Too Many Suspects

by E B Corbin

  “It wasn’t your fault—at least for the most part.” He backed her to the counter; his arms trapped her. When he lowered his head, his lips met hers and lingered.

  She drew him closer as their tongues did a dance she never wanted to end. The shakes subsided, her anxiety replaced by a more pressing need.

  “Let’s go to bed.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs.

  - 20 -

  The next day dawned sunny—a welcome relief from the usual leaden overcast. The weather forecast predicted temperatures above freezing for the first time in several weeks, and Roxanne’s spirits rose with the thermostat. At least that was the reason she gave Sylvia for the grin on her face when she walked into the office.

  The clients who spent the winter hibernating would soon start to poke their noses out. If business picked up enough, she wouldn’t have to sit around all day afraid to stand by a window or step out the door—or speculate over her ever-growing attraction to Callahan. Did he feel the same?

  The shakes that hit last night after days of close calls seemed foolish this morning. In spite of a lingering unease just below the surface she felt calm. It helped that she had spent the night in Callahan’s arms.

  Roxanne hadn’t planned it that way. She expected to go back to her room, but Callahan insisted it still wasn’t safe. A heated kiss at the top of the stairs told her exactly what he had in mind. When he led her into his room, her senses went on high alert. She was ready to move things along.

  After a quick shower, she had brushed her teeth and walked into the bedroom only to find him on his back, his head propped on a pillow, snoring lightly. Except for his shoes which he must have kicked off at some point, he remained fully dressed.

  She didn’t have the heart to wake him; he had to be dead tired after spending most of the previous night on guard against another sniper attack. Soundlessly, she crawled in next to him. Sometime during the night, he’d stripped off his clothes and slipped under the covers while she slept on. This morning she woke wrapped in his arms. While disappointed at their missed opportunity, she couldn’t deny the comfort his embrace provided.

  Now at her desk with only the ticking of the clock for company, she mused on her feelings and the events leading to this point in her life.

  She’d met Callahan on the same day she discovered her live-in lover packing his belongings. Richard informed her he was moving across the state—from the law firm where they both worked in Pittsburgh to another firm in Philadelphia. The news had cut her to the quick but she had soon realized she would adapt. And faster than she had been able to put her first marriage behind her.

  The emotional fallout from Richard’s abandonment was minor compared to her ex-husband’s blatant confession about his mistress. They’d been married five years before she stumbled upon Adrian and Camille’s tryst in the bedroom of her home in New Orleans’ Garden District. That was the day she decided to swear off men in the future. The heartache wasn’t worth it.

  But Richard had wormed his way into her life as a mentor and helpmate in her new position as a tax attorney when she had returned to Pittsburgh. They’d been together five years before he decided he needed a change. Roxanne was still reluctant to commit and Richard wanted more than she could give. Was five years her limit for relationships? If that were so, why start another? For the second time, she’d concluded that men had no place in her life.

  Then Callahan rescued her from a watery nightmare on a cold November night. He never hid his attraction to her but she’d remained aloof as long as she could. When his grandfather was killed because of her, the pain she’d caused Callahan coupled with a realization of life’s fragility, made it seem foolish to keep him at arm’s length.

  Her first attempt to get closer to him was interrupted by the sheriff’s heart attack and the Irish prisoners’ escape. Even though last night had not gone as expected, she was determined to carry through with the next opportunity for intimacy. Her feelings for him had only grown more intense. Still, she would keep things light with no pressure on him and no commitment on her part. A third failed relationship was more than she could handle.

  Roxanne’s rumination ended when her phone buzzed and Sylvia announced Tom O’Malley on the line. Shit! She was no closer to a decision about her living arrangements than when she’d last spoken to him. “Did you tell him I was in?”

  Sylvia hesitated. “I told him I’d see if you were available.”

  “Could you tell him I’m on another call? I’ll phone him back.”

  “All right.” Those two words carried a ton of disapproval, but Sylvia clicked off without comment.

  Roxanne knew there was no way she could resolve the problem today. Maybe she could play on his sympathy for another week, even though she doubted that would be enough time. She rolled her chair closer to the desk top and rested her chin in her hands. With her eyes closed, she went over her options once again. The more she analyzed her situation, the less confident she felt with any of the choices.

  She opened her eyes to find Sylvia standing in the doorway with an apologetic expression. “Sorry to bother you but Tom O’Malley and the mayor are here to see you.”

  Dammit! What the hell was Richard Cummings doing here? Roxanne had hoped to never deal with the obnoxious man again. When she scrambled for an excuse to avoid meeting them, she came up with nothing. She sat up straighter in her chair and glanced at her desk. “Give me a few minutes, then show them in.”

  She used the time to straighten the inbox, run her fingers through her hair and brush off imaginary lint from her dark suit. After pulling a pen from the drawer, she grabbed an old draft of a will to make it appear she was working on an important document.

  At the tap on her door, she called, “Come in.”

  Sylvia opened the door to allow the two men to enter then closed it quietly behind her as she returned to her post. Roxanne fought the urge to run after her and drag her into the meeting. Sylvia would probably handle these gentlemen better.

  The men were polar opposites as far as temperament and physical attributes were concerned. Where Tom was tall and thin with thick grey hair adding to his distinguished appearance, Richard Cummings was shorter, rounder and less imposing. Tom exuded an air of calm competence while Cummings came across more like a bully awaiting his chance to attack.

  Tom looked apologetic as he stood in front of her desk; Cummings conveyed determination and smugness. Roxanne stood, smoothed down her skirt and held out a hand, palm up. “Please have a seat.”

  “Sorry to barge in on you like this,” Tom said as they both settled into the chairs reserved for clients.

  “I needed to see you,” Cummings said. “The Chief Justice contacted me and asked for my help. He said you’ve been avoiding his calls.”

  “Not exactly avoiding,” Roxanne explained. “I’ve been busy and haven’t had time to return them.”

  Judge Samuel Walters, Chief Justice on the Pennsylvania Supreme Court and brother to Robbie Walters, the former sheriff, had earlier approached Roxanne with an offer to buy the farm and cabin she’d inherited from Roxy. When Roxy turned up alive, Roxanne assumed the judge would realize the improbability of any such sale. But he’d called her several times in the past few days, leaving cryptic messages on her cell which she assumed related to the land he seemed to desperately want. Why, she had no idea.

  Several pink message slips still lay in her inbox, Sylvia slammed each notice onto her desk directly in front of Roxanne’s nose in silent reprimand every time another call came in. Roxanne shoved them all away with disdain. She’d made it clear to the judge that she wasn’t selling any part of her inheritance at the present time so why did he keep trying to contact her?

  Tom O’Malley cleared his throat. “The mayor requested I act as intermediary. He feared you wouldn’t meet with him otherwise.”

  Roxanne glanced at Richard Cummings. “So what�
��s this all important message from Judge Walters?”

  Cummings sat up straight and puffed out his chest. “It’s not just a message, Miss Boudreaux. He’s worried about you.”

  The statement caught her off guard. “Worried? Whatever for?”

  “Because he’s heard about someone taking shots at you. He’s also heard Callahan was seen conspiring with that person and helped him escape from the active sheriff. He fears your blind faith in the agent is misplaced and wants to warn you.”

  Roxanne held up her hands. “Whoa. Wait a minute. I don’t know where the judge is getting all that but he’s been misinformed.”

  Cummings stood and raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that. John Callahan has you fooled, big time. However, if you insist on ignoring Samuel’s advice, there is nothing more I can do. I’ll inform the Chief Justice that I did my best.”

  Roxanne’s anger grew until she feared it would blow up inside her. She took several deep breaths before standing and offering her hand. Her words came out clipped. “Please tell Judge Walters I appreciate his concern and I will take every precaution in the future.”

  Cummings harrumphed, dismissed her extended hand and turned to Tom O’Malley. “I’ve done my duty. The woman’s clearly unreceptive and we can’t feel responsible for whatever happens next.”

  O’Malley grimaced. “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

  Cummings did a good impression of storming out. Roxanne wondered why he even bothered to pass along Walters’ warning. And how on earth did a Supreme Court Justice become so informed about the incidents in Oilville? It couldn’t come from his brother since ex-Sheriff Walters was recuperating at home and no longer in the loop. She was certain that Pete wouldn’t fill in the Chief Justice, either. So who did?

  On top of it all, why did the judge care? Was he so determined to buy Roxy’s land that he kept an eye on all of them? It didn’t make sense, but Roxanne pushed her bewilderment aside for now. After she settled back into her chair, she turned to the still-seated insurance broker. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

  “Sorry about that,” Tom said. “I tried to talk him out of coming here but the mayor wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Do you know how Judge Walters found out about the shooting?”

  He shook his head. “No. But everyone in town is talking about it.”

  “And they all believe Callahan let the shooter go?”

  “Some do, some don’t.” Tom glanced around the office, his eyes coming to rest on the pendulum clock.

  “What about you?”

  Now he regarded the opposite wall with a totally blank expression. “I’m not sure.”

  Roxanne sighed. “I hope you know better than to believe every rumor you hear.”

  He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yes, but sometimes rumors are true.”

  “You can’t believe…” she started to protest.

  Tom held up his hands and finally faced her. “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe that Chester’s grandson would pull such a dirty trick. But according to Gertie, the report Pete filed spells it out.”

  “Gertie? Is she keeping Judge Walters informed?” Roxanne never cared for the dispatcher and the feeling was mutual. The woman’s loyalty to the old sheriff always worried Pete but he had no excuse to fire her; he also relied on her years of experience to get through any unexpected problems on the job.

  Tom shrugged. “I’m not certain but it would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

  “Does the rumor also say that Pete got this information from two out-of-towners just passing through?”

  “Perhaps, I’m not sure. I generally pay little attention to rumors that don’t affect my business.” Tom looked away to avoid her scowl. “But what difference does that make? Wouldn’t strangers be more inclined to tell the truth? They have nothing to gain.”

  Roxanne’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Tom O’Malley was clearly caught in a situation that made him uncomfortable. If anything, he’d want to believe in Callahan, since he was a good friend of Chester’s. If Roxanne couldn’t convince Tom that Callahan was innocent, what chance did she have with the rest of the town? And why did she care what anyone thought, anyway?

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Tom told her. “If I were you, I’d keep an open mind about this whole situation. I honestly don’t know what to think myself.”

  “I’ll consider it.” Roxanne picked up the pen on her desk and tapped it against the phony work-in-progress. “I just can’t…” She stopped and shook her head. “Oh, never mind.”

  Tom got to his feet and Roxanne took that as her cue to end the discussion. She rose and stretched her hand across the desk. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “I was just trying to help,” he said as he prepared to leave. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

  Two seconds after Tom left, Sylvia barged into the office. “What on earth was that all about?”

  “Nothing important.” Roxanne didn’t feel like rehashing the meeting.

  “If that scoundrel Cummings is involved, it damn sure is important,” Sylvia said.

  Roxanne smiled at the older woman’s indignation. “He was delivering a message from Judge Walters.”

  Sylvia nodded as the implication sunk in. “Which he wouldn’t have had to do if you’d returned any of the judge’s calls.”

  “Correct,” Roxanne conceded with a slight nod.

  Sylvia’s frown seemed to fill Roxanne’s doorway. “I really despise Richard Cummings.”

  “Oh? Why is that?” Roxanne wanted her take on the reliability of the mayor. “I hope not because of my problems with Sean.”

  Cummings’ youngest son had raped a classmate and came after Roxanne when she tried to gain justice for the frightened teenage girl. She had several run-ins with Sean and one of his obnoxious friends but won in the end when Sean was arrested for attempted murder and various other felonies.

  “Your problems with the Cummings family is one of the reasons.” Sylvia leaned against the door frame. “But Richard Cummings was a nasty customer long before you arrived in town.”

  “Then how does he keep winning elections?”

  “That’s something I’ll never understand. I can see how he wins the support of the White Supremacists and male chauvinists around here.” She shook her head. “And there are more of them than I care to admit.”

  “Enough to give him the majority of the vote time and again? I understand he’s been mayor for several terms,” Roxanne said.

  “He’s been elected eight times.” Sylvia snorted her answer. “A good argument for term limits, if you ask me.”

  “Has there been any talk of that?” Roxanne asked.

  “Every once in a while, a member of city council brings it up. But it would mean limiting the council members terms, too, and it gets quietly set aside. Even though council is a part-time job with no pay in a town this size, the elected officials enjoy what little prestige they get from their positions and don’t want to give it up.”

  “They all still need to get the votes, in the first place,” Roxanne said.

  “And Cummings gets his fair share, although it’s common knowledge he’s often in the company of young women. He doesn’t hide the fact that he has no respect for his wife, even as the mother of his children,” Sylvia said. “Of course, his children are nothing to write home about either. His eldest is away at some highfalutin’ university and I’m sure he carries on much like his father.”

  Roxanne frowned, growing more disgusted by the second. “How can someone like that get elected even once, let alone eight times?”

  Sylvia shrugged. “He promises all kinds of preposterous things for the local economy every election. The last time, he announced plans for an electronics factory on the outskirts of town which would employ over 10,000 people. Hell, we don’t have
that many people in the whole county!”

  “No one questioned the feasibility of his campaign promises?”

  “Sure, a few. I will never understand how anyone with half a brain could believe anything he says. He cheats on his wife, yet has no qualms about attending services at Reverend Jones’ church every Sunday and agreeing with every evangelical statement put forth. How can the church members justify voting for a man with no moral character? I don’t get it and I guess I never will.”

  Sylvia was on a roll with her rant about Richard Cummings and Roxanne thought it best to let her carry on.

  “He promises more and better paying jobs. Yet he’s laid off hundreds of workers at his mine, at the same time polluting the river with acid run-off! And the people keep reelecting him!” Sylvia shook her head hard enough for strands of hair to escape the neat chignon. “He’s granted fracking rights to some speculative companies in exchange for part ownership. There’s more fracking planned for our area than any other county in the state. How on earth can that even be legal when he’s part owner of the businesses receiving preferential treatment?”

  Sylvia looked at Roxanne as if she expected an answer. Roxanne cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know. It probably isn’t.”

  The other woman finally started to run out of steam. “I heard he’s planning on a run for governor next year. God help us all!”

  Even though it wasn’t funny, Roxanne surpassed a grin. She’d never seen Sylvia so worked up before. “I doubt he stands a chance at fooling the voters in the entire state.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Sylvia said. “He has enough capital to bankroll his campaign. The locals have believed his lies for years; he just needs to convince a few more people with the same mentality. Think about it. Aside from Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, the rest of the state is mostly rural and the economy isn’t exactly booming. A few well-placed promises about attracting more jobs, no matter how far-fetched, and we could be dealing with our next governor.”