There Goes the Groom (4 page)

“I was just wondering if you had a gun stashed in there.”

“I don’t usually pack at weddings.”

A chuckle rumbled from him, but she didn’t laugh.

“I need all your personal belongings,” he said when he’d finished running his hands over her.

“Look at me. All I have on me are my clothes.”

He gestured toward the glittery hairpins holding what was left of her curls into place. “You’ll have to remove those. They could be dangerous.”

She sighed warily and started yanking out the clips. “Like I’m going to stab someone with a hairpin.” Although she could pick the cell lock…

He looked as if he was losing patience with her so she decided she’d better shut up.

Then he gave a pointed look toward the fat diamond on her ring.  “The rock,” he said grimly.

Her chin wobbled. “You have to take my engagement ring?”

His eye raise made her feel like she’d left her brain at home this morning.

“You don’t want it in that cell. Prisoners have been killed for less.”

Marci’s heart raced.  “Killed?”

He sighed, his breath wheezing out. Still, he did have nice lips.

Stop looking at his lips, you fool. He arrested you!

  “It’s procedure,” he said, then gave her shoulder a pat. “It will be returned to you when you leave.”

Marci  pursed her lips and tugged at the ring, but she’d been crying so hard her finger must have swollen.

“Really?” he asked.

“Honestly,” she said, “I always break out in a rash and my hands swell when I’m upset.”

This time his look reeked of impatience and disbelief. He took her hand and yanked so hard the ring came off, but her knees buckled and she squealed from the pain.

“Sorry.”

Marci shook her fingers to relieve the sting. “You should be. You almost broke my finger.”

He dropped the ring into an envelope. “Now the earrings and any other jewelry.”

Oh, no…Not the diamonds Paul had given her. Or that ankle bracelet.

And surely not her belly button ring…

But he reached to remove the earrings himself, and she jerked away. “I’ll do it.” She pulled the posts through her lobes and shoved them into the bag. Then she hiked up her skirt and foot and unfastened the ankle bracelet. His eyes pierced her, his darkening almost to a sultry black as she dropped it in his hand.

He was enjoying this way too much.

She was not going to divulge that she had the belly ring. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “If you lose my jewelry, I’ll sue the police department.”

“Sure you will.” A chuckle rumbled from him as another guard appeared for the envelope holding her belongings, and her heart sank as her diamonds disappeared. Fudgecake. She might need to hock them for bail money.

“Let’s go,” the chuffy guy who’d taken her mug shot said.

A nervous cough caught in her throat as he pushed her through a set of heavy metal doors. For a brief second, she had the insane urge to call for the detective.

Not that he cared about her. He thought she was guilty!

The doors clanged shut behind her with such a bang that she couldn’t help but startle. The guard’s wheezy, smoke-scented breath rattled in the air, the smell of sweat and other body odors swirling around her.

The first hints of fear crept through her as they walked down the dark hallway. She had the uncanny sensation that she was in a horror film being led to slaughter.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a holding cell. Detective Muller will call for you when he’s ready.”

Marci shuddered. She didn’t know which was more disturbing. The thought of sitting in a cell or facing that man’s dark, condemning eyes again.

He thought she’d helped steal from his little grandmother!

How could he think such a thing?

He didn’t even know her.

A sliver of hope swirled through her. That was it. She just had to talk to him and explain that he was wrong. Even with that hot temper and those piercing accusatory eyes, he was still a man. He had to have a rational side to him hiding under that big brawny body somewhere.

She just had to find it.

Feeling marginally better, she sucked in a sharp breath as the sound of voices wafted toward her. Then a group of cells slipped into view. Three on each side.

The three on the left held male prisoners. The first cell held two teens who looked stoned out of their minds. They were singing and banging on the bars as if they were drums. A heavy guy who looked like a Sumo wrestler sat on the floor in the second one, his eyes closed. Either he was asleep sitting up or in the midst of some heavy meditation. A homeless looking drunk who reeked of booze and pee hung onto the bars of the third, his eyes blurry looking.

“Hey, bride!” he yelled. “Need a husband?”

Marci grimaced.

The three cells on the right were obviously designated for the women. The first cell held two hookers with overdone make-up and tattoos that looked as if they’d been done by an amateur. She needed to tell them about her tat artist.

The second cell held a woman who had to weigh three hundred pounds. Her head looked like an onion, a slight fuss growing back where it had been shaved. And her arms were the size of ham hanks.

The last cell held a bony woman with sallow skin. Poor thing needed to quit smoking and buy a decent moisturizer.

Marci automatically reached for her purse to offer her a sample of hers, then realized she didn’t have a purse because she was in the clinker.

The cop opened cell door two and threw her in with the beefy she-man.  “You and Dorothy make nice now.”

Marci swallowed hard as the woman gave her a once-over. Then she aimed a crooked smile at her that reminded her of all the horror stories about demented prisoners in jail.

Was Dorothy going to make her her bitch before the detective could interrogate?

*~*~*~*

Cade watched Marci Turner step into the cell with the big bubba of a woman through the security cameras they’d installed in the jail last year. The mayor insisted it would ensure safer lock-ups for prisoners and offer protection to guards from false charges.

But it has also come in handy in detective work.  Some of the people they’d brought in were so upset, wasted, or cocky they often spilled details of their crimes to hang themselves without even knowing it.

“What you in for?” Dorothy asked with a grunt.  “Going barefoot with that designer dress?”

Marci actually giggled, then plopped down on the cot. “No, this mean detective ran in and stopped my wedding. He said my fiancé stole money from his granny.”

“Did he?” the skinny pale woman asked.

“No, of course not.” At Dorothy’s questioning eyebrow raise, Marci chewed on her lip, smearing that red lipstick.  Her shoulders sagged, the wedding gown slipping off one shoulder.  “Well, at least if he did, I didn’t know about it.”

Dorothy grunted again.  “That sounds like a man.”

Marci turned big innocent eyes toward her cellmate. “I just don’t get it. I thought he loved me. That he was my one and only like Kim found. Kim, she’s my twin sister, and she’s always been the good one.”

“I had a sister like that, too,” Dorothy mumbled. “Goody-two shoe.”

Marci nodded. “It’s not like she does it to make me look bad,” Marci said though in defense of her twin. “Kim’s just wired to be nice and respectable. And I was wired …”

“To mess up,” Dorothy mumbled.

 “Exactly.” Marci released a defeated sigh. “But that was supposed to change today.”

Cade winced as Georgia strode in and set two cups of coffee on the table. “She confessed yet?”

“Not exactly,” Cade said, trying to get a read on Marci. Was this how she’d snowed all those innocent little old ladies into giving her boyfriend their money?

He could see how it would work. Her innocent act was almost beguiling.

Except what did she have to gain from Dorothy?

Unless she figured she’d better make friends with the woman or Dorothy might hurt her…

Marci twisted her veil in her hands, swinging her bare feet like she was a five-year-old having to sit in time-out on the playground. “What are you in for?”

Dorothy rubbed a hand over her fuzzy hair. “Caught my old man humping my neighbor in my bed.”

“Oh, my god, that’s awful.” Marci moved over and patted the woman’s hand.  “But why did they arrest you?”

“I cold cocked the bastard. Son of a bitch called the law. Said I assaulted him.” Dorothy sniffled.  “I know I don’t look so pretty right now, but that chemo done made my hair fall out and the steroids made me blimp up like a pig being fattened up for Christmas.”

“You poor thing.” Marci put her arm around the woman, and Dorothy leaned into her and blubbered like a baby.

Cade shook his head.

Five minutes later, Marci was giving Dorothy makeover advice like they were best friends.

“Listen here, Dorothy, I can get you some shampoo and conditioner to help your hair grow back in better and stronger than before. It’s a little pricey but soon as I get back to cosmetology school, maybe I can get a discount.” Marci ripped the end of her gown and used it like a handkerchief to dry Dorothy’s tears, then traced a finger along the woman’s jaw.  “Really, it’s not so bad, Dot.  You have great skin, and your eyes are wonderful. With just a touch of powder and a little of this light blue eye shadow to accentuate your eyes, you’ll be a knock out.”

Dot brightened, then Marci began examining the other woman’s nails.

Georgia huffed. “Jesus, is this woman for real?”

Cade didn’t know what to say. He’d never known anyone like Marci Turner.

Either she was innocent or the best damn liar he’d ever met.

*~*~*~*

He gripped the phone with one hand and swiped at the perspiration on his forehead with the other as he leaned against the sign for The Roadkill Café. He kicked the gravel with a curse. He was out in the middle of nowhere on some Podunk country ass road that went nowhere.

Hell, he’d driven like a maniac for the last hour chasing that asshole Pendergrass, but he’d lost him. Worse, now he’d had a flat in front of a place that served the animals they scraped off the side of the road.

The phone clicked as his boss answered. “Tell me you have the shithead.”

Might as well get it over with. “Dammit, no. He got away.”

“Find him,” his boss barked. “I don’t care what it takes, I want him brought to me.”

The sound of his boss’s unleashed fury relayed his threat. If he didn’t find the man, he was going to be road kill himself.

“Yes, boss.”

The phone went dead as his boss hung up, and he grimaced. Then an image of that sexy little woman Pendergrass had left at the altar flashed in his head.

He knew exactly how to find Pendergrass.

All he had to do was have a little chat with his bride.

The poor sweet thing was probably crushed that her fiancé had skipped out. A little sympathy and seduction, and she’d be pouring out her troubles to him in no time.

His finger rubbed the butt of his gun.

If his charms didn’t work, he knew a lot of other ways to make a woman talk.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Cade jerked his head up as his captain strode in.  He took one look at the camera where Marci was now offering tips to the hookers on touching up their roots and grimaced.

“That one has either got to be dumb as dirt or a pro.”

His thinking exactly.

Although for some reason hearing his captain disparage Marci irritated him. Maybe it was his condescending way of treating everyone like they were beneath him.

That
had to be it.

He didn’t care one damn iota about Marci Turner’s feelings.

Or her tears.

Or the fact that she’d been consoling Dorothy through her own breakdown and now had offered the hookers free foils, whatever the hell that was. Then she’d given her number to the withered up hag in the neighboring cell and offered to do free mud treatments on her face to take ten years off of her life so she could find a decent boyfriend.

“Did the officers find the bullet casings?” he asked, forcing his mind back on track.

“Two slugs from a .38.” Captain Rayner tilted his head to the side as Marci  yanked up her dress to show off the tattoo on her upper thigh.  “Wow, just a little more, sweetcakes,” Rayner muttered beneath his breath.

Cade gritted his teeth.

 A little more and you’d be able to see her underwear. That is, if she was wearing any. Which she probably wasn’t.

Or maybe she had on those sexy see through thongs…

The drunk across the way practically poked his head through the bars straining to get a better look himself. Sometime between the discussion about tips versus gel nails and root jobs, the sumo wrestler had emerged from his coma to admire the latest addition to their cozy little cellblock.

Marci hitched up her hip. “See, how detailed the lily is,” Marci said proudly.  “Now, the guy I use, Spike, he’s such a doll baby and so professional. He can clean up your butterfly and fill it in to make it look really pretty.”

Cade found himself squinting as Layla, the redheaded hooker, examined the tattoo on her upper arm.  It looked more like a snake than a butterfly.

“You sure he won’t charge me too much?”  Layla asked.

Marci shook her head. “Just tell him I sent you and he’ll cut you a deal. We go back.”

Cade just bet they did.

“She’s a wealth of information,” Georgia said dryly. “Maybe she could start her own version of Cosmo in jail.”

The captain laughed, but Cade felt his blood boil.  Marci Turner was making a sham out of jail.  For God’s sakes, she was practically soliciting clients as if she was opening her own spa. “Okay, where are we on the case?  Did the officers find out anything from the guests? Anyone see anything?”

“Nothing concrete.” The captain consulted his notes.  “Three women said they thought the shooter was a white male about seventy. Of course, they were all blind as bats and had mimosas for breakfast.” He paused to check on Marci in case she offered more of her body parts for the viewing, but thankfully she’d pulled that tattered wedding gown back down and was busy showing the other girls the artwork her nail tech had done on her toes.