Hazardous Duty

by Christy Barritt

  “Can we talk, Gabby?”

  I glanced across the hall. Riley leaned against his door, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His hair was ruffled, like he’d been lying down, and his blue eyes sparkled, as always.

  Why did he have to be so cute?

  Before I could change my mind, I threw the door open and walked into my kitchen. He could take it as an invitation if he wanted.

  I deposited my purse on the counter, then turned, colliding into his chest. He grasped my arms, his eyes cutting into mine. Why did I feel like he could see more in one glance than anyone else in my life had seen in years?

  “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  I swallowed, but kept my head high. “A killer actually.”

  Riley tilted his head in what I could only describe as exasperation. “You didn’t stop by to see Michael Cunningham, did you?”

  “I’m not up to talking about this.”

  He grabbed my arm before I could walk away. “Gabby, why are you putting yourself in this position? Why can’t you let it go?”

  “Because I don’t want to see Harold behind bars. Is that so strange? So hard to comprehend?”

  His gaze softened. “No, it’s not. But let me handle it. I’m his lawyer.”

  Forcing my shoulders to relax, I stared back at him. “Lawyer, huh? You never mentioned that in any of our conversations.”

  “It didn’t seem important.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m trying to figure some things out, Gabby. It’s not as simple as it seems.”

  His honesty began to warm my icy heart. “Well, it’s really nice of you to take on Harold’s case. He needs a good lawyer.” I paused. “You are a good lawyer, aren’t you?”

  A smile pulled up half of his lip. “I like to think so.”

  I leaned my palms against the counter. “Things have just been so crazy here lately. I can hardly think.”

  “That’s understandable. Someone tried to kill you. Twice.”

  I didn’t need to be reminded of how precarious things had been the past couple of days. What I needed was a long, hot bath.

  Riley sat in one of the wicker chairs at my glass top table.

  So much for my bath.

  “How did you run into Michael Cunningham?” Riley grabbed a pencil from the coffee table and began twirling it between his fingers, his gaze meeting mine.

  Oh, nuts. He wanted details. “I paid him a visit.” I put the kettle on the stove. “Tea?”

  “How did you know where he was staying?”

  I pulled a mug from the cabinet. “I have my ways.”

  While waiting for the water to boil, I took a seat across from him, feeling awkward in my own house. Something wasn’t right about that.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll trade you secret for secret. You tell me why you decided to take on Harold’s case. Then I’ll tell you how I found out where Cunningham was staying.”

  Riley nodded slowly. “Deal.” He set the pencil down with a clink and pulled his hands back. “I thought about what you said, about how much Harold meant to you and how much you believed in him. I decided I wanted to help.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Plain and simple.” His gaze held mine, unwavering. “Now it’s your turn. How’d you know where Cunningham was staying?”

  I leaned back, glaring at him. Somehow I’d expected more than five words before I spilled my guts. “I didn’t. It was dumb luck.” Six words. I quit and stared.

  He repeated my earlier question. “That’s it?”

  I shrugged and did my best Gary Cooper imitation. “Yep.”

  “And what possessed you to pay his mother a visit?”

  “I wanted to pay my condolences.”

  “No, really.”

  “Yes, really. I wanted to apologize. Then when I realized Cunningham might be there, I wanted to see how he reacted seeing me face to face.”

  “Did you get the reaction you wanted?”

  “He knew my last name before I told him.”

  Riley’s head bobbed up. “Interesting.”

  “He threatened me.”

  Riley’s head froze and his perfect eyes narrowed. “You could have been putting yourself in danger.”

  “In danger?” I batted my eyelashes dramatically. “How could I be in danger from an innocent man?”

  “If you go around accusing people, things get ugly.” Riley sighed and began playing with the pencil again. “What time did his house burn down?”

  “Harold left at seven thirty. Then I found the gun and started to pack up. I heard the glass break, I’d guess around 8:30 or 9:00. Why?”

  Riley tapped on the table. “There’s a two hour period that Cunningham was unaccounted for at the hospital.”

  I leaned forward, processing the information. “How do you know that, Riley?”

  “I have my ways.”

  I snatched the pencil away from him. “Explain.”

  He frowned, looking from me to the pencil as if he were considering snatching it back. “I went to the hospital today and asked around. I guess Cunningham said he was going to walk around the hospital for a few minutes to work his leg. He was gone for two hours. No one saw him.”

  Hope surged through me. “I could hug you.”

  “It doesn’t prove anything.”

  “It proves Cunningham doesn’t have an alibi. It proves opportunity. It weakens the case against Harold.”

  He shrugged. “If I’m going to prove Harold innocent, I need to prove someone else is guilty.”

  “No you don’t, my friend. All you need is reasonable doubt. I’m liking you more and more all the time.”

  “You’ll like me more after this.” Riley leaned forward and drew in a deep breath, as if the words didn’t come easily. “Don’t ask me why I’m offering this, but I have an unofficial meeting with William Newsome tomorrow.” His piercing expression met mine. “Would you care to join me?”

  Newsome, the man accused of killing Gloria Cunningham. My mouth watered just thinking about the questions I had for that man.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You’re just here to listen, Gabby.” Riley tugged at his tie, loosening it as we neared the front door of the city jail. “Don’t try anything smart.”

  “Me, smart? Not in this lifetime.” My heels clicked across the cement sidewalk, and I smoothed my beige suit.

  Riley stopped short, held the door closed and turned to me. “Gabby.” He drew my name out until it had four syllables.

  I raised my hands in the perfect imitation of a woman surrendering. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Riley stared at me a moment longer, then strained his neck against the fabric at his collar. He pulled open the glass door to let me go in first. “So far your best behavior has scared me half to death. You have a glimmer in your eyes.”

  I stopped in the doorway and glanced up at him. My breath caught when I realized our close proximity. Something about his face was just lovable. It was earnest, wholesome, and staring back at me with equal intensity. I inhaled the woodsy scent of his cologne and found myself wanting more.

  I had to get a grip.

  He leaned closer, and I could feel his breath on my cheek. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. I barely found my voice. “I’m hoping for answers. Is that too much?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  He looked dashing in a suit, though I knew he’d be more comfortable in jeans and a pullover. Whatever happened in his past, this suit seemed to be connected to it, as he fidgeted with every step.

  “You look nice, Riley.”

  He looked away and adjusted his tie again, the mood broken. “Thanks.” With a sweep of his hand, waved me inside. “Let’s go.”

  We walked into the gray jail. For one of my classes in college, we went to a jail for a tour and, thankfully, that was the closest I’d ever come to being behind those bars.

  College at been great fun
, a place where I’d learned interesting facts like tongue prints are just as unique as fingerprints, and that a Koala bear’s fingerprint can’t be distinguished from the fingerprint of a human.

  College had been where I’d discovered the truth—science. Everything made sense—well, everything except the part about man evolving from monkeys. That was just ridiculous. It pained me to realize, but I wasn’t sure where we did come from. The question had always haunted me, nagged at me even.

  But science, that’s where miracles were found. Things could be proven through tests and experiments. In some ways, I guess I worshipped science like others worshipped God. The nice thing about science was that it had never let me down. I couldn’t say that much for God.

  An officer directed me and Riley down a couple of hallways until we reached the visitation room. Riley and I took a seat in the end booth. I stared at the Plexiglas that would soon separate us from a criminal. When I talked to Harold next, would this be the way we communicated? I squirmed in my orange plastic chair.

  “You going to be okay?” Riley asked.

  “I’m just anxious for this to start.”

  As soon as I spoke, a slight man plopped on the other side of the glass. Somehow I had imagined Newsome to be bigger, scarier. Instead, his oversized glasses and greasy brown hair made him look more like a con artist than someone accused of murder.

  “I didn’t burn no house down.” Newsome didn’t wait for the questions, but his voice was too nasal to be tough. “I was in jail. The perfect alibi.”

  Riley’s jaw locked into place. “Let’s start by talking about Gloria Cunningham.”

  “I already told the police a million times, I didn’t kill no lady.”

  “Then why was your shoe print found at the crime scene after she was murdered?”

  Newsome dipped his head lower and sighed. His eyes held arrogance. “While I was out on bail, I decided to stop by to talk with her earlier that night. I wanted to convince her not to testify.”

  “You were desperate for her not to testify,” Riley stated, his jaw flexing with intensity.

  His face reddened. “Yeah, but not desperate enough to kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Why would Cunningham think it was you then? He claims you shot him in the leg.”

  “He says whoever it was wore a mask. He can’t prove a thing. Can’t you see I’m a scapegoat? Now, I’m willing to do time for my past crimes, but I ain’t doing time for this. That’s premeditated murder.”

  I listened to the exchange with fascination, forcing myself to keep quiet. Though Newsome looked like a slime ball, I believed him. He didn’t kill Gloria.

  “If you didn’t do it, who did?” Riley asked.

  “What do I look like, a psychic? I don’t know. I just know it wasn’t me.” Newsome rose, his face turning redder.

  “You threatened to kill her.”

  “I didn’t mean it. I just didn’t want her to testify. It was all talk.” He shook his head.

  “What was your meeting like with the Cunninghams when you went over there earlier in the day?” I asked.

  Riley narrowed his eyes at me. Though I’d promised to stay quiet, the question popped out.

  The warden cleared his throat, and Newsome sat down. He shrugged as if trying to gain his cool. His gaze settled on Riley. “I walked up to the door. There was yelling inside, like the mister and missus were arguing about something. I rang the bell. The husband answered. He looked ticked, I thought he was gonna kill me right then and there. I never even had a chance to say nothing.”

  I could imagine the scene perfectly, based on my encounter with Cunningham yesterday. I pictured the veins at his temple, the fire in his eyes. Shudders rippled down my spine.

  “Did you hear what they were arguing about?” Riley asked.

  “No idea. It was all muffled, you know?”

  “Did you hire someone to burn down their house?”

  “Do I look like I have that kind of money? For Pete’s sake, I robbed a bank trying to get some extra cash!” He shook his head like we were the morons. “I heard one of the guys cleaning the crime scene burned the house down. He had the access. Why don’t you talk to him?”

  My back went rigid. “He didn’t do it.”

  Riley placed his hand on my arm and sent another warning glance.

  The warden approached William from behind. “Time’s up.”

  William eyed us both. “I didn’t kill that woman. I don’t know who did, but it wasn’t me.”

  When he was gone, Riley and I sat in silence.

  “I wonder what the Cunninghams were arguing about,” I said.

  “It’s irrelevant.”

  “Are you going to talk to Michael today? To ask him about those two unaccounted hours?”

  “Yes, but I’m doing that alone,” Riley said.

  “I behaved myself in there! It was a good question.”

  “If Cunningham sees you, he’s only going to get upset.”

  “And when Cunningham hears what you have to say, he’s going to be furious.”

  Riley sighed. “I just need to handle this alone, Gabby. I already broke the rules and let you come here today.”

  Maybe I was asking for too much. I nodded and resigned myself to respect Riley’s choice.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I wasn’t about to sit in my apartment and sulk until Riley got back. If he wouldn’t let me come along, then I’d do some digging on my own.

  As soon as he pulled away from the house, I grabbed my keys and climbed into the van. Contemplating my next move, I rubbed the pointy chin of my heart-shaped face.

  Really, only sweet people should have heart shaped faces, but by some freak of nature, I’d ended up with a face that looked angelic. It was an advantage in high school because I could get away with things. Like when the teacher asked who was playing Dr. Frankenstein with a lab frog, trying to bring the poor thing back to life using electricity? I didn’t say a word. I just sat there with wide eyes and tilted my innocent face. He never even suspected me. At least not until he caught me trying to do the same thing with a cadaver.

  The two good things my parents had given me were a sweet face and a slim build. Although, people always assumed because I was skinny, that I liked my body. But my stomach wasn’t flat, cellulite attacked my hips, and I’d always hated my knees, so I rarely wore shorts. Come to think of it, I’d never known a woman who did like her body. Even my mom, who was a former Miss Norfolk, had constantly looked in the mirror and shook her head at the mess she’d become.

  That’s when Mom met Dad—during her reign as beauty queen of our historic port city. Dad was in Virginia Beach for a surfing competition and had come by the pageant, not doubt to ogle during the swimsuit competition. Mom always said it was love at first sight.

  Mom had been seventeen, and Dad nineteen. I was born nine months later, out of wedlock. Instead of going to medical school as mom had planned, she’d stayed home with me for awhile. That’s when Dad was making the covers of surfing magazines and getting endorsement deals. Then he hurt his back in a surfing accident, and he’d felt sorry for himself ever since.

  I drove toward Cunningham’s house, reviewing the conversation with Newsome and my confrontation with Cunningham. I needed evidence that proved Cunningham was the murderer. Of course, I’d already discovered the gun in his house and that hadn’t helped. I could hand over a taped confession and Parker wouldn’t care.

  I pulled into the neighbor’s driveway. I had to find out exactly what the neighbor saw on the night of the fire. Had she only assumed the man she’d seen was Michael Cunningham?

  After parking the van, I walked up the gravel drive to the Tudor home, concentrating so I wouldn’t twist my ankle in the heels I wore. A large expanse of lawn, typical in this wooded neighborhood, fluttered with the wind, the grass blowing like ocean waves. It offered a brief respite from the humidity.

  I rang the doorbell. A minute later the same bleached blond Barb
ie doll from two days ago answered, smiling with all the beauty cosmetic surgery could buy. She squinted, as if trying to remember where she’d seen me before, though no lines formed on her forehead.

  “Hi, we met a couple of days ago at the Cunningham’s house.” I held out my hand. “I’m Gabby St. Claire.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Her eyes widened in what might have looked like recognition if it wasn’t for the Botox freezing her muscles. “I’m Barbara. Come on in.”

  I stepped inside the expansive marble entryway. “Sorry to disturb you, but I was hoping you might answer a couple of questions for me.”

  “Anything I can do to help. I just want whoever did this to pay.”

  “Me too.” I dropped the polite smile. “Barbara, you told me when we talked that you saw Mr. Cunningham at the house on the night of the arson. Are you sure it was him?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure. I was raking leaves when I saw a car pull up—”

  “His car?”

  She drew her swollen lips in a thin line. “No, it wasn’t his car, but I’d seen it at the house before. He started to go in the house, but then stopped and walked around outside instead.”

  “How long was he there?”

  “Probably only five minutes.”

  Long enough to set it on fire, I thought.

  “Did you say anything to him?”

  “I was going to, but . . . it’s awkward, you know? What do you say to someone whose wife has just been murdered? It’s not exactly a time for small talk.”

  “Did you see anything else at the house that night? Any unusual visitors?”

  Barbara looked at her manicured hands, then raised her head. “No. All I know is that I saw flames shooting out the windows. I called 911 right away.”

  “What do you know about the Cunninghams? Were they a happy couple? I’ve heard they fought quite a bit.”

  “What married couple doesn’t? But Michael and Gloria, they had their fair share. Sometimes their voices would drift all the way across the lawn.”

  “Any idea what they fought about?”

  Barbara shook her head so robotically I decided she’d be better as a Stepford wife. “No idea. I just assumed it was the stress of getting ready to run for office.”