Mug Shot

by Caroline Fardig

  “I’m good. I just…Even though she tried to kill me, I feel bad for Savannah. She’s my friend. Like my closest girl friend.”

  Rubbing my back, he replied, “I know she is. And your mixed feelings are completely normal.”

  I changed the subject. “So how did you guys know she killed Cecilia? I realized it when she slipped and gave away a detail of the crime scene she shouldn’t have known.”

  “Kent Fielding ratted her out.”

  “Kent? How did he know?”

  “He got nervous about his assault charge and decided to throw her under the bus, hoping to get us to cut him some slack. His lawyer nearly had a heart attack when he started blurting everything out. The night Cecilia was killed, Kent saw Savannah running from the tent. He didn’t think anything of it until we found Cecilia the next morning. So instead of being an upstanding citizen and going to the police, he blackmailed Savannah. She agreed to give him twenty grand a month to keep his mouth shut. Lucky for us, Kent had recorded all of their conversations. What he didn’t think through is that he’s going to get charged with extortion, aiding and abetting, and obstruction of justice, just to name a few. He should have taken the assault charge and run.”

  Son of a bitch. Stupid Kent knew all along, and he kept Savannah’s secret so he could keep getting his monthly payout. Dick.

  “That would explain why I saw him with Savannah at the Omni last night. She told me she went there to hook up. She was there to pay him off.”

  Just then, Detective Cromwell came ambling up to us. “Well, well, Ms. Langley. Dare I ask?”

  “Come on, Cromwell, cut her some slack,” said Ryder easily.

  Cromwell smiled at me. “When you get in this deep, you usually know something we don’t. Care to fill me in?”

  “If I must. Would something like a bloody glove interest you?”

  “It might. Where would I find something like that?”

  “Savannah’s bedroom closet. You’ll want to look through all of her hatboxes thoroughly. I’m sure you’ll find them very interesting,” I said, stifling a chuckle.

  He closed his eyes tiredly. “Am I going to find your fingerprints all over them?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Just…wear some gloves next time, would you?” he grumbled tiredly, stalking toward the house.

  Ryder stood up and pulled me off the ground. He put his arms around my waist and asked, “What’s so funny about the hatboxes?”

  “The fact that Cromwell will have a coronary when he looks through them. There are pictures in there of Savannah and Bastidas that I can’t unsee. And lots of sex toys.”

  Grinning, he asked, “Did you pocket any of them?”

  “I don’t need sex toys. I have you.”

  “That’s true. And I’m willing to bet you’re going to need a lot of help getting all of that mud off.”

  —

  Ryder took me home and, as promised, was very helpful in getting me cleaned up. After I was dressed, he took me down to the station. I had to endure well over an hour of questioning from Detective Cromwell about Savannah, starting with finding Cecilia’s body and ending with getting buried alive. It was exhausting. Then, I had to give my statement about Savannah trying to kill me to another officer, one of the ones who had helped dig me out. Any way you looked at it, Savannah was in big trouble. Ryder had to make himself scarce, because (since he and I were in a relationship again) he didn’t want any involvement on his part to threaten the case against Savannah. I would have liked to have had him there with me, holding my hand, but I was a big girl and could handle things on my own. Besides, he said he was working on something that would make me happy. I didn’t know what that could be, except maybe some comfort food and a warm bed.

  Once I was done being questioned, Ryder came into the room with a big grin on his face.

  “What are you so happy about?” I griped, my head aching from the incessant inquisition I’d had to endure.

  “See for yourself.” He gestured toward the door, and Pete walked through—no handcuffs—with a huge smile on his face as well.

  “Pete!” I exclaimed, rushing over to him and jumping into his arms.

  He held me tightly, choking out, “You cut it too close this time, Langley.”

  After he set me down, I looked up at him and smiled. “It was obviously worth it. Are you free?”

  Ryder cut in, “Sort of. In light of the new evidence and Savannah’s confession, Pete’s bail has been reinstated. You can thank Cromwell for that, by the way. He found a judge at the Worthingtons’ party and strongly persuaded him to come downtown and file the paperwork.”

  “He has a heart after all. Who knew?” I said.

  Ryder continued, “The department will have to get all of the evidence processed, and the DA will have to charge Savannah and drop the charges against Pete before he’s completely out of the woods. But, the short answer is yes, he’s free to go.” He wagged his finger at both of us. “But no more criminal trespassing and bar fights, you two.”

  Pete and I both nodded vehemently, walking arm in arm out the door.

  To Karen Franklin, one of my favorite redheads

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank the following people for helping me along this journey:

  My agent, Ethan Ellenberg, for championing my work. My editor, Julia Maguire, for her vision and constant support. The staff at Random House Alibi, with special thanks to Ashleigh Heaton and Erika Seyfried. Karen Franklin, both for her beta-reading expertise and her friendship. Lisa Hart-Gray, for her meticulous proofreading. Jami Deise, for her help with the synopsis and for giving me a great idea for the ending. Niloufer Wadia, for creating the gorgeous cover. Abby Buttrum, for the hours we spent trying to come up with a title, although my favorite, “Percolator Perpetrator…of Death,” did not make the cut. My friends and family for their love and encouragement. Special thanks to my husband, Matt Fardig, for everything he does so I can keep doing what I love to do.

  BY CAROLINE FARDIG

  The Lizzie Hart Mysteries

  It’s Just a Little Crush

  That Old Black Magic

  Bad Medicine

  My Funny Valentine

  The Java Jive Mysteries

  Death Before Decaf

  Mug Shot

  PHOTO: JENNIFER VINSON

  CAROLINE FARDIG is the author of the Java Jive series and the Lizzie Hart Mysteries series. Suspense Magazine recently named Fardig’s Bad Medicine as one of the best books of 2015. She worked as a schoolteacher, church organist, insurance agent, funeral parlor associate, and stay-at-home mom before realizing that she wants to be a writer when she grows up. Born and raised in a small town in Indiana, Fardig still lives in that same town, with an understanding husband, two sweet kids, two energetic dogs, and one malevolent cat.

  carolinefardig.com

  Facebook.com/​carolinefardigbooks

  @carolinefardig

  If you enjoyed Mug Shot by Caroline Fardig,

  read on for an exciting preview of the next enthralling Java Jive mystery:

  A Whole Latte Murder

  Chapter 1

  “Sinclair’s? Wow. I certainly wasn’t expecting this,” I said as Ryder opened the passenger door and helped me out of the car.

  He smiled. “Nothing but the best for my lady.”

  I slapped him on one of his rock-solid biceps. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Oh, right. I meant to say, nothing but the best for the independent woman I’m lucky enough to be sleeping with.”

  “That’s better.”

  Ryder Hamilton and I had been officially dating for only about three months, and I didn’t want to take things any more seriously than we were, which was not at all. After the epic failure of my engagement last year, a new steady relationship was the last thing on my mind. Ryder was exactly what I needed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun with someone, mostly because what we had was casual and low-key and did not in any
way resemble a traditional relationship. I let him call himself my boyfriend to simplify things, but we weren’t hung up on labels. In short, what we had was perfect.

  Placing his hand on the small of my back, Ryder steered me toward the front door of the posh downtown restaurant. In a city like Nashville, there were a lot of loud, touristy honky-tonks in the heart of the city, but Sinclair’s was one of the understated little gems most tourists didn’t bother with. That didn’t keep the place from having a wait list for reservations every night of the week.

  I still didn’t understand why we were here. “Why did you choose Sinclair’s for dinner? It’s a random Monday in March. Not exactly a special occasion.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up as he opened the door for me. “You never know when a day can turn into a special occasion, Juliet.”

  Now he was beginning to worry me.

  Ryder had been secretive as to where we were going tonight, saying only that I should “dress nicely,” though I had no idea where that fell between clean jeans and black-tie apparel. I opted for a little black dress, figuring that could go anywhere. He insisted on picking me up at my place rather than our normal hasty plans of simply meeting somewhere or him dropping by Java Jive unannounced to see me at work.

  He’d come all the way up the steps to my apartment door to get me, which also struck me as odd—usually he honked or texted me when he got to the parking lot. We were not ones for formality. However, tonight he was wearing a suit and tie of all things instead of the tight T-shirts and jeans that were the staple of his wardrobe. Not that I was complaining, because he looked crazy handsome, but I was wary of the sudden change.

  I didn’t get a chance to voice my concern, because the maître d’ immediately whisked us off to our table, weaving us through a sea of canoodling couples all evidently celebrating something, evidenced by the notable presence of a silver champagne bucket at every table. The moment we sat down, I nearly jumped back out of my chair as a young woman shrieked two tables away from us. I whipped my head in her direction only to find the young man with her down on one knee, placing a big, sparkling ring on her left hand. The girl began weeping, and a collective “aww…” went up from around the room. When I glanced over at Ryder, I noticed him smiling as he watched the aftermath.

  I was more than a little uncomfortable.

  Not that I wasn’t happy for the newly engaged couple, but the whole scene was rather disconcerting given the out-of-the-ordinary nature of our date tonight. I waved down a waiter and ordered a double vodka collins, hoping to medicate my increasingly manic state.

  After the waiter left, Ryder raised one eyebrow at me. “A double? Hard day at the office?”

  “Something like that.”

  In reality, I’d had a relatively easy day, as food service goes. Java Jive, the coffeehouse I manage, had run more smoothly lately than I ever could have imagined. My staff, which had been a bit of a nightmare to keep and train a few months back, now worked together like a well-oiled machine. The place was making money, and the owner, my best friend, Pete, was pleased with how I’d been able to breathe life back into the place after all of the hardship and loss over the past year or so. Just like my love life, my work life was very nearly perfect.

  “Did you even hear what I said?”

  “Yes?” No.

  Ryder narrowed his eyes at me. When would I learn that there was no point in lying to a detective? “I said, there’s been a lot of shuffling around within the MNPD. Several old-timers are retiring, so the rest of us have had the chance to put in for transfers to different departments and promotions and things like that.”

  “Is my friend Detective Cromwell among the retirees?” I asked hopefully. Cromwell, one of the MNPD’s seasoned homicide detectives, had been a thorn in my side on a couple of occasions since I’d moved here to Nashville. He was a good detective, but I couldn’t say I’d be sad to see him go.

  Ryder chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. I don’t think he’ll ever retire.”

  “Figures,” I muttered, catching a glimpse of yet another marriage proposal a few tables away, this one between an older man and woman, and much less theatrical. The man reached into his jacket pocket and produced a little box, which he opened and gave to the woman. She smiled warmly and nodded her head, taking out the ring and placing it on her own finger. These two seemed to have worked out the details beforehand, because it didn’t seem like this one was much of a surprise. I took a big swig of my drink.

  “That’s why I brought you here tonight.”

  I snapped my head back to face Ryder, my heart thudding in my chest. “You…what?” This could not be happening. We had such a good thing going—why would he ruin it by taking things too quickly?

  “Are you okay? You’re being weird.” He seemed concerned, but I detected a definite hint of exasperation.

  I took another drink before answering. “I’m okay. Just…this place isn’t…I mean…”

  Ryder rolled his eyes. “I brought you here to celebrate my promotion, not to ask you to marry me, Juliet.”

  I heaved an enormous sigh of relief, chugging the rest of my drink.

  “You don’t have to be so relieved about that.” Yep. Definitely exasperation, and more than a hint.

  “Sorry.” I changed the subject, genuinely happy for his news. “So congratulations on your promotion. That’s fantastic! Are you the chief now, or what?”

  He laughed. “No, not quite.”

  “Well, do you at least have enough clout to hand out get-out-of-jail-free cards?”

  “I think I’ve already given you one of those,” he said with a smile. “I guess it isn’t a promotion in the literal sense, but to me it is. I’m going to be working homicide.”

  I felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Homicide?” I choked out.

  “Yep. And don’t laugh, but I get to shadow Cromwell on the first case that pops up.”

  It was bad enough that Ryder had to deal with criminals on a daily basis, but at least I could sleep at night knowing he only worked white-collar crimes. Embezzlers and con men didn’t want to get caught, so they generally steered clear of the police and tried not to cause too much trouble. Now he was going to be chasing crazy psychopaths around!

  My hands began trembling, so I stuck them in my lap to hide them. There was nothing that could be done about my shaky voice. “You…you want to work with dead bodies and…catch killers?”

  “Yeah. You know I’ve always had an interest in it.”

  Ryder’s wife, Amanda, had been murdered years ago, and the case remained unsolved. It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part—he’d investigated it on the side for the better part of ten years.

  Grinning, he continued, “And thanks to you I’ve gotten a little taste of what working homicide is like. I think I’d be a great fit.”

  “Hey!” I snapped, obviously a little too loudly judging from the disdainful looks I got from a few people at neighboring tables. “Don’t put this on me. I don’t want you working homicide.”

  His smile faded, and he studied me for a moment. “So it’s okay for you, an amateur without a damn clue what she’s doing, to run around after killers, but I, a professional with a gun and years of experience and training, cannot?”

  “Yes.”

  He was pissed now. I could tell by the set of his jaw. “That is absolutely the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, and that’s really saying something.”

  I crossed my arms. “Well, excuse me for caring about your safety.”

  “I’m a cop. My safety is on the line every day.” He shook his head. “I guess I was wrong to think my girlfriend would be happy for me.”

  I rolled my eyes at his blatant attempt to shame me. “Oh, boo-frickedy-hoo.”

  Poor choice of words, since I could have sworn I saw steam coming out of his ears just then.

  “Maybe this dinner was a mistake,” he growled.

  —

  The next morn
ing, I nearly fell asleep serving Pete’s grandmother Gertie her coffee. Even though Ryder and I had agreed to disagree about his new job (and had some fantastic make-up sex), I’d barely slept at all, awake most of the night with crazy, fearful thoughts bombarding my brain.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Gertie asked, grumpily mopping up the coffee I’d splattered on the counter next to her mug.

  I sighed. When I’d lived in Nashville during college, I would always go to Gertie with my problems. Now that I’d moved back, I found myself repeating old habits. “It’s Ryder.”

  “What the hell could be wrong with him? I doubt that stud muffin isn’t getting the job done stuffing your muffin.”

  I groaned. If Gertie were fifty years younger, I’d have to fight her for him. She had quite an old lady crush on Ryder. And a way with words. “It’s not that. He told me last night he got moved into the homicide division at work.”

  “Hot damn, that’s good news. If there’s one man in this town who can keep you under his thumb, it’s Ryder. He won’t stand for you nosing around another murder on his watch.” She smiled triumphantly. Gertie, who always thought of me as part of her family, had not taken kindly to my recent meddling in police cases.

  “I know, but that’s not why I’m upset about it. I’m terrified for his safety.”

  Her already wrinkled brow wrinkled some more. “Are you trying to say that enormous hunk of muscle can’t take care of himself? Horse hockey. The killers in this town had better watch out if he’s after them.”

  Gertie always knew what to say. I smiled. “I guess he does know what he’s doing.”

  “You’re damn right he does. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Juliet.” She nodded in the direction of the door where Pete had just walked in. “I’d say you’ve got enough to worry about with that one.”

  My very best friend in the world, Pete Bennett, was having a hard time of it lately. His girlfriend had died, and he had been accused of her murder. These days you never knew which Pete you were going to get on any given day. He could be sad, mad, reckless, or simply his normal self.