Mississippi King

by Celia Aaron

  “Yeah, hang on.” Arabella pulled out her phone and accessed her calendar. After a few moments of scrolling, she said, “March 10. Don’t know the year.”

  I tried Lina10. Didn’t work. L1na10. Nope. Lin@10. Still nothing.

  “Shit.” The blinking cursor mocked me.

  “Try this year at the end,” Arabella suggested.

  Denied.

  “What about Royal?” Porter piped up.

  “What’s that?” Arabella asked.

  “We had a dog for the longest time. Dad named him Royal. It’s a good guess.” I tried the name capitalized and lowercase. Neither worked.

  “He died in 2016, right? Dad was devastated. He treated that dog like one of us. Maybe it’s Royal and the ye—”

  I’d already typed it in. “That’s it.” The desktop loaded, though it was sparse. He had an Internet browser, a program that functioned as a Rolodex, and a download folder. “I’m going to keep my objection to any possible client files that are in—”

  “Just get on with it,” Charlotte barked.

  “I like your sister.” Arabella pointed at the downloads folder. “Let’s start there.”

  The downloads folder had a smattering of things—memes that would’ve been amusing to my father, a few pleadings that he must’ve downloaded from the court’s online system, and not much else. I scrolled through all of them, noting that there was nothing special in the pleadings. I’d seen them all before. I clicked over to the finder program and opened his documents. He only had one. It was a draft of a letter in one of our creditor cases that had already settled.

  Next I moved to the photos folder. “Got something.” There were at least 50 files inside.

  “What are they?” Arabella leaned closer, and everyone in the room focused on the screen.

  I clicked the first file.

  Arabella let out a choked gasp. Porter said, “Damn, Dad.” And Charlotte slapped a hand to her face, covering her eyes. It was an image of a smiling Lina Garvey, nude, her legs spread, lying on my father’s bed.

  “Jeez.” Logan didn’t look away.

  I clicked off the image and selected thumbnail view for the rest of them. A quick rundown showed me that each one was an explicit image of Lina. A few included a nude man, which I knew was my father, but I refused to look closer.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” Charlotte hurtled out of the living room and into the powder room in the hall.

  I backed out of that folder, the overwhelming need to escape what I’d seen trumping any desire to find out more.

  “Let me.” Arabella slid the laptop over to her and turned it away from Porter and me. “I’m looking through the web browser to see what websites he’s visited,” she narrated. “He’s been to the state court filing system, Cabela’s, news websites, oh.” Her cheeks heated to the point she looked feverish.

  “What?” I shouldn’t have asked.

  “Just some other websites. You know. Stuff.”

  Porter snorted and mouthed “porn” at me. Jesus.

  She kept going. “He visited the county property register within the last few weeks. Any idea why he’d go to the GIS database to look at properties?”

  “No.” I stood and walked to the kitchen. “I take that back,” I called. “He’d go there to maybe do a title search on disputed property or if one of his clients wanted him to double check a closing for them.” I returned to the living room with a bottle of whiskey and a handful of glasses.

  “Thank god.” Porter snagged the first glass I poured, downed it, and held it out for more.

  “There’s no way for me to see his search history inside the tax mapping program.” She clicked a few more times. “And he didn’t save anything.”

  Porter glugged some more whiskey as I passed glasses to Arabella and Logan. “All this laptop search has done is made Charlotte lose her lunch.”

  “I’m fine!” she yelled from the other room.

  I took a large swallow of whiskey, relishing the burn as it sloshed down my throat. “I needed that.”

  Arabella sipped hers and continued her examination. “Me too.” After a few more minutes of clicking, drinking, and comments on anything but the Lina photos, she sat back. “There’s nothing else there. Not even emails. Seems like he only used the laptop for…” She took a bigger drink.

  “Yeah.” Porter stood and stretched. “I follow.”

  Charlotte walked back in, her face pale.

  “You okay?”

  “As okay as I can be.” She took the last glass from the coffee table. With a grimace, she raised it. “To Dad.”

  “To Dad.” I clinked my glass with hers, and Porter grabbed the bottle as I took a drink.

  “To Dad.” Porter chugged the whiskey, then added, “the old pervert.”

  22

  Arabella

  I awoke with a start, unsure of my surroundings. “Vivi?” I turned my head. This wasn’t my house.

  Sitting up, I put my hand to my head. A stampede of bulls raced through my gray matter. “Shit.”

  “You’re up.” Benton appeared in the living room doorway, his hair wet, his face clean shaven.

  “What happened?”

  He walked over and knelt next to me, his fresh, clean scent at war with my stale whiskey breath. “We drank too much—you on an empty stomach. And you fell asleep.”

  A few flashes of memory ignited in my mind—Logan drinking, Charlotte drinking more, and Porter cracking jokes that had us all howling with laughter. A light snore caught my attention for a moment—Logan was passed out on the rug.

  “Hey.” Benton smiled at me. He was attractive with scruff, but with a clean jaw, he was the epitome of handsome.

  I felt a blush bloom from my head to my toes. “Yeah?”

  “There’s a full bath at the top of the stairs. I’m making breakfast and should have it ready in about ten minutes. If you want to get washed up and fed, you’re more than welcome.” He didn’t seem the least bit put-off by my hangover.

  I knew I must have looked like ass. Glancing at the clock over the mantle, I realized I had enough time to get Vivi to school, even if I showered and ate first. The good news had me swinging my feet over the side of the couch. Benton offered his hand, and I took it.

  For a moment, I simply stood as the room swayed.

  He rested his hands at my waist, steadying me. “I’ve got some ibuprofen for you on the kitchen counter. How about you take that first, then shower?”

  How long had it been since I’d let a man get this close to me? I honestly couldn’t remember. But it felt good, so much so that I wanted to lean into him, wanted to know what it would feel like if he wrapped his arms around me.

  “Arabella?”

  “Hm?” I realized I’d been standing silent for a beat too long. “Oh, sorry. Yes, pills.” I had to get my head straight before starting over again for the day. The investigation needed me running on all cylinders, not nursing a hangover like a lightweight. “Okay.”

  He wrapped his arm around my waist, pressing me to his side, and walked me into the kitchen. I could have done it myself, but he was warm and sturdy, and he smelled like an expensive bar of soap. No Irish Spring for Mr. Benton King.

  A bowl full of cracked eggs sat on the counter, a whisk to the side, and a cast iron griddle rested on the stove top.

  I swiped the pills from the granite countertop and downed them with a gulp of ice water. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He stayed at my side. “Let me help you up the stairs.”

  “I think I can manage.” I ignored the thrill that shot through me when I thought of the two of us together in the bathroom, him undressing me for a shower. Jesus, the hangover seemed to be short-circuiting everything in my noggin.

  “Okay. Holler if you need anything. I laid out a towel, washcloth, and some of Charlotte’s girly soap stuff. She won’t mind. She’ll be even worse off than you when she wakes.”

  “Why aren’t you hungover?”


  He shrugged. “Iron constitution?”

  “I don’t think so.” I pinned him with a stare.

  “I may have thrown up last night.” His nonchalant tone made a laugh bubble up from my gut.

  “Lightweight.” I giggled, but stopped when it felt like an ice pick in my temple.

  “Maybe, but at least I’ll be able to make you breakfast.” He grabbed the whisk, whirled it in his palm, and began beating the eggs.

  “Good point.” I turned and made it up the stairs, barely.

  A hallway ran to my right. There were a few doors along it and one at the end. Snores to rival Logan’s came from the closest room. I peeked in and found Porter on his back, shirtless, and fast asleep despite all his noise. Turning quickly—almost too quickly—I stumbled into the bathroom.

  As Benton had promised, a towel and toiletries were laid out on the marble vanity next to the walk-in shower. His house was nice, far nicer than anywhere I’d ever lived. It was a newer development of what my mother called “McMansions” on a few acres in town that used to belong to a small cotton farm. I stripped and got into the shower, though it took me a minute to figure out how to set the water temperature just right.

  Standing under the spray, I thought back through the events of the last couple of days. After I’d washed my hair with Charlotte’s fancy shampoo, I soaped up. The shower had white marble tiles with a gray vein running through them. Everything was modern. The place had only been built in the past few years. I stopped mid-wash. In the past few years. This subdivision, the renovations at the florist, the burger joint, the other cash businesses on the square.

  I almost fell out of the shower in my soapy haste, jumped back in and rinsed off, then grabbed a towel, wrapped it around me and pounded down the stairs. Benton was flipping pancakes in the kitchen as I rushed past and landed on the couch, pulling the laptop close to me and entering his dad’s password.

  Pulling up the Morrison County property search, I entered Randall’s name. A few properties came up—the firm and his residence. But not the property in the county, and none of the other businesses, either. I did the same for Judge Ingles. He owned a few houses in town. Some were even on Razor Row, but nothing on the square. A search for Letty Cline was another dead end. Damn. I sat back, chewing on my lip as my wet hair turned cold, the drips of water down my back sending goosebumps along my arms.

  “This is the best morning I think I’ve ever had.” Logan sat up and grinned, his eyes pinned to where my towel was bunched around my thighs.

  I smoothed it out. “Knock it off or I’ll write you up for sexual harassment.”

  “What’s going on?” He winced at the morning light filtering through the front windows.

  “I was just thinking about how things on the square have been sort of rebuilding lately, even though we haven’t had much of an economic upturn to support it.”

  He clenched his eyes shut against the sun, but peeked at me as much as he could. “So?”

  “So.” I wasn’t sure where I was going with this. Maybe I needed to get through my hangover before concocting theories. “I’m just thinking that maybe that has something to do with this. The judge was, I don’t know—” I waved at the computer, “—involved in funneling money or something.”

  “From where, for what?”

  “I don’t know.” I leaned back but made sure my thighs stayed glued together. “I had this thought in the shower, like a Eureka sort of moment, but it didn’t pan out. Not all the way. Though there is something interesting. That plot of land Randall bought out from under Theodore Brand—”

  “Your favorite felon.” He smirked.

  “Shut up. He was actually a decent guy, except for that whole rap sheet. Anyway—” the adrenaline was draining from me, leaving me even more irritable, “—as I was saying, that piece of property doesn’t belong to King anymore.”

  “Maybe he sold it.” Logan stared at my legs.

  “Stop!”

  “What?”

  “Look away, asshole!”

  “Fine.” He turned his head, but not far enough that I wasn’t still in his peripheral vision.

  “Never mind. I’m going to get dressed. You are too damn juvenile to even listen to me right now.” I rose and headed toward the stairs.

  “Oh, come on, Arabella. I’m sorry. I won’t—”

  I flipped him off, then ran into Benton so hard that my towel came loose. I snatched it back together at my breasts.

  He gripped my upper arms, his warm palms smooth against my cool skin. “You’re naked.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Sorry. I had an idea, so I—”

  “Naked.” He ran his wide palms up my arms and rested them on my shoulders.

  When I looked into his eyes, I couldn’t mistake the heat in them. Jesus, what was I thinking coming down here in just a towel? Suddenly, I wasn’t cold anymore. It was hot, and I needed to escape. But I didn’t move, just stared up at him, my lips slightly parted as my mind tried to get its footing on what to say.

  “Hey.” Logan’s low voice sounded from behind me. “Get your hands off my boss.”

  I stepped back, and Benton let his hands drop. But our gazes were still locked, and I couldn’t look away no matter how badly I needed to.

  “Arabella?” Logan said my name like a question, though I wasn’t sure what he was asking. Benton broke eye contact to glare at him, his jaw tightening.

  “I’ll um, I’ll go get dressed.” I darted away and up the stairs. Their low voices followed me up, but I didn’t want to know what they were saying. I’d just made a fool out of myself over a property search and managed to undermine myself with both Logan and Benton at the same time.

  “Great,” I muttered. Head down, I walked into the bathroom and grabbed my shirt from the vanity.

  “Did I miss the group shower?” Porter’s voice rumbled behind me.

  “Oh, fuck off.” I turned and slammed the door in his face.

  “Guess so.” He laughed.

  Someone—must have been Charlotte —groaned next door. At least I wasn’t the only one with a hangover.

  I dressed quickly, then paused in front of the mirror, giving myself a once-over. Though my clothes were rumpled, I smelled better, and my hair was clean. I ran Charlotte’s brush through it a few more times. Stalling. A quick check of my watch gave me a little relief. I didn’t have time to stay for breakfast and make it to Vivi’s carpool on time, so I’d have to skip the food. No awkward looks, and no need to get involved in a pissing match between Benton and Logan.

  After a deep breath, I opened the door and hustled down the stairs. Logan stepped into the hall, his phone at his ear.

  “What?” I pulled my phone out and stared at the screen. Blank. I’d have to charge it in the car.

  Logan covered the receiver. “On the phone with Sal.”

  “He know the guy?”

  He shook his head.

  “Of course not.” We couldn’t catch a break. “I’m going to head out. Take Vivi to school.”

  “Okay,” he mouthed, Sal’s tinny voice floating from the phone.

  I hurried into the foyer, the front door within my grasp.

  “Hey.” Benton’s voice slid down around me like silk.

  I didn’t turn around. “I’ve got to get Vivi—”

  “I figured. Here, I made it for you to-go.” He handed me a coffee cup and a breakfast burrito wrapped in aluminum foil.

  “That’s so…” I took both items, the scent of the coffee giving me life.

  “You’re welcome.” He opened the door for me, letting an unseasonably chill breeze into the house. “Be safe, and tell Vivi I said hi.”

  “I will.” I don’t know what I expected, but a hot breakfast from Benton King wasn’t it. “Thank you.”

  “Catch up later, okay? I kind of liked our good cop/bad cop routine.” He pulled the lapels of my blazer together against the cold, the movement far too presumptuous, but sweet all the same.


  I peeked behind him. “Don’t let Logan hear you saying that.”

  “I rather think I’d like for him to hear.” He stepped even closer so that I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

  “I know this will sound nuts, and it’s the worst possible time—for both of us—but would it be forward of me to ask if I could—”

  A sharp whistle sounded from the hallway behind Benton, and Logan came barreling into the foyer.

  “What?” I stepped back so fast I almost lost my footing on the threshold, but Benton caught my arm and kept me upright.

  Logan arched an eyebrow but didn’t say anything about what he’d walked in on. “Just got off the phone with Sal.”

  “And?”

  “And he didn’t know the guy.” He grabbed his coat from a peg next to the door.

  “You already told me that.” Time was ticking for me to get Vivi before Mom loaded her up and took her to school.

  “Yeah, but he asked his mechanic who was working yesterday morning. He knew the guy from school. Saw him filling up gas cans, but just figured he was doing yard work or something, needed it for lawnmowers.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Name’s Leonard Lagner.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Benton grabbed his coat.

  “Is that the same Lagner that’s been calling about her okra being mis—”

  “Yes.” Benton and I said at the same time.

  “Leonard is her son!” I almost did a palm-to-forehead. “The okra on the judge’s counter. The guy—Leonard, aka Lenny—working for the judge. Doing his dirty work!”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Logan turned to Benton.

  “With Arabella.”

  “Like hell you are.” Logan put one hand on his hip. “You’re staying here. You’re a suspect, not a goddamn detective.”

  “No, I’m a deputy, and I’ve been helping with this investigation from day one while you’ve been twiddling your thumbs doing fuck all.”

  “You might want to shut your college boy mouth before I do it for you.” Logan’s voice dripped with menace as Benton stepped onto the porch, both men nearly toe to toe.

  “I don’t care who stays and who goes, but we need to get out to Millie Lagner’s house now!”