The sheriff took off his glasses. His expression remained as unreadable as if he’d left them on. Then he reached in his left breast pocket and pulled out a card.
“You’re giving me your business card?”
Brax held it out between two fingers. “Take it. Never know when you’re going to need it.”
“I’m not going to need it, Brax.”
“Well, just in case you think of something vital then.”
Nick looked from the card to Brax’s impassive face. “You think I’m going to call you up in the middle of the night to confess?”
Brax squinted against the sun. “Let’s just say I figure you probably lost my number somewhere along the way. And I wanna make sure ya got it in case of emergency.” He waggled the card.
Nick finally took it. Just to get rid of him.
“Be seeing you around, Nick.” Brax shifted into gear.
“Is that the proverbial ‘I’ve got my eye on you, boy?’”
Brax shoved his shades back on. “One of these days you’re going to need a friend, Nick.”
Yeah, well, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Sheriff Tyler Braxton. His buddy obviously had it out for him. Was this about Bobbie? Or something more ancient? Like payback for accusing Brax of screwing Mary Alice, then leaving her high and dry when she got in trouble?
“Fine, Brax. I consider myself warned.”
The corner of Brax’s mouth lifted, then he saluted and hit the accelerator.
The Charger baked in the sun. Nick stuck the pansies in the trunk, hoping they didn’t die in the heat. Inside the car, sweat trickled down his neck as he leaned over to throw Brax’s card in the glovebox. It landed on top of the freshly charged but barely used cell phone he kept in the car for emergencies.
Calling a tow truck, he could handle. God forbid he should ever need to call Tyler Braxton.
So why the hell didn’t he just throw the damn card out?
Maybe it was the noose he felt tightening around his neck and the need to feed Brax any bit of exculpatory evidence that might come his way. If any did.
* * * * *
“Why on earth did you confess, Warren?”
He slammed his hand down on the table between them. “Why do you think, Roberta?”
He was two years younger than her, but today he looked ten years older. His eyes were sunk in his head. Wrinkles littered his white shirt. Warren hated wrinkles as much as she hated ironing.
“I don’t know why, Warren. You tell me.” She would try to be understanding.
He didn’t meet her gaze. “Because I’m guilty.”
He was lying. It simply wasn’t true. Warren wouldn’t have the courage to murder anyone. Under the circumstances, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.
If only she could get that image of poor Jimbo out her mind. He’d been such a sweet guy. She couldn’t believe he was dead. No one at the diner could.
She’d heard the whole story in bits and pieces throughout the afternoon. Cookie called the sheriff at three a.m.—maybe an hour before, maybe an hour after, depending on the storyteller—saying Jimbo never came home. His car was found at the lake around six by a maintenance worker and Jimbo was half in, half out of the water, like he’d been fishing and a big one dragged him in where he’d smashed his head on a rock. Of course, the sheriff pulled him out and said it was murder. His head had been bashed in. Oh my God. Warren couldn’t do that; he hated blood.
At five, Bobbie left the diner and saw the sheriff’s police car parked down at Beau’s Garage. Why would the sheriff be talking to Beau if he already had the suspect in custody? Maybe he was just gathering evidence that would corroborate Warren’s admission. Better yet, maybe he didn’t believe Warren. Whatever, it was fortuitous for her. She ran all the way to the sheriff’s department where they were holding Warren. With Brax gone, she’d have an easier time getting in to see him.
And she had. The desk sergeant gave her a private conference room with Warren. No cameras mounted in the corners and no one-way mirror/window thing like they had in all the cop TV shows.
“Did you do it for her?”
“No,” he snapped, then shut his mouth. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes, you do. She told you he beat her, that she was afraid he’d kill her.” His gaze fixed on the wall over her head was telling. He knew exactly who Bobbie was talking about. Her heart beat faster with anger, fear, helplessness, the same emotions she’d felt when Warren left her.
“Roberta, they might be recording us.”
She ground her teeth, then leaned down and looked under the table. “No hidden devices here,” she called up. Next, she turned over her chair. “Nothing here either.” She sat back down. “All right, let’s talk in code.”
“You shouldn’t have come here. There’s nothing to talk about. I killed him. I confessed. End of story.”
He’d done this for Cookie. And she wouldn’t let that...that bitch get away with it. “What motive did you give them for killing him?”
His head swayed side-to-side. “Jimbo didn’t like me starting up another accounting firm. He said it would put Dennis Crouch out of business. He asked me to meet him out at the lake so we could talk.”
She let her hand fall loudly to the table. “That is so lame. No one’s going to believe it. Especially not Brax. He’s not stupid.”
Warren’s brows pinched together. “It doesn’t matter what anyone believes. I confessed.”
She leaned forward. “Retract it.”
His fist opened and closed on the table. “I can’t. I won’t.”
Damn that Cookie, yes, damn her. She’d woven a web around Warren so thick he couldn’t see through it. The only thing to do was poke holes in his story until he caved. “The murder weapon’s missing. What did you do with it?”
“I threw it in the lake.”
She stared at his bowed head, something he seemed to do every time she asked for a detail. For the first time, she noticed a small patch of bald sprouting on his crown. Cookie had done that to him, made him lose his hair. “I don’t believe for one minute that you could smash a man’s skull in.”
He raised his head, looked at her, grimaced. “Believe it.”
Pushing at him was the only option she had. “What did it sound like? A squishy whomp, you know, with all that brain gook? Or more like a crack?”
He winced. “Roberta, please.”
“I’m just curious what the sound effect was. Did you hit him more than once? I guess you probably had to, just to make sure he was dead.”
His skin turned a tad green. “Roberta.”
“Did the shovel get stuck or anything? I suppose that would depend on how deeply you embedded it in his skull.”
He gritted his teeth, hissing through them, “Shut up, Roberta.”
“You can’t even talk about it, so how do you expect me to believe you actually did it?”
His jaw flexed. He ground his teeth. “Some things are easier done than said.”
“I think the trite little phrase is ‘easier said than done.’ You’ve got it backward.” He had everything backward, especially his loyalties. “She did it, didn’t she? And you’re just covering for her.”
His usually mild blue eyes filled with a reptilian darkness. “Shut. Up. Or get out.”
He wasn’t in his right mind. He couldn’t be. It was because he’d stopped the drugs. He wasn’t thinking rationally. Not considering the consequences of this monumental lie. He was only thinking about how the Cookie Monster needed him.
Or maybe this was just fulfillment of his death wish.
How much of this was because she’d come to town and put the screws to his relationship with Cookie? The things she might have put in motion because she was worried about her own...what, desirability, usefulness, worthiness?
No. This wasn’t her fault. It was Cookie’s. And she would not allow Cookie Beaumont this final triumph.
“I’m not letting you do this. Do you realiz
e they could give you the death penalty?” She didn’t know whether they could or not; wasn’t there something about special circumstances? Whatever.“Do you want to die for her? She isn’t worth it.”
He jumped to his feet, the chair clattering to the floor behind him. “I’m not saying another word.”
Bobbie rose more slowly. “No one in this town believes he was beating her up.”
“Don’t you see that was the whole problem? No one would believe her at all.”
“That’s why she needed you. Someone from out of town who didn’t know him like everyone else did. She suckered you, Warren, don’t you get that?”
He kicked the chair out of his way, rounded the table, towering even though he had a mere three inches on her. Something icy slithered down her spine. This was a Warren she’d never seen before.
Could this Warren actually—
No. Not now, not ever. It was time for desperate measures under the heading Tough Love. “I know you,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t have the courage to kill a man even for the woman you love, Warren. You don’t even have the courage to tell the truth.”
He raised a fist in the air, and for just the briefest moment, she wondered if he was going to hit her. Instead, he pounded on the door and yelled for the guard.
“Don’t come back again, Roberta. I don’t need your help.”
They led him away, but she stayed in the room, walking to the other side of the table and putting the chair back to rights. Her hands shook. When she turned, Brax leaned against the doorjamb.
“Guess you didn’t leave town.”
“Stuff happened. I didn’t turn in my resignation.”
“Waitresses don’t resign, they quit. That’s all you had to do.”
She tipped her nose in the air. “Things have changed. I’m not leaving just yet.”
He smiled, knowingly, irritatingly, then punched his chin in the direction of the conference table where she’d sat with Warren. “How’d it go?”
She went for nonchalant. “Weren’t you taping us?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He walked in, turned the chair she’d been sitting in, and straddled it. “Did you tell him he better get himself a damn good criminal attorney?”
“I forgot that part. I’m sure he’s already figured it out.”
“Well, he hasn’t asked for one, hasn’t even made a phone call. I thought you might be able to convince him that leaving it up to the court to appoint one might be the difference between life and death.” He paused. “Literally.”
“So that’s why you made it so easy for me to get in to see him.” She should have known something was up.
“The man needs some sense knocked into him.”
She took Warren’s vacated chair and leaned her elbows on the table. Maybe nonchalant wasn’t the right approach. How about beseeching? “You know he didn’t do it.”
“All I’ve got is his confession on record. Anything you want to add?”
She sat back, suddenly wary of the blankness in his gaze. “Like what?”
“Like why you’ve been so interested in the deceased’s wife, Cookie Beaumont. Or do you want me to draw my own conclusion?”
Her and her big mouth. Right now, Warren didn’t have a real honest-to-God motive, as far as Brax was concerned. But if he found out about Cookie and the affair... “Can he really get the death penalty for this?”
Brax didn’t answer. God, she’d have to scour the Internet to find out. She didn’t have time to scour the Internet. God, what was she going to do? How could she save Warren if he didn’t even want her to?
“Since you don’t want to tell me about Cookie, mind telling me where you were between midnight and three this morning?”
The world suddenly tilted. “Do you think I did it?”
He merely raised one eyebrow.
“I was at home. Alone. I don’t have an alibi.” She chewed on her cheek. “But then again, I don’t think I have a motive either. Jimbo was a nice man.”
He blinked. Slowly. “Yeah. He was a good guy.” Something flickered in his blue eyes. Regret? Sadness? The emotion was gone in the next instant. “Obviously not everyone thought so.” He leaned forward, a strange smile growing on his face. “Good to know you were alone, though.”
Holy moley. What an idiot. She should have seen the trap before she fell into it. He wasn’t asking for her alibi. He was asking for Nick’s.
Nick had a feud going with Jimbo. Nick had had an affair with Cookie. If Bobbie did manage to get Warren to admit he hadn’t killed Jimbo, the next suspect in line was Nick.
That said it all. Thank God she hadn’t packed up the mocha machine last night. Because Bobbie wasn’t leaving Cottonmouth. She had a new mission, to prove Cookie Beaumont killed her husband. Where on earth would she start?
First, she had to warn Nick.
* * * * *
He didn’t need to check his shed for anything incriminating. Because he hadn’t killed Jimbo.
But Brax’s voice kept playing in his mind like an old forty-five stuck in a groove.
Nick succumbed after a dinner consisting of two pieces of cold meat-lovers’ pizza. Princess rushed up to the other side of the fence when he crossed the porch, starting her usual loud yipping as he neared the shed.
He yanked open the metal door almost in protest against Brax’s voice. And stared inside.
“What are you doing out here?”
Bobbie, once again showing up in his backyard where he didn’t want her. He turned to look at her. “I could ask you the same thing.”
She still wore her uniform, the apron stiffly starched, but the white collar drooping around her neck. The top three buttons lay open, affording him a view of creamy cleavage.
“I rang your doorbell. You didn’t answer.”
“I was busy.”
“Looking for more roadkill?”
“Not today.” He stepped inside the darkened shed.
“Did you hear about Jimbo?”
He couldn’t tell a thing from the question or her tone. “Yep. Got whacked with a shovel out by the lake in the middle of the night.” He waited.
She stepped right into the hole his silence left. “Why are you looking in your shed?”
“I just want to make sure I didn’t leave any telltale blood stains on my supplies out here. Or brain matter.”
He turned to find her with arms crossed over her chest and a step back from where she’d been before. “That’s not funny.”
“I didn’t mean it to be.” Now was the time for her to say she knew he couldn’t possibly have done it.
She didn’t. “Brax asked where I was last night.”
He moved a few of the tools, clippers, hedger, examined them, put them back. “Guess that means you weren’t with him.”
She gasped. “Of course, I wasn’t.”
He hefted the big shovel away from the metal wall, let it fall back with a clank. “Good.” He let relief show only in the word, not the tone.
“That’s what Brax said.”
Nick looked over his shoulder. “Good what?”
She put a hand on her hip. “Good that I was alone.”
He let a beat of silence last between them. “Not much of an alibi for either of us then.” But did she think he needed one?
“I don’t think that’s what he wanted to know.”
“He already knew you weren’t with me.” So why was Brax testing Bobbie, too?
“How?”
“Followed me out to the minimall for a little tête à tête.”
She cocked her head and stepped up to the edge of the doorway, one foot in, one foot out. He wanted her all the way in. Firmly beside him.
“Why would he do that, Nick?”
“Because I’m a suspect. He wanted to know if he could come over and inspect my shovel collection.”
She didn’t pick up on the sarcasm, or if she did, she passed on commenting. “What time did you talk to him?”
“Afternoon.” She wa
s jumpy, something on her mind. “Why?”
“Because sometime this morning, Warren confessed to killing Jimbo.”
“Your husband confessed?” What the hell was Brax playing at? What was she playing at?
“Warren says he did it.”
Christ. Why all Brax’s questions about alibis, footprints, shovels, tire tracks? He’d even brought Bobbie into it. After he already had the killer in custody. Then something in Bobbie’s words, stance, whatever, struck him. “But you don’t think your husband did it.”
“He really isn’t capable of murder.”
Nick moved the posthole digger and the pitchfork he used for loosening dirt. “Everyone’s capable given the right set of circumstances.” He waited for some sort of reaction, but she only went back to the question of her husband’s guilt.
“Not Warren. He’s the original Spineless Spivey. If he did it, it could only have been an accident. I didn’t get the impression that Jimbo came by his injuries accidentally.”
“Nice sentiment you’ve got about your husband.”
She ignored the little jab. “You know, it happened by the lake, where we were the other night.”
What did that mean to her? “Yeah. Off Delton Road.”
It suddenly occurred to him that Bobbie was his alibi, at least for how his prints and tire tracks got there that night. Reasonable doubt or something. Yep, Bobbie was his alibi. His only alibi. So, just how far would she be willing to go to prove her husband innocent?
Would she be willing to lie?
Maybe Bobbie was the reason behind Brax’s little fishing expedition out at the minimall. Maybe she’d gotten him to doubt his suspect’s confession.
Christ. Nick really didn’t want to think about that.
Instead, he turned back to his job of turning the shed upside down.
“You still haven’t told me what you’re really doing,” Bobbie prodded.
He leaned on the pitchfork and stared her down. “Actually, I’m trying to figure out why the spade I was using that day you first turned up seems to be missing now.”
Chapter Twelve
Warren ached with the need to sleep. It had been a hell of a day, starting with that life-altering call from Cookie at a little after three o’clock this morning. And he still couldn’t get Roberta’s words out of his mind.
She's Gotta Be Mine (A sexy, funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 1) (Cottonmouth Series) Page 18