I was having trouble focusing, let alone seeing the perfect shot. “No.”
He set his beer aside. Pushing gently on my back so I leaned over the table, he lifted the cue stick and placed it on the edge next to me. Skeeter squatted beside me, his face inches from mine. “Pool is physics. Were you any good at physics in school?”
“Not particularly.”
“It’s all about trajectory and rotation.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It kind of is.”
“Is being a bookie complicated?”
He smirked. “Do you always say what pops into your head?”
“Only when I drink a lot of beer.”
“Then you definitely need more beer.”
I most definitely didn’t. “Well, is it?”
“Is what it?”
“Is being a bookie complicated?”
“It has its moments. Right now you need to focus on this shot.” He rested his chest on my back, his arms extending next to mine. “Look down the cue stick and aim it for the right side of the ball, not the middle. See?”
I squinted one eye shut. “I think so.”
“If you aim for the edge, the ball will shoot off in the opposite direction and hit that green ball on the side and send it into that corner pocket. Do you see it now?”
“I think so.”
His hand curled over mine, holding the cue. “Now, nice and smooth.” He slid my arm back then forward, and the tip of the stick hit the edge of the white ball. It spun away to the left and struck the green one, which rolled into the corner pocket.
My peripheral vision faded. I was getting a vision. No! I saw my hand throw a bottle across the room and a string of obscenities filled my ears. “That was a sure bet.” Skeeter said in my vision. “I don’t take losing thousands of dollars lightly. Somebody’s gonna pay for this mistake.”
“You’re gonna lose a lot of money,” I said, then scrunched my eyes closed in terror.
He stood, pulling me up with him and turning me around to face him. His eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”
Warnings were going off in my head and I tried to back away, but his body and arms had me pinned against the table.
“Why’re you so interested in betting, Jane?”
Jane? Oh, right. I was Jane. I obviously wasn’t very good at this undercover stuff. “I told you. It was on my list of things to do.”
“People who place bets just place ’em. They’re not interested in the business of it. Even if this is an act, you seem too naïve to be a cop. Who are you?”
“I told you—”
“Sweetheart, I didn’t get where I am today by letting things get past me. What are you doin’ here?” He leaned over me, still sounding amused, but his eyes had a hard edge.
“I think I want to go now.”
“Not until I get some answers.”
“I believe the lady said she wanted to go,” a deep voice challenged. Turning my attention to the voice, my eyes bulged when I saw Mason Deveraux III holding a pool cue in one hand, a no-nonsense look on his face.
What had I gotten into now?
Chapter Twenty
“Who the hell are you?” Skeeter tensed, his body still pressed against mine.
“I am someone you don’t want to mess with. I suggest you step away from the lady unless you want to see enough legal injunctions brought upon your establishment to shut you down before sunrise.”
Lifting his hands in surrender, Skeeter backed away from me. “I didn’t hurt her. I just wanted to know why she was being so nosy.”
“Being nosy seems to be what she does best. I’ll be takin’ her home now.” Mr. Deveraux tossed the cue to the empty table next to him and reached for my arm. “Come on, Rose.”
“Rose?” Skeeter bellowed. “I knew Jane wasn’t your real name!”
Mr. Deveraux cringed at his mistake as he pulled me toward the door.
“My purse!” Teetering on my heels, I made it to my table and retrieved my bag, with Mr. Deveraux still gripping my arm.
“Good Lord, how much did you have to drink?” he muttered.
“I don’t rightly know.”
Why did I admit that? I hated beer.
“We’ll see each other again, Rose,” Skeeter shouted from the back corner.
“Not if I see you first,” I said, then giggled.
Mr. Deveraux pulled me out the front door and onto the sidewalk. “You have an uncanny knack for making enemies.”
I tilted my head, staring up into his face. “Things were going pretty well until you got here.”
He snorted, a rumbling sound in the back of his throat. Leave it to Mason Deveraux to make a snort sound pretentious. “I saw how well you were doing when he had you trapped against the pool table.”
“Yeah, well… it was going well up until that part.” I opened my purse and started digging.
“What are you doing?”
I glanced up, curling my lip at his stupid question. “I’m lookin’ for my keys.”
“You’re not driving anywhere. You’re drunk.”
Crappy doodles. He was right. I ran a hand through my hair and scanned the parking lot as I searched for another option. Putting my hand on my hip, I glared. “Well, then how am I gonna get home?”
“I’m taking you.” He grabbed my arm again and dragged me to a dark sedan in the second row, separated from the other cars.
“Why? What are you doin’ here anyway?”
“Neely Kate called me.”
What was the deal with Neely Kate calling men to come rescue me?
“She told me that she was supposed to meet you here, but her grandmother had chest pains and she had to rush her to the hospital. She tried your cell phone, and when you didn’t answer she called me.”
I plopped my bottom against the trunk of his car, crossing my arms over my chest. “No offense, but why would she call you?”
He shrugged with a scowl. “Good question.”
I suspected that he knew and wasn’t telling me. “Again, no offense, but why did you come? You don’t even like me.”
His grimace softened. “I know I come across as an ass, but I am actually capable of being nice.”
I giggled. He’d called himself an ass.
“God, you’re as drunk as a skunk. Get in the car.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Get in the car or I’ll call Detective Taylor and have him arrest you for disorderly conduct.”
Mumbling curses under my breath, I started to open the passenger door but stopped short when Mr. Deveraux got there first. “You might be an ass, but you can be a gentleman when you want to.”
“Be sure to tell my mother, to make up for my earlier offenses.”
The door shut before I could respond.
After he got in the car and drove toward downtown Henryetta, I realized he was headed toward my house. But then again, most of the population of Henryetta lived this way. “Don’t you need my address?”
“Nope.”
“Why not? Are you takin’ me to jail?” Oh Lordy. Had I done something illegal?
“No, Rose. Calm down. You’re not going to jail. I got your address from your juror form. If you weren’t at the pool hall, I was gonna go by your house to check on you.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I am capable of being a gentleman.”
“No. Really. Why?”
His mouth twisted as he pondered how to answer me. “Neely Kate was worried about you. And with just cause.” He shot me a stern look before facing the road. “Why are you still investigating this case?”
“Who said I—” Oh. Neely Kate.
“So, why are you doing this?” His hands gripped the wheel and his shoulders tensed. “Did you know Bruce Decker and not reveal it in voir dire?”
I scrunched up my face in disgust. “Why do you keep assuming I lied during voir dire? I didn’t.”
“Then he
lp me understand. You’ve turned this whole case upside down since you plowed into me that first day.”
“That was an accident and you know it.” I watched the mailboxes on the side of the road fly by. My head started spinning and I leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes. “I told you that I knew he was innocent from what I overheard in the men’s restroom.” Opening my eyes, I turned to face him. “But also because I know how hard it is when everyone, including the police, thinks you’re guilty just because all the puzzle pieces fit. Who was going to help Bruce Wayne Decker if I didn’t?”
He gave me a quick glance. “Who helped you?”
I shook my head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“The police were planning to arrest you for your mother’s murder. They were waiting for corroborating evidence to back it up. Even your boyfriend thought you were guilty when he first met you.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read your file. Just like I read your juror file to get your address.”
“I have a file?”
“You were a suspect. Of course you have a file. But answer my question: who helped you clear your name?”
Who helped me? Not Joe. Not until the end, and by then I’d figured out most of the pieces myself—even if most of my figurin’ was an accident. Not Violet. She was too wrapped up in her own family. “Me.”
“That’s right. You. You figured out that Daniel Crocker was behind all of it. You shot him and apprehended him. You stood up for yourself. Why can’t you let Bruce Decker stand up for himself? Why do you feel responsible for his justice?”
His questions were making my head hurt. “I don’t know.”
He pulled into my driveway and shut off the engine. He peered into my face, his gaze intense. “Rose, I don’t think you realize the danger you put yourself into tonight. You are not a police detective. Playing Nancy Drew could get you hurt or worse.”
I squared my shoulders, indignant at his lecture. “Well maybe if the Henryetta Police Department did their job, I wouldn’t have to. Did I do anything illegal?”
He leaned his arm on the steering wheel and exhaled. Goodness, even that sounded stuffy coming from him. “No, since you’re no longer on the jury, what you did wasn’t illegal.”
“So why did you come get me?”
“I told you, Neely Kate called me and told me that she couldn’t—”
“Yeah, I know about that part. Why did you come get me?”
“Because I know about Skeeter Malcolm. You don’t want to mess with him, Rose.”
“Do you think he could have killed Frank Mitchell? Was he Frank’s bookie?”
Leaning his head back against the headrest, he groaned. “Will you just forget about Frank Mitchell and Bruce Decker for one minute and listen to me? Skeeter Malcolm is very protective of his business, and you were there snooping around and askin’ questions. Malcolm has no idea why but now, thanks to me, he knows your first name. It won’t take much digging on his part to put two and two together and find out who you are. I don’t think you should stay home alone tonight. Why don’t you go inside and grab some things and I’ll drop you off somewhere.”
Where in the world was I gonna go? Not Violet’s, things were still too tense, and there was no one else to stay with. I was too tipsy to drive to Little Rock. I lifted my chin and tried to look dignified. “Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Deveraux, but I think I’ll be fine here.”
“I think we’re past formalities at this point, Rose. Call me Mason.”
“Well, thank you, Mason.” His name felt weird rolling off my tongue. “But I just want to go inside my house and go to bed.”
“I’m not sure that’s safe.”
“Why? Because Skeeter Malcolm killed Frank Mitchell and now he’s coming to shut me up?”
“Will you let that go? Bruce Decker killed Frank Mitchell.”
I grabbed the car door handle, so angry I could spit. “You asked me why I was fighting for Bruce Decker when he wasn’t fightin’ for himself. Well, I’m doin’ it because it’s the right thing to do. You say you became an assistant district attorney because you want justice. If you were really wanting justice, you’d be figurin’ out who the real murderer is.” I pushed the door open then turned to face him again. “Thank you for coming to my assistance. And I’m sorry for my rudeness, both tonight and in the past.”
He sighed. “I’m sure I deserved every bit of it.”
“Nevertheless, I’m sorry.”
“Will you please consider going somewhere else tonight?”
I paused, my back to him, my feet out the door and on the driveway. “I have nowhere else to go.” Why did I admit that?
Damn beer.
He sighed again and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Then I’ll see about getting the police to do some drive-bys. Just to be on the safe side.”
“The Henryetta Police are gonna be thrilled about that.”
“They’ll deal with it. Here.” He handed me a business card with a phone number written in ink. “My cell phone is on there. Call me if something happens. Anything.”
“Why?”
He groaned in frustration. “That again? Because I told that jerk your name. If he comes looking for you, it’s partly my fault.”
I climbed out of his car. “Thank you and goodnight Mr—er, Mason.”
“Good night, Rose. And please be careful.”
He stayed in the driveway until I was in the house and the lights were on. I let Muffy out, but encouraged her to hurry up and do her business. I checked my cell phone while I waited for her outside. I had several missed calls, mostly from Neely Kate, one from Violet and three from the number written on Mr. Deveraux’s—Mason’s—business card. Thankfully, no calls from Joe. I wasn’t ready to tell him what happened. I knew I’d have to tell him, just not tonight.
I lay in bed, half-terrified someone would break in to get me. I hadn’t lived with that fear since I was in the mess with Momma’s murder, and I really hadn’t missed it. Muffy snuggled against my body. I swore she glared at me before a stench filled the air.
“Look, I know I haven’t been the best pet owner lately…”
The stench grew worse. I grabbed a pillow and covered my face. “Muffy! Stop that right now!”
She spun around again, then laid her head on my leg and looked up at me with innocent eyes.
“Oh, no you don’t! I know that was you, and I promise to be better, but I need you to be a guard dog tonight.”
Nestling into her covers, she turned her backside to me. The smell that reached my face told me what she thought of that.
“Arg! Muffy, if I wake up dead tomorrow morning, I’m not gonna be happy!” Even in my drunken state, I knew what a ridiculous statement that was, but I was too tired to reason it out. Instead, I succumbed to my beer-induced sleepiness.
The next morning I woke up to light streaming in my bedroom window. Despite Mason Deveraux’s dire predictions, no one had snuck inside in the middle of the night. However, I had a more pressing issue. When I sat up, a piercing pain shot through my head and my stomach rolled.
One more reason I hated beer.
I ran into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet. There was no way I could go to work, and I found myself secretly happy to have an excuse to stay home. It was a sad day when you were thankful for a hangover, proving it was a good thing that I only had eight more days left at the DMV.
It was no surprise Suzanne gave me an earful when I called her. “Don’t you bother coming back, Rose Gardner!”
My pounding head couldn’t take the shrieking in my ear. “Thanks, Suzanne. I won’t.” I hung up, feeling wicked. Not only had I just quit, but I’d hung up on my boss too.
Momma had been right. Beer really was the fount of wickedness.
By mid-morning, I was feeling a bit back to normal and I needed to figure out what to do with myself for the rest of the day. Looking into Bruce Decker’s case wasn’t an option. Sk
eeter Malcolm wasn’t someone to mess around with. And in the light of day, sober except for my headache, I realized how naïve I’d been the night before.
I couldn’t just waltz in and grill shady characters. Shady characters tended to be suspicious by nature, and simply asking questions put me in danger. And the fact was, if I couldn’t ask questions, I had no other means to get answers. I was at a dead end. But the most disturbing realization of all was that Mason Deveraux had saved me from a compromising situation. Joe would have a fit if he knew. No, when he knew. I had to tell him, as difficult as it was going to be.
Sitting on my sofa, flipping through over a hundred channels and finding nothing to watch, I surprised myself by realizing Mason Deveraux was right. I had no business being in the middle of this mess. I needed to leave the investigating to trained professionals. I’d saved my own hide when I was suspected of murder. Bruce Wayne Decker needed to take care of his own exonerating. All I’d done was stir up trouble and maybe even put myself in danger.
I cast a glance toward my kitchen door. I told myself there was no shame in being scared. Only fools weren’t scared when in harm’s way, but it still seemed odd. This was Henryetta, Arkansas for heavens’ sake. How dangerous could it be?
Daniel Crocker’s image popped into my head.
I jumped off the sofa and hurried to my room to get dressed. Suddenly, packing boxes for my move to Little Rock sounded like a great plan. But I didn’t have any boxes. And I also didn’t have a car since I’d left the Nova at the pool hall. Groaning, I realized I’d either have to get a cab to take me to get my car or ask Violet. Since I didn’t feel like getting grilled and lectured, I called a cab.
Taxis weren’t a common occurrence in our neighborhood so when one pulled in front of my house an hour later, several faces peered out windows. The faces belonged to members of the Neighborhood Watch, also known as the Busybody Club. Since Miss Mildred was the most diligent of them all, she was president by default. I waved to her when I climbed in the cab’s backseat, trying not to gag from the thick smell of cigarette smoke.
The cab driver didn’t seem surprised when I told him where to go, even though I was secretly cringing. I hoped to high heaven I didn’t run into Skeeter again. I really needed to think about carrying a weapon, but I was too afraid of guns and my purse was too small for my rolling pin.
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