Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) (27 page)

“And this is important why?” I asked.

“The person who owns the property is your ex-husband’s defense attorney.”

Wow. You could have knocked me over with a legal pad. The victim tried to foreclose on Rex Ashford. Who knew?

And that truly was the question. Did the detectives review any of Spencer’s financial transactions when they investigated his murder?

“Laurel, are you there?” Mother asked.

“Yeah, just bowled over. I’m not an expert on this legal stuff, but isn’t it a conflict for Rex to be representing Hank?”

“I ran that by Robert before I called you. He said it’s okay as long as Rex discloses it to Hank and the judge. Maybe Rex felt it wouldn’t be an issue and that he was the best attorney to defend Hank. Or maybe it’s just an odd coincidence.”

I personally think all coincidences are odd, but this particular one leapt to the top of the odd pile for me.

I thanked Mother for her research, and she warned me to keep an eye out for murderers on the loose. My stomach knotted when I recalled Saturday’s ordeal. From one standpoint, my almost getting killed benefited Hank since Tom agreed to re-examine the investigation.

But it sure would have been nice if he’d listened to me before I was almost mashed into McKay mulch.

I debated the best way to proceed with the information Mother unearthed. Chad Langdon continued to take the lead on my suspect list. As for Rex, even if he was experiencing financial issues, I simply could not imagine him killing Spencer. I called the attorney’s assistant and made an appointment to see him at one-thirty. If nothing else, Rex needed an update on the case.

I opened the frosted glass door of Allen & Ashford, Esq. a few minutes late for my appointment. Rex’s young assistant dressed more like a backup dancer for Beyoncé than a paralegal. After following her swiveling hips down the hall, I decided she could show professional dancers a move or two. The young woman stopped at the doorway, flashed a saucy smile at her boss then wiggled her way back down the corridor.

What I wouldn’t give to be a saucy twenty-something again.

Nah. I was perfectly happy with my family and my lifestyle. Except for one pressing problem, which I hoped Rex and I could resolve today.

I sank into a comfortable and likely expensive leather chair and greeted the attorney. Dressed in a navy Armani suit, he could easily have posed for the cover of
Esquire
.

“Laurel, you look far better than you did Saturday night,” Rex said. “How are you feeling?”

I shivered at the reminder of my winery nightmare, or possibly from the over-chilled office. “I’m fine. Thanks for hanging around to help search for me.”

The attorney’s Crest-white grin almost blinded me. “Maybe you should leave me to deal with Hank’s case in the future. You don’t want your children to lose their mother as well as their father.”

If Rex thought his words would provide comfort to his client’s ex-wife, he was way off the mark. I tried to control my trembling and replied. “My frightful experience might be worth it since the Sheriff’s Department is taking another look at the case.”

“They think Spencer’s killer targeted you? You’ve been grilling people all over town. Maybe you’ve upset someone with your questions.”

I frowned at him. The attorney was starting to tick me off.

“This week I’ve concentrated on annoying only one person––Spencer’s murderer,” I replied. “Given the circumstances, Tom suggested you contact the Deputy District Attorney and recommend reduced bail.”

“That’s not exactly how the legal process works, but if you want, I’ll give Camille a call. Try not to get your hopes up for Hank’s quick release though.”

We stared at one another. I began to have second thoughts about hiring Rex to defend Hank. His reluctance seemed peculiar unless he calculated he would earn more in legal fees if he dragged the case out. That reminded me of his financial situation.

I didn’t want to alienate the lawyer while he still represented my ex, so I eased into my questions.

“I’ve come across a litany of possible suspects,” I said.

“Spencer wasn’t the most popular guy in town.” Rex crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, assessing me warily.

“That’s for sure. Did you know he took ownership of the Hangtown Hotel after he foreclosed on Scott Shelton?”

Rex nodded.

“I gather Spencer made large loans to several locals.” I raised my eyebrows in Rex’s direction, encouraging him to elaborate on his own financial transaction with the victim.

“Is that so?” He flicked a piece of nonexistent lint off the cuff of his perfectly pressed trousers.

“Yes.” I waited for him to respond. The silence was so deep you could have heard an eyelash drop. A few of mine did since I kept blinking furiously wondering why my not-so-subtle questions didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

The finest criminal defense attorney in town appeared far more adept at maintaining discretion than this amateur detective. After a few minutes of complete silence, I checked my watch and decided enough time had elapsed. I would ask Mother to continue her “networking,” hoping she would learn more about Rex’s financial issues. In the meantime, I needed to return to the bank and work on luring more customers into its deposit-hungry arms.

I reached for my purse and Rex stood.

“I’ll try to get a bail reduction hearing for Hank,” he said. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

I shook his hand and walked to the door. I stopped to look back and caught Rex rummaging through his credenza. Everything might be under control from Rex’s perspective, but I wondered if that was necessarily a good thing for me.

Or for Hank.

Surprisingly enough, Rex did have everything under control. Tuesday afternoon, he called to say the Deputy DA had agreed to a reduced bail hearing the following day. Because the detectives were looking at some new evidence, bail could be as low as $200,000. Too bad Mother hadn’t landed on any buried treasure when she fell down the mine shaft. Mr. Bones was definitely not the kind of booty we needed.

Later that night, I sat on the sofa, my kitten perched on my lap, watching the local and state election results on television. So many Californians, including myself, vote by mail that it can take a while to tally the results. Pumpkin didn’t appear to have a political preference, although every time either candidate appeared on the screen, she jumped off my lap to lick her butt. At this point, I almost didn’t care who won. I just wanted a reprieve from the nonstop adversarial political commercials clogging the airwaves.

Our home phone rang and I leapt up. Pumpkin went flying, yowling in response. I apologized to my cat and jogged over to the phone.

“Did you see Chad Langdon is in the lead?” Mother asked. “After that incident at Mountain High Winery, my trust level in him has significantly diminished.”

“I don’t trust anyone running on a ‘no-growth’ platform who is a silent partner with a developer,” I replied.

“With Spencer eliminated, I thought for sure Tricia would win. I guess Chad is popular enough to get a huge number of write-in votes, so there may not be a runoff in November.”

“Did you call to discuss politics?”

“No, don’t be silly. First, how are you feeling? Next, did you discover anything new about Mr. Bones? I need to list your grandmother’s property while the market is hot. With interest rates climbing back up, real estate sales could come to a dead halt at any time.”

“I’m fine and Jenna is reading through Harold’s old journals, but it’s not easy given his scrawling penmanship and the condition of the volumes. I purchased an interesting book from Abe that covers quite a bit of Placerville history during that period. I’ll start reading tonight.”

“Good, I appreciate it.” She paused while I waited and watched Chad’s votes tick higher on the TV screen.

“Do you think I’m wrong, forcing your grandmother to move to the retirement community? She’s barely talking to me lately.”

“No, I understand where you’re coming from, especially after her fall the other day.” I took the phone back to the sofa, patted my lap, and waited for Pumpkin to land in her favorite spot once again. She threw me one of her “I’ll jump up when I feel like it” looks and trotted out of the room. “If I hadn’t stopped and checked inside the shed the other night, who knows what could have happened to Gran?”

“I suppose.” Mother sighed. “She’s very effective at guilt-tripping.”

A family trait Gran successfully passed along to my mother.

“I’ll go ahead and list it tomorrow,” she said. “With tourists arriving to watch the Wagon Train roll in this weekend, I might hold an open house on Sunday. People from the Bay Area love these old Victorians.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “until they move in and discover what a money pit they are.”

She chuckled and we hung up. I shifted slightly and reached for the pictorial history book I’d dumped on the coffee table. Reading about El Dorado County history couldn’t be any duller than watching election results.

I scanned the Table of Contents and decided to begin with James Marshall’s discovery of a few mineral flakes in Coloma on January 24, 1848. His off-quoted pronouncement––“Boys, by God I believe I have found a gold mine,” changed California and the west forever, luring hundreds of thousands of people to the gold country.

Since my great-great-grandfather didn’t arrive until ten years later, he missed the early days when all you had to do was bend over and pluck a gold nugget right out of the river. By the time Harold moved west, Placerville was prospering and rebuilding after a terrible fire almost destroyed the entire town.

Although I’d studied this stuff in school years ago, the discovery of Mr. Bones made the history of this area more personal. I learned that ten percent of Californians supported the Confederacy, which I found oddly fascinating. The book went into detail about the Bullion Bend robbery Gran had mentioned the other night.

The book also mentioned a copycat holdup barely a month after Bullion Bend. Three men not only robbed a stage a few miles outside of Placerville, but one of the desperadoes killed a wealthy merchant named Miles Mickelson who attempted to stop them. Sheriff’s deputies later shot two of the men when they discovered them trying to rent fresh horses in town. The third man escaped and most likely took the gold and valuables with him.

Interesting story although it seemed highly unlikely the stolen gold was hidden in my grandmother’s dusty shed.

But a girl could wish.

On Wednesday afternoon, I toiled at my desk waiting to hear from Rex regarding Hank’s bail hearing. My cell rang and I grabbed it from my purse.

“How’s the ankle?” I asked my grandmother.

“Much better,” she said. “I get by fine with a cane. Did you know your mother wants to show my house this weekend?”

“Gran, that place is too much work for you to maintain. It would be too big for
me
to keep up.”

She remained silent. When she finally spoke, I could barely hear her. “I know, it’s just hard after all these years…” Her voice faltered before she snapped back into my feisty grandmother. “But she better not take away my car.”

Nope. Not this week. One battle at a time.

“Are you coming to the Wagon Train parade Saturday?” I asked, changing the subject. “I’m performing with Liz and the Sassy Saloon Gals.”

“I’m not only watching the parade,” she bragged. “I’m in it.”

“What? You’re not thinking of dancing with us, are you?”

“Hah. Not with this ankle. If I hadn’t fallen, though, I might have kicked up my heels with you gals. I’m riding with the other former El Dorado Roses. They got carriages for us.”

“Gran, that’s terrific.” Our family had been so proud of my grandmother when the committee selected her as the El Dorado Rose a few years earlier, a distinction awarded to an elderly woman who devoted much of her time to the community.

“Yep. I could use your help, though, since my hands are kinda arthritic. I can’t fasten the buttons on my dress. Can you fit that in your schedule?”

“Of course,” I replied, already counting how many extra minutes it would take to fasten the thirty tiny buttons on the back of Gran’s lilac satin dress.

We said farewell, and I’d barely shoved the phone in my purse when a familiar voice and an even more familiar man entered my office. Hank leaned over and planted a big kiss on my surprised lips before I could open said lips to say hello. Or in my case––huh?

“What are you doing here?” I asked, stunned by his appearance and the lip plant. Fletch stood by the door grinning and I turned to him. “And what are you doing here?”

“I gave Hank a lift home. They let him out with a $100,000 bail bond, so he was free to leave once someone paid the $10,000 fee in cash.”

My brows sailed up past my bangs. “Who paid?”

“Abe did,” Hank said, his grin an exact duplicate of Ben’s, except his front teeth remained intact as opposed to my gap-toothed son. “I guess he and Rex were chatting about the case and my situation. Abe said his sales had picked up recently, and he didn’t mind putting the money up. I promised I’d repay him as soon as Janet pays me for the work done on the hotel. Hopefully, she’ll let me complete the job.”

“Wow. Abe is so generous.” Especially after Ben’s crashing encounter last weekend. It was amazing how a small community stuck together when something tragic happened.

“Looks like you’re good to go,” Fletch said to Hank. They did a man slap thing that turned into one of those weird guy hugs where they swat each other’s back. Fletch waved goodbye and Hank dropped in my visitor chair.

“I’d say you look great,” I told him, “but you don’t.”

“If you ever need to diet, honey,” Hank said then stopped when he caught my expression. “Which of course, you never would, the jail is the place to be. Their cook only knows four recipes.”