I pushed off from the door and went to get the phone. I no longer wanted to lounge in a bubble bath with my wine and maudlin thoughts about being left by my husband. The water was cold by now, anyway. And Diana needed to hear about this, ASAP.
* * *
IT WAS PERHAPS fitting that when I greeted her with “David’s dead,” the first words out of Diana’s mouth were, “I told you I didn’t want to know anything about that.”
I sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t do anything to him.”
“Then what happened?”
“Nothing happened,” I said. “It was a traffic accident. He lost control of his car and crashed through the guard rail.”
There was a beat. “How do you know?” Diana asked.
“The police came. David’s address of record, the one on his driver’s license, was the house. They thought he still lived here.”
She sounded resigned. “I suppose you set them straight.”
“Of course. What was I going to do, lie to the police?”
Diana didn’t answer that. “What did they ask you?”
“Just about the rest of the family. Krystal and Kenny and Sandra. And David’s brother in California. And... um... Jacquie.”
Her voice rose, became shrill. “You told them your husband had left you for another woman?!”
I resisted the temptation to ask, again, whether she’d wanted me to lie. “Why not? The divorce is a matter of public record, right? You said so yourself, earlier. I’m on record as petitioner, and David’s on record as respondent. They’d find out eventually. And why does it matter, anyway? It was a traffic accident!”
“Never volunteer any information,” Diana said sternly. “You should have called me.”
“Oh, sure. That would have looked great. The police show up at my doorstep to notify me that my husband has been killed, and I won’t talk to them without my attorney present. My divorce attorney.”
Diana didn’t respond to that, so I guessed she saw my point.
“About tomorrow...” I said.
“What about it?”
“I guess our appointment with the judge is off?”
“No,” Diana said.
“We’re still going before the judge? But David’s dead!”
“The judge doesn’t know that,” Diana said.
“Shouldn’t someone let him know?”
“It’s Anton Hess’s responsibility. David was his client. Let him handle it.”
Fine. “I’ll schedule my appointment with the funeral parlor for the afternoon, then,” I said.
Her voice rose into another shriek. “You are making the arrangements?”
“Of course,” I said. “He was still my husband.”
“Only until tomorrow!”
“A little longer than that, surely.” Since the paperwork wouldn’t be filed and things made official until after the judge had ruled. “Anyway, I certainly won’t let Jackie-with-a-q bury him.” She may have taken him away from me while he was alive, but now that he was dead, he was mine again.
“Let me guess,” Diana said grimly. “You’ll be ordering the cheapest casket they’ve got. A plain pine box.”
It was tempting, but no. Part of me wanted to bury David in a garbage bag, but the other part knew better. “That wouldn’t look good.”
“No,” Diana said. “It wouldn’t.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bury him properly.” In a fancy casket and with appropriate music. “You can come with me to the funeral parlor if you want.”
“That’s OK,” Diana said. “It’s not really my place.”
No, but if she were concerned that I’d put him in the ground to the sound of Gloria Gaynor, she was welcome to come along and make sure I didn’t.
“I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow,” Diana added.
I told her I’d be there, and then I hung up and took the rest of the bottle of wine up to bed with me, the better to drown my sorrows.
Chapter 3
I PAID FOR it the next morning, when I faced my bleary self in the mirror. The bags under my eyes could have held groceries for a family of six, and there were lines on my face I didn’t remember seeing before. My mouth turned down at the corners, my lips pale and thin, and my hair looked like birds nested in it.
I poked at it. It was like touching straw.
I’m a natural redhead, with brown eyes. However, by twenty-two I was going through a stage where I was sick of answering to Ginger. I’d been experimenting with hair dyes. The week David met me, I happened to be a blonde. And because David liked me that way, I stayed a blonde for him. Over the years, I’d gone from platinum to a more natural-looking wheat, but I was still blond.
For all the good it had done me. My husband had left me for a Salma Hayek lookalike.
It was too late to stick it to David now, but maybe it was time I went back to my own hair.
Maybe that would be a first step in taking a little of my own life back.
Hell, forty wasn’t any age at all. I may not look twenty-five anymore—and damn Jackie-with-a-q anyway—but forty isn’t what it used to be. I still had my figure—mostly—and I still had my looks, when I wasn’t looking like death warmed over.
Maybe I couldn’t expect to turn the head of someone like Detective Mendoza, but there were plenty of older men out there who looked great well into their forties and fifties.
A workout would have been nice, but I didn’t think I ought to indulge on the day after my husband had died. And so it was that my first call of the day was to the spa, to book an emergency haircut and color, and a facial to deal with the fact that I looked my age today.
That done, I contacted the funeral parlor—the one David had used to bury his mother last year—and told them what had happened. We set up an appointment for later that afternoon, so I could sign the paperwork—and the check—and pick out the casket and the funeral music.
Then I got dressed—in a demure black-and-gray dress and jacket combo Diana had told me would work well for the hearing—and headed out to the spa.
* * *
WHEN I WALKED into the courthouse three hours later, I was a redhead, for the first time in two decades. My natural color had probably faded some since I was a girl—although who knew, when I hadn’t seen it au naturel since then?—but I had told the stylist I wanted short and strawberry red, so that’s what she’d given me. I still surprised myself every time I looked in the mirror, but overall, I rather thought I was going to like being a redhead again. And the facial had helped with the bags and pale skin, so by the time I pushed open the door to the courthouse, I was looking a lot better than I had this morning. I may even have looked a bit too good, because as soon as Diana saw me come through the doors, she hissed at me. “You couldn’t have waited until after the funeral?”
“We were getting divorced,” I said. “He left me for a girl young enough to be his daughter. I’m sorry he’s dead, but I’m not going to pretend to be grieving.”
“I don’t expect you to pretend to be grieving. But do you have to look like you’re celebrating? That—” she glanced at my head, “is almost as bad as showing up at the funeral in a red dress.”
“I would never do that. And I’m appropriately dressed.”
She nodded approval of my gray-and-black ensemble. “You should wear it to the funeral, as well.”
“I bought it for David’s mother’s funeral last year,” I said. “Are you sure I don’t need a new outfit to bury my husband?”
“I don’t care. Just as long as it’s black. And not too short.” She glanced around. “Are you ready to go in?”
“We might as well get it over with.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Diana said and led the way to the judge’s chambers.
* * *
ANTON HESS MUST have moved his appointment up, probably so he could inform the judge of the new situation—David being dead, I mean.
More of a surprise was that he wasn’t alone with the judge in ch
ambers. Detective Jaime Mendoza was there, as well, dressed in another killer suit. And for a second, when we first walked in, I’m not sure he recognized me. Then his eyes widened, and he stared at my hair for a second before dropping his gaze to my face again, just to make absolutely sure it was me. Aside from the surprise, however, I have no idea whether he approved or disapproved.
Anton Hess clearly disapproved.
Unlike Mendoza, he’s neither tall nor handsome. He’s only about my height, a year or two older than David, and shaped like a frog, with a wide mouth and protruding brown eyes. They looked at me with disfavor.
“Your Honor,” Diana said, and I turned to the judge. He hadn’t seen me before, so he had no way of knowing that my hair was different. “Mr. Hess. Detective Mendoza.”
The judge and the lawyer nodded politely. The corner of Jaime Mendoza’s mouth quirked.
Diana turned back to the judge. “I assume you’ve heard the news, Your Honor.”
Judge Miller, pushing seventy and with soft, white hair standing up in a cock’s comb above the black robe, nodded. “We’re postponing.”
“Of course.” Diana sounded like she’d expected no less. I had assumed we wouldn’t be moving forward today, either, but I wasn’t sure I could have sounded so blasé about it.
The judge turned to me. “My condolences, Mrs. Kelly.”
Anton Hess snorted. Softly enough that the judge couldn’t hear him, or maybe Judge Miller just decided to ignore the snort.
“Thank you,” I said, graciously ignoring the snort, as well. Detective Mendoza was watching me, brown eyes bright, and I avoided his gaze.
“Terrible thing.” Judge Miller shook his head. “We’ll have to find a time to reschedule.”
He consulted his schedule, then looked up at Diana and Anton Hess. I guess it was simply assumed that I would be available. “How about two weeks from today? Will that give the police enough time to investigate?” The attention moved to Mendoza.
Who opened his mouth, but before he could speak, someone said, “Investigate?”
It wasn’t until everyone turned to look at me, that I realized I was that someone.
“Suspicious death,” Mendoza said.
“You told me it was a traffic accident.”
“Last night, that’s all we knew.”
Uh-oh. “Do you know something different this morning?”
It looked like Mendoza hesitated a second, or maybe it was just my imagination. “The brake lines of the car were compromised.”
“Compromised?”
It was still my voice asking the questions, in spite of Diana’s scowl and unspoken order to shut the hell up.
“Split,” Mendoza said. “When the brake fluid drained, the brakes ceased to work.”
“But he’d only had that car a few months.”
“We don’t think it was a factory flaw,” Mendoza said.
I blinked. So if it wasn’t a flaw in the manufacturing, and it wasn’t an accident— “You’re saying someone cut David’s brake lines? Why?”
I don’t know whether Mendoza would have answered or not, or what he would have said, because Diana had had enough. “Why don’t we continue this somewhere else?” she said, in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t a question at all; it was an order. “With your permission, Your Honor?”
Judge Miller nodded. “I’ve heard all this already.”
Of course he had. That’s why Mendoza had gotten here early.
They set up their new appointment and then we walked out of the judge’s chamber and into the hallway. Anton Hess waddled off without a word, before I could extend my condolences on his loss. He and David had been friends, or at least associates, for a long time, and I’m sure he was sad to hear about David’s death. Diana was about to hustle me to safety, too, when Mendoza spoke up.
“A word with you, Mrs. Kelly?”
“Not without me,” Diana said.
Mendoza smiled. An actual, honest-to-goodness smile with teeth and dimples and all. I shouldn’t have been affected by it—not with my husband lying in the morgue—but it was hard not to feel warm and squishy inside. I’m sure even Diana melted, under the icy exterior. “I’m not gonna pull out the thumbscrews and rubber hoses, Diana.”
“I don’t care,” Diana said. “If you’re going to talk to my client about her husband’s death, you’ll have to talk through me.”
“You’re not a criminal lawyer.”
“I don’t care,” Diana said. “If she needs one, we’ll get her one. But for today, she has me.”
Mendoza shrugged. “Fine by me. I just wanna talk.”
“Lunch?” She mentioned a restaurant on Fourth Avenue in Germantown, pretty much right around the corner from the Ferncliff and Morton offices, and a half mile north of where we were standing. “Thirty minutes?”
“I’ll see you there.” Mendoza turned and walked away. Diana turned to me.
“This isn’t good.”
“He just wants to talk,” I said, still watching him walk away.
Diana huffed. “He thinks David was murdered.”
Mendoza disappeared out of sight, and I turned back to her. “That’s ridiculous. Who’d want to kill David?”
She arched her brows, and I shook my head. “You’re crazy. I’d never hurt anyone.”
“Just yesterday you told me you wanted to kill him,” Diana said.
“But I didn’t mean it.”
She didn’t answer, and I added, “Come on. Can you really see me crawling around underneath the Porsche, cutting the brake cables? I’d get dirty, for one thing, and I wouldn’t know what they looked like, for another. It’s not like I change my own oil, you know.”
“There are books,” Diana said. “Listen to me, Gina. Yesterday, you were looking at a prenuptial agreement limiting you to whatever gifts David gave you during your marriage. Today you’re looking at inheriting everything.”
Yes, but...
“You had every reason to kill David. If he survived until today, you might have lost everything but the clothes on your back and the car you drive.”
“Do you think the police know that?”
“If he didn’t yesterday, I’m sure Anton was happy to tell him this morning,” Diana said grimly.
I lowered my voice. “So Detective Mendoza thinks I’m a suspect?”
Diana snorted. “Of course he thinks you’re a suspect. You’re the most obvious suspect. That’s why I don’t want you talking to him on your own.”
I hesitated. “You... um... seemed to know him already.”
“We’ve met,” Diana said, in a tone that discouraged further questions.
“I assume he’s good at his job?”
“He wouldn’t have his job otherwise.” She looked at my expression, and relented, just a little. “I didn’t meet him in his professional capacity. But if he didn’t close cases, he wouldn’t keep his job.”
OK, then.
“So don’t tell him anything. Nothing.”
I shook my head.
“Let’s go,” Diana said.
* * *
THE GERMANTOWN CAFE is a lovely little establishment in the middle of a neighborhood that used to be Nashville’s meat packing district, and is now one of the urban hotspots. If David hadn’t already bought a condo in the Gulch, Germantown would probably have been next on his list. There was even a view of downtown and the Capitol from the windows of the restaurant.
Mendoza wasn’t there yet when I arrived. Diana was, and had gotten us a table. She was busy tapping on her phone—sending a text or taking notes—but slipped it into her purse when she saw me coming.
“Any problems?”
“You saw me fifteen minutes ago,” I said, sliding onto my chair. “I didn’t get lost on the way. And there’s obviously still money in the bank account, because my debit card worked in the parking machine.”
Diana didn’t look amused, and I added, “Do I have to worry about the police or the courts putting a lien or somethi
ng on my account?”
“Keep in mind that I’m not a wills and estates attorney,” Diana said. “But David’s will will have to go through probate. That happens every time someone dies, whether they’re married or divorced or somewhere in between. It’s possible his accounts will be blocked until the estate is settled.”
“What about any shared accounts?” If I only had access to the account with my own monthly allowance, I’d be spending some pretty frugal weeks until David’s estate was settled. And perhaps from here on out, if Judge Miller decided to uphold the prenup.
“I’m not sure,” Diana admitted. “Jaime may be able to tell us.”
Jaime, was it?
“Just how well do you know Detective Mendoza?” I asked.
“None of your business,” Diana said. “Remember, Gina. He’s handsome and charming, but he’s a cop. Don’t—”
“Tell him anything. I know.”
The waiter stopped beside the table, and I asked for a glass of wine. Diana arched her brows at me, and I huffed. “Fine. Sweet tea, please.”
Diana smiled approvingly. I rolled my eyes. “My husband died yesterday. You don’t think I’m entitled to a drink?”
“Sitting here sipping a Cosmopolitan when the police walks in is likely to give them the wrong idea,” Diana said severely, as the waiter withdrew, but not without a startled glanced from her to me and back.
“Detective Mendoza already knows I drink. I had a glass of wine in my hand when he knocked on the door last night.” And found me in my bathrobe with bare feet.
“Jaime gave you the news?”
I nodded.
“I wish you would have mentioned that,” Diana said.
“Would it have mattered?”
“You would have had some advance notice that they suspected foul play. Homicide detectives don’t usually do the notifications for traffic accidents.”
Ditching David Page 3
