Home Is Where Your Boots Are (12 page)

Fae Lynn and I took off at a smart clip, wanting away from the hospital smells and Big Jim’s cigar stank.

“That man gives me the everlovin’ creeps,” Fae Lynn harrumphed.

“What do you think he was doing here anyway? Is Aaron’s mama sick?”

“Not that I know of. That’s an interesting question, though. Was he heading toward Cash’s office?”

“Maybe. What business would he have with Cash, though?” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Who knows, maybe some ‘town-father’ crap. Cash’s job tends to be more political than anything else. I don’t know how much actual practicing of medicine he actually does.” We hit the front doors and didn’t slow down until we’d reach
ed
the Jeep. Luckily, the encounter with Big Jim had distracted me enough that I no longer wanted to toss my cookies, but I was more than a little unsettled, beyond finding the corpses in the various states we’d found them. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

After a car ride filled with useless, distracting prattle, I dropped Fae Lynn back off at home so she could take Hazzard to soccer camp and then head to work. She climbed out of the car worriedly, looking like she desperately wanted a shower, as I know I did. She turned back to me.

“Let’s not say anything to anyone just yet, ‘kay Lilly?” she asked, her usual sarcasm and bite drained out of her. I smiled reassuringly and shook my head.

“Like they’d believe us anyway.”

A few days later I was on the phone whining to Fae Lynn about not having a secretary. She succinctly informed me that I did not have enough clients to warrant a need for a secretary, and that I needed to get over myself. I was trying in vain to convince her how I couldn’t function without someone to organize my practice, albeit tiny and not so income-producing compared to the one I’d amassed in Dallas.  I heard the bell over the front door tinkle, accompanied by the tilled calling of my name and a loud crash.

“What the hell?!” Fae Lynn exclaimed. “Is that Tina coming to finish you?”

“Shut up, that’s not funny.” I admonished her. “Actually, that sounded suspiciously like Nonnie. I’ll call you back.” I said with a sigh.

“Hey!” Fae Lynn snapped, interrupting my thoughts. “You coming over for dinner?”

“Only if I can cook,” I teased. Fae Lynn was famous for her mashed potatoes and cheesecake out of the box. Cooking was one of the few domestic skills I possessed
,
and it had been a running joke that while she and Scott
y
, had been dating, every time she wanted to cook for him,
she called me and I usually
ended up doing it. This behavior had carried on throughout the beginning of their marriage when she had to take food to his family functions. It was only after her own disastrous attempt to copy my Mexican Shrimp Cocktail recipe that she confessed to her mother-in-law how horrible she was in the kitchen. Considering I didn’t clean and all my clothes usually went to the dry cleaners (I’d have sent the towels if I wasn’t afraid of the funny looks)
,
it made me feel better to hold the one skill I possessed over her head.

“You’ll eat my casserole and like it, you snobby Texan,” she threw back.

“I am not a Texan!” I shouted.

“Then you’d better get the tag on that Jeep changed, cause people are starting to worry about you,” I turned at the sound of Nonnie’s voice. She had on a pencil skirt covering her skinny little legs I often wished I’d inherited instead of Mama’s dancer’s thighs, and a bright red button up top with French cuffs. Her pearls were in place and she’d put on red and cream designer vintage spectator pumps that I wished my big feet could fit into because dang were they cute. She was carrying a clipboard and had a pencil tucked behind her ear. I surveye
d her and started to worry as the
niggling of an idea as to what was going on started to ferment in my head. I heard another loud crash and watched Nonnie angle her body out of the doorway and yell, “Careful! Those are antiques.” She turned back to me. “You people have no respect for the classics these days,” she shook her head.

“Nonnie…” I started slowly, “What is going on?”

“Lilly, we all know you couldn’t organize your way out of a paper bag, and your Daddy’s gotten distracted from finding you an assistant, so here I am.” she pirouetted precariously on the heels. “How do I look?” she crowed, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Umm, well, uh…” I searched for words.

“I know. Speechless,” she chortled triumphantly, bustling over to my desk to gather and drop all my scattered pens in the penholder. “I figured this was a pretty good outfit for a legal assistant, but I
’m going to have to go shopping. T
hese heels are probably going to kill me before the day’s over. Do you have plans on Saturday? Maybe I could take a personal day, considering it’s business related. Although you really need me here. I’ve got tons to do, organizational-wise. They’re bringing in my desk as we speak, and I ordered a new phone system and a new fax machine. Your daddy’s bringing up one of his old computer’s, but I think I’ll order a laptop; that seems more professional, don’t you think?” she paused long enough from her prattling to look inquisitively at me. Holy shit. And oh well.

“Sounds great, Nonnie. Have at it.”

I went back to my Google search of black market body parts. Legal research happens to be a pretty straightforward process. If you know what you’re looking for. Which I currently most certainly did not. Usually there was certain technical jargon that lawyers call ‘terms of art’ that you could use to search and sift through your system of choice. Like ‘will
,’
‘probate
,
’ ‘tort
,’
‘murder
,’
etc. But I sincerely doubted if stolen femurs were in such a system. Every lawyer had a favorite preferred search tool, but I doubted they were going to pop up no matter which one I chose.

I was right. After two hours, I decided to give up and head home, crossing my fingers for leftover chicken and biscuits.

I was loading my tote in the Jeep when Charlie Locke’s shadow leaned into the light.

“What were you doing at the hospital?” His thick Southern drawl spilled out from under his thick, gray mustache. Startled, I slammed my hand in the door and ruined my manicure.

“Crap Charlie, warn a girl would you?”

“I weigh almost three hundred pounds, kid. It’s not like I could pull a sneak attack if I tried. What have you got on your mind that you’re so distracted?” I sighed and rested my hip against the Jeep door.

“There’s something going on in this town.”

“Always, kid. You’ve just been shielded.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I’m not much for hugging, so I’ll tell you to buck up, that’s life in the big city.”

“This is a small town.”

“The smaller the pond, the dirtier the water.”

“Yuck.” Charlie rolled his eyes and shifted his circa 1969 briefcase.

“What you got?” He indulged me. I recounted the details of my conversations with Ronnie, Kelli
,
and the trip to the morgue with Fae Lynn, nausea again growing in my stomach. He didn’t have a reaction until I was done and then rolled his eyes again.

“Huh. Can’t help you. Other than it sounds like it’s all starting at the hospital. One piece of advice, though.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an attorney, not a detective.”

“Apparently not everyone thinks so.”

“Who gives a crap what everyone thinks? Be an attorney.”

“This from the man that did his own P.I. work and broke his arm falling out of a tree trying to take pictures of a possible affair.”

“That was when I couldn’t afford a P.I. You need to be careful, Lilly. You’re way too cute to be dead.” I sent him my own eye roll.

“I’m way too cute to kill, Charlie.” He rearranged his bulk and tipped his nonexistent hat to me.

“You’re
just
not as cute as you think you are, kid.”

“Allllll my exes live in Texas,” I warbled onstage at Chester’s, “that’s why I came back to Brooks and No-onnie.”

The office had been hopping all afternoon. Thankfully for my bank account, my office door had become a revolving one. After Cash’s presence had announced that I was back and open for business, my old friends, my parent’s friends and just plain nosy citizens had been in to offer condolences on my wedding, ask about Cash’s case, and give me advice on my life. Not necessarily in that order. Thankfully, after they accomplished their real mission, they usually enlisted my services in some matter of the law. I’d started proceedings on two probate contests, attended a child-custody hearing, bailed two drunks out of jail, and given countless advice on buying houses, cows, land
,
and cars. I guess it was a sign that I’d taken the Oklahoma bar exam after the Texas one. Consciously
,
I’d never planned to come back, but my natural instincts to cover all my bases had been a blessing. Nonnie sitting up front didn’t hurt business either.

In the past few weeks, the files of documents to create wills, living trusts and estates had piled up on my desk. Apparently
,
all the old people in Brooks needed their affairs solidified. I had a sneaking suspicion that Nonnie had twisted some arms, but I wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth.

I’d felt pretty productive when I’d left the office, but by nine I was still pretty antsy
,
so Tally and I had gone to blow off some steam and we’d ended up at karaoke night at Chester’s doing shots of Southern Comfort and lime. I finished my song and stepped offstage to overzealous applause. I cannot sing. I would imagine the applause was mostly for my low-cut top. I weaved my way toward Tally and some cute boy stacked with muscles.  Out of the corner of my eye
,
I noticed Spencer Locke sitting at the bar, nursing a highball filled with ice and a clear mixture. He looked my way and nodded, and a flash hit me in places that hadn’t seen any action in quite some time. I suddenly saw him on a lazy Sunday afternoon, with fried chicken and … pie. I shook off the fantasy and returned the nod, continuing toward my little sister, bumping into a table in the process.

“Hey, y’all, how’s it going?” I said, perky and swaying.

“Swell,” Tally smiled as she played handsie with Mr. Muscles. “I’m ready to go. You ready?”

“No,” I said indignantly, “I think I’m gonna sing again.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Tally asserted. “Oh, shit,” she said as she looked past my shoulder toward the door, “Trouble with a capital C just showed up. It is now time to go. Tate, i
t was nice to catch up with you.
I’ll be seeing you.”

I turned and ran smack into Cash Stetson himself.

“Can we talk, Lil?” He nodded curtly at Tally and her latest conquest. I could feel the volumetric force of my sister’s hair as she shook her head. I was safe, though. Shots or not, I had my head about me.

“Yes. But not here. Outside.” He dragged t
he longneck bottle to his mouth
and took a decided swig, setting the amber glass on a nearby table and turning to go.

Tally stepped in between us before I could follow.

“No, and hell no, and for all that is holy, just no,” she implored me emphatically.

“I’m okay,” I told her, removing her fingernails from my arm and giving them to Tate, “I need to fire him.” She acquiesced with a nod and a noticeable lack of disappointment this time.

I ignored all the stares and the beginning buzz of
blather
and headed across the beer-sticky floor.

We hit the night breeze
,
and I sighed in relief. The Oklahoma air went a long way toward sobering up my semi-tipsy state. I turned around before we hit the edge of the parking lot. Too fast, apparently, because I felt the parking lot spin and the lights flash. For the record, I was not drunk. I may have been a little schnockered, but ladies do not get drunk.

“You’re fired. I cannot be your attorney. I’ve never done a divorce in my life, and really don’t feel like starting with you.
Find someone else
.” Cash just stood gaping like a fish. I don’t mean that in a mean way, he really did look like a fish.

“Lilly, I just think if we talk we can work this out.”

“There’s nothing to work out, Cash. Seriously, dude. You’re fired.”

“But, Lil.” Good grief, if I had a dollar for every time I heard a “But, Lil” from this guy
,
I wouldn’t have to buy my Manolos off eBay. I don’t know if you can tell, but my give a damn was totally busted and broke-ass down.

A booming voice startled us, and I backed into a brick wall, my head thudding against it. The lights were flashing, merrily and bright, and I struggled to sift through my schnockered state to understand what was going on. I have to confess here, I only h
ad two shots. I’m a lightweight, w
hich makes me a cheap date, but not very pleasant after imbibing. I tend to get a tad belligerent. I shook myself, literally, and tried again to focus on the swirling haze.

Danny Muggs was standing next to Cash, his uniform starched and hat in hand, a megaphone dangling from his meaty hands. I stood staring, trying to get my bearings and finally noticed all the squad cars that had pulled up during my short, unproductive conversation with Cash. The brick wall came to stand beside me and I glanced up into the profile of Spencer Locke. A weird sense of relief eased some of my tension.

“Danny, what the hell?” It seemed I was asking that a lot these days.

“Miss Lilly, I am sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head.

“Sorry for what, Danny?” I asked as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I looked up over at Cash, who’d moved, and saw him standing between Scotty and another two other officers who’d shown up. He was shaking his head and talking quickly. His head lifted. He
glanced over and caught my eye,
anguish crossing over his features followed by an almost imperceptible defeat, maybe remorse. I wasn’t sure, but I was for sure going to find out. I marched past Danny around the truck only to find Cash handcuffed, having his rights read to him.

“Cash?” my voice rattled out.

“Lilly,” Sheriff Clay interrupted, stepping between us.

“What’s going on Clay?” I asked again, the lawyer conquering my inner southern belle.

“Now don’t you go getting upset. Can you call R
ex to take you home?” he asked condescendingly
.

“I’ll call my Daddy when I’m good and ready,” I shot back. “Tell me what’s going on.” Clay eyed me stormily, not used to not having his orders not followed, out in the field or at home.

“We’re arresting Cash. For the murder of Tina Stetson.” The air escaped from my chest and didn’t refill. My knees loosened
,
and through the neon lights of Chester’s, the flashing lights of the squad cars, and the sultry air of a hot Oklahoma July night, I tried to figure out what the look in Cash’s eyes meant. I searched his face for a clue, but a voice interrupted my expedition.

“Lilly?” I whirled around to the source of my lessened anxiety.

“Spencer,” I spit out, still startled enough not to have regained my manners.

“You okay?” He asked, displaying uncharacteristic chivalry.

“Yes,” I said, before I gave it much thought. “Do you have an O.R. card?” I asked him. A hooded look shaded h
is eyes.
(O.R. meant
“
own recognizance.
”
Meaning in certain circumstances I had a get-out-of-jail-free card for myself and others. I hoped this was one
of those certain circumstances.)
“I’d like to borrow it,” I went on.

“I thought you fired him,” Spencer responded, setting his granite jaw. How the heck had he been privy to that conversation?

“Just because I fired him doesn’t mean I don’t care if he goes to jail. He’s innocent.” Spencer didn’t respond immediately, and I didn’t bother to look for his reaction. Something started to bubble up inside of me. The lights were still flashing
,
I wasn’t yet sober
,
and the idea of Cash in
jail
sent me over the edge I’d been skirting ever so close to for quite some time.

I lost it. Whatever sense of balance I’d found on the dirt road was waylaid by aforementioned inebriation and the pending professional turned personal crisis. So I decided to unload on the last person who would understand.

“My life is a mess. It’s a frickin’ cliché. It’s like Andy Griffith meets Dallas. I caught my spineless, gutless wonder of a fiancé screwing his secretary, after I’d always assumed he’d never do anything without his mother telling him to. I
had to leave my life in Dallas
to come back home. I’m living with my sister, who looks like honky-tonk Barbie, in my great-grandmother’s house, across from my grandparents, one hundred and fifty yards from my parents. I’m ‘working’,” I air quoted, “with my Nonnie, catty-corner from my Daddy’s office and down the street from my Mama’s antique store. I’m singing karaoke! I can’t find my favorite lipstick
,
and now my first client’s gotten arrested
,
and I can’t even be a decent lawyer and bail him out of jail because I am drunk, and I’m making a total fool out of myself in front of you, who I don’t even know. And if I hear one more person in this damn town call me Miss Lilly, I’m going to lose what little I have left of my everlovin’ mind!”  I ranted, waving my hands theatrically, slightly stifled by the proximity of Spencer’s solid chest.

Spencer, while short on Southern charm, had apparently had enough tutoring from his aunt to have figured out what to do when a woman had a hissy fit.

He grabbed the back of my neck with a big, hot hand and proceeded to shut me the hell up.

It wasn’t smooth. It was awkward, and unskilled. Our semi-patrician foreheads smacked, I cut my tongue on his teeth, his one
o’clock in the morning
shadow and movie star chin dug into my jaw. It was hot. Hotter than a beer can in the Oklahoma sunshine, hotter than a firecracker on the Fourth of July, it was, you get the picture. I ground myself into him
,
and he ground right back, his big hands cradling my face tenderly while the kiss continued to go wild. There was a certain sense of safety in our
Animal Kingdom
act, and with my uptight, co
ntrol-freak tendencies
,
that was
probably the reason I was enjoying it so much.

Then, with restraint I wished he hadn’t shown, he withdrew and regarded me without humor.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah. Kind of.” I told him.

“Good,” he told me.

“Sissy?” Tally had made it outside, slower than I expected given I was sure someone had been designated as lookout before my boots had hit the parking lot. Perhaps time had stopped. That was certainly the kind of kiss that could do that. I tried to focus. Tally glanced between me and Spencer, a slight frown marring her otherwise smoothly expensive
forehead. I took a deep breath,
shook it off
,
and decided to do the only thing that had yet to best me. First and foremost, I was a lawyer. Even if I couldn’t get my personal shit together, I was still a badass, slightly disheveled or not.

“You sober?” I asked Tally curtly.

“Enough to drive,” she nodded.

“Let’s go.”

“Home?” Spencer was watching our aside with feigned disinterest. I could feel the coiled attention radiating beneath the surface.

“The police station.”

“Agh,” Tally growled.

“He’s my client.”

“I thought you fired him?
” they both pointed out strongly in unison, ganging up on me and then nodding at each other in satisfaction.

“I didn’t get to finish. And he’s innocent.” Their collective eye rolls didn’t deter me. I knew that. I knew Cash did not kill his wife and come to Chester’s to drink a beer and try to reconcile with me. Cash was a lot of things. A user, a cheater, a liar, a thief of hearts. A murderer he was not. I think.

Avoiding Spencer’s gaze and
still trying to calm my libido,
I pushed aside my irritation that he a
ppeared unruffled by kissing me, w
hich meant he’d definitely done it to just shut me up. I’d revisit that later. The big fish was waiting on my frying pan. I marched to Tally’s T-Bird and climbed in to wait on her reluctance. Sh
e drove the short way, silently,
lips pursed and the disapproval slapped back in place. I ignored her the same way she’d been ignoring me in this regard for quite some time, hopping out once she pulled up under the lighted entrance and slowed down. She agreed to wait.

xxx

Scotty was the first person I saw when I stepped inside. He was shaking his head at me before I even turned toward him. He strode hard in my direction, the furrow in his brow deepening with each boot heel strike.