She's Gotta Be Mine (A sexy, funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 1) (Cottonmouth Series)

by Jasmine Haynes

  You wouldn’t have the courage to kill a man even for the woman you love.

  She was right. His inaction had forced Cookie’s action. Now his only choice was to protect her.

  “Let’s go over it one more time, Mr. Spivey.”

  “There’s nothing else to tell.”

  Sheriff Braxton pushed back in his chair, wheels squeaking, and spread his hands over his flat abdomen. He was a big man, well over six feet, and his feet stretched out past his desk. The lamp he’d turned on, tilted to the right, shone in Warren’s eyes. He squinted.

  “Sorry about that.” The sheriff leaned forward and snapped the light down to gleam on the desk.

  It didn’t help. Warren still felt spotlighted.

  Braxton slid his fingers through his hair, curls springing back up in the wake, then returned to his original position, legs crossed at ankles, hands on stomach. Relaxed. In control.

  Warren’s belly jerked.

  “Now, where were we? Oh yeah, clearing up a few details.”

  “Shouldn’t we be in some sort of interrogation room?” The sheriff’s informality made him nervous. “With witnesses and maybe a video tape.”

  “That’s not necessary. Unless you think I’m going to beat the information out of you.” The sheriff smiled, lots of teeth, predatory.

  “No. Of course not.” Warren’s own teeth threatened to chatter. He clamped his lips over them.

  Braxton picked up a pencil, tapping it on a small pad. “Now, why don’t you tell me what kind of shovel you used.”

  What kind? God almighty. He hadn’t even thought to ask Cookie that. “Isn’t that in my statement?”

  “Nope.”

  His thoughts whirling, Warren stalled. “Why is that important?”

  “Well, since we don’t have the murder weapon...” Tap, tap went the pencil, and Warren winced at the word murder. “We’ve got to make sure the wound pattern matches your description.”

  Think of something. “Well, I can’t really remember. I just bought it. I was going to do a little gardening...” He let his words trail off, hands held aloft in a helpless gesture. Christ, he was helpless, all right.

  “That should be easy to trace. Where’d you buy it? Sylvestor’s in town?”

  “No, out at the Home Depot in the minimall.” They must have tens of different kinds of shovels there.

  “Even easier.” The sheriff wrote something on his pad. “Those places have computer tracking these days.”

  Warren’s heart stuttered. “I paid cash.”

  “They track that, too. Piece of cake.” The sheriff flashed him another smile, this one friendly, two guys shooting the breeze. “What day did you buy it?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “The weekend? Last week? Week before?”

  The tapping pencil had begun to feel like a drum beating inside Warren’s skull. He wanted to scream. “I couldn’t say for sure.” He wouldn’t say for sure.

  The sheriff nodded, wrote on his pad. “Well, my boys’ll have no problem tracing it anyway.” He looked up, met Warren’s gaze. “They’re good. Now, you said you threw it in the lake.”

  “Yes.” Cookie told him she’d buried the shovel in the woods, she couldn’t remember where, but she’d walked a long way. Would her fingerprints still be detectable after the thing had lain beneath all that dirt? He prayed to God not, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  The sheriff looked pointedly at Warren’s arms in his short-sleeved shirt. “How far did you throw it and in what direction?”

  Goose bumps rose on Warren’s skin, despite the day’s heat still trapped in the room. “As far as I could. I’m not sure what direction. I did a sort of whirling motion, then let go.”

  The man wrote something else. “Couldn’t have gone too far. And it’s pretty shallow right there. Funny my men can’t find it.”

  “Maybe they’re not as good as you think.” The sheriff’s eyes hardened, and Warren corrected his mistake. “Maybe it got buried in some silt.”

  Braxton smiled. But the harshness never left his eyes. “That’s a good thought. I’ll have them dig down a little.”

  Warren gulped air. “Yes, I think you should do that.” When would this end?

  “Did you get any blood spatter on your clothes? Seems to reason there would be since you gave Jimbo one hell of a whack or two.” Braxton paused. “Or three.”

  The sheriff was good. Warren didn’t know how many whacks. His stomach now threatened to turn upside down. He cleared his throat. “I can’t remember about any blood. I really don’t think there was any...on me, I mean. But I went home and changed before I called...you.”

  “Then the clothes should still be there. I’ll have someone pick them up.” Another neat note on the pad.

  “Thank you.” What the hell else was he supposed to say under the circumstances? Suddenly, a ray of hope bloomed. Cookie hadn’t had blood on her. Maybe she’d told him at least the partial truth. Maybe she really was just a victim of circumstance and bad judgment. If only she hadn’t picked up that shovel...

  “What shoes were you wearing?”

  “Shoes?”

  “We need to match prints at the scene.”

  Christ. Another thing he hadn’t thought of. What if Cookie’s prints were visible? What had she been wearing? He should have wiped the area clean of any footprints. “I...well, not these ones. I guess they must be with my clothes.”

  The sheriff jotted. “You’re being very helpful, Mr. Spivey. Thank you. Now, about your car.”

  Blood rushed to his face. What the hell else had he forgotten? He should have watched all those detective shows Roberta was so fond of.

  “There was a whole mess of tire tracks out there. We’ll need to match at least one set to yours.”

  He could breathe again. Cookie had parked her car on the road and walked in. Her tire tracks wouldn’t be down at the lake. “My car is at your disposal.” His tire tracks, they would find. “Are we done, Sheriff? I have to admit I’m a bit tired.”

  He needed time to think. Right now, the only thing he was sure of was that if Cookie had murdered Jimbo, it was only because he, Warren, had failed to protect her.

  He wouldn’t fail her again. No matter what he had to do, he’d make sure Cookie did not go to jail for her husband’s murder.

  Reviewing the notes on his pad, Braxton said, “Just a few more questions.” He looked up, his gaze laser-sharp. “I’d like to go over why you were meeting Jimbo out at the lake again.”

  Roberta had told him the Dennis Crouch thing was lame. She was right. He worked furiously on how to jazz it up, make it believable. Without truly altering it. “Well, he was angry about the fact that I might be stealing business from Dennis Crouch.” He took a deep breath, then rushed on. “And he was really angry about my treatment of my wife, too.”

  The sheriff raised a brow.

  “You see, he really liked Roberta. Thought she was sweet. Which she is. And he felt that I’d done her a great disservice. Which I had.” Did this sound any less lame? He didn’t have a choice now that he’d started. Too many deep breaths were making him light-headed. “And he was very angry.”

  “But Jimbo had only known Bobbie a week.”

  “Yes, well...” Well, what? Come on, man, think. Cookie’s life is at stake. If he didn’t come up with something good, Cookie was right, they’d start looking straight at her. “You know, I’m really getting tired. Could we continue this tomorrow?”

  “Just a little more, Mr. Spivey. You’re on a roll here.”

  He had that right. A roll which would lead right to Cookie if he didn’t shut up.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you think Jimbo would call you in the middle of the night and ask you to meet him out at the lake when he could have come to your office the next morning?”

  He didn’t believe him. The man did not believe him. “I can’t tell you why he called me in the middle of the night. I wasn’
t in his mind.”

  “Oh, wait a minute. I forgot.” The sheriff pulled a document close, flipped the pages, read. “Yep, it’s right there.” He glanced up, pinning Warren with a look. “I got it wrong, Mr. Spivey. In your statement, you said you called Jimbo.”

  Shit. “I’ve had enough, Sheriff. I’ve decided you’re right. I need a lawyer. I’m not saying another thing until I get one.”

  The sheriff raised his hands in surrender. “Whatever, Mr. Spivey. That’s your right. I’m sure he’ll help you get your story straight.”

  He’d fucked up. Badly. First he hadn’t known the answers to stuff he should have known if he was guilty. Now he’d contradicted himself. Cookie, forgive me, but I’ll still protect you with my life.

  He just might have to.

  “One last thing, if you don’t mind. Feel free not to answer, of course.”

  Warren closed his eyes and nodded.

  “We found some awfully big prints out there, ten to one says they’re from a man’s shoe. Didn’t match Jimbo, we checked. What’s your size?” He leaned out over the desk and looked at Warren’s feet, then grunted. “Way too big to be yours.” His gaze shot to Warren’s face. “Know anyone else who could have made them?”

  * * * * *

  Bobbie pursued Nick to the house. “What do you mean your shovel is missing?”

  She almost ran into him as he turned on the porch.. “I used a spade to bury the cat last Monday. Today that spade is gone.” He stared down at her, his eyes as hard as his chest muscles. “And Jimbo had his head beaten in with a shovel. So, what the hell do you think I’m saying?”

  “Well, you’re certainly not saying you had anything to do with it.” She bit her lip. “Are you?”

  He opened his mouth. She snapped her hand up to cover it. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I don’t think you did it.”

  His eyes were chunks of black ice. He shoved her hand away. “You don’t think?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I know you didn’t do it.” But God, this was bad, really bad. If Warren took back his confession, Nick was next in line for the gas chamber. Or was it lethal injection? Whatever, dead was dead. She drew her lip between her teeth, bit down until it hurt. “But I’m wondering what Brax is really thinking.”

  He stared at her a long time without a word. She couldn’t be sure which part of what she said was taking him so long to digest.

  “So, why is your shovel missing, that’s the question.”

  He quirked a brow. “Brax is trying to frame me?”

  She huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He thinks you’re one of the good guys, even if you two seem to be at odds.”

  Nick laughed outright. “At odds? Bobbie, I figured you for an eternal optimist, and I was absolutely effing right. Brax hates my guts, and he’d love nothing better than to pin Jimbo’s murder on me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But he wouldn’t plant evidence to do it. He’s by the book.”

  “He’s one of the good guys, too.”

  His gaze skimmed her face, looking for something she wasn’t sure he found. “I hate to agree. But he’s still an asshole. Guess that leaves you.”

  “Me?” She barely avoided letting her voice squeak.

  “Yeah. You. Your husband. And what you’ll do to save him.”

  He might as well have reached inside her chest and ripped her heart out. “I wouldn’t do anything that hurts you.”

  He looked at her, eyes dark, simmering with some hot emotion. Rage. Or hope.

  She’d have put her hand on his arm, except that she was afraid he’d tear it off like some savage animal. “Not even for Warren.”

  He didn’t answer with words, muscle movement was enough. Some of the anger leached from his gaze. The tight jaw eased.

  “So what are we going to do about the shovel?” she asked, hoping he’d hear the we.

  “Nothing we can do since it’s already gone.” He looked down at her empty hands. “Didn’t you bring something good to eat?”

  She unclenched her fists. Emergency over, at least for now. “I’ve been with Warren. I didn’t have time.” She licked her lips. “He didn’t do this, you know.”

  Nick turned and banged the back door open with the flat of his hand. Moving swiftly through the kitchen, he bounded up the stairs two at a time. By the time she located him, he was standing in his closet, a bare bulb lit above his head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just wondering if there’s a pair of shoes missing, too.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer, clicked the light off instead and closed the door. “Guess they’re all there.”

  “You can’t tell if your shoes are missing?”

  “I’ve got a big yard. With a lot of dog shit. Neighborhood dogs. I throw out a lot of shoes.”

  Settling her hands on her hips, she peered at him. “Is Brax looking for shoes as well as a shovel?”

  “Yep.”

  “And if I prove Warren didn’t kill Jimbo, then Brax is going to come after you.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you think someone’s got your shovel to trot it out just at the right time. To make it look like you killed Jimbo.”

  “Yep.”

  “Would you stop saying yep?” She was almost shouting. It was worse than she’d thought. “I can’t let him go to jail for something he didn’t do.”

  Nick took a step forward and dropped his voice to a seductive, frightening whisper. “Do you want to know what I really think, Bobbie?”

  No. “What?”

  “I think Cookie Beaumont asked your husband to kill Jimbo in order to get her out of her marriage.”

  Her insides cramped. “She told him that Jimbo beat her. But to actually ask Warren to kill him?” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “She fed me the same sob story about Jimbo being abusive. You have to ask yourself why, now that Jimbo’s dead.” He stood in the shadows cast by the blinds. Strips of light slashed his chest and face, but covered the slits of his eyes. And he waited.

  What was she supposed to say? Or even feel? Too much had happened too quickly, and each new bit of information only brought a numbness to her bones. Cookie had tried to coerce Nick. Which meant Cookie had planned her husband’s murder long before Warren came to town. Warren, you fool. She could almost feel sorry for him. “We have to tell Brax.”

  “It’s too late. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Brax’ll just think I’m saying it to cover my own butt.”

  “It will at least get him looking at Cookie.”

  “He’ll already be looking at Cookie because she was having an affair with your husband.”

  Paralysis crawled down her arms to her fingers. “Warren didn’t tell him about Cookie. He said Jimbo was mad at him because he was stealing clients from someone named Dennis Grouch.”

  “Crouch?” Nick snorted. “Didn’t you tell Brax then?”

  “No.” The word didn’t make much of a sound in the quiet room. Princess had long since stopped barking. The streets were devoid of children, mothers having called them in for the night. Silence reigned except for the echo of that word between them.

  “Why not?”

  “Because...” She licked her lips. “Because if Brax knows Warren was having an affair with Cookie, then he’ll also have a motive. Nothing would save Warren after that.”

  “He confessed, Bobbie. Whether he did the deed or she did it, he’s covering for her. He’s already made his choice about what he wants to do.”

  “But I can’t let him—”

  He spread his hands. “Is he asking for your help?”

  “No.”

  “Then tell Brax the truth and let what happens happen.”

  It would be the easiest thing. No struggle. No saying horrible things to Warren to get him to cave in. And Brax wouldn’t look at Nick as suspect number two.

  She put her hands to her cheeks, covering her lips with her pinkies. “I can’t.”

  “
Because you’re still in love with him?”

  The very idea made her sink onto the edge of Nick’s bed. “I...”

  What? She didn’t know? Worse. She simply hadn’t given her love for Warren a thought for so many years, she couldn’t even begin to count. Despite what Warren had done, that had been her crime against him. It wasn’t about love; it had all been about her and what she wasn’t getting from him.

  “It’s not his fault, you know. He’s a good man. He always tried to do his best.”

  But he’d stopped wanting her. All she’d wanted was to make him start again. At some point, love had ceased to be the issue. “He’s trying to prove to Cookie that he’s worthy. But I won’t let him sacrifice himself.” She swiped a tear before it overflowed her eye. “It isn’t because I hate Cookie. This is about Warren.”

  Nick towered above her, expression implacable. “He isn’t a child, Bobbie. You can’t wave a magic wand and make all his troubles go away. He’s the only one who can solve his problems.”

  “Don’t you see?” She stared up at him, needing him to understand for some inexplicable reason. “That’s how this whole thing got started. Because I did let him solve his own problems. Because I let him make all the decisions whether I thought they were the right ones or not.” And because she’d been afraid to make the decisions herself. She was a coward. They hadn’t had kids, not solely because of Warren, but because she was afraid to have another human being depend on her. She’d never taken responsibility for anything.

  “And look what happened,” she whispered. “He’s in jail for a murder he didn’t do.”

  “Maybe he did it. Maybe this was important enough for him.”

  “No.” Her vehemence clogged her throat. She swallowed. “I know him. He wouldn’t.” She bit her lip. “He couldn’t.”

  Nick was unrelenting. “Because it would mean he loved her more than he ever loved you?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Warren had never loved her the way he’d loved Cookie. His high school sweetheart had lived in his dreams, his midnight fantasies. Roberta had been a substitute. Always. To chase away the chill in her fingers, she tucked her hands between her knees. The mattress sagged beside her. She tilted toward Nick, her shoulder brushing the warmth of his. She wanted to crawl into his arms.