Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) (22 page)

Friday morning I arrived at work, exulting over the end of the workweek. Mr. Boxer promptly squashed my inner celebration by ordering me to complete my decorating project by Sunday evening at the latest. When Hangtown Bank opened its doors Monday morning, the bank’s pioneer spirit must be displayed in full gold rush splendor. Or else.

Mr. Boxer left that simple implied threat on my voicemail then announced he’d be leaving early for a weekend getaway in the city. I wondered how the dignified Mr. Boxer relaxed on vacation, but the best I could visualize was an assignation at the San Francisco Opera House or the Museum of Modern Art.

My personal daydream included a torrid tryst on a tropical island with my newly sleek body wrapped in Tom Hunter’s arms. Although with my luck, any exotic weekend foreplay would inevitably result in me turning into a sunburned, bug-bitten, dysentery-afflicted tourist.

I shook my head. Thoughts of a future romantic rendezvous needed to go on the backburner for now. Possibly forever, based on the way our relationship was progressing. Or not progressing. Tom and I hadn’t spoken since our conversation at the hospital Wednesday night.

I chewed on my ballpoint pen, finally admitting to myself that I’d behaved poorly that evening. The guy only wanted to do his job without my interference. Maybe it was time to cut him a break.

I dialed Tom’s cell, expecting to leave a groveling apology in his voicemail. He startled me by answering his phone.

“Laurel, what a surprise,” he said in a tone that sounded more official than personal. “I was about to call you.”

“I wanted to apologize for the way I spoke to you at the hospital the other night,” I said into the receiver, wishing we were face to face, so he could read my body language.

And maybe do something spectacular to said body.

“I understand. You were upset about your grandmother and your close call with the mountain lion.”

“And worried about Hank, of course,” I replied.

“Yeah, of course.” His tone echoed his frustration over the line.

“Do you have any news about his case?”

“No,” he barked, not even trying to hide his irritation with me. “Although Deputy Fletcher’s research may have produced something helpful regarding the skeleton at your grandmother’s house, if you’re still interested in
that
case.”

“Of course, I am. If it will help old Harold’s situation, it might cheer up my grandmother. She’s been in the dumps since they released her from the hospital. Mom put her under house arrest.”

That comment finally elicited a laugh from Tom. Something about that man’s laugh was so comforting and yet so sensual.

I heard Tom conversing with someone else before he came back on the line. “Fletch wondered if he could stop at your grandmother’s house and ask her some questions,” Tom said. “He’s off duty at five tonight. Do you think she’d mind?”

“Are you kidding? This will provide a terrific pick-me-up for her. My boss already left for the weekend, so I can meet Fletch shortly after five. I need to complete my decorating project by Sunday night, and I hope to find some worthwhile antiques in Gran’s shed.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him you’ll see him then. Goodbye,” Tom said. Before he could hang up, I called out his name.

“Tom, maybe you can join me at Gran’s house tonight. Or stop by my house later. We haven’t been alone together all week.”

“No, we haven’t.” I knew him well enough that I could almost hear him running his hands through his thick hair. “Look, Laurel, I’ve been thinking that maybe we should take a break.”

My heart dropped faster than a Six Flags roller coaster. “What do you mean?”

“This situation with Hank is creating too many issues between us, both personally and professionally. You running around looking for other suspects has damaged my credibility in the Sheriff’s Department.”

I sat in silence, formulating a tactful rebuttal to his comment. “You understand my motives for trying to get Hank out of jail, don’t you?”

Tom waited a few seconds before he replied. “I’m not sure that
you
are truly certain what your motives are. I think you have some unresolved issues with Hank which need to be addressed before you and I can proceed any further with our relationship.”

“But, but…”

“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll, um, I guess I’ll see you around.”

The line went dead.

The rest of the day passed in a blurred frenzy of activity while I tried to distract myself from the crushing impact of Tom’s words. I wanted to hide in a corner and wallow in pity, but instead, I soldiered on, working through the last-minute tasks Mr. Boxer assigned before he left for his fun-filled weekend.

Only once did I give in to my despair. I ran over to the Candy Strike Emporium and purchased a one-pound box of homemade fudge. After I returned to the office, I phoned Liz at her spa, knowing my best friend would have wise counsel for me. According to her voicemail, she would be at a meeting all afternoon and not able to return calls until the evening. Throughout the day, I continued to hope Tom would call back and apologize for his dumb suggestion to take time off from one another. His silence was a deafening confirmation of his decision.

I waddled out of the bank a few minutes after five, having consumed a third of the box of fudge. I eased into my overheated car, pushed the air conditioning to high, and managed to arrive at my grandmother’s house in less than ten minutes.

When I stepped on the sidewalk leading to her front porch, I noticed a few patches needing repair. Gran had left her door unlocked, a better option than limping through the house to welcome visitors. I called out her name, hoping she hadn’t fallen asleep waiting for me.

“Keep your shirt on,” she said, “I’m on my way.”

“Stay where you are. I’ll come to you.” I headed in the direction of her voice, which sounded like it came from the living room, or more accurately, the parlor. This room always gave me the feeling I’d time-traveled back to the early twentieth century. Decades-old blue striped wallpaper covered the walls above white paneled wainscoting. My grandmother had replaced some of the original furniture, but a few of the family ancestral pieces remained scattered throughout the house.

Gran sat in her bentwood rocking chair, her left leg propped on her cherished needlepoint ottoman. An oversized book by one of her favorite authors rested on the mahogany end table. Blasts of cool air from the ceiling vents ruffled the lace curtains covering her windowpanes.

I walked over and kissed her wrinkled forehead.

“How’s my favorite granddaughter?” she asked. We both chuckled since I was and would always be her only granddaughter.

I plopped down in a velour wing chair and leaned back, wondering whether to bother Gran with my romantic issues.

“There are two lines on your forehead that need to disappear before they become permanent,” she said. “What’s your honey gone and done?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s as plain as the frown on your face,” she replied before pointing in my direction. “And you’ve left a trail of chocolate clues that anyone related to you would notice.”

I looked down at my fudge-spotted blouse. My Gran could read me like her large-print book.

I sighed and blew out my breath. “Tom thinks we should take a break from one another. He feels my involvement in Hank’s case has created a negative impact on him professionally.”

“Men can be such jackasses.”

I loved the way my grandmother never held back an opinion.

“He also believes I still have feelings for Hank.” I scowled in her direction. “How can he think such a thing?”

Her crepe-paper thin lips pursed together. “What do you think? Would you take back Hank if they set him free?”

“Of course not.” I jumped up and began to pace the scuffed wooden floor. “Hank and I had good years together and bad years together. When he left me, my heart felt as if he’d ripped it in two. But time, as well as Tom, have helped to heal those wounds. Hank and I remain the supportive parents of our two children, but that’s the total extent of my feelings for him.”

“Alrighty then. I’m sure Tom will eventually realize his true feelings for you. Though the man might need a wee bit of nudging. Say, what’d you do with that corset thingamabob? I thought your fella’s eyes would pop right outta their sockets when he saw you in that getup.”

We both giggled and almost missed the sound of the doorbell ringing. I sprinted to the foyer secretly hoping Tom had changed his mind and decided to stop by after all. Instead, Fletch, dressed in casual clothes, stood on the stoop smiling. My face must have appeared crestfallen because he immediately asked what was wrong.

“Everything is fine,” I said, my lower lip trembling. “I hoped Detective Hunter might be accompanying you.”

Fletch looked puzzled. “The lieutenant didn’t mention anything about coming along. Do you want me to call him?”

“No, he, I mean we–– Never mind.” I blinked hard to make sure no stray tears wobbled down my cheeks. “Tom said you had some questions for my grandmother.”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing some research on her backyard case. I hoped she might have some personal information about your family that could help clarify a few things.”

I escorted Fletch into the living room where he shook hands with my grandmother then perched his six-foot-two frame on her hard-as-a-horse’s-rump original horsehair sofa.

“So what’d you find out, young man?” Gran asked. “Did you clear my granpappy’s name?”

“Not yet, but maybe with your help I can,” Fletch responded, his blue eyes twinkling.

“You bet your boots I’ll help. Honey, get this fine man a cold beer.” She peered at Fletch over her wire rims. “Unless you’d like a soda?”

“I’m officially off the clock,” he said. “That beer sounds great.”

“I’ll have one, too, while you’re up,” Gran ordered.

I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed two beers as requested and a root beer for me. I delivered the beverages to Fletch and Gran, popped the top of my can of soda and listened in on their conversation.

Gran rocked back and forth in her chair, looking like she was a million miles away. Or eighty years away, lost in childhood memories.

“So you wondered if Granpappy supported the Confederacy?” she asked Fletch. “He grew up in Kentucky, but I don’t know what his political leanings were.”

I threw a perplexed look at Fletch. “Did the two sides fight in California during the Civil War?”

“No battles were fought here,” he said. “But there were people sympathetic to the Confederate cause. They tried to recruit soldiers as well as raise cash, especially near the end of the war.”

“Oh, yeah, those Confederate fellas even pulled off a stagecoach robbery to help their cause,” said Gran. “I forgot about that one.”

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“Nope,” she replied. “The robbers lucked out because two stages were traveling together. They not only got two Wells Fargo strongboxes, loaded with gold, but large amounts of silver bullion from Carson City. That’s one of the reasons they named it the Bullion Bend Robbery.”

Fletch added, “They left a receipt on behalf of the Confederacy saying they were using the money to outfit California recruits.”

“If you have to get robbed,” I said. “I guess a polite bandit is preferable. Were they caught?”

Gran shrugged, but Fletch nodded. “The robbers escaped to the Bay Area, but the sheriff and his men recovered the majority of the money they hid in this county. Later the authorities arrested most of the gang and brought them back to Placerville for the trial. One of them went to prison, another they hung here in town, and the rest got the case moved back to Contra Costa County. Those men all got off scot-free.”

“What?” I yelled my dismay that a life of crime could pay.

“Yep,” said Fletch. “And oddly enough, they ended up becoming pillars of the community. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Fascinating indeed! It made me wonder if any of the current pillars of Placerville was involved in criminal activities.

“Okay, this is interesting, but what does it have to do with our property?” I asked.

“Sorry, I get excited about these old stories,” Fletch replied. “Besides the bullet the mobile crime scene unit found in the mine shaft, a couple of other things were pulled out that the techs shoved in the evidence file. The guys didn’t have any idea they were historically significant.”

“Like what?” I edged forward in my seat. Now we were getting some place.

“Like a silver coin minted in 1864. That would indicate the body couldn’t have landed in the shaft any earlier.”

My phone rang and I jumped. I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell hoping to see Tom’s name appear on the screen. No such luck, although I was glad Liz couldn’t see my doleful expression when I realized it was her and not my detective returning my call.

“Thanks for calling back.” I walked into the kitchen out of earshot of my grandmother and the deputy.

“Of course, luv. Tell me, what has your detective gone and done?”

“He thinks we should take a break. He says I’ve embarrassed him by trying to get Hank out of jail.”

“Well, you have created a bit of a sticky wicket for him at work.”

“If his detectives had done their job properly and arrested the real murderer, I wouldn’t need to stick my nose in his affairs,” I responded with a huff.

“Hey, don’t get in a snit. I’m on your side, sweetie. What can I do to help?”

“Can you or Brian talk some sense into him? Maybe explain my position better than I can?”

“No, I think that’s something only you can do. But you’ll have the opportunity tomorrow night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, dear. Did I forget to tell you Chad Langdon asked the Sassy Saloon Gals to entertain at an impromptu event at the winery tomorrow? The proceeds go to the Benefit the Kids charity, so it’s definitely for a worthy cause.”

“I guess as long as it doesn’t benefit Chad’s political pockets, I’m in.” I blew a robust sigh into the receiver. “But what does this event have to do with Tom?”