For Your Love

by Caine, Candy

Then he noticed the blood on Hemmings’ trousers. “What did you do, swim in the stuff?”

  “I slid in the blood and nearly broke my neck.”

  Price’s complexion blanched a moment before returning to normal. “This is one of the worst I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled. “Shotgun,” he told Ortega.

  “Nothing else less than a bazooka could do such damage,” Ortega quipped and received a warning look from his partner.

  Both men took a final look before taking Hemmings away from the crime scene so forensics could do their thing. Most of the questions came from Price while Ortega took notes in a small pad. Hemmings explained where he’d been over the weekend, establishing his alibi. He pulled the two business cards from his pocket and handed them over to the older detective. The entire ordeal took about forty minutes. When it was over, Hemmings picked up his overnight bag once more and drove to a hotel. The detectives promised to stay in touch.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Aunt Louise felt a tinge of guilt. She must be mellowing in her old age, she thought, as she lifted the phone to call her niece once more and see if she had gotten the loan from her friend so she could pay off Jake’s gambling debt. All she got was the generic answering machine message to leave her name and purpose of call. She tried three more times that day and couldn’t reach Jessie or Jake. She got worried. Suppose they hadn’t gotten the loan? Either they had fled or… She was unable to complete the thought. She hadn’t figured Jessie might have been in danger, too!

  She called Haywood and asked him to go and check things out. He reported back that no one was home and Jake’s truck was gone, so she still had no answers as to her niece’s whereabouts. Then she saw the news flash late Sunday night. Heather Hemmings was murdered! Had Jessie had anything to do with it? After a sleepless night, she called the Mercedes dealership and was told that Jessie hadn’t come to work that morning. Now she was truly concerned and contacted the police.

  * * *

  After sleeping like the dead, Hemmings returned to work on Monday afternoon. When he entered Jessie’s office and found her absent, he went looking for her in the break room. When she was nowhere to be found, he went back into the showroom to speak with Martin. He found the younger man in a wrinkled suit sporting a day’s worth of stubble on his usually clean-shaven face, looking dazed.

  “Did they find out who killed Heather?” Martin asked.

  “How did you know about that?” Hemmings asked Martin.

  “It’s all over the news.”

  Hemmings sighed. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come out so soon.” Trying to look as if he were going to cry, the older man said, “She was murdered while I was away this weekend.” Then turning his full attention to Martin, he asked, “Why do you look like crap?”

  “Carla threw me out. Been living out of a suitcase.”

  Hemmings grunted. “By the way, have you seen Jessie?”

  Martin wasn’t prepared for Hemmings’ abrupt transition. “Jessie? No. I haven’t since Friday, I think.”

  “How strange,” Hemmings thought and walked away, leaving Martin gaping at him.

  Martin sat dazed, staring down into his coffee cup. He’d been thinking about Heather all morning. How could she be dead? Had he just lost both of the women in his life with the blink of an eye? It would explain why Heather hadn’t returned any of his calls.

  “Where can we find Orson Hemmings?” a deep voice asked, interrupting Martin’s thoughts.

  Martin looked up at the two men who obviously fit the stereotype of detectives. “In his office. Through there,” he pointed, “third door on the left.”

  After they’d gone, Martin was left with his thoughts again. Who would want to kill Heather? Suddenly, the strange conversation he’d had with Heather in the hotel, when she told him how much she wanted him, replayed in his head. It was also at that time that she had asked him to help her kill Orson so that they could always be together.

  Jesus H. Christ! Had Orson beaten her to the punch?

  No. It couldn’t have been. He was miles away in Las Vegas. But, what if Orson had hired a hit man to kill Heather, instead?

  * * *

  Price and Ortega found Hemmings sitting behind his desk looking at the specs of the new showroom left by the contractor. A faint look of surprise flicked across his face before he greeted them.

  “Do you have news about my wife’s murder?”

  “When was the last time you saw Jessie Thompson?” Detective Price asked.

  “Right before I left for Vegas last Friday.”

  “Her aunt is worried about her,” Ortega added. “Seems she and her husband have up and disappeared.”

  “This is not like her. She’s the most efficient, level-headed woman I know.”

  “Did you know that her husband had a gambling problem?” Price asked.

  Hemmings frowned. What the hell was this all about? “No. She was a private person.”

  “Did you know that she went to your wife to borrow $15,000?” Price stared unblinking at Hemmings.

  “What? Why?” Hemmings felt as if the rug was pulled out from under him. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “We’ll be checking out that angle,” Price said. “If in the meantime you hear from her, please let us know. She may have been the last person to see your wife alive.”

  “Of course,” Hemmings replied. He felt as if he were choking.

  Cold sweat ran down Hemmings’ back.

  Jessie and Heather? Why the hell would Jessie think that Heather would lend her 15 grand? They didn’t even know each other well. Had Jessie witnessed the hit and gone into hiding? What the bejesus was going on?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Heather’s murder filled the local news all morning. Carla had spoken to Martin and he sounded so shocked and distressed about it, she actually felt a pang of pity for him. Carla had only met Hemmings’ trophy wife a couple of times, but she was still saddened by her violent death. And no one seemed to have a clue who did it or why? What kind of condolence card did someone send in cases like this?

  Getting up from her desk, Carla gave up all hope of working any more.

  She was miserable. She needed to talk to Richard face-to-face. Somehow she’d convinced herself that if she saw Richard, he’d have to speak to her. He couldn’t ignore her as he did her phone calls and messages. The love she felt for him was all encompassing. Besides her own wants and desires, she needed to know he was all right.

  This unleashed a new rush of disaster scenarios in her mind. She envisioned him paralyzed in the hospital, dead or having a foot on the ladder leading up the Great Beyond.

  She knew the sensible thing would be to move on and yet she couldn’t. Richard had become woven into the fabric of her life. He starred in her dreams and took center stage in even her innermost thoughts. She could close her eyes and see those playful green eyes smiling back at her. As if it were yesterday, she could remember how strong his arms felt when he helped her from the floor the first time they met and his kiss the night of the Christmas party that rocked her very soul.

  She adored his smile, which had the power to warm her. She missed his common sense and knowledge. In a way, she had more in common with him than she’d ever had with Martin, who’d never really spent the time to talk to her or read her books. Martin would have been better at selling encyclopedias than using them.

  How Carla wished she could rub a genie’s lamp and be granted a wish. One wish was all she’d need and she’d never want for another thing as long as she lived. It would be to have Richard back in her life—permanently. “Please come back to me Richard. I love you,” she said aloud.

  The phone began to ring as she opened the front door. She’d taken Blondie on a long walk. Of course, the large animal tried to run inside at the same time as she and they both got wedged in the door.

  “Idiot, doggie,” Carla said shaking her head, as she let Blondie tear through the doorway and then followed her in.

  She heard Ly
nne’s voice on the answering machine. “Good, you’re out somewhere and not mewling in the house—”

  “Hey, I’m here,” Carla replied somewhat out of breath as she picked up the phone.

  “You’re home! I knew it,” Lynne replied, sounding unsurprised. “You should be out and about.”

  “I was out, I’ll have you know.”

  “Walking Blondie?”

  “Can’t fool you, can I? What’s up?”

  “Want to go have lunch and go shopping? I’m playing hooky today.”

  “Sure. I can go to the gym afterward,” Carla said, watching the big, yellow dog walk in and out of the kitchen dragging her leash behind her.

  “I’ll glad you’re still going and maintaining that beautiful, buffed bod of yours.”

  “No way will I ever let myself go again.”

  “How’s about meeting me at the Biltmore Fashion Mall by the entrance to the Stingray Sushi in a half-hour?”

  “Not a problem,” Carla said and hung up. “Come over here, dum-dum,” she called to Blondie, “I need to take off your leash.”

  * * *

  Carla drove to the Orange Drive entrance of the mall and looked for a spot in parking lot 4. It was the closest to the restaurant, which was on the main level. Lynne was already there waiting for her and waved as she approached the restaurant. When she reached her, they hugged and Lynne took a good, long look at her.

  “None the worse for wear. Still can’t believe what a difference the hair color made.”

  “Me, too. I really had to get used to it. Seeing a strange woman in the mirror made me jump sometimes. So, are we here for anything special?”

  The small smile on Lynne’s face grew into a huge one.

  “What?” Carla asked.

  “This is why I’m here,” Lynne said in a bubbly voice as if she’d just downed a glass of champagne. She extended her hand, which now boasted a sparkling, round-shaped diamond.

  Carla’s eyes and smile widened simultaneously as she hugged Lynne. “The ring is beautiful. I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’m going to need a dress to get married in.”

  “Did you pick out a date, yet?”

  “We’re thinking of eloping.”

  “You’re kidding,” Carla said.

  “Nope. Let’s go inside and have some lunch and talk,” Lynne suggested. She held the door for a mother pushing a stroller and then followed her in after Carla.

  The two women headed inside and were seated at a small round table in the corner. Carla had never seen her friend so happy and was thrilled for her.

  “If you’re really serious about eloping, why don’t you and Haywood go to Vegas and get married by an Elvis look-alike?”

  Lynne chuckled. “Of course you’d suggest that. But, that’s not going to happen. I want a wedding ceremony officiated by the Justice of the Peace, not a farce by an Elvis impersonator. Speaking of which, how’s Martin doing?”

  “I haven’t heard from him in a day. Maybe the idea of a divorce is finally sinking in.”

  “I certainly hope so, Carla. Have you heard from Richard?”

  A look of sadness shadowed Carla’s face as she shook her head.

  “I’m sorry I asked. Look, he could be tied up with a zillion things—like that trial, for instance.”

  Quietly in a voice barely louder than a whisper, Carla said, “I wish it were so, but I doubt it. In truth, I think he’s moved on and might have even met someone.”

  “Never throw in the towel, girl,” Lynne said, sweeping a lock of hair from her friend’s face.” You of all people should know that. Besides, he hasn’t seen your makeover, has he?”

  “Oh, like that’s going to make a difference.”

  “I think it might.’

  “I doubt he’s so shallow.”

  “He’s a man, isn’t he? And all men are driven by the same impulses,” Lynn concluded.

  “And weren’t you the one who told me to grow up and leave my world of fantasy?”

  “Hey, no fair. You’re taking what I said out of context. Besides, you’re beginning to sound like a defeatist,” Lynne said.

  “No. Not really. More like a realist, I’d say.” Then changing the subject, Carla asked, “Didn’t we come to find a dress for you?”

  “Look, promise me you won’t give up.”

  Carla began cleaning off the table. Lynne put her hand on her arm. “Promise me that you won’t.”

  Carla knew they wouldn’t leave until she did. “I promise,” she said softly, hoping she’d be able to keep her promise.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Hemmings was on the phone when Price and Ortega marched into his office. Hemmings’ heart missed a beat as he tried to hide his surprise. They’d been there only the day before. What the—? Instantly, he had a quick and disturbing thought. They know something. Then he calmed himself by rationalizing that they were probably there because of Jessie. He had to control his emotions better.

  “Detectives, how can I help you?”

  “Where is your wife, Mr. Hemmings?” Price asked. Hemmings couldn’t help but notice he was wearing the same wrinkled brown suit he wore the day before.

  “Are you trying to be funny, detective?” Hemmings’ heart rate went into overdrive. Christ!

  “Not in the least,” Ortega said dryly.

  “She’s dead. You saw what I saw,” Hemmings stated.

  “What we all saw,” Ortega said, “was a dead woman. However, it wasn’t your wife, Heather.”

  All color drained from Hemmings’ face as if someone had pulled a plug. “That can’t be true.”

  “Believe it,” the younger detective said.

  Hemmings shook his head in denial. “I don’t understand. It had to be Heather, who the hell else could it be?”

  “Your administrative assistant, Jessie Thompson, Mr. Hemmings?” Price fired at him.

  “What! How is that possible?” Hemmings blurted out. What the hell was going on?

  “You tell us,” Ortega said, leaning over the desk, his nose inches away from that of Hemmings.

  “I…I can’t.”

  “So, where is she?” Price barked at him.

  “Who?”

  “Your wife. We know where Jessie Thompson is. Lying on a slab in the morgue. She took the bullet that was probably meant for your better half.”

  “I don’t know anything.” The color rose in Hemmings’ face. “This is all crazy. Jessie ran away and Heather’s dead.”

  “That’s not what went down, Hemmings. We both know that,” Ortega said forcefully. “Your assistant was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Tell us who you hired to kill Heather,” Price fired those words with the precision of an automatic.

  “No. No. That’s not what happened. Can’t be.” Hemmings shook his head. He was completely off balance by this turn of events.

  “The guy you hired to kill Heather Hemmings killed the wrong woman,” Price added.

  Before he could stop himself, Hemmings blurted out, “Impossible. How could he? Heather was the only one in the house!”

  The detectives looked at one another and smiled.

  “Read him his rights,” Price said, reaching for his cuffs.

  After Ortega read Hemmings his rights, he said, “Oh, by the way, your wife…”

  “What about my wife?” Hemmings sneered.

  “She’s vacationing in Italy,” Ortega replied. “Didn’t she send you a postcard?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  So much had happened in the past few days—Heather’s so-called murder exposed as the murder of Hemmings’ administrative assistant, Jessie; Hemmings arrested under suspicion of hiring someone to murder his wife; Lynne and Haywood getting engaged—and still no word from Richard.

  Carla was making herself a cup of coffee when her cell phone chimed. When she flipped it open there was a text message from Richard.

  Messages Richard Stein Edit Jan 12, 2013 10:32 AM

  Hello,
Carla Reconstructed. Feel like a workout

  today? About 1PM? Have towel, will grovel if

  you’ll forgive me.

  A smile split Carla’s face in two. Richard! She hastily texted him back.

  Messages Carla Millhouse Edit Jan 12, 2013 10:33 AM

  Hello, big-time attorney Stein. Have towel, will

  travel. See u there. Hmmm…I might enjoy a little

  groveling

  As Carla drove to the gym, her heart began to race with renewed hope. She selected a parking spot close to the building, grabbed her gym bag and hurried toward the entrance. When she tried to pull open the front door, however, it wouldn’t budge. She slung the bag over her left shoulder in order to use both hands. Unfortunately, someone was close behind her and her bag slammed into him.

  “Ouch!” a deep voice cried out. Carla quickly turned around to see what had happened. “Is there something wrong with you?” An angry voice asked behind her.

  She didn’t see the poor guy at first because he was on all fours looking for his glasses. When she realized who it was, she couldn’t speak. Instead, it wasn’t until he found the glasses on the ground and replaced them on his face did her heart begin to beat again. It looked as if he were going to verbally bite her head off. Then he hesitated and stared at her.

  “Carla?” His deep voice shimmered down her spine and curled her toes.

  She nodded, as he stood and grabbed her shoulders. Her body responded to his scent and the sexual magnetism that she tried so hard to ignore. This was it! The moment she’d longed for and dreamed about and what does she do? She slams him in the face with her gym bag. Déjà vu at its worst.

  “Oh, Richard, I’m so very sorry. Did I hurt you?” She reached out to touch his face.

  At the same time, Richard reached out to touch her hair. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Your hair—”

  A man wanting to leave interrupted Richard. He and Carla moved to the side away from the door.