There Goes the Groom

by Rita Herron

  Anger filled the woman’s eyes, then she licked those pouty red lips and shoved one foot onto the cement. He tried not to stare at the blood red color on her toes and the diamond ankle bracelet she was wearing.

  God Almighty, did she have to be so blasted sexy?

  She was like sin rolled into one delicious little package of temptation.

  But she tripped over the netting of her wedding gown as she tried to stand on the slick pavement, and he cursed. If he didn’t help her, he’d probably be accused of police brutality.

  Silently willing himself to ignore those luscious breasts spilling over the top of the bodice of her dress, he took her arm and steadied her as she emerged from the car. The crinoline swished back and forth as they walked toward the steps, the rain drenching her wild curly hair.

  The weasel that had eyed him when he parked was obviously lust-stricken and sidled up next to Marci. “Miss Turner, did you and your boyfriend set up that phony Desert Sand Resort and con all your friends at the country club?”

  Marci jerked to a stop and batted her eyes at the man. “I would never hurt anyone by taking their money.”

  Cade gripped her arm and shot the weasel a scathing look. “Move so I can escort Miss Turner inside.”

  Georgia raced over and interceded. “We will issue a statement as soon as we finish the investigation.”

  Suddenly another car screeched up, and his nana jumped out and tottered toward them. Cade shook his head in warning at her, but she flew at them, then began beating Marci with her handbag. “How could you marry a man who steals from seniors?” she screeched. “Shame on you. We’re on fixed incomes!”

  “Nana,” Cade said as he gently pulled her away. “Stop it!”

  Marci stumbled backward, her veil sliding to one side as she tried to remain on her feet.

  Another car screeched up, and his grandmother’s caretaker Lula Bell jumped out. “I’m sorry, Mr. Muller, she’s off her meds again.”

  “Please drive her home, Lula Bell,” Cade said through clenched teeth. He’d do it, but he was too afraid he’d throttle the woman. She might be eighty but she was spry as they came.

  “Shame, shame, shame,” Nana yelled as Lula Bell dragged her toward her car.

  Cade yanked Marci inside the door to escort her to booking. Her breathing sounded labored, and more tears had begun to pour.

  He gritted his teeth. He should have seen that coming.

  “I’m sorry for your Nana,” Marci said with a gulp, surprising him.

  He figured she’d be mad as a hornet.

  Still, he ignored her sniffles and her apology. If she had helped Pendergrass, her words meant nothing.

  Once they processed her, he intended to lock her into an interrogation room and get some answers.

  And no amount of eye batting or lip licking was going to stop him from finding out the truth.

  But first he’d let her stew in holding for a while. A little time to meet a few of the inmates and think about what she’d done might persuade her to talk when he finally questioned her.

  Besides, he needed to calm down. Brace himself to battle her beguiling eyes and sultry voice.

  He also had to gather the evidence he’d collected to show her just in case she needed extra incentive to give him a confession.

  *~*~*~*

  “Turn to the right, Ma’am.”

  Marci swiped at her tattered veil as she did as the officer instructed.

  “Now left.”

  She gave him her left side, although she wanted to point out that her right profile was her better side.

  Not that he cared.

  From the moment Detective Muller had escorted her in, they’d treated her like some animal. And he was watching her now with hawk eyes as if he thought she was hiding something beneath her gown.

  Ink stained her fingers from the fingerprinting, forcing her to try not to touch her dress for fear she’d leave black spots on the lace.

  Another hysterical laugh caught in her throat. Why in the heck did she care if she got ink on her dress? Her wedding day was ruined. Her dress was already in shambles.

  Her future was a wreck.

  Now she had a criminal record.

  And if the cop’s accusations were true and Paul was a con artist, her bank account was probably empty as well.

  No way to even pay for the attorney she desperately needed to get her butt out of jail.

  She could call Kim.

  Shame and humiliation filled her. No…she’d always called Kim to bail her out of trouble. She had to find another way.

  “Come on, Miss.”

  Detective Muller hauled in the corner. “Spread ‘em, Ma’am. We have to search you before we take you to holding.”

  Search her? “You want me to strip?”

  He raised a crooked brow. “Well, I was just going to pat you down but if you’re offering?”

  Marci glared at him and spread her arms like they were wings. His thick long hands skated over her arms then down her sides, and his gaze lingered on her breasts with another eyebrow raise.

  “They are real,” she said tightly.

  “I was just wondering if you had a gun stashed in there.”

  “I don’t usually pack at weddings.”

  A chuckle rumbled from him, but she didn’t laugh.

  “I need all your personal belongings,” he said when he’d finished running his hands over her.

  “Look at me. All I have on me are my clothes.”

  He gestured toward the glittery hairpins holding what was left of her curls into place. “You’ll have to remove those. They could be dangerous.”

  She sighed warily and started yanking out the clips. “Like I’m going to stab someone with a hairpin.” Although she could pick the cell lock…

  He looked as if he was losing patience with her so she decided she’d better shut up.

  Then he gave a pointed look toward the fat diamond on her ring. “The rock,” he said grimly.

  Her chin wobbled. “You have to take my engagement ring?”

  His eye raise made her feel like she’d left her brain at home this morning.

  “You don’t want it in that cell. Prisoners have been killed for less.”

  Marci’s heart raced. “Killed?”

  He sighed, his breath wheezing out. Still, he did have nice lips.

  Stop looking at his lips, you fool. He arrested you!

  “It’s procedure,” he said, then gave her shoulder a pat. “It will be returned to you when you leave.”

  Marci pursed her lips and tugged at the ring, but she’d been crying so hard her finger must have swollen.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Honestly,” she said, “I always break out in a rash and my hands swell when I’m upset.”

  This time his look reeked of impatience and disbelief. He took her hand and yanked so hard the ring came off, but her knees buckled and she squealed from the pain.

  “Sorry.”

  Marci shook her fingers to relieve the sting. “You should be. You almost broke my finger.”

  He dropped the ring into an envelope. “Now the earrings and any other jewelry.”

  Oh, no…Not the diamonds Paul had given her. Or that ankle bracelet.

  And surely not her belly button ring…

  But he reached to remove the earrings himself, and she jerked away. “I’ll do it.” She pulled the posts through her lobes and shoved them into the bag. Then she hiked up her skirt and foot and unfastened the ankle bracelet. His eyes pierced her, his darkening almost to a sultry black as she dropped it in his hand.

  He was enjoying this way too much.

  She was not going to divulge that she had the belly ring. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “If you lose my jewelry, I’ll sue the police department.”

  “Sure you will.” A chuckle rumbled from him as another guard appeared for the envelope holding her belongings, and her heart sank as her diamonds disappeared. Fudgecake. She might need to h
ock them for bail money.

  “Let’s go,” the chuffy guy who’d taken her mug shot said.

  A nervous cough caught in her throat as he pushed her through a set of heavy metal doors. For a brief second, she had the insane urge to call for the detective.

  Not that he cared about her. He thought she was guilty!

  The doors clanged shut behind her with such a bang that she couldn’t help but startle. The guard’s wheezy, smoke-scented breath rattled in the air, the smell of sweat and other body odors swirling around her.

  The first hints of fear crept through her as they walked down the dark hallway. She had the uncanny sensation that she was in a horror film being led to slaughter.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To a holding cell. Detective Muller will call for you when he’s ready.”

  Marci shuddered. She didn’t know which was more disturbing. The thought of sitting in a cell or facing that man’s dark, condemning eyes again.

  He thought she’d helped steal from his little grandmother!

  How could he think such a thing?

  He didn’t even know her.

  A sliver of hope swirled through her. That was it. She just had to talk to him and explain that he was wrong. Even with that hot temper and those piercing accusatory eyes, he was still a man. He had to have a rational side to him hiding under that big brawny body somewhere.

  She just had to find it.

  Feeling marginally better, she sucked in a sharp breath as the sound of voices wafted toward her. Then a group of cells slipped into view. Three on each side.

  The three on the left held male prisoners. The first cell held two teens who looked stoned out of their minds. They were singing and banging on the bars as if they were drums. A heavy guy who looked like a Sumo wrestler sat on the floor in the second one, his eyes closed. Either he was asleep sitting up or in the midst of some heavy meditation. A homeless looking drunk who reeked of booze and pee hung onto the bars of the third, his eyes blurry looking.

  “Hey, bride!” he yelled. “Need a husband?”

  Marci grimaced.

  The three cells on the right were obviously designated for the women. The first cell held two hookers with overdone make-up and tattoos that looked as if they’d been done by an amateur. She needed to tell them about her tat artist.

  The second cell held a woman who had to weigh three hundred pounds. Her head looked like an onion, a slight fuss growing back where it had been shaved. And her arms were the size of ham hanks.

  The last cell held a bony woman with sallow skin. Poor thing needed to quit smoking and buy a decent moisturizer.

  Marci automatically reached for her purse to offer her a sample of hers, then realized she didn’t have a purse because she was in the clinker.

  The cop opened cell door two and threw her in with the beefy she-man. “You and Dorothy make nice now.”

  Marci swallowed hard as the woman gave her a once-over. Then she aimed a crooked smile at her that reminded her of all the horror stories about demented prisoners in jail.

  Was Dorothy going to make her her bitch before the detective could interrogate?

  *~*~*~*

  Cade watched Marci Turner step into the cell with the big bubba of a woman through the security cameras they’d installed in the jail last year. The mayor insisted it would ensure safer lock-ups for prisoners and offer protection to guards from false charges.

  But it has also come in handy in detective work. Some of the people they’d brought in were so upset, wasted, or cocky they often spilled details of their crimes to hang themselves without even knowing it.

  “What you in for?” Dorothy asked with a grunt. “Going barefoot with that designer dress?”

  Marci actually giggled, then plopped down on the cot. “No, this mean detective ran in and stopped my wedding. He said my fiancé stole money from his granny.”

  “Did he?” the skinny pale woman asked.

  “No, of course not.” At Dorothy’s questioning eyebrow raise, Marci chewed on her lip, smearing that red lipstick. Her shoulders sagged, the wedding gown slipping off one shoulder. “Well, at least if he did, I didn’t know about it.”

  Dorothy grunted again. “That sounds like a man.”

  Marci turned big innocent eyes toward her cellmate. “I just don’t get it. I thought he loved me. That he was my one and only like Kim found. Kim, she’s my twin sister, and she’s always been the good one.”

  “I had a sister like that, too,” Dorothy mumbled. “Goody-two shoe.”

  Marci nodded. “It’s not like she does it to make me look bad,” Marci said though in defense of her twin. “Kim’s just wired to be nice and respectable. And I was wired …”

  “To mess up,” Dorothy mumbled.

  “Exactly.” Marci released a defeated sigh. “But that was supposed to change today.”

  Cade winced as Georgia strode in and set two cups of coffee on the table. “She confessed yet?”

  “Not exactly,” Cade said, trying to get a read on Marci. Was this how she’d snowed all those innocent little old ladies into giving her boyfriend their money?

  He could see how it would work. Her innocent act was almost beguiling.

  Except what did she have to gain from Dorothy?

  Unless she figured she’d better make friends with the woman or Dorothy might hurt her…

  Marci twisted her veil in her hands, swinging her bare feet like she was a five-year-old having to sit in time-out on the playground. “What are you in for?”

  Dorothy rubbed a hand over her fuzzy hair. “Caught my old man humping my neighbor in my bed.”

  “Oh, my god, that’s awful.” Marci moved over and patted the woman’s hand. “But why did they arrest you?”

  “I cold cocked the bastard. Son of a bitch called the law. Said I assaulted him.” Dorothy sniffled. “I know I don’t look so pretty right now, but that chemo done made my hair fall out and the steroids made me blimp up like a pig being fattened up for Christmas.”

  “You poor thing.” Marci put her arm around the woman, and Dorothy leaned into her and blubbered like a baby.

  Cade shook his head.

  Five minutes later, Marci was giving Dorothy makeover advice like they were best friends.

  “Listen here, Dorothy, I can get you some shampoo and conditioner to help your hair grow back in better and stronger than before. It’s a little pricey but soon as I get back to cosmetology school, maybe I can get a discount.” Marci ripped the end of her gown and used it like a handkerchief to dry Dorothy’s tears, then traced a finger along the woman’s jaw. “Really, it’s not so bad, Dot. You have great skin, and your eyes are wonderful. With just a touch of powder and a little of this light blue eye shadow to accentuate your eyes, you’ll be a knock out.”

  Dot brightened, then Marci began examining the other woman’s nails.

  Georgia huffed. “Jesus, is this woman for real?”

  Cade didn’t know what to say. He’d never known anyone like Marci Turner.

  Either she was innocent or the best damn liar he’d ever met.

  *~*~*~*

  He gripped the phone with one hand and swiped at the perspiration on his forehead with the other as he leaned against the sign for The Roadkill Café. He kicked the gravel with a curse. He was out in the middle of nowhere on some Podunk country ass road that went nowhere.

  Hell, he’d driven like a maniac for the last hour chasing that asshole Pendergrass, but he’d lost him. Worse, now he’d had a flat in front of a place that served the animals they scraped off the side of the road.

  The phone clicked as his boss answered. “Tell me you have the shithead.”

  Might as well get it over with. “Dammit, no. He got away.”

  “Find him,” his boss barked. “I don’t care what it takes, I want him brought to me.”

  The sound of his boss’s unleashed fury relayed his threat. If he didn’t find the man, he was going to be road kill himself.

  �
��Yes, boss.”

  The phone went dead as his boss hung up, and he grimaced. Then an image of that sexy little woman Pendergrass had left at the altar flashed in his head.

  He knew exactly how to find Pendergrass.

  All he had to do was have a little chat with his bride.

  The poor sweet thing was probably crushed that her fiancé had skipped out. A little sympathy and seduction, and she’d be pouring out her troubles to him in no time.

  His finger rubbed the butt of his gun.

  If his charms didn’t work, he knew a lot of other ways to make a woman talk.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cade jerked his head up as his captain strode in. He took one look at the camera where Marci was now offering tips to the hookers on touching up their roots and grimaced.

  “That one has either got to be dumb as dirt or a pro.”

  His thinking exactly.

  Although for some reason hearing his captain disparage Marci irritated him. Maybe it was his condescending way of treating everyone like they were beneath him.

  That had to be it.

  He didn’t care one damn iota about Marci Turner’s feelings.

  Or her tears.

  Or the fact that she’d been consoling Dorothy through her own breakdown and now had offered the hookers free foils, whatever the hell that was. Then she’d given her number to the withered up hag in the neighboring cell and offered to do free mud treatments on her face to take ten years off of her life so she could find a decent boyfriend.

  “Did the officers find the bullet casings?” he asked, forcing his mind back on track.

  “Two slugs from a .38.” Captain Rayner tilted his head to the side as Marci yanked up her dress to show off the tattoo on her upper thigh. “Wow, just a little more, sweetcakes,” Rayner muttered beneath his breath.

  Cade gritted his teeth.

  A little more and you’d be able to see her underwear. That is, if she was wearing any. Which she probably wasn’t.