DIP
the next book in
The Davis Way Crime
Caper Series
Davis Way’s beginner’s luck may have run out. Her professional life is dicey and she’s on a losing streak at home. She can’t find her gun, her evil twin’s personal assistant has disappeared, Bellissimo’s Master of Ceremonies won’t leave her alone, and her boyfriend Bradley Cole thinks three’s a crowd.
Meanwhile, she’s following a slot tournament trail that leads to Beehive, Alabama, where the So Help Me God Pentecostal Church is swallowing up Bellissimo’s high rollers. The worst? Davis doesn’t feel so hot. It could be the banana pudding, but it might be the pending pitter patter of little feet. DOUBLE DIP is a reckless ride in the fast lane, and Davis Way can’t find the brakes.
Available January 2014
For more details, visit www.henerypress.com
Other Henery Press Mysteries
As director of the Ballantyne Foundation on Sea Pine Island, SC, Elliott Lisbon scratches her detective itch by performing discreet inquiries for Foundation donors. Usually nothing more serious than retrieving a pilfered Pomeranian. Until Jane Hatting, Ballan-tyne board chair, is accused of murder. The Ballantyne’s reputa-tion tanks, Jane’s headed to a jail cell, and Elliott’s sexy ex is the new lieutenant in town.
Armed with moxie and her Mini Coop, Elliott uncovers a trail of blackmail schemes, gambling debts, illicit affairs, and investment scams. But the deeper she digs to clear Jane’s name, the guiltier Jane looks. The closer she gets to the truth, the more treacherous her investigation becomes. With victims piling up faster than shells at a clambake, Elliott realizes she’s next on the killer’s list.
Available Now
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Crime reporter Nichelle Clarke’s days can flip from macabre to comical with a beep of her police scanner. Then an ordinary accident story turns extraordinary when evidence goes missing, a prosecutor vanishes, and a sexy Mafia boss shows up with the headline tip of a lifetime.
As Nichelle gets closer to the truth, her story gets more dangerous. Armed with a notebook, a hunch, and her favorite stilettos, Nichelle races to splash these shady dealings across the front page before this deadline becomes her last.
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As a struggling waitress and part-time college student, Rose Strickland’s life is stalled in the slow lane. But when her close friend, Axton, disappears, Rose suddenly finds herself serving up more than hot coffee and flapjacks. Now she’s hashing it out with sexy bad guys and scrambling to find clues in a race to save Axton before his time runs out.
With her anime-loving bestie, her septuagenarian boss, and a pair of IT wise men along for the ride, Rose discovers political corruption, illegal gambling, and shady corporations. She’s gone from zero to sixty and quickly learns when you’re speed-ing down the fast lane, it’s easy to crash and burn.
Available Now
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Private Investigator Liz Talbot is a modern Southern belle: she blesses hearts and takes names. She carries her Sig 9 in her Kate Spade handbag, and her golden retriever, Rhett, rides shotgun in her hybrid Escape. When her grandmother is murdered, Liz high-tails it back to her South Carolina island home to find the killer.
She’s fit to be tied when her police-chief brother shuts her out of the investigation, so she opens her own. Then her long-dead best friend pops in and things really get complicated. When more folks start turning up dead in this small seaside town, Liz must use more than just her wits and charm to keep her family safe, chase down clues from the hereafter, and catch a psychopath before he catches her.
Available Now
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In Halo, Georgia, folks know Cherry Tucker as big in mouth, small in stature, and able to sketch a portrait faster than buck-shot rips from a ten gauge -- but commissions are scarce. So when the well-heeled Branson family wants to memorialize their murdered son in a coffin portrait, Cherry scrambles to win their patronage from her small town rival.
As the clock ticks toward the deadline, Cherry faces more trouble than just a controversial subject. Between ex-boyfriends, her flaky family, an illegal gambling ring, and outwitting a killer on a spree, Cherry finds herself painted into a corner she’ll be lucky to survive.
Available Now
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The life of a magician isn’t all kiddie shows and card tricks. Some-times it’s murder. Especially when magician Eli Marks very publicly debunks a famed psychic, and said psychic ends up dead. The evidence, including a bloody King of Diamonds playing card (one from Eli’s own Ambitious Card routine), directs the police right to Eli.
As more psychics are slain, and more King cards rise to the top, Eli can’t escape suspicion. Things get really complicated when romance blooms with a beautiful psychic, and Eli discovers she’s the next target for murder, and he’s scheduled to die with her. Now Eli must use every trick he knows to keep them both alive and reveal the true killer.
Available August 2013
For more details, visit www.henerypress.com
Table of Contents
Praise for DOUBLE WHAMMY
The Davis Way Crime Caper Series
Copyright
Acknowledgments
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
About Gretchen Archer
Other Henery Press Mysteries
Double Whammy (A Davis Way Crime Caper) Page 28