Lawful Engagement - Linda O Johnston

by Intrigue Romance

  Cara wasn’t about to argue with Mitch about her idol’s exploits. “Do you want to talk about my list, or don’t you?”

  “Sure.” How could he put so much amusement in one word?

  Cara glared and snatched back the piece of paper. “If you want my opinion, there are only four or five angry enough about what I wrote to consider getting back at me.”

  “And they are…?” He sounded all business again.

  Cara rattled off a few names. “The worst was Jackson Felmington, a real sleaze bucket, though I treated him as fairly as possible in my story. He’s a car dealer, the kind who gives the whole group a bad name. He sells demo models as new, and that’s probably the mildest of his shoddy practices. I wrote about him a few months ago. He was hopping mad, threatened to sue the Gazette and me and everyone Beau and I ever knew. And if that didn’t scare us enough, he mentioned some mob contacts he just happened to have.”

  “I remember that story and the follow-up by the Consumer Affairs Section of the state’s Department of Transportation. I gather he gave a big mea culpa, paid a hefty fine and promised to be a good boy. Have you heard anything from him since?”

  Cara shook her head. “I figured he’d keep a low profile, let things die down and get back to his sordid business.”

  “Could be. Anyone else?”

  “Well…there’s Shem O’Hallihan.”

  “Oh, right. The building contractor. Premium prices for second-rate materials, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but since what he used was legal, he was never arrested, though some civil lawsuits are pending against him.”

  “And he threatened you?”

  “Not overtly, though it’s a good thing I don’t own my own place. Otherwise, it just might collapse around me someday from some subtle sabotage.”

  “And none of this bothered you?”

  “I had a job to do, and I did it. Like you.” She half expected an argument, that what he did was much more important.

  Instead he grinned. It wasn’t an expression she’d seen often on Mitch’s usually solemn face. It suited him. A lot.

  “You’re really something, Cara Hamilton.”

  She felt a flush rise up her face. She didn’t like it. She hated feeling embarrassed. “Yeah. Well…thanks. I guess.”

  His hearty laugh surrounded her. Something else new…and nice. People at neighboring tables looked over and smiled as if his pleasure was contagious. Cara found herself smiling, too.

  But then he regained his usual seriousness and waved the paper. “You haven’t heard from any of these people recently? You have no reason to suspect anyone more than the others as the driver of the truck yesterday?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  And that was it. For the rest of their meal, they didn’t talk any more about the people who might want to hurt her, about Nancy or even about Sally. They chatted about Mustang County and where else they’d been and other superficial but, thankfully, uncontroversial topics.

  Rather, Cara talked. And asked questions that Mitch answered succinctly, followed by many of his own. She had the impression that he purposely avoided mastery of the art of conversation, instead preferring to listen. And he changed the subject quickly when she asked about his father.

  Still, when they had finished, when Cara tried—to no avail—to split the bill, she realized that this had felt suspiciously like a date with Deputy Mitch Steele.

  Suspiciously being the key word.

  When they walked out, Cara stopped by the restaurant door on the busy Main Street sidewalk. “No further leads in the case to share, Mitch? Anything at all I can put in the paper?”

  “Not yet. And what I told you before is off the record.”

  “About Deputy Zeller? Sure,” she grumbled.

  HER PROMISE DID NOT, however, prevent her from telling her boss, even if she couldn’t mention it in the paper. Yet.

  She sat in Beau’s office. “We can’t print anything about it yet,” she said. “But I’ll follow up. Do you suppose Hurley Zeller dating Nancy Wilks could explain why the Sheriff’s Department didn’t solve the first two killings?”

  Beau’s frown carved enough tucks in his brow that he looked twenty years older than his sixty-two years. “How?”

  “Well, Nancy worked for Lambert & Church. And the law firm had a connection to both those murders.”

  “And? You need more than something as tenuous as that to make accusations, or even hint at something deceitful.”

  Cara sighed. “I know. But it’s something else worth following up on.”

  “Why not?” Beau agreed. “But after that truck incident yesterday, watch your step, Cara. Don’t make any more enemies.”

  That sounded like something Mitch would say. She didn’t like it from either man.

  Even if they were right.

  MITCH USUALLY AVOIDED Deputy Hurley Zeller as if he smelled bad. Which he did sometimes. Always, if Mitch counted his attitude.

  Today, though, he needed to talk to Zeller…first thing. If Mrs. Carrow had told both Cara and him about Nancy’s dating habits, they were unlikely to be the only ones, despite Mitch’s request that she not repeat it until he’d had a chance to look into it. And though Cara had agreed to keep it off the record, she wouldn’t forget about it, either. She would dig to see how deep this relationship went.

  Not that Mitch gave a damn if Zeller got any bad publicity that was coming to him. But it would do the department no good to ignore or whitewash the liaison.

  As a result Mitch crossed the deputy administration room, from his corner to the opposite one occupied by Zeller.

  Zeller, seated behind a desk littered with papers and old coffee cups, apparently recognized the rareness of the occurrence. A puzzled expression came over his face till he pasted on one of his simian smiles. “Need help, Steele? Crying uncle on the Wilks investigation already?”

  “No, but under the circumstances I’d have expected you to shed a few tears, crocodile or not, over our latest victim.”

  Hurley’s smile vanished. “What do you mean?”

  “How long were you dating Nancy Wilks?”

  The color disappeared from the hefty man’s face, immediately replaced by a flush so red that Mitch half expected to see blood seep from his pores. Was the guy about to have a stroke?

  “Who told you that?” There was a hint of Zeller’s usual bluster in his voice, as if he was about to deny it.

  “One of Nancy’s neighbors. You’ll see it in my report.”

  Hurley’s gaze dropped. “I only took her out a couple of times,” he muttered. “I met her at the law firm during our investigation of Paul Lambert, and she and I hit it off. But I figured it wasn’t a good idea for me to be seeing her after we took Lambert into custody, especially after he offed himself. It might look bad.”

  “And I don’t suppose she made a fuss about your dumping her, so you had to shut her up to keep your little conflict of interest from becoming public.” Mitch was stretching things, but he wanted to see Zeller’s reaction.

  It was pretty much as he’d expected. Zeller half rose, fists clenched at his beefy sides that bulged out of his uniform trousers. “No way, Steele. You’re not gonna solve your sloppy investigation of Nancy’s case by pinning her murder on me.”

  Mitch tensed, half expecting Hurley to take a swing at him. But before he could reply, Sheriff Ben Wilson appeared in the door of the admin room.

  “Steele. Zeller. My office. Now.”

  BEN WASTED NO TIME once Mitch was seated beside Hurley, across the desk from their superior. “I just got a heads up about an article that’ll appear in the next Gazette, Hurley, and it involves you.”

  An article in the Gazette? Mitch’s blood began to simmer as he continued to listen.

  In his buddy Ben’s presence, the usual confident bluster returned to Zeller’s voice. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Were you dating our vic, Nancy Wilks?”

  Mitch glanced ove
r at Hurley and saw rage in his tiny eyes. If glares were lasers, Mitch figured he’d have been fried.

  Hurley shrugged. Obviously he hadn’t told Ben yet.

  Though Hurley neither confirmed nor denied the allegation, Ben kept talking. “I just got a call from Beau Jennings at the Gazette. He said he just came across some information confirmed by eyewitnesses that’ll appear in a story in tomorrow’s edition, but first he wanted my statement on whether I was aware one of my deputies had a relationship with the victim.” He glared at Hurley, but when his gaze landed on Mitch, it was downright hostile. “I don’t suppose you know how Beau happened to hear this nasty rumor, do you, Steele?”

  He could guess. It was a good thing the beautiful, vivacious, untrustworthy reporter Cara Hamilton wasn’t present. He wasn’t sure what he might have done to her.

  He knew one thing he wouldn’t do with her. Not again.

  He knew better than to hand anyone information pertinent to a case. Of course, Cara had learned this tidbit independently. But she’d promised to keep it off the record, at least for now.

  And what had she done? She’d immediately told her boss—who just happened to be the owner and editor of the newspaper. As if she could avoid her promise through such a slimy technicality.

  Well, she had cooked her own goose in this investigation. From now on Mitch would insist that she share everything she learned. Otherwise he would haul her in for obstruction of justice.

  And he would be damned if he would trust her again.

  Chapter Seven

  Cara nearly choked on toast at her breakfast table the next morning when she scanned that day’s first edition of the Gazette—delivered, of course, to her doorstep.

  “Damn it, Beau,” she shouted into her empty kitchen, over the drone of news from a Ft. Worth station that she kept low on her TV each morning. She pounded her small table so it sidled along the hardwood floor. He knew how she felt about someone stealing her research for a story. She’d made it more than clear when Jerry did it, though she’d had to swallow some of her fury then, since the guy had been her boss’s nephew.

  And this time it was her boss who’d done it. Probably thought he made it right by adding eyewitness backup and giving her some of the credit. Instead he might have made it worse.

  Her dim-witted boss was going to ruin everything she’d tried to accomplish by her uneasy alliance with Mitch.

  The follow-up articles on Nancy’s murder dominated the front section, practically filling the first page. News of the murder had been picked up by all the local Ft. Worth and Dallas TV stations. Probably their local papers, too. One Gazette article was actually hers, written late yesterday after further interviews she’d conducted: a couple of columns of human interest about Nancy’s childhood in Mustang Valley, her grieving family, her bewildered and irate friends, the funeral arrangements.

  The other article had started out as hers, with on-the-record information about how the investigation was going so far. Not that she’d checked every fact with Mitch, but she’d been careful to keep things general: yes, the Sheriff’s Department was doing its job, and evidence was still being collected and assessed. No, there were no suspects in custody yet. Nothing about her attack by a truck, as there wasn’t anything to tell. There was nothing controversial in the article. Mitch would have blessed it as she’d written it, she was sure.

  Only, her version wasn’t what made it into the paper. No byline, at least, but Beau had credited both himself and her at the end. And in it he’d added that item she’d imparted to him off the record: part of the investigation centered around one of the Sheriff’s Department’s own—a deputy who’d dated the victim. No names named, but a hint of a big exposé in the offing.

  Mitch would be furious.

  Cara had already showered and dressed for the day in one of her favorite outfits—long skirt, blue this time, with a soft yellow blouse, a many-pocketed beige vest and her low-topped boots. She made sure she had all necessary paraphernalia in her purse. New tapes for her handheld recorder? Check. Enough paper in her notebook? Check. Usually she grabbed her cell phone from its charging cradle. Today, she just made a mental note to arrange for a new one.

  Cara drove to the newspaper office first, rehearsing in her mind her impending confrontation with Beau. She felt deflated but unsurprised he wasn’t there yet. Hadn’t even called in, an intern told her. Chicken! Cara thought.

  Her phone light blinked in her office, signifying a message. From Mitch, the last person she wanted to talk to? Of course. “Call me, Cara.” His curt tone confirmed he was royally peeved. She decided to wait, let him cool down before she called.

  Plus, it’d be a lot better to have something to bribe him with before trying to convince him not to terminate their pact. Telling him she’d done nothing wrong, that it was Beau who’d spilled the beans, wouldn’t cut it. But if she had some juicy new information to dangle before his gorgeous golden eyes…

  She sat at her desk, munching on the malted milk balls she always kept in a glass jar and making notes on her game plan to follow up on the story of Nancy Wilks and the other murders: who to interview, in what order, what other research was needed.

  It wasn’t the only story she was working on, of course—just the most important. She dashed off an article she’d already researched on the second car accident in three weeks at a busy and dangerous local intersection. Then, as she got ready to call to set up interviews regarding Nancy’s murder, her phone rang.

  She didn’t recognize the number on caller ID. Was Mitch so eager to chew her out he wasn’t waiting for her return call? Wincing in advance, she lifted the receiver. “Cara Hamilton here.” She forced her usual confidence into her tone. No use starting out wimpily with him.

  “Hi, Cara. It’s Della. Are you free for lunch today?”

  She shouldn’t be, with a list as long as the one she’d jotted down plus the other stories nipping at her heels. But a nice, quiet meal with someone who wouldn’t give her a hard time sounded perfect. “Sure. When and where?”

  They made plans, and Cara entered the time and place on her personal digital assistant.

  Then she called to set up her first interview of the day.

  “Lambert & Church,” answered a female voice.

  “Hi, this is Cara Hamilton of the Mustang Gazette.” Unless undercover on an assignment, Cara preferred being upfront. “Who’s this?”

  A long pause. “I’m sorry, but we have nothing to say to the media.” The droned words sounded scripted. Probably were.

  “I understand. I’m sure it’s been difficult for you. For me, too. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I’m the one who…who found poor Nancy.” Cara had meant to pretend to get choked up, only it wasn’t pretense. She swallowed. “It was terrible. I was wondering…” She let her voice drift off.

  “Yes?” The woman sounded compassionate this time.

  “I’m working on the human interest angle.” It wasn’t a lie since she was doing that and the hard news, too. “I’d like to talk to Mr. Church about Nancy, how she was hired by the firm, how she’ll be missed, that kind of thing.”

  “Oh. Well…I’m sorry, Ms. Hamilton, but he’s not here this morning. I know he’s not talking to media people who’ve called, but maybe you—”

  “Will he be back this afternoon, say around two-thirty, for me to call back?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then I’ll try again later. Thank you so much…. I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

  “Wanda.”

  “Thanks, Wanda.” Cara gently hung up. She didn’t know Wanda but would check her out before showing up on the firm’s doorstep that afternoon. She wouldn’t wait to schedule an appointment, since she was determined to get an interview with Donald Church. And whatever she learned could provide tidbits to tease Mitch with.

  The phone rang again. Without thinking, Cara lifted the receiver. “Cara Hamilton here,” she said.

  “Deputy Steele here.�
��

  Damn. Speak of the devil. And she hadn’t prepared herself. But just the resonant sound of his voice, even when it was so chilly, spiraled ribbons of warmth through her body. “Hi,” she said brightly.

  “We need to talk, Cara,” he said.

  “Absolutely, but not right now. I have to dash off for an interview.” Only partly a lie—she did have to dash off to avoid this discussion, and she hoped for several interviews, sometime today. “But I have some interesting stuff to share with you later, Mitch. So in the meantime, consider what you can let me in on.”

  “That’s exactly why—” She heard the explosion in his voice.

  “Talk to you soon.” She winced as she hung up.

  And she prayed that, as she filled up the nearly empty jar on her desk with malted milk balls, she would have something interesting enough, later on, to convince him not to hang up on her in the future.

  CARA SAT AT THE TABLE in the Mustang Grill for the second time in two days. Once again she inhaled the delicious scent of charring meat, stared around the room at crowded tables covered with checkered tablecloths. She liked the place, though usually didn’t eat there this often. But it was the restaurant where Della Santoro and she traditionally met to talk about Shotgun Sally.

  So here she was again, at the same place where she’d had such a pleasant lunch with Mitch Steele yesterday while they formed their alliance. The alliance that would probably self-destruct, thanks to Beau Jennings.

  “Are you okay, Cara?” Della’s voice projected like the professor she was in the noisy dining room. As always, her dark hair was pulled starkly from her face, emphasizing its nearly rectangular shape, her chin being small and blunt. As she leaned over the table, her concerned frown exaggerated the contrast between her thin, dark brows and her pale complexion. Worry darkened her gray eyes.

  “Sure,” Cara said. “I’m fine.”

  “But your finding poor Nancy that way. I know it was a couple of days ago now, but it must still feel awful.”