I knew, though, that I’d have to get over some of that control problem if I was to get some truly helpful help. Letting him make me coffee would be like a therapy session along with the interview. What small business owner doesn’t take every opportunity to multitask? “Go right ahead.”
I sat down and tried not to twitch. I will admit that a little tic started in my left eye when he didn’t measure the grounds, but it actually looked about right when he started pouring the water in. He set a timer, then turned and leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. He had on a cotton V-neck T-shirt and jeans and somehow made it look like something from a fashion magazine.
“So . . .” I started.
He held one finger up to his lips to hush me. “Wait for it.” He walked over to the refrigerator, pulled out the cream, found the pitcher, poured it into the pitcher and set it on the table. The timer went off. He poured a cup for each of us into thick white china mugs, then sat down across from me.
I poured in a little cream and took a sip. My eyebrows went up.
He laughed, which was a wonderful sound. Rich and rumbling. “Eric says you make the second-best cup of coffee in Grand Lake.”
I smiled. “I think I do. This is excellent. What’s your training?” I sat back, waiting to hear about a culinary institute or cooking school of some kind.
“Standing at my grand-mère’s elbow from the time I was two until I joined the military at eighteen.” He smiled back.
“Eric did tell you this is only part-time, right?” This man seemed way too together and way too skilled to need a part-time job at my little popcorn shop in my little Podunk town.
He nodded and drank his coffee. “He also said you might be able to be somewhat flexible.”
“Within reason.” I tried to figure out how to ask all the questions I had and finally said, “What’s your story?”
He retrieved a folder from his messenger bag, took out a piece of paper and slid it across the table to me. A résumé.
Everything started to make more sense. “You’re a photographer?”
“At least, I want to be. It’s not the easiest profession to break into.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Or to make enough money in to cover all the bills. I need a little something steady coming in while I get my business off the ground.”
This could be perfect. There really was only one way to know, though, and it wasn’t by looking at a piece of paper. “When can you start?”
“Tomorrow?”
I stuck my hand out. “I’ll have the paperwork ready for you by six thirty.”
Before we could say good-bye, however, my phone buzzed. It was the sheriff’s office. My first thought was that Dan was calling to tell me that we were at T minus zero. Haley was in labor. It was go time! The Peanut was on the horizon!
“Hello!” My voice sounded breathless.
“Hello, my lovely.” Not Dan. Antoine.
“Why are you calling me from the sheriff’s office?” I didn’t bother keeping the disappointment out of my voice.
He sighed. “I have only the one phone call. The only person I could think to call was you.”
“Wait. One phone call?” I really didn’t want that to mean what I thought it meant.
“Yes. I have been arrested, Rebecca.” He sighed. “The one phone call isn’t only on television, apparently.”
“What are the charges?”
“Murder.”
“How about starting now?” I asked Dario.
“I’m on it.” He grabbed an apron from behind the door and tied it around his waist. I ran out without even bothering to put the fudge away.
Four
I marched into Dan’s office, not bothering to stop at the front desk. Vera trailed after me, protesting that I needed to check in. “What the heck, Dan? I know you don’t like Antoine, but arresting him for murder? This is ridiculous.”
“This has nothing to do with whether or not I like Antoine. If I arrested everyone I didn’t like our jail cells would be packed.” Dan leaned back in his chair, waving Vera away with one hand.
It wasn’t strictly true. Dan had an annoying tendency to try to see the good in everyone. I actually think it made him a better peace officer than most. It seemed to let him accept people’s flaws without letting those flaws obscure the whole picture. Antoine might have been the exception to that rule. Well, him and Truman Schneider, the dad who had to be forcibly removed from one of the Grand Lake High football games for trash-talking. “Then what does it have to do with?”
“Evidence, Rebecca. Cold, hard evidence.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I sat down hard, feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. “What kind of evidence? I thought you said everything pointed to suicide.”
“It did originally. But then we dug deeper into her finances and it looks like Melanie was stealing from Antoine. She had access to all his accounts. I told you she was in debt. It looks like she was helping herself to some of Antoine’s money to ease her way out of that.” He leaned forward again. “She wasn’t too subtle about it, either. Huerta tracked it back pretty fast.”
The ball of anxiety in my stomach loosened a bit. That proved nothing. “First of all, how do you know Antoine even knew?” Antoine was terrible with money. As long as there was enough of it to do what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it, he couldn’t have cared less. He didn’t see the point of balancing a checkbook or making a budget or anything else. His pride wasn’t caught up in it nor was his passion.
“Well, to start with, we have a very angry message on her voice mail from Mr. Belanger,” Dan said.
Angry Antoine? Oh, yeah. I’d seen that before. The flip side of the coin of his joyous passion was his sudden descents into fury. I couldn’t believe it was about money, though. “And he said that he knew she was stealing from him?”
Dan nodded. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I’ll play it for you.”
“Do it.” I folded my arms over my chest, mirroring his body language. Dan had misinterpreted whatever Antoine had said. I was sure of it.
He took the phone out of the desk, punched some numbers and hit the speaker button. Antoine’s voice came out of the phone, tinny and faraway, but still definitely Antoine’s voice. “You little thief. I know it was you. Prepare yourself. Prepare a defense if you have any. I am on my way.”
Sprocket had started to growl the second he heard Antoine’s voice. I patted his head. “It’s okay, boy.” He barked in reply, like maybe he thought I was lying. I thought maybe I was, too. The ball of worry had returned big-time. “When did he send that?”
“Around seven o’clock the night Melanie died.” Dan put the phone back in his desk drawer. “Actually, if it hadn’t been for everything you said about it not looking like Melanie committed suicide, I don’t know if I would have dug deep enough to find all the evidence we have against him.”
Great. So I was responsible for Antoine getting arrested. The phone message sounded bad, but I still couldn’t believe that Antoine would kill anyone ever, especially not over money. “Can I see him?”
“Rebecca.” Dan looked pained. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
I absolutely did not think it was a good idea. I thought it was a terrible idea. I thought any sane ex-wife would be happy to let the man who had broken her heart rot in jail whether or not he was guilty of the accusations leveled against him and whether or not she felt she had any responsibility in getting him arrested. I knew many sad and tragic stories started with “I thought it was a good idea at the time.” All my sad and tragic stories started with “I knew it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway.” Fingers crossed that this was going to be one more Antoine story that I would tell to acquaintances later over too many martinis for big laughs. I said, “I don’t think that’s relevant. I need to see him.”<
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“It’s your funeral,” Dan said. He got up and summoned Officer Huerta.
Glenn Huerta is pretty much the definition of tall, dark and handsome. Coal-black hair, soulful brown eyes, flashing white teeth, shoulders like the linebacker he was back in high school. He flashed his dazzling Chiclet smile at me. “Hey, Rebecca. How’s it going, girl?”
It was impossible not to smile back. “Well, you know, I hired someone to help out at POPS and you’ve arrested my ex-husband for murder, so it’s kind of an up-and-down day.”
“I hear you. Come on, I’ll take you to see Antoine.” He beckoned me out the door. “Is Sprocket going to behave himself in there?”
I glanced down at my dog. There were only two people he had ever acted aggressively toward. Since the first had been a killer, I felt that he’d shown better judgment than most people on that one. The other, unfortunately, was Antoine. Every time he heard his voice, he’d start to growl. A horrible thought hit me. What if Sprocket was some kind of early murderer detection system? What if he’d known all along that Antoine was a killer and had been trying to warn me to stay away?
Then I remembered that Sprocket had recently tried to eat a dirty sock and decided he simply wasn’t that smart. He still didn’t like Antoine, though. “Maybe he could hang out with you while I talk to Antoine?”
“Sure thing.” Huerta took Sprocket’s leash from me and opened a door. Antoine was sitting at a metal table inside the room and was chained to a large hook in the center of it. A wave of déjà vu passed over me. The last man I’d seen chained to that table had been innocent. Jasper. I’d nearly helped convict him, too. The only reason I wasn’t still racked with guilt over it was because I’d also been the one to clear his name. And got him to bathe more regularly. And frankly, he was still kind of a pain in the ass, so every once in a while I wondered if I’d really done anyone any favors by clearing him.
Antoine tried to rise from his seat, but the chains around his wrists stopped him, half stooped over the table. “You came. Oh, chérie. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to see you, mon coeur, mon vie.”
Sprocket growled.
Huerta looped the leash a couple of more times around his meaty forearm. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Dan says that’s all you get.”
I went in and Huerta closed the door behind us. I sat because I knew Antoine would not until I did. He would stand there half bent over the table until either whatever lady was in the room had sat down or hell froze over. You pick. “Are you okay?” I asked.
He shrugged. No one can shrug quite like the French. Say what you will about their habit of surrendering to the Germans or their casual attitude toward marital infidelity, no one can touch their gestures of insouciance. “I am afraid I am in a bit of a tight spot.”
I snorted. “No joke.”
Antoine frowned. He wasn’t crazy about me doing things like snorting. He liked me to at least pretend to be ladylike. “First of all, you must know, I did not do it. I did not hurt Melanie.”
“Dan played me a pretty nasty little voice mail you left her.” I watched his eyes.
“I admit. I was angry with her. Very angry.” He leaned back in his chair as much as the chain would allow him. I tried to figure out how he managed to get an orange jumpsuit that fit him so well. Seriously, it looked tailored. “But I did not harm her.”
“When did you find out about the money, then?” Antoine’s temper was ferocious, but it burned out as fast as it blew up. He must have figured it out moments before he made the phone call to Melanie.
Antoine drew back a bit. “Money? They think I killed her because she was stealing money?”
“I heard the message, Antoine. You called her a thief.” Apparently Dan hadn’t been too forthcoming on why they were arresting him.
“Ah, yes, the message. I was going to fire her and tell her that she would be forever ruined in this industry. I would have her blackballed from one side of the globe to another.” The color was rising in Antoine’s cheeks. “I would make sure she would never work as even the lowest line cook at the greasiest diner in Detroit, Michigan. I would . . .”
I held up my hand to stop him. “Kill her? Is that what you were going to say? That you would kill her?”
Antoine deflated. “No, Rebecca, no. I was as angry as I have ever been in my life, but I swear those words never crossed my lips because that thought never crossed my mind.”
“Did you go see her, Antoine?” I asked.
He nodded again, this time looking miserable. “I went to her hotel room. I knocked, but no one answered.”
“Can you prove that?” I asked.
“I’m sure someone heard me knocking. I was angry. I was perhaps a bit louder than I should have been.” He looked down at his hands, his shoulders hunched.
I snorted again. That would probably be an understatement. Antoine’s very good at projecting his voice. When he wants to be loud, he can be very, very loud.
Instead of frowning at my unladylike noises, though, Antoine’s face crumpled. “Do you know what breaks my heart the most, Rebecca?” He took my hand from across the table. “Maybe I could have helped. Maybe I could have stopped whatever happened. If she committed suicide like your Sheriff Dan thought at first, maybe I could have stopped her.”
I patted his hand. “There are a whole lot of maybes floating around right now, Antoine. The one thing that isn’t even the slightest bit of a maybe is that you need a good lawyer and you need one now.”
It was a good thing I knew where to find one.
* * *
Garrett stared at me from across his desk, completely unmoving. It was as if he had turned into a statue. “You cannot be serious.”
I had come directly from the jail to his office. “I’m dead serious.”
“I will not represent your ex-husband in his murder trial. That’s just crazy.” He still hadn’t moved. It was as if I’d stunned him into immobility.
“You have to, Garrett. He’s innocent. He looks guilty, but he’s not. He needs someone who can really represent him. Someone smart. Someone good.” I left out the part where it was sort of my fault that Antoine had been arrested in the first place and that I maybe kind of owed him.
“There are lots of lawyers in . . .” His words drifted off. He was about to say there were lots of lawyers to choose from, but there weren’t in Grand Lake. There was Garrett and there was Phillip Meyer. I wouldn’t trust Meyer to get me out of a traffic ticket, but Garrett had experience as a defense attorney. He knew how this all worked.
“Think about it. You’d be representing an innocent man. How often does a defense attorney get to do that?” I tried to make it sound as enticing as bacon.
Garrett gave me a withering look. “Don’t play that game with me, Rebecca.”
I held my hands up in front of me. “I’m not playing a game. Someone’s life is truly at stake here.”
Garrett picked up a pencil and began tapping it rapidly against his desk blotter. It was a relief to have him finally move. Sprocket thumped his tail in the same rhythm. Garrett stopped tapping. Sprocket stopped thumping. “I don’t like him,” Garrett said. “I don’t like him one bit.”
The first time Antoine and Garrett had met there was a fistfight. I’d pretty much gathered they didn’t like each other. I also didn’t think it should be relevant.
“Is that a reason to let an innocent man be railroaded on a murder charge?” I asked. “How many of your clients back in Cleveland did you actually like?”
Garrett raised his eyebrows. “A surprising number. Just because a person is a felon doesn’t mean he or she isn’t good company.”
“Okay. So how many of them were innocent?” I pressed.
Garrett went stony still. I don’t know what scab I’d picked at, but apparently it was one that bled pretty easily. “Innocence or guilt doesn’t matter, Re
becca. Everyone is entitled to a defense. Everyone. The job of a defense attorney is to provide one.”
Ha! He’d made my argument for me. “Then why won’t you provide one for Antoine?”
Garrett took a deep breath and blew it out. “When do you think Antoine is going to stop trying to get you back?”
Now it was my turn to look uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. I don’t know why he’s so fired up to get me back in the first place.”
“How hard do you think I’ll fight to get my rival for your affections out of jail, where he can pursue with everything he can bring to bear? The wealth. The fame. The travel.”
I blinked. “He’s not your rival.” There had been an unfortunate incident when Antoine was trying to get me to return to him where he had gone down on his knees in front of the whole town and it had looked like I’d accepted his proposal. I hadn’t. It was all a big misunderstanding, but unfortunately it left Garrett looking at Antoine like he was an actual rival for my affections.
“Really? Could have fooled me.” Garrett pushed back in his chair.
“I am not going back to Antoine. Not now. Not in a week. Not in a month. Not in a year.” I leaned forward. “When you were both at my apartment, who stayed and who left? We didn’t even drink his wine.”
“I still don’t think I should represent him.” Garrett’s shoulders relaxed. “He really should have someone who’s going to give him the best possible defense and it simply isn’t me, Rebecca.”
He had a point about that. “Fine. Then who do you suggest?”
He wrote a name, a phone number and an address down on a piece of paper and handed it over to me. “This is the contact info for Cynthia Harlen. She’s good. Very good. Tell her I sent you, otherwise you might not be able to get an appointment.”
Pop Goes the Murder Page 6
