Death, Taxes, and Pecan Pie

by Diane Kelly

  “Is Lu available?” Nick asked.

  She answered by angling her head toward Lu’s door, the gesture indicating we could proceed.

  We continued past Viola, and Nick rapped on Lu’s open door. “Got a second, boss?”

  Lu looked up from her desk. Her towering strawberry blonde beehive defied the laws of gravity, while her sixties-style fringed and beaded pantsuit defied the laws of fashion. She was a very defiant woman. “Come on in, you two lovebirds.”

  We stepped into the office and Nick handed the card to Lu. “Take a look at this.”

  The Lobo’s expression morphed from mildly curious to deeply concerned as she read it. When she finished, she looked the envelope over. “No return address.” She gazed up at me through her false eyelashes, her orange-lipstick lips turned down in a frown. “This isn’t good.”

  “Death threats usually aren’t,” Nick snapped.

  “I had a close call with a pickup truck yesterday,” I told her. “I wrote it off afterward, but now I’m thinking it was intentional.”

  Lu leaned to the right and called out her door. “Viola? Get all my agents in here. Pronto.”

  “Will do!” Viola called back.

  In minutes, the other special agents who weren’t out in the field had gathered in Lu’s office, forming a semicircle around her desk. Viola had come in, too, surely wondering what the hubbub was all about.

  From her chair, Lu held up the card. “Someone wants to kill Tara.”

  A snicker emanated from senior agent Eddie Bardin, a dark-skinned, seasoned agent who’d been my first partner and would be sharing co-director responsibilities with Nick once Lu left the agency. “That’s nothing new.”

  He had a point. In fact, Eddie had taken a bullet to the skull when a target in one of our early cases had taken shots at us. He and I had also nearly been blown up together by an improvised explosive device. Good times.

  “Yeah,” agreed agent Josh Schmidt, the office tech guru who sported cherubic blond curls. “That crazy woman we arrested a few weeks ago tried to choke Tara and dragged her down a flight of stairs.”

  All in a day’s work.

  Our newest agent, Will Dorsey, chimed in now. “First case I worked with Tara we ended up in a shootout in a trucking yard.”

  Not to be left out, agent Hana Kim said, “Don’t forget the mob boss who tried to burn her to death in his restaurant.”

  Hana had assisted me in that case. I’d nearly been smoked, literally and figuratively.

  I raised my hands in surrender. “Okay! Okay! We can all agree that people have tried to kill me in the past. But all of those attempts involved investigations that were ongoing at the time. Nothing I’m working on now strikes me as risky.”

  My current caseload was heavy, but involved run-of-the mill tax evaders. A freelance home health nurse who’d tried to get away with deducting personal expenses on his business return. A nightclub that had failed to report a significant percentage of cash receipts. Ditto for a farmer who ran a horse-boarding facility on his acreage. None of them seemed dangerous. Dishonest, sure, but not threatening.

  “Maybe it’s someone related to an older case,” Lu suggested.

  Eddie shrugged. “Or maybe it’s personal.”

  All eyes turned to me.

  I raised my palms. “I can’t think of anyone in my personal life who’d want me dead.” I got along well with my family, friends, and neighbors, and had given no one a reason to have a vendetta against me. At least not that I knew of.

  Hana turned to Nick. “Got any old girlfriends who might want to kill your fiancée?”

  That was an angle I hadn’t thought of, but Nick quickly quelled the questioning murmurs. “None of my exes are psychos.”

  Lu exhaled a sharp breath. “Until we figure out who’s trying to kill Tara and get that person under lock and key, I’m assigning each of you to rotating bodyguard shifts.”

  Josh gasped. “You mean I’d have to take a bullet for her?” He cut his baby-blue eyes my way, his pinched expression saying he didn’t like the idea one bit.

  “Let’s call it security detail instead,” Lu said. “I’m not expecting anyone to sacrifice themselves, but there’s safety in numbers and she’ll need some help keeping an eye out. Everyone wear your vests and holsters and stay on guard.” She quickly worked up a rotating schedule and e-mailed a copy of it to everyone. Once the e-mail had set off through cyberspace, she shooed the agents out of her office. “Back to work, everyone.”

  I was the last to go. As I reached the door Lu sighed from behind me and said, “Tara?”

  I turned around and our gazes met. Worry darkened her heavily made-up eyes. “I’m looking forward to the wedding. Don’t go getting yourself killed. Okay?”

  I swallowed the lump of emotion choking my throat. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

  I returned to my office and plunked down in my chair, running my gaze over my files, trying to decide which case to work on next. Hmm . . .

  My cell phone chirped and I consulted the screen. It was Detective Veronica Booth calling from the Dallas Police Department. Detective Booth and an FBI agent had recently recruited me to assist on a case involving a mobster who’d extorted money from business owners and left a slew of dead bodies around the metroplex. That same mobster was the guy who’d tried to burn me to death in his wife’s restaurant, along with his wife and another employee. I wondered why the detective was calling now? Only one way to find out.

  I tapped the icon to accept the call. “Hello, Detective Booth. How are you?”

  “Out of ideas, that’s how I am.”

  Though her words might sound short, those of us in law enforcement were always overworked. We often didn’t have time for niceties and had to get straight to the point.

  “You’re calling me for a fresh perspective?”

  “That,” she replied, “and maybe some assistance.”

  “Whatcha got?”

  “Rent scam.”

  Seemed a new financial scam was always popping up, and rental scams had become the crime du jour.

  “I’ve got something I want to run by you, too.” Namely, the threat I’d received. “How about I pop on over?”

  “I’ll tell the front desk to send you up.”

  When I ended the call with Detective Booth, I consulted the schedule Lu had prepared, picked up my desk phone, and dialed Hana Kim’s office. “I need to head over to the Dallas Police Department Headquarters. Looks like you’re on backup for me today.”

  “Do I get paid extra for babysitting?”

  “It’s not babysitting,” I snapped. “And, no, you don’t get any extra pay. But if you stop complaining, I’ll buy you a coffee on the drive over.”

  “Deal.”

  I closed my door, slipped my ballistic vest on under my dress shirt, and buttoned it back up.

  When I stepped out into the hall to meet up with Hana, Nick stood from his desk across the way. He’d pulled out the blue stress ball he squeezed to relieve tension. I hadn’t seen him use the thing in months, but apparently my death threat had pushed him over the edge. “Promise me you’ll be extra careful?” he asked, the ball disappearing in his fist as he closed it.

  “I promise.”

  “Don’t worry,” Hana added, “I’ll take care of your bride to be.”

  I eyed her to ensure she’d also donned her vest. She had. After bidding Nick goodbye, we made our way to the elevators and I punched the down-arrow button.

  “Here.” Hana held out her hand. “Eat this.”

  I opened my palm and she dropped three small wrapped candies into it. I’d never seen them before. “What is this?”

  “Yeot,” she said. “It’s a traditional Korean candy. It’s like taffy. It’s supposed to make good luck stick to you. I figured with someone out to kill you, you might need some good luck.”

  She’d got that right. I unwrapped one of the candies and popped it into my mouth. “Yum!” But she was right. The stuff sure was
sticky. I could hardly chew it. It nearly glued my upper and bottom teeth together. She popped one into her mouth, too.

  We rode down to the lobby in silence, not so much on purpose but because our mouths were busy working the candy. Outside, we headed to the employee lot and my plain government sedan, what we feds called a G-ride. Not the sexiest cars around by any stretch of the imagination and not nearly as fun to drive as my personal BMW convertible, but you don’t exactly get luxury when you’re paying for a car with taxpayer dollars.

  We climbed in and headed for the Dallas PD headquarters, making a run through a coffee place drive-thru on the way. I opted for a skinny no-whip latte, ordering a second to take to Booth. Hana went all-out and got a caramel macchiato with whipped cream. She could afford the calories. She played softball not only on the IRS team—the Tax Maniacs—but also played in a recreational league as well. Volleyball was more my game, but the only chance I’d had to play since college intramurals was an occasional game at a backyard barbecue. I’d recently pudged out a bit while battling a sweet potato fry addiction, but I was trying to get back on track so that I’d look my best on my wedding day. In fact, I had a final fitting for my wedding dress two weeks from Wednesday night. Until then, I’d better add an extra hundred sit-ups to my workouts.

  “Thanks.” I took the drinks from the young man at the window and situated them in the cup holders. Before I could pull out of the drive-thru, the air was pierced with an ear-splitting BANG!

  Hana and I ducked down in our seats and whipped out our guns.

  Hana looked at me, her eyes wide and wary. “Was that a gunshot?”

  “It sure sounded like one!”

  Stuck in the drive-thru with a building to our left and cars to our right side and rear, we were sitting ducks. Still, we hadn’t taken a hit as far as I could tell. If someone had fired at us, they weren’t a good shot. I poked my head up to see over the steering wheel.

  BANG!

  “Sheesh.” I sat full upright now and slid my gun back into my holster. “It’s just an old VW backfiring.” Get a tune-up, you old hippie!

  “Good.” Hana sat up and re-holstered her gun, too. She reached for her drink, taking a sip and getting whipped cream on the end of her nose. “For a second there, I thought we were goners.”

  About The Author

  DIANE KELLY is a former state assistant attorney general and tax advisor who spent much of her career fighting, or inadvertently working for, white-collar criminals. She is also a proud graduate of the Mansfield, Texas Citizens Police Academy. The first book in Diane’s IRS Special Agent Tara Holloway series, Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure, received a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award. Book #2, Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte, won a Reviewers Choice award. Diane has combined her fascination with law enforcement and her love of animals in her K-9 cop Paw Enforcement series. For more information, visit her web site atwww.dianekelly.com, like her fan page at www.Facebook.com/dianekellybooks, or follow her on Twitter @dianekellybooks.

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  ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES

  BY DIANE KELLY

  Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure

  Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte

  Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray

  Death, Taxes, and a Sequined Clutch

  (an e-original novella)

  Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria

  Death, Taxes, and Hot-Pink Leg Warmers

  Death, Taxes, and Green Tea Ice Cream

  Death, Taxes, and Mistletoe Mayhem

  (an e-original novella)

  Death, Taxes, and Silver Spurs

  Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses

  Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli

  Death, Taxes, and a Satin Garter

  Death, Taxes, and Sweet Potato Fries

  Death, Taxes, and a Shotgun Wedding

  Paw Enforcement

  Paw and Order

  Upholding the Paw

  (an e-original novella)

  Laying Down the Paw

  Against the Paw

  Above the Paw

  Love Unleashed

  (an e-original novella)

  Enforcing the Paw

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Chapter One: Let’s Roll

  Chapter Two: Lest Ye Be Judged

  Chapter Three: Eat, Praline, Love

  Chapter Four: C Is for “Cookie.” It’s also for “Cheat.”

  Chapter Five: Guilty until Proven Innocent

  Chapter Six: I Need a Hero

  Chapter Seven: Checks and Balances

  Chapter Eight: Rock ’n’ Roll

  Chapter Nine: Home Is Where You Hang Your Hat

  Chapter Ten: Royally Screwed

  Chapter Eleven: The Long Tentacle of the Law

  Chapter Twelve: It’s Not Over until the Country Boys Sing

  DEATH, TAXES, AND A SHOT GUN WEDDING: An Excerpt

  About The Author

  ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES

  Copyright Page

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  DEATH, TAXES, AND PECAN PIE. Copyright © 2017 by Diane Kelly.

  Excerpt from Death, Taxes, and a Shot Gun Wedding Copyright © 2017 by Diane Kelly.

  All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  jacket photographs: pie © Stocklifemax/Shutterstock.com; skull © chirayusarts/Shutterstock.com

  ISBN 978-1-250-09492-6 (ebook)

  First Edition: October 2017

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