Secrets, Lies, and Homemade Pies

by Emma Ames

  Jittery and glassy-eyed, the man pointed the pistol. “Don’t try anything funny.” Then he swiveled back to Tizzy. “You, honey, kill that music, and get your ass over here.” She unplugged the jukebox, then walked toward him. When she was close enough, he spun her and hooked his arm around her throat, pulling her back against him. “Anybody tries anything—I’ll kill her.” He pressed the gun to her head.

  Saint opened the register, put the cash in a bag, and laid it on the counter. “Here, take the money and let her go. We won’t try anything.”

  The stranger nuzzled below her ear. “I bet me, and you could have a good time. Couldn’t we?” He drew his lips down the side of her neck and moved his hand across her breasts.

  “Please, don’t.”

  “I don’t know, baby. With all that moola we could have us one hell of a party. I bet you’re hot in the sack, ain’t ‘cha?” He groped her again.

  ~~*~~

  Ridge reached for the men’s room door and his gut clenched. Out in the bar, it had gone silent. When working, his sidearm of choice was a .357 Sig Sauer. But off duty, he carried a concealed Smith and Wesson 638 air-weight. He reached underneath his jeans and removed the weapon from his ankle holster. Then he flipped off the men’s room light and cracked the door.

  He saw the man holding Tizzy hostage while he groped her. He pressed his lips to her neck and fire burned in Ridge’s belly. She had her eyes squeezed tight. She trembled, then fluttered her lashes, and Ridge knew what was coming.

  He waited for the window of opportunity. Those dark chocolate pools he loved so much faded, and the blood drained from her face the same way it had in the cemetery. This was it. He steadied himself.

  The five seconds it took for her limp body to fall to the floor was all he needed. He flung the door open with his weapon raised and yelled. “Texas Ranger! Put down your gun!”

  The guy jerked his gun toward him. Ridge fired. The bullet slammed into the robber’s shoulder, and he collapsed face down. Saint kicked the guy’s weapon away and knelt next to Tizzy.

  “She’s bleeding! She must’ve hit the table when she fell!” Saint wiped at the blood with his hand. “She has a gash at her hairline. Tizzy, sweetie. Can you hear me? Open your eyes.” No response. “Bring me a wet towel!”

  Rayann scrambled and quickly returned with one.

  Saint washed her face. “Tizzy. Baby girl. Open your eyes.”

  Ridge stood over them, his heart racing. She moaned. He heaved a deep breath.

  The captain handcuffed the man. “Call 9-1-1.”

  When the first ambulance arrived, it transported Tizzy, and then a second carried the perp. Saint hightailed it to the hospital, while Ridge and everyone else milled around, waiting to give their statements.

  Frank Reynolds approached. “I hoped you didn’t come out of the bathroom and step into a pile of shit. You were thinking like a ranger. Damn good job.” He slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Thanks, Captain.”

  ~~*~~

  A little past three a.m., Ridge left the scene. Lights flashing and gravel spraying, he spun his car out of the parking lot, headed for the hospital. The nurse at the desk stared up at him with eyes that said she hated the night shift and spied his badge. “May I help you, officer?”

  “Yes Ma’am, I’d like Tizzy Donovan’s room number, please. Oh, I mean Marjorie Donovan.”

  The nurse typed the name on her keyboard. “She’s in room 322, but visiting hours are over.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not visiting. I’m staying.” He spun on his heel and strode down the hall with the woman calling after him. Good luck getting me to stop.

  He stepped inside the room. She was alone and sobbing into her pillow. He crossed to the bed and placed his hand on her shoulder. Startled, she lifted her head, gazed at him for a moment. Then, clutched his shirt with both hands, pulled him to her and wept. He gave her a minute, then sat, and removed his boots. She scooted over to make room for him. He gathered her into his arms and whispered into her hair. “I would have never let him take you.”

  She didn’t speak, just cried harder, and he let her because she needed him. But the crazy thing was, he needed her more. To be the one to comfort her. The person she depended on. The man she wanted.

  All night, she trembled, moaned, and cried out. The thought of the thief, and what he could have done to her caused anger to burn in the pit of Ridges’ gut. It wasn’t the first time he’d shot someone. He’d wounded this guy, but the cold hard truth was he wouldn’t have regretted killing him.

  Ridge studied her face. Sweet. Fragile. Innocent. Being a single parent had to be hard. Even with the support of her family, it couldn’t be easy. Something stirred in him. It was more than attraction—more than lust. He cared for her. With that last thought, he drifted to sleep.

  The sun peeked through slits in the blinds, casting parallel lines across the wall. She roused. He ran his fingertips across her bandage. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. A head wound always looks worse than it is.”

  He grabbed his boots and put them on. “You’re going home this morning?”

  “Yeah. They only kept me overnight for observation. Thank you for saving my life. I understand you were quite the hero.”

  “You’re welcome. But now, you must be my slave and serve me for the rest of your days.” He chuckled and kissed her hand. “Sorry. That was inappropriate.” He raised his brows. “On second thought, I’m not so sure it was since I own you.” He waited for a sassy retort, but none came. “What? No snarky comeback?”

  “No. I can think of worse things than being owned by you.”

  He placed his hand under her chin and trailed his thumb across her bottom lip. He wanted to hold her close—tell her he was falling in love with her. Hear her say she felt the same way.

  She stared into his eyes. Her lips parted, and he moved his face in close.

  “There’s your mommy.”

  Pattiecake and Saint stood in the doorway.

  Ridge moved away. Gracie ran to him, and he picked her up.

  She pointed to her mother’s bandage. “You got a boo-boo?”

  “Just a little one.”

  “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

  “That’s just what I need.”

  She crawled on top of her mom and pressed her lips to her cheek, then fixed her big brown eyes on Ridge. “Kiss it, Trooper Cooper.”

  He leaned forward, kissed her head below the wound, and let his lips linger. She drew a shallow breath, then touched her fingers to his cheek. He thought he’d come undone, but then from the corner of his eye, he saw Saint and Pattiecake exchange looks. Ridge pulled away.

  “I’ll go down and get you checked out, and as soon as the doctor comes by, you’ll be ready to go home,” Saint said.

  Ridge stood and gave Tizzy’s nose a wiggle. “I’ll check on you later, Margie Lou.” He reached over her and hugged Gracie. “Take care of your momma, tootsie-wootsie.”

  She giggled. “Trooper Cooper called me tootsie-wootsie.”

  “He’s a silly boy, isn’t he?” Tizzy grabbed his hand. “Thank you again.”

  “It was my pleasure. Now I can add saving a damsel in distress to my resume.” He put his hat on and strode away. When the door closed behind him, he stopped—listened—smiled at Pattiecake’s question.

  “What did he call you?”

  “You heard him. Margie Lou. Cute, huh?”

  “Real cute, and he’s still breathing.”

  On his way out, Ridge met the last person he wanted to see— Dan. He didn’t figure the sheriff would be too happy when he found out about Ridge’s overnight visit.

  “Cooper? The nurses tell me you spent the night in Tizzy’s room.”

  It was true. News traveled fast in a small town. Ridge started to speak, but Dan beat him to it.

  “I need to warn you. Where my sister is concerned, I have my eye on you.”

  Ridge cocked his head. “I need to war
n you, Dan. When it comes to Tizzy, you’d better have both eyes on me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ridge spent the week interviewing employees of First United Bank. He’d gained no useful information from any of them. They had the same story. Marlene was a bitch. Tizzy, an angel.

  He’d saved the best for last. Carl’s secretary. Leah Trammell’s office was tastefully furnished. The most striking feature, a Monet print hung on the wall above a lavender sofa, much like the loveseat his sister used to have in her room. Funny how the color was still in style after all these years. Or, maybe it was true that trends repeat and if you wait long enough, what’s old is new again. He hoped parachute pants came back. The memory caused him to chuckle. Why did he think of such random stuff?

  Leah, in her early fifties, cultivated an appearance much younger. Heck, Ridge considered her attractive, sexy even, in the gaudy way menopausal women try to cling to youth. Bleached blonde hair too long for her age, tight skirt, and four-inch heels.

  “Please sit, Officer Cooper.” She motioned to one of the velvet chairs. Appearing relaxed, she leaned back. “How may I help you?”

  Ridge placed an ankle over a knee, retrieved his small notebook, and flipped the spiral open. “Anything you can share about Mrs. Weston and the day of the murder will be helpful. Anything out of the ordinary happen?”

  Her painted, hot-pink lips broke into a laugh. “Out of the ordinary? Even the argument with Tizzy wasn’t unusual. Marlene was unpleasant. Nothing gave her greater joy than to make people miserable, especially her former sister-in-law.”

  He shifted in his seat. “Fill me in about the disagreement.”

  Perfectly manicured nails fiddled with a diamond cross resting against her throat. He could tell she spent a lot of money on maintenance.

  “Tizzy wanted the board to help three families in financial trouble with their mortgages, and Marlene wanted to kick them out. They got into a discussion, and Tizzy won. Marlene hated the reason for Tizzy’s victories—the money and power Boone left her. It took Tizzy a while after her husband’s death to exert her authority, and I’m happy to say I helped with her transformation.”

  Lines formed in Ridge’s forehead. “What did you do?”

  “Tizzy’s young. She lacked experience in banking. I pointed out this was Gracie’s future.” She gestured around the room. “I explained she had as much sway as Marlene. They might disagree, but Marlene couldn’t overrule her. Once Tizzy understood, she developed an interest in what went on with the bank. I found it all very entertaining.”

  “How did Tizzy handle the argument? Did she get angry?”

  “No. She didn’t argue— she informed.”

  Ridge wrote something then eyed the secretary. “Sounds as if you disliked Mrs. Weston. I understand she threatened to fire you the day of her murder. How did you feel about her ultimatum?”

  “She threatened to fire me at least once a week. I’ve worked at this bank for twenty-five years. Do you think her threats meant anything? I was here before Marlene’s reign, and I’m still here now that it’s over. My job is secure.”

  She spoke with such certainty, Ridge paused. “Why?”

  “Let’s just say, I’m discreet and privy to personal family and bank business.”

  He leaned forward in his chair. “Like what for instance?”

  “Nothing to do with her murder, but secrets she wouldn’t want made public.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  Leah leaned forward, clasped her hands together, and rested them on her desk. “Every family has secrets, and some go way back to when Marlene’s dad served as the bank president. I doubt anything that long ago would have a bearing on her death.”

  He propped his notepad on his knee and locked eyes with her. “Miss Trammell, are you refusing to answer my question?”

  For the first time, she appeared uncomfortable. “No. I’m telling you this will have nothing to do with her case.” She tapped her fingers. “Her dad had at least two affairs. Her mother got addicted to prescription drugs and vacationed in Florida until she got clean. Avery, Marlene’s daughter, had an abortion at age seventeen. Those types of things, Marlene wanted kept secret. She believed if she fired me, I’d blab to get even with her. For what it’s worth, she was wrong. I would never hurt Mr. Weston. Funny, how she didn’t consider that. She always thought everyone was like her, hateful and vindictive.”

  Ridge shouldered back in his chair. “Tell me about her relationship with Mr. Weston.”

  She hesitated for a moment. “It was tolerable.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They didn’t love each other but pretended to. Appearance was very important to Marlene. She wanted everyone to think she was happy, which is funny because she was the unhappiest person I’ve ever met. If not, she would have treated people better.”

  “What about Mr. Weston? Did he ever cheat on her?”

  “Believe me. Carl couldn’t have an affair without Marlene knowing. She kept pretty close tabs on him.”

  “I understand Marlene worked after hours the night of her death. I’d like a copy of the bank’s entry record for then.”

  She picked up a stack of papers, shuffled through them, located it and stared down at the page. “There’s the one entry. In at seven-fifty-one. Out, eight-fifteen.”

  “Is there a video?”

  “No. I’m sorry. That’s our private entrance, and we don’t have a camera there.”

  “Everyone has their own passcode?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does anyone else have the codes? I mean, could I get in under your code?”

  “That’s not possible. You could get my numbers, but you would also need my password. Each employee has their own, and for security, we change them every month.”

  Ridge considered her answer for a moment. “Let’s say two people arrived at the same time. I suppose they could go in together on either code or password, and the record would show only one entry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marlene was the only person who entered the bank that night?”

  Leah handed him the sheet. “There was only one entry. But it wasn’t Marlene. It was Tizzy.”

  Ridge stared down at the copy. His heart raced, but he kept his cool. “Thanks, Miss Trammell.”

  As he left, he had two things on his mind. First, he’d head to the police station and pick up the paperwork that should be waiting. Second, he’d confront Tizzy.

  ~~*~~

  When Ridge pulled into the drive, two young men worked in Tizzy’s yard. One pushed a lawnmower, and the other used a weed trimmer. With a closer look, he recognized them as Troy Thornhill and Freddy Holt. Tizzy stooped over a flower bed. Gracie sat on the porch dumping dirt and leaves into a plastic bowl. As he started toward the little girl, Gracie came running full force. “Trooper Cooper!”

  He lifted her into the air. “Hey, noodle-doodle.”

  Tizzy straightened up. “Oh, hey. You realize she’ll never call you anything but Trooper Cooper because she likes that it rhymes.”

  “That’s okay. I’m beginning to kind of like it.”

  Freddy killed the engine on the mower and joined them. “Hey, Officer Cooper. How’s it going?”

  “Fine. It’s Freddy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” He turned to Tizzy. “You need us to do anything else before we go?”

  “No. I think that’s it.”

  Troy came to stand next to Freddy. “Next time, we should clean your gutters,” Troy said.

  “Thanks for mentioning it. I forget about those.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out two checks and handed them to each boy. “Thank y’all. I’ll see you tomorrow at the bakery.”

  Ridge waited until the two loaded the mower and drove away, then went back to her. “I think those guys have a crush on you.”

  She giggled, then scrunched up her face. “They’re good boys, but too young for me. Troy has an abusive father who kicked hi
m out of the house. Freddy cared for his mom until she died a few months ago. They were close. I talked Mom and Dad into hiring them, and I give them work around here when I need it.”

  Bubba was right. There was no way Tizzy could kill anybody. She was too kind-hearted. “Should you be in this heat? You’re barely home from the hospital.”

  “I wanted to get this bed ready to plant azaleas. You know what they are, don’t you?”

  “The pale pink bushes that were blooming at the house when I moved in?”

  Threads dangled from frayed edges of her cutoff jeans, and cleavage swelled above her sleeveless V-neck shirt. She had her hair twisted on top of her head, secured with a large clip. Wisps of it, wet from perspiration, clung to her face and the back of her neck. Her skin, moist from the late afternoon heat, glistened as a trickle of sweat trailed down the valley between her breasts.

  “Right.” She removed her gloves and wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

  “I need to talk to you about something.”

  Tizzy motioned for him to take a seat on the porch, and she sat next to him. “This isn’t a social visit?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Why didn’t you tell me about being in the bank the night of Marlene’s murder?”

  “I didn’t think it was important. I was only there a few minutes. Marlene’s car was there, but she wasn’t.”

  “How did you know she wasn’t inside?”

  “The alarm was set. If anyone had been in the building, it would have been disarmed.”

  “Didn’t you think it odd her car was there, and she wasn’t?”

  “Not really. I figured she and Carl had gone somewhere together in his truck and would come back later to get it.”

  He exhaled. “You know what bothers me? You think being there wasn’t important enough to mention. Damn, Tizzy, I’ve asked you over and over if there’s anything else and you keep saying no, then I find out there is. How many times is this going to happen?”

  She stiffened, then stood and fisted her hands. “What are you saying? I met her there and killed her?”

  “No. I’m saying you should have at least mentioned it. According to Carl’s statement, Marlene called him just before eight and said she was on her way to the office. The entry log places you there at practically the same time.”