Pretty Dangerous (16 page)

“Okay, I can see it.” Jazz nodded in
agreement.

“No, you’re wrong and the FBI had it wrong.
Jack didn’t take drug money,” MiMi said firmly.

“Again, Jack didn’t have to steal money from
Crown Protection. As sole owner he could take money anytime he
chose as his salary. Except...” Willa’s voice trailed off.

“If he didn’t want to pay income taxes,
payroll taxes, inventory taxes,” MiMi ticked off each one on her
fingers. “Jack had plans to not only expand but to change from a
sole proprietorship to a corporation. A board of directors would
have meant more scrutiny. I think he planned to stuff his personal
account before that happened.”

“Is she right?” Jazz looked at Willa.

“He talked about incorporating, but kept
putting it off. He said it was hard giving up control,” Willa
said.

“Or maybe he stalled for time while he looted
the accounts. Jack always said he’d take care of me and we’d be
able to travel more.” MiMi sighed as she thought of past good
times.

Willa snorted. “Oh he traveled alright, just
not with you. He bought lots of lingerie and jewelry while he was
visiting The Caymans, too.”

Jazz sucked in air. “Ouch.”

“Even if he didn’t take gang money, tax
evasion and moving cash off shore is against the law. So the FBI
would still be after it and you,” Willa said and crossed her
arms.

“Your smart lawyer buddy says it’s tough to
prove money is dirty,” Jazz offered.

“But not impossible, and they probably have
leads. Leave it alone,” Willa countered.

MiMi opened her mouth three times, but closed
it. No persuasive arguments came to mind at first. Then she sat
straight and looked at Willa. “As one of his heirs, I’m requesting
that the executor of Jack’s estate investigate.”

“The who?” Jazz blinked at MiMi.

“Me, that’s who,” Willa said. She threw her
head back and groaned as if in agony.

“She has the duty to settle all debts and
questions surrounding his succession, including any from heirs. As
we all know, it’s dragged on because of the questions about Crown
Protection’s assets,” MiMi added.

“Check and mate,” Jazz said and blinked at
Willa, who whispered an expletive.

MiMi smiled. “When do we start looking for
our money, ladies?”

A week later, MiMi sat at the police station.
She glared across a metal table at the two detectives. One, a tall
redhead, frowned back. The short blonde wore a sympathetic
expression. Detective Drake kept bobbing his head as if he agreed
with every protest MiMi made. Harsh florescent lighting in the
windowless room meant it could have been midnight or any time of
day instead of nine in the morning.

“I don’t appreciate being interrogated about
a crime on foreign soil. I don’t know anything about that man’s
murder. Ask Roderick. The victim was his weed man after all.”

The blonde bobble head gazed at MiMi without
a glance at his frowning partner. “We’re following up as a courtesy
to the Dominican Republic National Police, ma’am. You’re not being
detained or anything like that.”

“They just need answers, and you were
involved,” blunt redhead added.

Thank goodness MiMi had a flexible work
schedule. Kerry or her snitch of an assistant wouldn’t think her
absence on a Wednesday morning all that unusual. After forty
minutes MiMi decided playing the outraged innocent citizen was a
waste of precious energy. MiMi plastered on an apologetic
smile.

“Detective Drake, Detective Forrester, I’m
sorry for complaining. I understand you’re doing your job. If I had
remembered anything new or helpful. Believe me, I’d tell you. ”

“Humph.” Forrester, let the soft grunt
deliver his message of skepticism.

MiMi continued to focus on Drake, the good
cop. “I’m a hardworking single mother who chose the wrong vacation
date.”

“How long have you known Mr. Jefferson?”
Detective Drake asked as if they hadn’t asked her the same question
in at least four different ways already.

“Our families have known each other for
years, since we were in middle school at least. We dated briefly in
high school, but it wasn’t serious.” MiMi tapped a finger on the
purse in her lap.

“So the trip to the DR was planned or a last
minute thing?” Detective Drake pressed on in a calm yet relentless
way.

“We decided maybe a month before. Look, I’m
sure Roderick can tell you where he first met this poor man. I
wasn’t even with Roddy, I mean Roderick, when he went to buy the
marijuana. You must know all this from the Dominican court
records.”

“You’ve seen Mr. Jefferson several times
since coming back, right?” Detective Forrester cut in sharply.

“Yes.”

The interview room was about the size of her
walk-in closet at home. The matching chair was slightly
comfortable. She was between the two men. One to her left the other
to her right. To get to the door, MiMi would have to slide sideways
past Forrester. So she was hemmed in, or supposed to feel that way
despite the ‘you’re free to go anytime’ speech. Drake asked a few
more questions which MiMi answered as her mind worked.

“Mr. Jefferson works for the family business,
correct?” Drake said, looking at a note pad.

MiMi snapped out of auto pilot response mode.
She noticed something significant. “If you’re investigating
Jefferson and Son, Inc. deals, then you’re wasting even more time.
I only know Roderick socially.”

“Why do you think we’re investigating his
business?” Forrester leaned both elbows on the table.

“The FBI paid me a visit and implied they
were looking into him. I’m sure they talked to you,” MiMi shot
back.

“Your father does business with the
Jeffersons,” Forrester said, a statement not a question.

“Then you should talk to him after you have a
long talk with Roderick. Let me save y’all some time, okay? I’ve
never worked for my father or conducted business with Roderick. So
for the fifth time at least, talk to Roderick. Stop harassing
me.”

MiMi didn’t think she needed to add the part
about getting a lawyer. She slipped the strap of her purse over one
shoulder and stood. Drake and Forrester stood at the same time, but
only Drake spoke.

“Ms. Landry, Roderick Jefferson was found
dead last night.” Drake’s smooth voice didn’t match the rough news
he’d just delivered.

Her legs went weak. MiMi dropped back to the
vinyl cushioned metal chair. “But, but that can’t be. He’s healthy,
works out twice a week at least.”

“Do you know anyone else who had a grudge or
a problem with him?” Drake said. His cool gray eyes gazed at her
with interest.

“No, I mean, of course not. I can’t believe
this.” MiMi swallowed against the acid sensation in her throat. She
took in three deep breaths and let them out. The detectives kept
quiet, but she knew it wasn’t out of concern. They wanted to
observe her. “How did he die?”

“We’re waiting on the coroner’s report,”
Drake said.

“Where were you between Tuesday evening at
around six until this morning,” Forrester asked as Drake picked up
his note pad.

MiMi fought to focus on her surroundings. She
ignored the questions screaming inside her head. A dizzy spell
threatened and she gripped the cold edge of the metal table. Both
detectives sat again, as if they expected to spend a lot longer
with her. What would Jazz do? MiMi had seen her face down cops,
prosecutors and judges without breaking a sweat. Yes. MiMi needed
to think her way through it, use the scant information the
detectives had given her.

“You said ‘who else had a grudge’ which means
two things. His death wasn’t natural or an accident, and you think
I had something against him. How did he die?” MiMi forced a
composed tone that she damn sure didn’t feel.

“You two fought a few days ago when you found
out he was with another woman. You made quite a scene in a local
restaurant. Took a swing at the guy,” Forrester replied.

“Yes. Roderick hooked up with another woman.
I told him he was dead to me.” MiMi sucked in a sharp breath. “I
only meant he no longer existed, that I’d pretend he was...”
Forrester’s almost joyful expression confirmed he was ready to
bring out the handcuffs.

“You were angry. Emotions flare hot when it
comes to a relationship gone wrong,” Drake said in his reasonable
‘I understand perfectly’ way.

“The woman had the nerve to send me a video
for God’s sake. So I lost it, told him off. That’s all.” MiMi
looked at him, but there was no real help from that corner. His
next words proved it.

“So I’m assuming this video was, let’s say
explicit, that it showed them in an intimate situation,” Drake
continued, taking notes.

“Yes. Now I’ve answered you for over an hour.
I cared about Roddy despite what happened. At least tell me how he
died,” MiMi said, her voice rising steadily.

“He was struck over the head twice, and shot.
In the chest,” Drake replied quietly.

“Yeah, through the heart,” Forrester added.
He stared at her. “So seems like it was personal.”

“Roderick tried to convince me that she was a
fling, that it didn’t mean we couldn’t become engaged. But I
wouldn’t have...” MiMi’s fingers hurt from gripping the table. She
let go, tried to center herself and channel some of Jazz’s badass
persona.

“Very much a shock I imagine,” Drake put
in.

“You must have been furious. I mean, the guy
does that to you and then suggests you just get over it. His other
woman throws their affair in your face, he goes ‘No biggie’. All
this after he got you arrested, and you forgave him. I can see why
you lost it, like you said.” Forrester stared at her.

His gaze wasn’t hostile nor was his tone
confrontational anymore. No, he seemed like more like the
unemotional executioner leading her to doomsday. Except she wasn’t
going. Not today. Not ever.

MiMi narrowed her gaze at him to help send
her message. “I’m not going to say anything more until I speak to
my attorney.”

****

Five hours later MiMi allowed herself to
freak out. She paced around Willa’s office at Crown Protection
ranting about police brutality, racial profiling and injustice.
Willa and Cedric, Willa’s second in command, let her go until she
ran down. When MiMi collapsed onto one of the leather chairs,
Cedric placed a large steady hand on her shoulder. Coffee, a glass
carafe of fruit juice and a tray of sandwiches were set up on the
table in a corner of Willa’s spacious office. Willa filled a glass
and brought it to her. MiMi promptly burst into tears at the caring
gesture. A box of tissues appeared in front of her. MiMi yanked out
two fistfuls and pressed them to her face.

“Daddy won’t pay my bail or for a lawyer this
time. They say I killed one of his business partners. Which means
Daddy won’t make piles of money with the Jeffersons. He’ll never
forgive me.” MiMi went back to bawling into the tissue.

“What the...?” Cedric perched on the edge of
Willa’s desk.

“Money means a lot to the Landry clan. She
thinks her parents don’t care about her.” Willa gave him the
abbreviated version of MiMi’s issues in a crisp tone, like a
therapist. She pulled a chair next to MiMi, sat down and rubbed her
back. “Honey, you need to calm down. I don’t think your father is
that cold blooded.”

MiMi wiped her face with the wad of tissue.
She frowned at the black mascara and foundation that came off. “You
don’t know him like I do.”

“I know a little something about parents who
eat their young.”

“Hey, we need MiMi to pull it together,”
Cedric put in.

“I’d love to say my parents only seem
unfeeling on the outside, and underneath they’re warm and cuddly,
loving parents. I’d be lying. Mother rarely visits Sage.”

“You should be grateful then,” Willa said
flatly. “Don’t give me that look, Cedric. Better to have an absent
cold grandmother than to have her messing up the next
generation.”

“Amen. I don’t complain. Not at all.” MiMi
shivered.

Cedric heaved a sigh. “Okay, no help from the
family.”

“Why do you think I called Willa instead of
them? Thank you for tracking down my lawyer.” MiMi sniffed a few
times.

She rose, found her purse where she’d dropped
it on another chair and took out her small make bag. As she
repaired her look, MiMi cleared her head. Looking her best had
always steadied her nerves.

“Smart of you to assume he’d be in court or
tied up. Lawyers don’t sit in their offices all day like most
people think,” Willa said. “Drink your juice. Kay swears it will
smooth out the rough edges. She convinced me to get one of those
fancy blenders for the office.”

“Four hundred bucks to mash up stuff,” Cedric
said dryly, ever the keeper of the company cash flow.

MiMi managed a weak smile as she put her
make-up away and sat down. She sipped from the glass. “Hmm, that’s
not bad.”

“I wouldn’t drink that green concoction,”
Cedric joked.

“No, it’s really good. What’s in it?” MiMi
drank more.

“Fresh pineapple and an apple to sweeten it,
also for fiber. Cucumber, lemon and celery. Since you didn’t heave,
I’ll try.” Willa poured another glass.

“You haven’t tasted it? Thanks a lot,” MiMi
spluttered. Still she drained her glass. “Whew. Okay, I think I can
make sense now.”

“Maybe we need to bottle the stuff and sell
it. Cause a whole lot of people are acting crazy these days,”
Cedric said with a smile.

“Yeah.” MiMi tried to smile, but couldn’t
quite muster the effort. She lifted her chin, let out a slow breath
and gazed at Willa. “We better figure this out.”

“Hell yes. Did Roderick get shot, beaten or
stabbed,” Willa was about to go on when Cedric cleared his throat.
“What?”