by Lori Wilde
My heart kicked.
A patrol car went by with Gloria Swiggly in the backseat. Forlornly, she pressed her face against the window and stared at us.
Conahegg shook his head. “Sad case.”
“What’s going to happen to her?”
“All we have is the confession she gave us. The evidence is flimsy. Swiggly’s rich. She could walk.”
“What about Swiggly? He did kill Tim.”
“Accidentally.”
We stared at each other a moment.
“Sheriff—” one of the paramedics came up to us “—if you’re not going to ride in the ambulance, we’re going to leave and get the preacher to the hospital.”
Conahegg nodded and stepped away from the ambulance. He swayed a little on his feet. I slipped my arm around his waist and pulled him close. It felt right.
Later in my Honda, I looked over at him. He had the passenger seat shoved back as far as it would go, his long legs still bent high, his neck lolling against the headrest. His eyes were closed.
“Are you going to be all right, Conahegg?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice on an even keel while a million different emotions slipped through my veins.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Sam,” he asked, opening one eye.
“Why should I do that and ruin a perfectly good adversarial relationship?”
“Because we are married.”
I raised a finger. The thought of being married to Conahegg was the stuff of fantasies, but I wasn’t going to let him in on my secret. No sense in further inflating that ego of his.
“We didn’t have a marriage license,” I pointed out. “Sorry to disappoint you, but it isn’t legal, even if Swiggly is a preacher.”
“But it was a good ploy to buy time.” He closed his eyes again. “You’ve got to admit that.”
“Yes,” I conceded. “It was a stroke of genius. Good thing it worked.”
“We’re a pretty good team,” he murmured.
“You didn’t think so in the beginning.”
We did make a good team. So good it was scary. Almost as scary as the new emotions overtaking me. Even though we’d been through a lot, had risked our lives, endured danger together, I couldn’t get over how alive I felt.
“That’s back when I thought you were a pretty, but nosy buttinsky,” he said.
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Come on, Ally, don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you. Sissy, yes, but not you. You’re a damned fine-looking woman.”
I mulled this over, then cleared my throat. “I’m pleased to hear you’ve revised your opinion of my supposed nosiness.”
“Oh, I still think you’re a nosy buttinsky,” Conahegg said. “But a nosy buttinsky who knows what she’s talking about.”
“Thank you…er…I guess.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So tell me, what happened after you threw me in the water?”
“I dived for the boat keys and knocked Swiggly over. He grabbed the pistol.” Sam gestured at his shoulder with his left hand. “And he shot me for my troubles. I fell back into the water and decided it was a good idea to let them think I was dead.”
“Lucky thing it wasn’t Miss Gloria with the shotgun.”
“She was too busy shooting at you.” Conahegg sat up and looked me straight in the eye. “I swear, Ally, those were the worst moments of my life when I thought she might have hit you. You didn’t surface and you didn’t surface and you didn’t surface. I would have swum after you if I could have. I was dying not knowing what had happened to you.”
“I went to the caves like you told me.”
“And you found my hunting knife. I really liked that bloodthirsty look in your eyes when you dived under their boat, my knife clenched between your teeth like Tarzan on a homicidal mission. You know,” he mused, “I like my wives bold and bloodthirsty.”
“We’re not married,” I insisted.
He grinned and winked.
What did he mean by that? And why was I getting a funny, fizzy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“And by the way,” I asked, “just how many bold and bloodthirsty wives have you had?”
EPILOGUE
AT TEN MINUTES after one o’clock in the afternoon on a cold day in early February, a jury of Gloria Swiggly’s peers found her guilty of murder in the first degree and sentenced her to thirty-five years in prison, eligible for parole in seven.
A month earlier, after being released from the hospital following his third heart attack, Reverend Ray Don was sentenced to ten years probation for his role in Tim Kehaul’s death. His ministry was ruined, his television show pulled from the airwaves. He sold the summerhouse next door and a nudist colony bought it but they hadn’t moved in yet.
Conahegg and I left the courtroom together but we’d come separately. I hadn’t seen him much since that day on the river. He’d been pretty busy cleaning out the sheriff’s department of undesirable deputies and I’d been working.
He walked me to my car. “How’s Sissy doing?”
“Fine.” It was a blustery day. I turned up the collar on my coat and snuggled down into it. “She’s still seeing Father Frank. Seems like it’s serious and she’s really changed a lot.”
“That’s good. Your mother?”
“Still painting her castles and trolls.”
“Aunt Tessa?”
“Channeling away.” I was leaning with my back against the door, trying not to shiver. Conahegg was standing in front of me, his cheeks red from the wind.
“And how’s Allegheny? How are things with her?”
“Same old, same old.”
His flint-gray eyes met mine. My jaw tightened. I wanted to say more but I didn’t know what.
“Listen,” we both spoke at once and then chuckled.
“You go first,” he said.
“No you.”
“When I was up there on the witness stand, giving my testimony, all I could think about was how glad I was to be alive to tell the story and how sorry I am that I hadn’t done anything since about that spark between us.”
My breath caught. I didn’t know how to respond. It had been years since anyone had interested me in the way Conahegg did. On the other hand, I had never felt freer, more independent than I did now.
“Oh,” I whispered.
“And, I wanted to apologize for not taking you seriously when you came to me with evidence. I had a lot of other things on my mind at the time but that’s no excuse for poor detective work.”
“No harm done. Everything turned out all right.” My teeth were chattering but I was loath to go. I had a gorgeous sheriff apologizing to me. What woman wouldn’t kill for such a moment?
“You’re freezing,” he said. “I’ll let you get on home.”
He turned to leave.
“Sam.”
He stopped, looked back at me.
My heart was pounding to beat the band. “Why don’t you call me sometime?”
“All right.” His eyes shone with amusement and a smile curved his lips. He touched his forehead in a slight salute then walked away.
I got in the car, cranked the heater and the radio on at the same time. I let the engine idle and watched until Conahegg disappeared around the block, then I pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
I turned on my favorite oldies Motown station and found Areatha wailing her heart out. Respect.
I pumped up the volume and sang all the way home.
Everything you love about romance…
and more!
Please turn the page for Signature Select™
Bonus Features.
Bonus Features:
Author’s Journal: Good Girl’s Guide to Murder
Alternate Ending
Author Interview: A Conversation with Lori Wilde
BONUS FEATURES
SAVING ALLEGHENY GREEN
AUTHOR’S JOURNAL:
Good Girl’s Guide
to Murder by Lori Wilde
Do wear red. It’ll hide the blood stains.
Don’t snog the hottie sheriff if he’s convinced your sister is a murderer. He’ll only think you’re sleeping with him to change his mind.
Do throw away your diary. It won’t prove you guilty, but the whole world will find out what you and Johnny Fishbeck did with that Dilly Bar behind the Dairy Queen when you were in sixth grade.
Don’t change your name to Miss Scarlett. If your name is already Miss Scarlett, have it legally altered. Miss Scarlett is always guilty of something.
Do stay out of bars with lurid names even if the suspect is lurking inside. You don’t want to get a reputation for being that kind of girl. Unless, that is, you do want to get a reputation for being that kind of girl.
Don’t get your hairspray and your mace mixed up. Hairspray won’t stop a two-hundred-pound psycho and mace sprayed liberally at your head in the ladies’ room won’t earn you any friends.
Do watch out for marshmallows. They can be surprisingly deadly.
Don’t wear stilettos. It’s hard to run from a killer while wearing Manolo Blahnik and even if you weren’t a target to begin with, sleuthing in toe-pinching shoes that cost more than a set of steel-belted radials could qualify you as too-stupid-to-live.
Do expect the unexpected. Be prepared. You never know when an impromptu wedding could break out.
Don’t use the alibi “I was home alone washing my hair.” That excuse only worked for Rapunzel and cornrow aficionados with obsessive compulsive disorder.
Do maintain a sense of humor. But remember, misplaced sarcasm could land you in the pokey.
Don’t admit you haven’t got a clue. If push comes to shove, you can always buy one off eBay.
Alternate Ending
What could have been…
We asked Lori to write another conclusion to SAVING ALLEGHENY GREEN. Lori didn’t hold back at all—you’re sure to be pleased by this quirky and delightful “alternate” ending.
Enjoy!
MZ
ALTERNATE LAST CHAPTER FOR SAVING ALLEGHENY GREEN BY LORI WILDE
“I KNOW.”
Don’t ask me why I said it. In retrospect I should have been more circumspect, but suddenly everything made perfect sense. Rocky had been blackmailing Swiggly. That’s where he’d gotten the money.
Clearly startled, Miss Gloria stared at me openmouthed.
“You dropped the earring when you went to confront your husband’s lover, Rocky Hughes.”
“What!” Swiggly hollered. “That dumb punk wasn’t my lover.”
“No,” Miss Gloria said through gritted teeth. “He was your illegitimate son.”
“You’re not gay?” I turned to Swiggly.
“Where’d you get a dumb idea like that?” Miss Gloria waved a hand.
Um, from Aunt Tessa. So much for Ung’s powers of clairvoyant deduction.
“Ray Don’s the biggest skirt chaser ever,” Miss Gloria said. “Although there was that one time in the French Quarter with that female impersonator.”
“I swear on God’s green earth, nobody would have figured her for a man.” Swiggly pouted. “And there’s no proof that Rocky twerp was my son.”
“I caught you diddling his mama at that tent revival in Beaumont the year we were married. That’s proof enough for me.” Miss Gloria sank her hands on her hips.
“Wouldn’t hold up in a court of law,” Swiggly said.
“No,” I interjected. “But DNA would. Is that why you killed Rocky? To keep him from going public about your relationship?”
“I didn’t kill him.” Swiggly snorted and glared at Miss Gloria. “She lost her earring at his place, she must have done him in.”
“Believe me,” Miss Gloria said, “if I’d wanted to murder someone it would have been you. I paid Hughes off to protect your ministry. And it’s not the first time I’ve had to sweep your peccadilloes under the rug.”
So apparently neither Swiggly nor Miss Gloria had killed Rocky, even though both had motive and opportunity. I was confused, not certain what to believe.
“How much did you give him?” Swiggly demanded. He threw back the covers and his feet hit the floor. His face was turning an unflattering shade of purple.
“Calm down, Reverend Swiggly,” I urged. Illegitimate dad or not, murderer or not, I didn’t want the man coding on me.
Swiggly ignored me and just kept ranting at his wife. “How much?”
“You know all that money you had in your secret account?” Miss Gloria smirked. “Drained it—every bit, gone. Gave it to your bastard son to silence him. Didn’t think I knew about that hidden stockpile, huh?”
Swiggly called his wife a very ugly word and collapsed onto the bed. I hurried over and saw he wasn’t breathing. Dammit.
“Call 9-1-1,” I hollered at Miss Gloria.
I started CPR on Swiggly and by the time the ambulance arrived and hooked him up to the monitor, he was in sinus rhythm and breathing on his own. A car from the sheriff’s department pulled into the driveway as the paramedics were loading Swiggly into the back of the ambulance. Miss Gloria climbed in with him and the ambulance took off.
I turned to the squad car. My heart leaped.
Conahegg?
But it wasn’t Sam, rather it was Deputy Jefferson Townsend.
“Ms. Green.” He waved at me, a serious expression on his face.
“Yes?”
“Sheriff Conahegg sent me to pick you up.”
“What?” I was suspicious.
“It’s extremely urgent, ma’am.” He opened the back door.
I hesitated, remembering Conahegg had told me Jefferson could not have killed Rocky. But why would Conahegg send Jefferson after me when he suspected the man of stealing and dealing drugs? Why hadn’t he already brought him up on charges or at least fired him?
Jefferson read my mind. “You’re leery about me after you broke into my apartment and found all that stolen merchandise and drug paraphernalia. You think I’ve been stealing from the evidence room and dealing marijuana on the side.”
I nodded.
“Let me reassure you, that’s not the case. I’ve been undercover, acting as a dirty cop. Sam’s been using me to infiltrate an electronics theft ring.”
“Conahegg knows about this?”
“His idea.”
So Sam had been lying to me. I clenched my jaw and knotted my fists. So much for intimacy and honesty.
“Sam didn’t tell you the truth because he couldn’t risk jeopardizing the operation. Not when we were so close to busting ’em.”
I didn’t know what to do. Trust my instincts or listen to Jefferson.
“Please, Ms. Green, get in the car. Sheriff Conahegg didn’t want me to alarm you by telling you this, but that emergency I was telling you about? It’s got something to do with your sister.”
HEAVEN HELP ME, I got into his car. Sissy was the lure and I swallowed the bait.
“Where are we going?” I asked as Jefferson wheeled out of Sun Valley Estates.
“Sheriff’s waiting for us,” he said, not answering my question.
It dawned on me that I was in the backseat, behind bars, where they transported prisoners and Jefferson was my chauffeur, in total control of the door locks.
I was at his mercy. Trapped.
Oh God, I’d done it again. Let my concern for my family override common sense.
“Where are we going?” I repeated.
“I’m taking you to see your sister.” His voice was calm. Too calm. A chill rippled over my spine.
I grappled in my purse for my cell phone. I should have called Conahegg before getting into the car with Jefferson. Why hadn’t I called Conahegg?
Because you weren’t speaking to him.
My pique seemed so absurdly childish now. I lifted the phone to my ear at the same time the back window slid down three inches.
“Throw the phone out the window,” Jefferson said.
I looked up to see
he had his duty weapon pointed at me through the cage. Our eyes met. I’d never seen such a cold stare on anyone’s face.
“Don’t make me shoot you,” Jefferson said. “I’m not in any mood to swab your brains off the backseat of my car.”
I had managed to stab in 9-1-1 on the phone before Jefferson brandished the gun. I heard the operator say, “What’s your emergency?” as I slipped the phone through the narrow slit in the window.
“Now drop it.” Jefferson cocked the hammer.
Reluctantly, I let go and I turned my head to see the cell splattered into a hundred pieces as it hit the pavement. So much for 9-1-1.
The window whirled up.
My heart thumped hard against the inside of my chest. “You did it. You killed Rocky.”
“Ding, ding, ding,” Jefferson said, driving me farther and farther away from Cloverleaf. “You win the grand prize.”
“And Tim, did you kill him, too?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
Jefferson didn’t answer. He pulled off farm-to-market road 51 and took a narrow, dirt lane toward the river. I realized we weren’t far from Sanchez Creek, the place where Sam and I had taken the boys camping. We bumped across a cattle guard and I realized we’d entered the backside of the Triple D Ranch, miles from the ranch house.
Jefferson dragged me out of the car, his duty weapon pointed at my temple and made me put my hands behind my back so he could handcuff me.
“Walk toward the river.”
“Come on,” I said. “You have to give me something. Why did you kill Tim and Rocky? Did it have something to do with drugs? Did they double-cross you in a deal gone sour?”
“Shut up. I’m not one of those chatty killers who spills his guts just to give the heroine time to escape. There’s no getting out of this one, so move it.” He gave me a shove.
I stumbled and almost fell to my knees. “At least tell me why you’re kidnapping me?”
“Because,” Jefferson said, “you’re my bargaining chip. Conahegg’s breathing down my neck. He’s about to arrest me. But now I have an ace in the hole.”
“I’m your hostage.”
“Bottom line, if the sheriff wants to see you alive again, he’s got to promise me free passage over the border into Mexico before I’ll tell him where he can find you.”
