Dirty Money
Page 1
Dirty Money
A J.J. Graves Mystery (Book 7)
Liliana Hart
Contents
Acknowledgments
A Dirty Job
Other Books
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
WHISKEY AND GUNPOWDER EXCERPT
About the Author
Also by Liliana Hart
Copyright © 2019 by Liliana Hart
All rights reserved.
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Published by 7th Press
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To Scott-
This was a tough one. Thank you for always being there, for listening, and for giving me a shoulder to cry on. You’re my real life hero. I love you more every day.
Acknowledgments
A book is never a solo venture! It really does take a village.
Thank you to the developmental team- Lyndsey Lewellen (cover design), Imogen Howson (editorial), Beth Puls (editorial), and Anne Welch (editorial). You guys are amazing and so appreciated!
A huge thanks to my husband, Scott Silverii, for answering so many questions about law enforcement. Your expertise and skill saves me hours of research, and I know how blessed I am to have you. I promise I’ll figure out a fun way to pay you back ;-)
And last, I want to thank our kids—Ava, Ellie, Max, Jamie, and Graham—because you know and understand what it means when mom is on deadline, and you order takeout beautifully.
JJ Graves Mystery Series
Dirty Little Secrets
A Dirty Shame
Dirty Rotten Scoundrel
Down and Dirty
Dirty Deeds
Dirty Laundry
Dirty Money
A Dirty Job
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The MacKenzies of Montana
Dane’s Return
Thomas’s Vow
Riley’s Sanctuary
Cooper’s Promise
Grant’s Christmas Wish
The MacKenzies Boxset
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MacKenzie Security Series
Seduction and Sapphires
Shadows and Silk
Secrets and Satin
Sins and Scarlet Lace
Sizzle
Crave
Scorch
MacKenzie Security Omnibus 1
MacKenzie Security Omnibus 2
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Lawmen of Surrender (MacKenzies-1001 Dark Nights)
1001 Dark Nights: Captured in Surrender
1001 Dark Nights: The Promise of Surrender
1001 Dark Nights: Sweet Surrender
1001 Dark Nights: Dawn of Surrender
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The MacKenzie World (read in any order)
Trouble Maker
Bullet Proof
Deep Trouble
Delta Rescue
Desire and Ice
Rush
Spies and Stilettos
Wicked Hot
Hot Witness
Avenged
Never Surrender
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Addison Holmes Mystery Series
Whiskey Rebellion
Whiskey Sour
Whiskey For Breakfast
Whiskey, You’re The Devil
Whiskey on the Rocks
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
Whiskey and Gunpowder
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The Gravediggers
The Darkest Corner
Gone to Dust
Say No More
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Stand Alone Titles
Breath of Fire
Kill Shot
Catch Me If You Can
All About Eve
Paradise Disguised
Island Home
The Witching Hour
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Books by Liliana Hart and Scott Silverii
The Harley and Davidson Mystery Series
The Farmer’s Slaughter
A Tisket a Casket
I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus
Get Your Murder Running
Deceased and Desist
Malice In Wonderland
Tequila Mockingbird
Gone With the Sin
Prologue
Nina Walsh’s head was killing her.
Her body jerked as the air conditioner kicked on, and the white Priscillas swayed in the kitchen window. The gray light of dawn was just peaking over the windowsill and bathing the kitchen in a soft glow. She hadn’t realized she’d been sitting in the dark.
The white tile was cold against her legs, and she looked around, trying to make sense of how she’d gotten on the floor.
“Stupid,” she said, wiping hot tears from her cheeks with trembling hands. Crying only made things worse. If she wasn’t so selfish, she would just do what Roy asked the first time, and then he wouldn’t get so angry.
He was under so much pressure, and she needed to do a better job of understanding how important his work was to the community. He was a hero, and all he wanted was a neat and orderly home and a wife who didn’t nag. It wasn’t too much to ask.
It was her fault. She never should have asked him about the woman in Nottingham. But when the woman—she’d said her name was Gina—called and demanded money for a baby she said was Roy’s, what else was she supposed to do but ask him about it? Where was the money going to come from? He’d already spent what she’d gotten from her husband’s life insurance policy.
Nina gingerly touched the raised, heated skin on her cheek. He’d been so angry, calling her a busybody and Gina a lying slut. Nina knew the woman wasn’t lying, and for a brief moment, she’d felt hope that maybe Roy would leave her for his mistress.
Hatred had blazed in his eyes when he’d struck her, and she thought surely this time he’d kill her. But he’d drawn up some self-control from somewhere and slammed out of the kitchen, giving her a reprieve. At least for the next twenty-four hours. Ten days a month she had twenty-four hours all to herself. It had been her saving grace.
She had a feeling his mistress wouldn’t fare quite as well as Nina had that morning. The woman hadn’t given her name or address, and she’d been on the verge of hysteria, otherwise Nina would’ve called the police and given an anonymous tip. But there was nothing she could do, and if he killed that woman…it would be her fault.
But she couldn’t call the police. Roy had always told her the police would never believe her. Even if they had proof, they wouldn’t arrest him. Not that Roy ever left proof. He was good about not leaving bruises. He knew where and how to hit, pinch, or squeeze.
The breakfast dishes lay broken in front of her. A half-eaten bowl of oatmeal, a plate of toast, and the butter crock. The earthenware had been her grandmother’s. It was good and strong—made to last—but it hadn’t been made to withstand Roy Walsh’s temper.
She gathered up the pieces, and a pang of remorse went through her as shards of happy memories went into the trash. Her mother and grandmother were no longer alive, and the pieces were no longer replaceable.
Her thoughts drifted to her first husband as she finished cleaning up the kitchen. Daryl h
ad been a good man. A hard worker, a good husband and father. But Roy would’ve seen his kindness as weakness. Men were supposed to be tough. To provide for and lead their wives however they saw fit.
Roy had once told her that Daryl chose not to fight against the cancer that had invaded his body. He’d said it was because death was a better alternative than having her as a wife. But she knew that wasn’t true. She and Daryl had been happy. They’d had a good marriage, and she missed him terribly. She wasn’t trying hard enough with Roy. He was different, and she just had to accept that.
“Stupid,” she said again.
At least her daughter had been grown and out of the house before she’d married Roy. Of course, Hailey and Roy never got along. Roy said she and Daryl had been too soft on Hailey. He said she was a disrespectful and willful child.
But Nina had seen the sorrow and condemnation in Hailey’s eyes the first time she’d noticed a bruise on her cheek. There’d been so many harsh words between them, and Nina had defended her husband. Hailey just didn’t understand how marriage worked. Nina’s marriage to Daryl hadn’t been all roses. They’d had their share of ups and downs. But you stick it out. No matter what.
But Hailey had called her a fool and told her she wouldn’t stick around to watch her die a slow death. She’d already had to do that once. That had been three years ago. They hadn’t seen each other face to face since then, only a few brief phone calls that Nina had instigated. As far as she knew, Hailey was still living in Richmond. At least that’s where her packages were postmarked from.
She wiped down the counters with a sponge, and then placed it precisely at the back of the sink. The kitchen was spotless. The floors gleamed and the stainless-steel appliances were so polished she could see her reflection in the refrigerator door.
She grimaced at the sight of herself. Daryl had called her beautiful, even though she knew she was nothing special to look at. Her eyes were too big and her top lip was fuller than her bottom one. She was too thin and too short, and her nose was slightly crooked from when she’d broken it ice-skating as a teenager. Daryl had made her feel beautiful. But Roy…Roy made her feel old and tired. She was only forty-four, but she might as well have been twice that.
Maybe if she’d bothered to put on makeup and fix up her hair. Or if she hadn’t let herself get so thin or could do something about the dark circles under her eyes. Maybe then he wouldn’t have gone to that woman in Nottingham. If she was honest, she didn’t mind him taking his attentions elsewhere. It had been months since Roy had come to her bed, and she’d been glad of it. There was nothing pleasurable in her marriage bed.
Nina lifted a piece of her mousy brown hair and then dropped it so it fell limp against her shoulders. It had always been too fine and thin to hold a curl. Her dark brown eyes hadn’t shown signs of life in so long she no longer recognized the woman in the reflection. His handprint was still visible on her cheek.
This one wouldn’t leave a bruise. He’d gotten better at using an open hand instead of a fist or the back of his hand. The swelling would go down after a cold pack and a hot shower.
She opened the bottom freezer. Sandwiched neatly between the lined rows of steaks for Roy and her frozen meals were several ice packs. It barely even registered anymore why she’d need so many. Some days were worse than others.
The dull throbbing in her temples and at the base of her neck would eventually go away, but the headache was worse than usual. She’d have to take something for the pain if she wanted to get anything done today. Lying down would be the fastest way to deal with it, but it would throw her completely off schedule.
Nina left the kitchen and wandered through the house like a ghost, trailing her fingers lightly along the banister as she went up to the bedroom. The room was bright and sunny—cheerful—and the bed had already been made with military precision. The linen sheets had been freshly pressed the day before and she could smell the faint scent of lemons from when she’d polished the furniture earlier in the week.
Everything was exactly in its place. It had to be. She had laundry and ironing to do, so she couldn’t dawdle the day away, but she knew if she didn’t take care of the headache now, she’d end up in bed for a day or two, and that would really make Roy angry.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she chalked it up to exhaustion and the headache. She missed her daughter, and right at that moment, she would’ve given anything in the world to hold her in her arms. She longed to feel the touch of anyone who could comfort her, or not cause pain.
Her cell phone was plugged in and sitting on the nightstand by her side of the bed, and she went to it quickly, before she could talk herself out of it. Maybe hearing Hailey’s voice would be just the cure she was looking for. But the ringing eventually went to voicemail, so she hung up without leaving a message.
“Sorry, baby,” she whispered, but there was no one to hear her.
She decided to take the pills and run a bath instead of giving in to sleep. Maybe twenty minutes in the tub would set her to rights. It was habit to check each room she entered to make sure it was perfect, and the bathroom was no different. Thick white towels hung on the towel bar with even precision, and the mirrors sparkled. The white rugs on the floor were straight and the one in front of the shower was still damp from when Roy had gotten out. He provided a good living for them, and it was important she show him how grateful she was by keeping things as perfect as they could be.
But she always seemed to fall short of perfection.
She turned on the hot water in the tub and went to the linen closet to dig out the box Hailey had sent her for Christmas. She’d only peeked inside to see what was in it, and then she’d immediately hidden it at the top of the closet so Roy wouldn’t throw it away. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
A small stool sat at the bottom of the closet, and she used it to climb up and get the box.
There was a light coating of dust across the top, making her frown. She opened it and saw the cellophane-wrapped basket with the label from the little apothecary in town on top. This made her frown even harder, because Hailey would’ve had to drive from Richmond to Bloody Mary to purchase it. And she’d still chosen to send it in the mail instead of dropping it by in person.
Nina pulled the basket from the box and unwrapped it, revealing the homemade bath salts, lotions, and scented oils. The pounding in her head was almost unbearable, so she turned on the hot water and poured in a good amount of the bath salts. The sweet scent of vanilla billowed up and permeated the bathroom.
Her bathrobe hung on the hook and her towel sat folded on the stool within easy reach, so she disrobed and immediately put her clothes in the hamper.
She put one foot in the tub.
“Dammit.”
And then she looked up to make sure no one had overheard her. She stepped back out of the tub and moved to the mirrored medicine cabinet. Inside was a tiny tin of pain relievers. It was a new box, still wrapped in the plastic seal and stamped with the same label from the apothecary as the basket her daughter had given her.
The tin was wrapped tight, and her hands trembled as she struggled to open it. When she finally managed to get the seal off and the lid open, several of the pills spilled out, bouncing off the vanity. She didn’t bother chasing them down. Not yet. Though seeing the red and white capsules littered like candy across the floor made her anxious.
She ignored them and took two of the capsules left in the tin, tossing the pills into her mouth. Then she turned on the sink and leaned over to drink from the faucet.
There were times death seemed like an eternity, but in Nina’s case, death came in an instant.
Chapter One
Death was an old friend.
There were those who feared death, who tried to defy it with diets and the newest exercise trends. Or by using creams and serums that erased lines, so the skin-deep lies that faced them in the mirror each morning were more palatable to look at.
I had a differ
ent view of death. There was no escaping it, no denying it, and no running from it. In a world more and more divided by race, religion, and politics, it was the one thing everyone could agree upon. Eventually, through no choice of our own, we’d exhale our last breath and that would be that.
I’ve spent my whole life around death. Even as a child I had a morbid curiosity of the process. Which my therapist says is perfectly normal given that I come from a long line of morticians. I’m thinking the other three thousand residents in Bloody Mary might have a different opinion.
When I was a child, most people stared at me with stricken horror as if I were the Grim Reaper himself. I was…different. Small for my age and gaunt with it. Sunken cheeks, eyes too large for my face, and my head was usually stuck in a book so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.
But Bloody Mary’s cautious fascination with me might have had more to do with the fact that I’d told old Mr. Miller that my parents would see him laid out on their slab when he’d wrongly accused me of stealing a pack of gum from his grocery store. How was I supposed to know he’d drop dead from a heart attack less than a week later? Nevertheless, the incident gave me something of a reputation.
My name is J.J. Graves, and death is my living.
I sat in a hard plastic chair in a small, curtained-off cubicle in the ICU at Augusta General. The beeps from machines were a familiar sound, and the smells of antiseptic overpowered the less pleasant odors of urine, blood, and vomit.