Your Money's Worth: Seattle Elementals, Book 1

by Connie Suttle

  "Jeezus," I muttered as the door closed behind her waggling ass.

  My phone rang less than a minute later. "Daniel's on line two," Pauline said.

  I lifted the handset without replying. "Daniel," I began, "What's up?"

  "Big problems," he said. "Two murders, similar to the one in Matamoros."

  "Where?"

  "One in Corpus Christi, the other in McAllen. On the same night, at roughly the same time."

  "Jeezus," I muttered for the second time in less than ten minutes.

  * * *

  "Mom, I have no idea," I tossed out a hand in frustration. Here I was, standing in my mother's kitchen while she finished pulling meatloaf from the oven, telling her my troubles regarding Morton King.

  "You should tell Cassie you're having him tracked and investigated," Mom said, taking hot pads off her hands and slapping them on the counter.

  "But," I began.

  "You haven't talked to her, have you?"

  "You said yourself she was mad at me. What am I supposed to do about that?"

  "Call her and clear the air. Let her say what's on her mind. She was railroaded into that internship, and deserves to complain to somebody about it. That somebody should be her husband, don't you think?"

  "But what if she gets upset that I've sent Daniel and two rock demon enforcers after her father?"

  "You should have told her—and Destiny—before you sent Daniel. It's your duty to uphold the law, even when a family member is involved."

  "He's the only family they have left," I sighed and turned away from my mother's accusing stare. "I'll probably end up ordering his execution."

  "Oh, dear," Mom whispered behind me.

  * * *

  Cliff Young

  Rob and I stood inside the greenhouse I'd built on my property three years earlier, when I'd first come to Tuscaloosa to take the Public Defender's job.

  Only Rob knew that I'd been asked by Blake Donovan to take the job. Blake, Evan Haroldson and I wanted to make changes in the judicial system, but there was some corruption to root out, first.

  Rob was an earth sprite, and could do amazing things as long as he stood directly on the Earth itself. The greenhouse had a floor of grass and nothing else beneath it. Every time Rob met me here, my roses bloomed profusely for weeks afterward, no matter what season it was.

  "I wish she'd told us what kind of elemental she is," Rob pursed his lips as he touched the stem of an orchid. I'd gotten the damn thing as a Christmas gift from an acquaintance and it was attempting suicide in my greenhouse.

  With Rob's hands on it, it would be forced into a cheerful spate of bloom and growth.

  "Even if she's a water demon, that could help us if we needed it," Rob said.

  "I hesitate to tell her we're dealing with this much corruption," I pointed out. "Money is coming in, and that's what most of them are concerned about. It doesn't matter that the money to keep them in their elected office comes from gambling, drugs and who knows what else, or that the criminals are disguising themselves as a corporation operating privatized prisons, all of which they're busy pushing through the legislature. Not just in this state, but across the country."

  "From their slick representation, it all looks good—reduce the overcrowding conditions in state prisons, all while turning a profit and gaining access to the best criminal minds the country has to offer." Rob never minced words. He and I—we'd been working together for nearly twenty years. I'd saved his life; he was determined to repay the debt.

  "If the politicians weren't so busy taking money to fatten their coffers, they might wonder where Corvina Corrections came from to begin with."

  "True. We have to find the one behind Corvina Corrections, first, before we get too crazy about pointing fingers."

  "Or the ones," Rob shook his head. "I was hoping Ross Diablo was the one. I wasn't sad to hear he died."

  "His relatives died with him, I checked," I agreed. "You know our new girl was engaged to Ross? Ran away from him, too, before he could get his hands on her. Smart move on her part."

  "How did you find that out?"

  "Blake. No idea where he got it, but says it's gospel."

  "Interesting," Rob removed his hands from the orchid. Already it looked perky and willing to grow in its new pot. "If we find the bastards behind all this, we may need Cassie's help to take them down."

  "I hope she's not the squeamish type, then," I growled.

  "You need to tell her she may be involved in extracurricular activities—before they happen," Rob advised.

  Chapter 3

  Cassie

  "So, did they send you packing?" Binita asked. We were having chicken tacos for dinner; it was something easy to make while discussing classes and case law.

  "No." I dumped a tablespoon of chicken taco meat in a shell before adding lettuce, cheese and tomato. "Things turned out to be better than I thought. They didn't yell and actually gave me seven cases to research so we can mount a decent defense."

  "Outstanding," Binita crunched into a taco. "Will you sit with the attorney on the case?"

  "We didn't discuss that," I said.

  "I hope they allow it—wouldn't it be cool to sit at the table and pass notes to the attorney? You could make a big difference in the case."

  "I hope I make a big difference anyway, whether I'm at the trial or not," I said. "In some cases, I just hope the judge listens to reason and doesn't push the maximum sentence onto a couple of the defendants. There are extenuating circumstances."

  "Good luck with that," Binita took another bite.

  "Yeah."

  * * *

  Wednesday, I was called on in class. It made me more than grateful that Binita and I had discussed the reading material and associated cases the night before. At least the professor appeared satisfied with my answers; any preparation was better than standing up in class and admitting you weren't prepared.

  It felt like a small victory, at least, when I made my way to the apartment. I considered calling Parke, too, since I hadn't heard from him. Unless there was a trial date, he'd be at the office since Seattle was two hours earlier.

  No, I hadn't expected a woman to answer the phone, or for her to sound as disinterested as she did.

  "He's out," she said. I didn't recognize her voice.

  "Will you tell him I called, then?"

  "Of course."

  She hung up before I could say anything else, which left me fuming. I'd never handled his calls like that. Trust him to hire somebody who could be Annabelle's twin sister—that's how she'd sounded over the phone.

  Well, I hadn't talked to Kate lately. I dialed her number next.

  "Cassie," Kate sounded happy to hear from me.

  "Is Parke in court today?" I asked.

  "I don't think so. Why?"

  "I just called his office. His new assistant said he was out."

  "He could have gone for a cup of coffee," Kate said.

  "True. I asked her to tell him I called, but she hung up before I could leave a message."

  "That doesn't sound professional. I'll ask him about it when he gets home."

  "Thanks. How's Destiny?"

  "She's doing well. Today is one of her training days—Bea says she's learning rapidly and already has a tight leash on her ice demon."

  "Great. That's so cool. So to speak."

  "She's enjoying her lessons, and she found new friends at the private school she's attending."

  "She told me about the sleepover."

  "I don't think they slept more than five minutes," Kate chuckled. "Stayed up to watch movies and had cold pizza for breakfast."

  "Good times," I agreed. Cold pizza for breakfast had been a staple in my first two years of law school. "Well, I should go—I got called on in class today. I was barely prepared, and I've been reading everything I could get my hands on since I got here."

  "At least you were able to answer—that's wonderful," Kate said. "I knew you'd get right back into it; you're so focused
when you work."

  "Yeah." I didn't say it, but Parke was so focused on everything else that he'd forgotten about me. Hadn't called or written, other than the text telling me I had an internship to go to that I hadn't chosen for myself.

  If Cliff and Rob hadn't turned out to be allies, in a way, I'd be complaining my head off to Kate, because I needed somebody to listen who'd fully understand. Even then, I couldn't unload about Parke—he was her son.

  "Look, I really have to go—wish I could come home to one of your meals at least one day a week."

  "Perhaps during spring break?" Kate asked.

  "Yeah. That sounds good. Bye, Kate. It was really nice talking to you."

  I ended the call and felt like crying. Not once did Kate say that Parke missed me or even thought about me.

  That was the way things worked with me; I was used until I wasn't needed, then shunted aside. I knew about several of Ross' women while we were supposedly engaged. Some of them had been human. A handful were not.

  Was that how it would be with Parke, too?

  I'd never asked about former girlfriends while he worked in D.C. At the time, I felt it would be prying. Now, I wished I knew something about his life before. As it was, I didn't know any private investigators, and certainly none in the D.C. area.

  "You're fucked no matter what, Cassie King," I informed myself as I opened the fridge to find something for dinner. "And not in the traditional sense, either."

  * * *

  Things were subdued when I walked into the county courthouse on Thursday, heading for the PD's office.

  Something had happened, that was a given. I just didn't know what. "The boss wants to see you in his office," Rob said.

  For the second time, I followed Rob straight back to Cliff's office, passing an attorney and someone from the Sheriff's Department in the hall on the way.

  Questions bubbled in my confused brain, but I didn't want to look or sound stupid, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Rob and I took the same chairs we had last time, after Rob closed the door behind us.

  "Bad news, I'm afraid," Cliff said right away. "A District Judge in Birmingham was shot and killed early this morning. Everybody's on edge—there was another shooting attempt with a judge in Mobile."

  "You think the two are connected?" I asked. Yes, I was attempting to make sense out of new (and troubling) information. "Who?" I added another question to the first one before Cliff could answer.

  "Two judges who don't want privatization of our prison system," Rob said. "Or didn't, at least in one case. The other has a bodyguard from the local Sheriff's Department, now."

  "I didn't realize people were still kicking that idea around," I chewed my lower lip for a moment.

  "It never went away," Cliff said. "They say they can house prisoners cheaper than the state."

  "I know some states are already on board with privatization," I said.

  "There are problems," Rob offered. "Nobody is connecting the dots on this, yet; still too early in the investigation and they don't have many leads on the shooters involved. I want both of you to drive to Birmingham with me this morning, so we can talk to a few people and poke around."

  "But Birmingham is out of our jurisdiction," I pointed out before snapping my mouth shut. Nobody knew that better than the Tuscaloosa County Public Defender. "You knew him—the judge who died," I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

  "Yes. Worked with him for several years when I was in the Jefferson County PD's office. Had dinner with him and his wife too many times to count." Cliff's dark eyes didn't indicate his pain, but it came through in his voice.

  "Somebody shot him when he opened the door to take the dog out this morning," Rob said when Cliff fell silent. "That means they've been watching him—for a while."

  Something else I hadn't considered occurred to me, then.

  Cliff was a werewolf. Perhaps he could scent the killer. I jerked my head in his direction and blinked at him for several seconds.

  "The light just came on for our intern," Cliff lifted his suitcoat from his chair and slipped into it. "We'll be gone most of the day. You can study in the car," he informed me and shouldered his way past Rob and me.

  I was grateful I'd charged my phone and tablet before coming to work; I'd need both if I were to get any work done while riding in the back of a car.

  * * *

  Birmingham is roughly sixty miles from Tuscaloosa—not a long drive but I managed to get some reading done for class the following day. "This is it," Cliff slowed down while driving through an affluent neighborhood in Birmingham.

  Lifting my head to gaze out the window, I saw the house—with yellow crime scene tape still flapping in the January breeze. Two Birmingham police officers stood guard at the perimeter. Cliff was stopped—he showed his credentials and was waved through; the officer recognized him.

  After parking the car, Cliff led us toward the back door, where another police officer stood. We were allowed inside—the judge's wife sat at a breakfast nook table, a pile of tissues near her elbow and still sniffling as she spoke with two detectives.

  "Laura, I came as soon as I could," Cliff took one of her hands and patted it.

  "Oh, my God, Cliff, please tell me this is all a dream," Laura Wembley broke into fresh tears.

  Cliff took a chair next to hers and pulled her against him. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled as she wept on his shoulder. "So, so, sorry."

  "Come with me," Rob whispered and steered me away from the kitchen. In moments, we were through the back door again.

  "She's upset," Rob waved at the officer guarding the door. "We just need to step outside for a minute or two. Come with me," Rob hissed under his breath and pulled me toward a corner of the fenced backyard.

  "What?" I hissed back at him.

  "I need to take my shoes off, and I don't want anybody else to see that," he whispered. "You have to block me from view while I put my feet on the ground. Hold onto my hand, so it'll look like I'm comforting you."

  I blinked. Rob was an earth sprite. He had to connect with the ground beneath his feet for whatever he intended to do. As requested, I held his hand and stood between him and the officer at the back door, while Rob slipped out of his Loafers.

  He wasn't wearing socks.

  I wanted to ask what he was doing, or how it would help, but didn't. I was supposed to be upset, after all. I ducked my head and watched as Rob's toes dug into the grass beneath them.

  Maybe he would tell me later.

  Maybe he wouldn't.

  Sprites were notoriously close-mouthed about their talent and abilities. If I could bet on the situation, though, I'd bet that Cliff would know soon enough.

  After ten minutes, during which Rob kept his eyes on his feet and I hugged myself with one arm in the cool morning air in Birmingham, Rob let my other hand drop, slid his feet into his Loafers and lifted his eyes to mine.

  I almost gasped. His eyes were so pale a blue they were nearly white. I suppose he knew what my expression meant; he pulled a pair of Wayfarers out of a pocket and slipped them on.

  "We'll go back to the car. I'll text Cliff when we get there," he muttered and pulled me toward the back gate.

  He and I waited in the car another half-hour before Cliff opened the driver's side door and slid gracefully onto the leather seat. "They're taking her to her brother's house—he lives just outside town," Cliff sighed as he started the car. "What did you find out?"

  "Shooter climbed a tree two houses over," Rob said. "I can show you."

  "Let me call Detective James, first," Cliff said, steering the car away from the curb. "I'll put him onto this, and there'll be a proper trail of evidence after that."

  My breath stopped for several seconds. Rob was more than talented, if he could get that sort of information just by digging his toes into the ground.

  "It doesn't work if the shooting was done from a section of concrete," Rob said, answering my unasked question. "We're fortunate the perp climbed a tree. I was hoping t
hat was the case, since initial evidence says Judge Wembley was shot from a high angle."

  * * *

  Detective Kent James met us at a coffee shop half a mile away from Judge Wembley's home. I watched in fascination as Rob drew a map of the area surrounding the judge's house and indicated the tree the shooter climbed to kill the judge.

  "I'll handle this," Detective James said, stuffing the drawing in a pocket. "Wish you could be there with us to help sniff this out, but it could be questioned later."

  Like Cliff, Kent James was a werewolf. That meant he knew everybody at our small table was a supernatural. Before, I'd hidden away from everybody—for a reason.

  Ross had werewolf friends.

  Shady, werewolf friends.

  I'd wanted to stay away from anybody who could be linked in any way to him. I hoped sincerely that Kent James wasn't on Ross' payroll, because I suspected that Ross had plenty of people on his payroll.

  People who'd look the other way when he broke human (and other) laws. How else could Ross have escaped the notice of the Chancellor for so long? He and Jasper Bridges, the former Prince of Alabama, too. They'd conspired to take the Chancellor's position. What the now-deceased Prince hadn't known, however, was that Ross wanted the Chancellor's position for himself.

  He'd intended to kill Jasper, once the Christmas war was won.

  They'd both lost and were dead as a result. Parke was still in charge and his rock demon was still angry enough about the attempted coup to crush anyone who thought to follow in Ross' footsteps.

  That's why we hadn't made love after the war; he said his demon was still processing everything and he didn't want to let it out until it had time to consider everything and calm down.

  I'd been disappointed, but I'd slept in the adjoining bedroom of Parke's suite. He hadn't even wanted the human version of sex and that only made things worse, from my perspective.

  "There's something else," Detective James drummed his fingers on the polished wood table.

  "What's that?"

  "Diablo's house was broken into yesterday. No sign of anything taken, but since there wasn't anybody there to say whether something was stolen, we can't say for sure."

  "Who reported the break-in?" Cliff asked while I held my breath and attempted to behave normally.