Hell in a Handbasket

by Denise Grover Swank

  I stared at him, my mouth gaping open. “You believe that?”

  Sadness filled his eyes. “Not entirely, but someone taught me to dare to dream.” He kissed me. “So I am.”

  I stared at him in awe. He meant me. “What’s your project?”

  He grimaced, looking uncomfortable. “Patsy Sue is helping me buy a factory on the west side of town. If she doesn’t end up in jail, I have a deal lined up with a small appliance manufacturing company. They’ll move a plant to town, and I’ll provide the land and help refurbish the factory in exchange for a share of the profits. I asked for a ten-year commitment. Good payin’ jobs with salaries our people can actually live on.”

  “You have the money to make that kind of arrangement?” I asked in amazement.

  “The bank’s helpin’ me out, but yeah.”

  I wrapped my arms around his back and pressed my cheek to his chest. “You’re a good man, James Malcolm.”

  “It’s not entirely altruistic,” he grunted. “I’ll be making a very nice profit.”

  But I knew better than to think money was his only motivation.

  He rested his cheek on my head, and we sat like that for nearly a minute, just soaking each other in as the leaves rustled over our heads. I reminded myself that this was what life would be like with him—stolen moments. As wonderful as they were, would it be enough?

  James shook me out of my musings. “So what do you plan to do next in your investigation?”

  “Talk to Calvin again. I want to see what he knows about Patsy’s business deals. It could be that a wronged client set her up for Carol Ann’s murder.”

  “You believe that?” he asked in disbelief.

  “After talkin’ to you, no. But since he was sleepin’ with Carol Ann, he might know more about her business transactions. I’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Good thinkin’. Quiz him about the prostitutes too. If he was really usin’ them, see if you can find out who was supplyin’ them.”

  “I think I’ll call Dermot and see whether he knows if Carol Ann approached Buck Reynolds. Reynolds would have been in charge three weeks ago.”

  “He’ll want to negotiate,” he said with a low rumble of warning in his chest. “You haven’t tried to have another vision yet.”

  “I’ll try again before we go.” I leaned the side of my head into his chest. I hadn’t felt this peaceful in weeks, and I wasn’t willing to let it go quite yet.

  “If you’re going to be neutral, then the more support the big dogs show you, the more accepted you’ll become.” He paused. “But it pushes you deeper into my world, Rose. And there will come a point when you’ll step into something so rank it’ll be enough to get you in trouble with the law. I think you should take more time to think about it.”

  “I’m already there, aren’t I?” I asked. “Hiding that kid up in my guest bedroom?”

  “It will be much worse than that, Lady. Much worse.”

  I almost asked him what that could be—I’d already done all kinds of things the law would frown upon—but I knew he was right. There were much worse things than what I’d done or been exposed to. Much worse. “So let’s say I changed my mind,” I said, thinking out loud. “What happens to the kid? I’m sure as Pete not handing him over to Wagner.”

  “Dermot and I could work out an agreement,” he said, sounding far more hopeful than I’d expected.

  “And what would happen to the next kid who runs into trouble?”

  “I doubt it will be a kid next time, Rose. It’ll be a hardened criminal, demandin’ help from you with a gun pointed at your head.”

  He might be right, but I knew that Marshall Billings would be dead right now if he hadn’t shown up in my barn. He might be criminally naïve, but he wasn’t a bad kid. He didn’t deserve that. “When did you find out about the murder north of my farm?”

  “About a minute after the 911 call. I have someone monitoring the sheriff’s office. I make it my business to know about every murder in the county.”

  “Did Daniel Crocker know about every murder?”

  His brow furrowed. “Daniel Crocker was an egotistical megalomaniac.”

  “So I take it that means no.”

  “No. He did not.”

  That didn’t surprise me. James was nothing like his predecessor.

  He studied me for a moment. “Is Jed still givin’ you lessons in self-defense?”

  His question caught me by surprise. “Not since he and Neely Kate got back from Oklahoma.”

  “Ask him to start them up again. If you persist in this, Wagner won’t be the last asshole to mess with you. I’ll feel better if I know you can handle yourself, especially when the next criminal shows up at your door or barn. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t started up again to protect Neely Kate. Especially after her trip back to Oklahoma. I heard she was pretty upset over her last visit with Kate up in Little Rock.”

  James knew about her visits to see Kate? And how did he know the last one had upset her? One thing was obvious—he might decide it was need-to-know information unless I let him believe I knew as much or more than he did. “Yeah. I guess Kate gave her a hard time.”

  “Kate keeps dangling something from Ardmore over her head, and I heard she delivered a piece of news on Sunday that threw Neely Kate for a loop. Did she tell you what it was?”

  I stared up at him in a daze. Neely Kate had told me she’d taken care of everything in Ardmore, whatever it had been. She hadn’t shared any of it with me. How did James know?

  Jed.

  Jed was still reporting to him. Why?

  I could continue to pretend I knew what he was talking about or share what little I knew and hope he did the same. “She barely told me anything about her trip to Ardmore. I know she was goin’ back to confront something awful from her past, but when she got back, she told me it was taken care of.”

  “Jed told me pretty much the same, no details. I figured it meant he’d found something grisly from her past and helped her take care of it.”

  The blood rushed from my face. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But Jed’s buttoned up tighter than a scuba diver in a wetsuit.”

  “Do you think Kate really has something on Neely Kate?” I asked. “Or do you think she’s just jerkin’ her around?”

  “Jed’s concerned, so she must have something. I’ve had someone watchin’ Kate for a while now. I thought I’d figured out how she was getting information in and out, but she must have found another way.”

  “Why are you having Kate watched?” I asked.

  He watched me for a moment, then gave me a gentle kiss. “This is one of those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ situations.”

  That had me stumped. Why was he watching her? Then it hit me. She was J.R. Simmons’ daughter. She must have something James wanted.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out and checked the screen. “It’s Reacher.”

  “Who’s Reacher?”

  “Jed’s replacement,” he said as he answered the phone.

  I’d never heard of Reacher before, and it made me uncomfortable that some man I didn’t know was James’ new right-hand man.

  James’ side of the conversation involved a lot of one-word sentences, and something about a game. When he hung up, he frowned. “I’ve got to get back. There’s a baseball game on Friday that’s got half the county in a tizzy, and we’re overrun with bets.”

  “Okay. I need to get back to town to interview Calvin again.”

  He took my hand in his. “You want to try havin’ a vision before we go?”

  Did I? What if I couldn’t have one? I’d be freaked out and James would probably feel compelled to stay with me until I settled down, but I didn’t want to put that burden on him. I for sure didn’t want to feel like a weak, helpless woman.

  “No,” I said. “Not now. I’ll try with Neely Kate tonight.”

  “Dermot’s gonna want an answer b
efore tonight.”

  “I know. I’ll figure it out.” I gave him a sad grin. “Who knows? Maybe a vision will burst into view when I’m talkin’ to Calvin and I’ll find out why Patsy’s car is called Baby Spice.”

  His face twisted into a grimace that suggested that would be a nightmare.

  “I’ll figure it out,” I repeated.

  He nodded, then leaned down and kissed me with the same tenderness as before, but soon the kiss heated up and I found myself clinging to him again. He lifted his head, studying my face. When he saw my expression, he grinned. “A business tip: Whenever possible, leave the person you’re negotiating with a taste of what they want so they’ll be more willing to compromise.”

  I chuckled. “This was a business lesson?”

  “A lesson with benefits.” He hopped off the tailgate, then grabbed my waist and helped me down. “Be careful, Rose,” he said as he walked me to the driver’s door of my truck.

  He didn’t wait for a response. He gave me another kiss, leaving me even more breathless this time. When he released me, the look on his face didn’t look so amused. He looked like he’d lost his best friend. Without a word, he walked over to his car and waited for me to pull out. Only then did he drive away.

  Chapter 19

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the Hebert Manufacturing parking lot. I knew Neely Kate wanted me to wait for Witt, but this was Calvin Clydehopper. James hadn’t even insisted I bring someone with me. I could handle this on my own.

  I pulled out my phone, turned on my recording app, then blanked the screen so Calvin wouldn’t realize I was recording him. Since my dress didn’t have pockets, I had to hold it in my hand unless I tucked it in my purse, and I was afraid that would muffle the recording.

  June was surprised to see me when I walked in, and the two other secretaries glanced up from their work. One of them was the woman who had told Neely Kate about Calvin’s pony performance.

  “Mr. Clydehopper’s busy,” June said, but she looked nervous.

  “Then it’s a good thing this will only take a few minutes.”

  She stood, and I ignored her protests as I walked around her desk and opened his office door.

  Calvin was on the phone, but his eyes filled with fear when he looked up at me. “I’ve gotta go,” he mumbled, then hung up and got to his feet. “Rose, do you have any word on Carol Ann’s killer?”

  I shut the door behind me and locked it, muffling June’s protests. “Why do you look so scared to see me?”

  He did a poor job of looking confused. “Huh?”

  I ran through a short list of what could have upset him. One, the sheriff’s department had figured out it was his tie wrapped around Carol Ann’s throat, a real possibility since I’d told Randy about the camera. Or two, he knew about Kip Wagner’s missing file.

  I walked up to his desk and lifted my eyebrows. “Who were you talkin’ to?”

  He waved his hand a little too wildly. “Oh . . . you know . . . work stuff.”

  “Kip Wagner work stuff?”

  His face lost color and he sank down into his chair.

  I stared down at him. “You’re gonna tell me everything you know about Kip Wagner’s new side business.”

  He tried to look indignant, but he didn’t quite pull it off. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “The way I see it, Calvin Clydehopper, you have two choices. You can tell me or the sheriff’s department what you know. Because if you don’t tell me, I will get Joe Simmons to send someone sniffin’ in your direction.”

  He swallowed and splayed his hands on his desk. “I swear, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  I stared at him for a few seconds. Was he really clueless or just doing a very bad job of trying to throw me off? There was one way to find out.

  I turned around to head for the door.

  “Wait!”

  I spun back around.

  He held up his hands. “Don’t go.”

  “You have something to tell me?”

  “You can’t tell the sheriff’s department.”

  I nodded slightly. I wouldn’t tell them a thing, but the audio recording on my phone might find its way into Joe’s inbox depending on how this went down.

  Indecision wavered in his eyes before he sat back down in his office chair.

  I sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk and set my phone in my lap, screen down. “Tell me how you became a client of Kip Wagner’s prostitution ring.”

  Calvin’s face paled and a fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead. “What?” he squeaked out. “Prostitutes? You think I have to buy my women?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I think you’ve been doin’,” I said, “and I know Kip Wagner’s been supplyin’ them.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, then promptly closed it.

  Sometimes I loved it when I was right. “How long has it been goin’ on?”

  He swallowed and seemed to give it some thought before he said, “What does this have to do with who killed Carol Ann?”

  “I’m not at liberty to share the details of my case, but if you want me to help clear Patsy’s name, then you need to tell me what you know.” When he didn’t argue, I repeated, “Tell me about the prostitutes.”

  He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped off his forehead. “Wagner and I have . . . an understanding.”

  I studied him for a moment. What kind of understanding could Calvin Clydehopper have with someone like Kip Wagner? How had they hooked up in the first place? Then it hit me. This wasn’t a new thing, and as a city councilman, Calvin had more influence over the Henryetta police than he did the sheriff’s office. “You’ve been workin’ with Kip Wagner for some time now,” I said. “How long?”

  “What?” he asked in a meek voice.

  “How long?”

  He swallowed again, his tie bouncing with the movement.

  “Look, Calvin, I’m pretty busy, so maybe you could cut all the malarkey and just tell me what I need to know.”

  Reaching up to loosen his tie, he said, “I want to hire you too.”

  I hadn’t expected that. “What?”

  “If I tell you all of this, I need to hire you to protect me.”

  I shook my head. “We work with a detective agency, Calvin, not personal security.”

  “If I tell you, then I’m a dead man walkin’.”

  “Then maybe you should tell the sheriff’s department.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his confession, not if there really was a chance he’d be murdered for spilling his guts. I’d been down that road with Jeanne, and I could barely live with myself. I didn’t want to add Calvin’s spilled blood to my guilt, even if he was less than innocent. It wasn’t my place to play judge and jury.

  He opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a short bottle and a glass. He poured an amber-colored liquid into the glass, then held up the bottle. “Where are my manners? Would you like some?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He screwed the cap back on and set the bottle on the desk. “Suit yourself.” He took a long drink from the glass. His hand shook, but he seemed to have more confidence when he set the glass back on his desk. “I’ll only say this once, and I’d rather tell you than anyone else.”

  “I still can’t protect you, Calvin. You have to know that before you say another word.”

  He reached into another drawer and pulled out a handgun.

  My heart leapt into my throat as he set it on the desk. “There’s no reason to pull out a gun. I’m certain we can work this out.”

  “That’s not for you,” he said, taking another generous gulp from his glass. “Now what do you want to know?”

  I kept my eye on the gun. Did I really want to know? If he didn’t tell me, I was fairly sure he wouldn’t tell anyone else. It could help catch Carol Ann’s killer, maybe even clear Patsy Sue. And if it provided enough evidence to get Wagner arrested, all the better. But the gun on his desk reminded me that
Calvin could pay a very steep price to tell me his story. I wasn’t sure I was willing to play a part in it.

  He finished off the drink and slammed his empty glass on the desk. “Ask your damn questions!” he barked.

  I jumped at the loud thud and took a breath. God forgive me if Calvin paid for this with his life. “How is it that you and Kip Wagner came to a . . . business arrangement?”

  His mouth tipped into a wry grin. “He approached me with an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Women?”

  He reached for the bottle. “At first.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “About a year ago. He’d heard I had ‘a restless nature,’ he called it. He offered to help me meet beautiful young women for a finder’s fee.”

  “A finder’s fee? Like an escort service?”

  He poured more alcohol into his glass. “Only I didn’t escort them anywhere. I met them at a motel.”

  “How long until Kip asked for a favor?”

  He grinned and held up the bottle. “See, I knew you were a smart girl.”

  “How long?” I repeated.

  “He let me marinate in the mess for a good six months . . . supplyin’ the girls, supplyin’ the place. Even supplyin’ the cocaine after a while . . . to take the edge off, Marietta said.”

  “Marietta?”

  “She was my favorite,” he said in a wistful tone, staring out the window.

  “What happened to Marietta?”

  He ignored me for a moment, then turned back to face me. “She was my lesson about what happens when you cross Kip Wagner.”

  My blood turned cold. “What happened to her?” I pressed.

  He shook his head. “He wanted to open that pawn shop, but the council wasn’t sure they wanted it in that part of town. He insisted I use my influence to push it through.”

  I hadn’t paid any attention to Henryetta zoning issues. I barely paid attention to anything official regarding Henryetta. “Did you?”

  “I tried to convince Fred Jones to vote with me and Nan Hutchins to approve it, but he wouldn’t budge. It didn’t pass the first go-round.” He paused and took a generous gulp. “I made damn sure it passed the second time.”