“Wait a minute, you’re Jessie Stewart, aren’t you?”
She worked the tube around her lips.
“That’s right? Do I know you?”
Jessie crushed the cigarette against the window sash, then flicked it through the open window to the alley below. Then, she hopped down and came over, her hand extended to shake.
Sasha rubbed her lips together and returned the lipstick to her purse, then turned and took Jessie’s hand.
“Well, we’ve never met, but we used to work at the same place. Sasha McCandless.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re Sasha McCandless? I thought you looked familiar.”
The awe in her voice made Sasha want to laugh, but she needed to cash in on her fame, such as it was.
“In the flesh.”
“What are you doing here?”
Didn’t anyone read the newspaper anymore?
“I’m working on Judge Paulson’s murder investigation.”
Jessie looked dutifully impressed. “You do criminal law, too?”
“Sometimes. Hey, would you like to help out?” She said it casually.
Jessie’s entire face brightened. “Really? Like, how?”
“Like, when your number gets called, while you’re pulling whatever deeds Prescott wants, you could also pull a few for me.”
A glint of interest shining in her eyes, Jessie nodded. “Okay, sure. Do you have the property descriptions?”
Sasha took out the stack of printed addresses. On the top sheet, she’d written the address of the VitaMight distribution center.
“Okay, I need thirty-one. Can you do that many?” Naya’s boot camp had been limited to training her in the prothonotary’s office and the federal clerk of court’s office. She had no idea if the deeds were computerized, on microfiche, or bound up in dusty leather volumes tied with string.
Jessie frowned. “I dunno. That’s a lot.”
“Well, get what you can. What’s your ticket number?”
She pulled the deli ticket from the pocket of her trousers and read it off. “218. Probably won’t get in until just before lunchtime.”
She said it with the knowing air of someone who’d wasted too many mornings riding the hard wooden benches in the hallway.
“Okay, I’ll meet you outside the office right at noon.”
“Sure. If you’re looking for a place to hang out til then, you’re stuck with Bob’s. Too bad it’s not next week—Café on the Square is opening over the weekend. From what I hear, it’s going to be upscale, local cuisine. I can’t wait. And the new owners plan to open a hotel, too. Like a real one, with wireless internet and Starbucks in the rooms. How awesome would that be?”
Sasha stared at her for a minute, then said, “Make that thirty-two deeds. Get me the deed to Bob’s Diner, too.”
CHAPTER 37
Carl Stickley twisted his cap in his hands, working the brim back and forth. He wasn’t sure where to look, so his eyes roamed around the room. And, damn, if that woman didn’t seem amused by his discomfort. He wanted to tell her to put on some goddamn clothes but he didn’t dare.
Heather Price licked her lips and broadened her smile, as if she could read his mind. She lounged against the high, curved back of her chair and draped a bare arm over the side. Her silk negligee displayed quite a bit of cleavage but at least it was long, covering her legs. Except when she shifted positions to re-cross her trim legs—then the deep slit fell open to reveal a flash of tanned thigh.
“So, Carl, why don’t you tell me what’s so urgent that you felt it necessary to drop by unannounced?”
Stickley cleared his throat and tried to remember the speech he’d rehearsed on the drive over. As unnerved as he was by her near-naked state, he was equally nervous because Heather Price was his biggest campaign contributor, easily the most powerful person in the county, and effectively his boss in this . . .side venture. Now, standing in her bedroom, his planned explanation sounded weak in his head, so he decided to just blame everything on Griggs.
“Well, Mrs. Price, here’s the thing. That tape is nowhere to be found. It’s just gone.”
Behind her thick eyelashes, her eyes flashed. “It can’t be just gone. It has to be somewhere. Find it.” She waved her hand in the air.
“I’ve checked his chambers, top to bottom. It’s not there. I checked his apartment, too.”
Gloria’s unfortunate heart attack had been well-timed for his purposes. After Sasha had put her tail between her legs and left town, he figured he’d give the apartment another late night visit since his first had been interrupted.
But, when Russell rushed into his office with the news that Gloria was over at County Hospital, he’d headed straight to her house, let himself in the front door, and searched the judge’s apartment at a leisurely place. Nothing.
Heather kept a level gaze and waited.
“So, here’s what I think happened. Griggs fu—messed up when he appointed that lawyer girl. I told him not to. But, she has to have the tape. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I told Griggs he needs to take care of her, but . . .”
Heather raised a hand. “Stop. I don’t need to hear about your petty problems with the attorney general. You’re sure this woman has the tape?”
He was pretty sure. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And the attorney general doesn’t have any thoughts on getting it back?”
“No, ma’am.”
He’d called Griggs before he’d decided to involve Heather, but Griggs had pulled that politician bullshit and evaded the issue of how they were going to get the tape.
So here he was. He knew what he would do if it he were in charge, but it wasn’t his call to make. Heather had made it clear that this was her party.
Her dark almond-shaped eyes narrowed under their sleepy lids. “And this woman is back in Pittsburgh?”
“Uh, no. She’s actually here in town, thanks to your sister.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Stickley wanted to pull his service revolver from the holster and shoot himself in the head.
She sat straight up. “My sister?”
Stickley sighed. He didn’t understand women. But, he especially didn’t understand the gorgeous, overtly sexual, competitive, quick-tempered Wilson sisters.
Heather was waiting for an answer.
“Uh, Judge Paulson appointed the lawyer to represent old Jed Craybill. I guess Doc Spangler reported him to the county, said he couldn’t care for himself properly.”
“Yes, I know all this, Carl,” she said, tapping the arm of the chair. “Bob explained it when he told me she’d been appointed to investigate the judge’s death.”
She stopped the tapping and raised her arm, pointing at him now. “But you framed that hippie and Bob shut down her investigation. So, why is she back?” She flung herself back in the chair, exasperated.
“Well, I guess Jed took a turn for the worse. Deputy Russell found him, as it happens, and drove him to the hospital. Anyway, Marty Braeburn told your sister they had to call Ms. McCandless because of the active court case. She came flying up from Pittsburgh like a bat out of hell, with a federal agent and a geriatric doctor.”
“A federal agent? Which agency?”
Stickley laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s just a sky cop, an air marshal. But, about McCandless and your tape, what should I do?”
She fluttered her fingers, displaying her dark red nails, then dropped the smile. “Just clean up your mess.”
CHAPTER 38
Bzzzzt, bzzzt. Shelly Spangler’s cell phone vibrated in the breast pocket of her lab coat. It was the fourth call in as many minutes. She excused herself from her conversation with the hospital’s occupational therapist and ducked into an empty room.
“Spangler.”
“Shelly, where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling,” her sister demanded, her voice low and threatening,
Shelly summoned all of her patience before responding. “I’m at the hospital doing rou
nds. I can’t talk now. Can I call you later?”
“No, honey, I have a packed schedule. I really need to talk to you. It’s urgent.” Heather’s voice went breathy and dramatic at the end.
Of course she did. Shelly felt her irritation rise. Here was a woman who spent her days lounging around the house in her lingerie, perhaps, Shelly suspected, aimed at finally stopping her octogenarian husband’s overtaxed heart.
To her older sister, a packed schedule meant she’d have to stop drinking her wine spritzers some time around three to go get her hair done before she poured herself into a cocktail dress to make an appearance at a fundraising dinner or, once a month, actually put on a suit to go sit through a county council meeting. Maybe once a week, she popped into the headquarters at the trucking company she’d sweet-talked her besotted, befuddled husband into signing over to her. Yes, clearly, Heather’s schedule should take priority over her own day filled with rounds, examinations, minor surgeries, and the minutiae of running a medical practice. But, of course, that was the way it had always been.
“Of course, sis,” Shelly said, careful to keep her annoyance out of her voice. “Is everything okay?”
“No, everything is not okay. What have you done?”
“What have I done?” Shelly scoured her memory for something that would have pissed off Heather and came up empty. “I don’t know, you tell me?”
“You did something to Craybill, didn’t you?”
Shelly hissed into the phone, “I can’t talk about that here, Heather.”
“I know you did. That smelly old fool Stickley just left my house. Craybill just suddenly took a turn for the worse, and now the feds are in town. The feds, Shelly.”
Shelly closed her eyes. She had hoped that somehow news of the federal agent’s visit wouldn’t make its way back to her sister. It had been a foolish wish, really. Heather had so many people who either owed her favors, were on her payroll, or both, that she probably knew what Shelly had for breakfast.
“He’s not a problem, Heather. Trust me.”
She hoped she sounded confident. Truth was, she was terrified. Dr. Brown had told her nothing useful at all about the federal agent or his reasons for being in town.
“Not good enough, Shelly. What were you thinking?”
“You told me Jed’s property was the key. You came to my office and said that, remember, Heather? What did you want me to do?”
“I don’t know, Shelly, but not this. You’ve done it too many times, given someone a little push into incapacitation and, now look, you’re being investigated! What did dad always tell us? Pigs get fed and hogs—”
“Get slaughtered.”
“That’s right. If the feds start sniffing around the hotel deal because they’re onto you, so help me God, I’ll kill you myself.”
Shelly’s custom-fitted lab coat, tailored to show off her tiny waist and perfect breasts, suddenly felt constricting, as though she couldn’t take a deep breath. Someone who knew Heather only in passing would have written off the tirade as venting. Shelly, who had suffered under Heather’s sadistic thumb for sixteen years, until the bitch had finally graduated high school and moved out of their mother’s house, knew it was no idle threat.
“Heather, I promise you, Agent Connelly isn’t interested in our business holdings or my guardianship stuff. In fact, I think he’s only hanging around because he’s shtupping the lawyer. Russell said he spent the night with her at Judge Paulson’s apartment.”
“You’d better hope you’re right, Shelly. Is Stickley right, this fed is an air marshal?”
Shelly had no idea. But, God, she hoped so.
“Yes, Heather. Like I said, he’s not a problem.” Shelly’s voice betrayed her, quaking and breaking.
The anger left Heather’s voice as quickly as it had appeared. Now, the charm was back. “Maybe you could do me a favor?”
“Sure, sis. Anything for you.”
“If you get a chance—take care of that lawyer. I think Stickley’s going to give it a try, but you know, he’s so inept.”
Surely Heather was kidding now. She couldn’t have just copped to asking Stickley to kill the lawyer, could she? Over a cell phone?
“You know what else dad said, Heather? Don’t write if you can speak; don’t speak if you can nod; don’t nod if you can wink.”
Although their father had been nothing more than a failed furnace salesman, he’d fancied himself some kind of minor mobster because he had to bribe his suppliers out of Johnstown.
“I mean, just convince her to go back home, Shells. Tell her whatever she wants to hear about Craybill, so she’ll go. Please? I know I said we need his land; we’ll figure something else out, okay?”
Heather displayed no hint that she’d meant that she wanted the attorney to be killed, but the change in her tone and her use of Shelly’s nickname confirmed for Shelly that her sister had said more than she’d meant. Now, she was backing away.
“Listen, I have to go. Don’t worry about Craybill or this fed, okay? Everything’s under control. I’ll see you at the grand opening dinner, right?”
“Right,” Heather said, her voice bright once again. “Love you, sis.”
“I love you, too, sis.”
Shelly ended the call and leaned against the wall by the door, gathering herself. What she had told Heather was true. The brooding federal agent did appear to be romantically involved with Sasha McCandless. She just hoped the tiny lawyer was the extent of his interest in Cold Brook County.
She had passed a sleepless night counting up the rules and regulations that her real estate venture had violated. She was reasonably sure most of them were state laws or medical ethical obligations. Really, nothing she’d done should have earned her any federal attention. If this guy really was an air marshal, he definitely wasn’t interested in her dealings, but Stickley was wrong as often as he was right.
The genius of her plan was its simplicity. All she needed was one moderately lazy office drone at the Department of Aging Services, who was more than happy to have the county’s most popular doctor take on the task of serving as guardian for the increasing number of older citizens who were finding it impossible to remain independent.
No one ever questioned her recommendations; they just forwarded them along to Marty Braeburn, who prepared the papers and then convinced opposing counsel, if there was one, to consent to an order granting the incapacitation petition. Apparently, the county’s handful of attorneys were at least as lazy as the county government workers, because, until Judge Paulson had appointed that lawyer from Pittsburgh, no one had ever contested one of their petitions.
Once she had the papers giving her control over the incapacitated person’s finances, she waited a decent interval, moved the old person to one of several nursing homes, and then let her contacts at the oil and gas companies know she was accepting bids for the mineral rights to the land. Everything was above board, with one small exception: when she filed the requisite financial reports with the court, she reported the lease income on behalf of the incapacitated individuals, but she understated the income from the hydrofracking leases by ten percent.
She liked to think of it as a finder’s fee. Between that little slice of the pie and the fee the county paid her to serve as guardian, she had built up a nice little supplement to her income from practicing medicine. It was virtually risk-free. A cushion, just in case something ever happened to her practice. Even though, she did have to give Heather her cut.
It was pretty rich, though, Heather accusing her of being the greedy hog, when she was satisfied with a couple extra hundred thousand and her piece of the money Heather extorted for the trucking contracts. Heather was the one who wanted to branch out with the restaurant and the resort hotel.
Although, Shelly did have to admit that Heather’s insistence that she get Jed Craybill’s property was going to pay off, even if the hotel deal fell through. He owned one hundred and sixty acres of desirable land—that would get the oil and gas peopl
e salivating. She could probably get a bidding war started. That should make Heather happy.
First, though, she had to get Marty to appeal or do whatever he had to do to fix that stupid judge’s decision appointing dopey Sam Brown, of all people, as guardian. In the meantime, she’d just have to keep a close eye on Dr. Brown to make sure he didn’t undo all her work.
CHAPTER 39
Adrenaline hummed through Sasha’s body as she sat tucked away in a corner of Bob’s, soon-to-be the Café on the Square. Her fingers flew, the pen gliding over the notepad like it had wings. She stopped and took several long, slow breaths. She had to beat back her excitement, stay calm, and work her way methodically through the stack of documents Jessie had delivered.
The exchange had gone smoothly. Just before noon, she’d returned to the Recorder of Deeds Office and caught Jessie walking out of the office, her arms full of papers, engrossed in conversation with a man about her own age.
Judging by the smiles the couple exchanged, at least one romance had bloomed in the hallway. That was no surprise. Every long trial or out-of-town document review Sasha had worked on had yielded at least one “summer camp” romance. Two bored attorneys, support staff members, or some combination of the two would get hot and heavy for the duration of the assignment. Usually, there’d be a halfhearted attempt to make a long-distance relationship work—a few weekend flights cross-country, the grownup equivalent of a flurry of letters before school started again and the summer romance faded with the leaves on the trees.
Every once in a while, a relationship took root and flourished, though; maybe Jessie and this dark-haired guy who didn’t realize he was supposed to cut the fabric label off the outside of the arm of his suit jacket would beat the odds.
Sasha had caught Jessie’s eye and nodded toward the restroom.
Jessie had tossed one last giggle over her shoulder and then trotted to catch up to Sasha. They’d walked to the ladies’ room in silence.
Once inside, Jessie had checked under the stalls for feet, like she was in a made-for-tv movie, then handed over the papers.
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