by Jada Ryker
Her dark hair swung at her jaw and shoulder in asymmetrical wings as she smiled at the judge. “I’m Elizabeth Furlong, the interim Chief Financial Officer for the hospital, soon to be permanent.” She waved at Alex, who glared at her. “I’m also Marisa Adair’s official spokesperson. I suppose that’s why I am here today, to speak for her. The poor little thing certainly can’t speak for herself.”
Elizabeth leaned forward, her hand outstretched and her breasts barely restrained. “Give me back my phone.”
“No.” Jason slid the device into his jacket pocket.
Elizabeth pouted, her large breasts jiggling in the low-cut sweater top when she crossed her arms. She brightened, her pout forgotten. She stared around the courtroom. “In addition to CEO, I mean CFO, and spokesperson, I’ve also been chosen to appear on the popular television show Prancing with the Stars.”
The defense attorney pointed to Fred and Clara. “Are those the people who promised you an appearance on the show?”
“Yes! Hello!” Elizabeth waved at the elderly couple. They didn’t wave back. Her huge smile faded.
“I regret to inform you that was a ruse.” Jason didn’t look heartbroken. “Ms. Furlong, there’s no history about you available before twenty years ago. The couple’s mission was to get your fingerprints and your DNA so they could search your background.”
The color faded from Elizabeth’s face and her slim hands clenched the rail in front of her.
“You claim you’re a professional spokesperson and aspiring television star. Don’t tell me you’re speechless.” Jason retrieved a stack of papers from his briefcase.
“Why are you doing this?” Elizabeth choked.
“Because you’re six feet tall, and so is the murderer of Alisa Atkins.” Jason flipped through the pages. “When you were twenty years old, you changed your name.”
Elizabeth straightened. “Many people change their names. It’s not a crime.”
“You grew up in the Amish community just outside town. Rumspringa, or ‘running around’, is the time for an Amish teen to make up his or her own mind to either stay in the Amish world or leave it. In your case, you decided to stay. You married an Amish man, had three children, and seemed content. Then, when you were twenty years old, you fled in the middle of the night, leaving your young child, toddler, and infant behind with their father.”
Elizabeth’s mouth drooped. “You make it sound so harsh. I wasn’t cut out for motherhood. I needed to get my education and make my way in the world. My husband would never have allowed me to do it, so I had to leave.”
“Now, you use blackmail and threats to further your career.” Jason pulled her phone out of his jacket pocket.
“Wait a minute,” Elizabeth said. She licked her lips. “I don’t use blackmail and threats. I use a form of quid pro quo. Do you know what that means?”
Jason’s mouth quirked up on one end in a smile. “Loosely, it means ‘something for something’ in Latin.”
Smug, Elizabeth settled back in the seat, as if she’d scored over the defense attorney.
“Alisa Atkins spent a lot of time on the internet, looking for victims to bully,” Jason said. “She found you, Elizabeth, and she contacted you. Rather than adding you to her list of targets, she offered you a deal. If you paid her, she wouldn’t tell your husband where to find you.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Elizabeth insisted. “And you can’t prove I did.”
“I do have a complaint signed by your husband,” Jason said. “He’s seeking a quarter of a million dollars in back child support. Even more than the money, which he will donate to his community, he’s looking forward to the publicity.”
Maurice rose to his feet in a fluid motion. “Ms. Furlong, do you request my assistance on the stand? Fulton Hart asked for my help just moments ago.”
“I saw the kind of help you give.” Elizabeth turned her face away.
“Officer Landis, please place Elizabeth Furlong under arrest and put her with the others.” Dreamus rose from his place at the computer. “And Jason, hang on to her phone. We don’t want her trying to teach dance moves to our other detainees.”
“Diana aka Dee Forrest, please take the stand.” Jason waited.
Diana strode to the box. Her neat suit, smooth bun, and glasses seemed a lifetime away from her stiletto heels and bikini.
Jason turned to Dreamus. The detective’s hands moved on the laptop’s keys. The grainy surveillance footage was paused, the image of the EMT filling the screen.
“You’re tall enough to be the person in the picture,” Jason stated. “Are you?”
“No,” Diana replied. “I’m an exotic dancer at night. I’m a licensed realtor during the day. I don’t kill damaged women. I’m their advocate.”
“What do you mean?” Jason asked.
“When I met Marisa Adair, I was an alcoholic and I was addicted to painkillers,” Diana answered. “I thought all I could do was dance. I was an aging stripper. I hated to think what would happen when I became too old to draw customers to my stage.”
Diana twisted to face the defense table. “Through her friendship and love, Marisa taught me I could do anything, including quitting drinking and painkillers. She helped me get clean and sober. She gave me emotional support as I completed the real estate program. When I told her I was going to buy the gentleman’s club, she didn’t laugh. She applauded.”
“I thought you entered the real estate profession to get away from the club,” Jason said. “Why would you buy it?”
“Most of the women who dance come from childhoods of abuse, neglect, and violence.” Diana’s face softened in pity. “Many of them are alcoholics and addicted to drugs. I want to build a club in which women can dance without giving away anything of themselves. If they don’t choose to take off their clothes, they don’t have to undress. If they don’t want to mingle with customers between sets, they won’t be required to fraternize.”
“It sounds as if you’ve put a lot of thought into your idea,” Jason said.
“I have a detailed, viable plan,” Diana agreed. “I’ll establish good working conditions, in which women can use dance as an art, not to exploit or be exploited. I’ll establish a profit-sharing plan, in which the employees earn their share of the profits.”
“Did you have any reason to kill Alisa Atkins?” Jason asked.
“Sure I did.” Diana was calm.
As the spectators’ voices rose, Marisa tightened her hands in Laithe’s fur. When he wiggled, she relaxed her fingers.
The judge banged her gavel.
“Alisa Atkins made Marisa’s life a living hell as a child,” Diana said. “As an adult, she targeted Marisa’s brother Mosely. He was a broken man and an easy victim for Alisa. I would have liked to have killed her. I would have loved to have saved her. But I didn’t do either.”
“Thank you, Ms. Forrest. Please don’t leave the courtroom.” Jason turned to the spectators. “I call Burke Lee Creed to the stand.”
With his tall frame nearly covered in the long, black leather coat, the Florida detective was a column of darkness. All around his head, his hair was a white flash, a torch to light the way through the darkness. His thin, lightly lined face was all angles. His chin and his nose seemed to aim for the same point. His attention was on the defense attorney, his eyes dark and watchful in his brown face.
“Briefly tell the court why you are here in Kentucky.” Jason glanced at the judge.
Burke Lee explained he’d seen Berea Kenton on television, offering her lottery fortune to the person who solved her daughter’s twenty-year-old murder. He’d had successes, some sensational, in solving cold cases. He’d flown to Kentucky and offered his services.
“Even with brevity as your goal, that recital took some time, Mr. Creed.” The judge reached under her desk. “Water?” She offered a bottle of water.
Jason passed it to Burke Lee.
“Thank you.” The detective twisted off the cap and guzzled the water. He wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand.
Jason smiled. “Have you solved Mayla Kenton’s murder, Mr. Creed?”
Burke Lee shrugged. “I have theories, but I haven’t been on the case very long. It’ll take some time. It’s even possible the murder will never be solved.”
Jason gestured to Dreamus, who flashed the surveillance footage on the screen. “You can save the court time by simply admitting it’s you in the EMT costume.”
Burke Lee sputtered. “You accused first Elizabeth and then Diana of being the killer! Now you’re trying to pin it on me?”
“No, I wanted to scare Elizabeth and I wanted to give Diana a chance to have her say,” Jason replied. “You’re the one I want to convict.”
“You’re insane.” Burke Lee shook his head. “I don’t know any of these people. Why would I kill a woman I didn’t even know?”
Jason flipped through the pages in his hand, the rustling loud in the silent courtroom. “Investigations by your so-called Cold Case Squad—” he glanced at the row of amateur detectives “—unearthed the fact that Mayla wasn’t the sweet and innocent college student her mother thought. She was ruthless, using any means to get top grades, both academically and in her musical performances.”
Burke Lee laughed. “So?”
“A University professor disappeared at the same time Mayla was killed.” Jason pulled a sheet free from the stack in his hand. He offered the paper to Burke Lee, who waved it away. “Her name was Priscilla Eades. According to some sources, Mayla tried to extort good grades from Dr. Eades. The professor was known to be a stickler.” Jason glanced at Dreamus.
The lieutenant brought up a photograph on the screen. The attractive professor had long dark hair. Her dark eyes were slightly slanted in an exotically beautiful face. Next to her photograph, he added the college picture of Mayla Kenton. The two women were eerily similar.
“Priscilla later turned up at a Florida university. Unfortunately, she was fired before the end of the semester. The department chair, her boss, said Dr. Eades was incompetent and didn’t know the rudiments of her subject. It was as if she’d never attained a degree, let alone an advanced one. After she was fired, she disappeared again, this time for good.”
“I really don’t have time for this.” Burke Lee rose. “I have to catch a plane back to Florida.”
“Sit down, Mr. Creed,” the judge ordered. “I don’t think you’re going to make your plane.”
“Soon after, a private detective hung out his shingle in the Florida heat,” Jason continued. “Nearly twenty years passed. He heard about Berea Kenton winning a huge jackpot in the Kentucky Lottery, and her commitment to give it all to find her daughter’s killer. He balanced the risk of recognition with the probability of easy pickings. And he, I mean she, returned to Kentucky.”
Berea Kenton screamed. “Mayla!” She rose. “That’s why you reacted so strongly to Princess! You killed the original dog. My God, that dog loved you with all of her heart.”
Larry Kenton pulled his sobbing ex-wife down next to him and held her tight against him.
“In the amateur detective reports, Barbara Adair stated Alisa Atkins made astonishing comments. Barbara didn’t realize the significance at the time.” Jason tugged a paper free from the stack in his hand. “According to Barbara, Alisa said: ‘I am not evil. Mayla Kenton was truly evil, but not me. I’m a victim of circumstances.’ Alisa had seen the news report about Mayla. She said: ‘Her mother has offered a fortune to the person who can solve her murder. Mrs. Kenton yapped about Mayla’s beauty and gentle nature. I’ve read about sociopaths. I think Mayla fits the criteria.’”
Jason lowered the stack of papers. “When she was a child, Mayla Kenton was on the pier at the resort with her grandfather. Her father saw them there together, in the moonlight. One of them fell in, while the other remained on the pier. A handyman who worked at the resort is convinced Mayla pushed her grandfather into the water. Lonzo Kenton didn’t make it. He drowned just yards from the cabin his son had built for him.”
“My father fell into the water. Mayla didn’t kill her grandfather.” The desperate elderly voice boomed from the spectator section.
Jason shrugged. “It may be impossible to prove it one way or the other. From the reports I’ve read, Lonzo Kenton needed a dose of justice, even administered by a sociopathic child.”
The tall figure was perfectly still in the witness box. The dark face was impassive.
“Let’s go back to Alisa’s hospital room. Barbara and Marisa Adair were in the room.” Jason glanced at his notes. “Alisa stated: ‘As a matter of fact, I thought I saw her on campus—’ Mrs. Adair’s statement cut off there. I believe she and Marisa were focused on another issue.”
“What does this have to do with me?” The witness gripped the rail.
“Alisa knew Mayla as a child,” Jason answered. “Alisa also worked on campus in Catering Services when Mayla was a student. Before the university shooting, Alisa must have seen Mayla, a dead woman walking among the living.”
Berea Kenton’s sobbing was the only accompaniment to Jason’s voice.
“Alisa likely threatened to expose Mayla’s decades-long deceit,” he continued. “And I suspect Alisa figured out she killed Priscilla Eades. Mayla was home alone, supposedly ill. She must have lured Dr. Eades there by convincing her to meet her at the apartment over her parents’ store. Mayla murdered Dr. Eades to keep her from ejecting her from school for trying to extort good grades from the professor.
“Mayla knew about the serial arsons. She decided to add her home to the list of crimes. She placed Dr. Eades’ body in her bedroom. Luckily for her, an autopsy was not done at the time.
“Her next step was to steal Dr. Eades’ identity, but Mayla wasn’t as smart as she thought she was… she couldn’t pull it off in the classroom. You couldn’t pull it off, Mayla Kenton.”
Mayla vaulted out of the witness box. Jason tried to block her. She shoved him aside. She lunged toward the defense table, her long leather coat flapping. “Marisa Adair, you bitch, this is all your fault!”
Laithe stood on the table on his hind legs like a feline boxer. He flattened his ears and hissed. His claws slashed the air.
A guttural cry from the spectator section made Marisa turn her head. Diana leaped up on the back of the bench in front of her. She sailed from the bench to the top of the low wall like a Ninja warrior. She launched herself into Mayla. As they went down in a tangle of arms and legs, Diana held a silver arrow aloft.
As spectators screamed and dogs barked, Landis ran to the grappling women. “Don’t worry! It’s a trick arrow with a spring! It won’t hurt her!”
Diana brought her arm down and buried the arrow in the black leather coat. Blood spurted from the wound. She stood over her fallen adversary like the victorious goddess of the hunt.
Landis spun her to face him. She held out the silver feather from the arrow. It was red with blood. She pulled an evidence bag from Landis’ pocket, opened it, and placed the feather inside. She sealed it with a flourish. “It’s just a shoulder wound. Here’s her DNA, Josh. Take samples from her parents. They’ll confirm that she is Mayla Kenton.”
Jason staggered to his feet, holding up Burke Lee/Mayla’s water bottle. “Mayla is the only one the judge offered water. She wouldn’t have accepted it from anyone else. I have her DNA on the bottle.”
“Oh. My bad.” Diana ran to Marisa and hugged her fiercely. Laithe jump to the floor to entwine himself around the women’s ankles. Alex threw himself into the hug, with Tara and Dreamus not far behind. Spectators streamed to the defense table.
The judge’s gavel pounded. “Order in the court! Marisa Adair, you’re free to go. And Dreamus, you’re lucky this incredible stunt worked.” She laughed as she left her seat. “Of course, you are your mother’s son.” Jayna Camden threw herself into the group hug.
Marisa jerked and twisted her head around. “Sheriff Luke Creeter, why is your hand on my ass?”
“I was trying to pat your back
in congratulations and my hand slipped. Sorry.” The old man grinned at her.
Marisa slipped her arm around Alex’s waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Sheriff, I’m taking a leave of absence from my job.” She looked at Alex. “If you approve it, Alex, I’m taking three months off. It will give you a chance to figure out if you want the CEO job.”
Marisa turned back to the sheriff. “You should be able to get your job back as sheriff, with Knox under arrest. I’m going to write policies and procedures for the sheriff’s department and run training programs to prevent behavior like sexual harassment.” She glanced at Diana. “And I’m going help Diana set up a human resources department at the club.”
“Hey! Why does the Lieutenant get to grope lovely ladies and I don’t?” Sheriff Creeter pointed in self-righteous indignation. Dreamus had his hand on Tara’s pert behind.
“She’s my girlfriend, Sheriff.” Dreamus’ eyes rolled as his mother perked up. “Mom, you’ve been saying since you retired a year ago that you wanted something really exciting to include in your memoir.”
“Memoir?” Marisa’s stomach plummeted and she clutched Alex. “You’re a retired judge?”
Dreamus smiled as Bert, in civilian clothes, joined the milling crowd. “We decided showmanship was needed. And we put on a hell of a show.”
Jayna laughed. She put her arm around Tara and drew her away from the crowd. Their blonde heads bent together.
* * * * *
Berea and Larry Kenton knelt next to their daughter. She cradled her shoulder and tried to smile. It was a ghastly grimace. “Hi, Mom and Dad. Long time, no blah blah blah. You know, Mom, I did solve Mayla’s murder in a way. I’m Mayla. I’m going to need a lot of money for my defense. I had to kill Priscilla in self-defense. I think there’s enough reasonable doubt with Alisa to get me off.”
Berea pulled herself to her feet. Makeup had run in the tracks of her tears. She looked as if she’d aged ten years. “Diana has a great plan for the future. I’m going to give her the money. She can expand her operations by taking over more clubs.”
The old lady turned to Jason and clasped his hand. “Diana will need a good, hotshot attorney to help her.”
