Nipped in the Bud (10 page)

“Ah, Roger, we don’t make them up. They’re real.”

“Really?
Imagine, people being that ignorant.”

“Yeah, imagine.”

He shook his head. “Anyway, after the last caller announced your involvement in
Picklemann’s
murder, I’m wondering if we should give you a brief hiatus.
Might be time to run some ‘best of’ shows until this is cleared up.”
He rested his chin on pointed index fingers. “Of course, if this goes on long enough, we might lose our audience and need to pull the show all together.”

I let out a gush of air. “How about we play it by ear, Roger? Let’s try a live broadcast tomorrow. If it turns ugly again, we can reconsider.”

He looked at me, his ice-blue eyes serious and appraising.
“Fine, one more day.
If there’s even a hint of trouble tomorrow, I’m going to play reruns of the show for a few days to see if it blows over. If it doesn’t, I’ll pull the plug.
Permanently.
And consider your live show from the Pickle Fest cancelled. No way
I’ll
take the chance of someone from the crowd going nuts.
Harly’ll
be glad to have another hour added to his program.”

Dismissed and deflated, I sauntered into the hall. It was getting harder to keep up my spirits. Not only might I lose my radio gig, which gave me needed business, ultimately I could lose my shop, the main source of my income. Not to mention incarceration.

I stepped into the parking lot to join Adam for a meeting that was certain to be tense. I scoffed at Lisa’s advice. Trust God? No way. Look at what had just happened.

“And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”

“Hi, Paige, this is Disappointed. I wanted to clarify one of your earlier hints.”

“Okay, Disappointed, what can
I
clear up?
”

“Well, you mentioned the stunning flowers you can get from bulbs, and it sounded like an easy way to garden.”

“That’s right. Especially if you live in a part of the country like ours where the winters are mild and bulbs don’t have to be dug up to prevent freezing. Once you plant them at their optimum depth, pretty much the only work they require for beautiful flowers year after year is a little fertilizer and dividing them when they get large.”

“I wish I had the problem of them getting too big. I bought every kind of bulb I could think of and so far, no flowers at all.”

“Really, I’m surprised. What type of bulbs have you tried?”

“Forty watt all the way up to one hundred twenty.
Even tried the new compact fluorescents, with no success.”

True to Mitch’s offensive behavior so far, he kept Adam and me waiting in the lobby past our scheduled appointment time. On our walk to city hall, Adam told me he’d used his time wisely during my radio show. He talked with Ernie, who admitted to overhearing my entire argument with Bud. Not good news, but I was working hard to convince myself I needn’t worry about it unless I was arrested in the upcoming meeting. Still, the thought dampened our mood, and as we entered the building, we fell silent and sat in chairs facing one another. I tried not to be concerned. I failed. As the minutes ticked by, my hands grew moist.

Adam, on the other hand, leaned back, crossed perfectly pressed khaki-clad legs, and moved into a meditative trance. Worried or not, I didn’t miss the chance to look him over in the daylight. As we’d walked here, the women we passed gave him a second look—a deserving look from what I could see. The sunlight filtering through the clouds and glinting off the window brought out hints of red in his dusty-brown hair. He’d gelled it up again, giving himself a GQ appearance with which I could find little fault.

In fact, when the receptionist told us we could go in, I was reluctant to take my eyes off him and make the move. He stood first, brushing imaginary fuzz from his vest and shouldering his case. With a warm hand, he helped me to my feet. His fingers pressed on my back, gently guiding me down the hall.

“Remember,” he whispered in my ear as we walked into the conference room, “watch me. I’ll tell you which questions you should respond to. And keep your answers to the point. Don’t ramble. Don’t explain. It’s up to the chief to prove your guilt. Don’t give him the ammunition he needs.”

Much like Adam had done when he
stood,
I pulled back my shoulders and marched into the room. I’d expected the TV version of a small airless cell with hot lights, two-way mirrors, and table with chair. Instead, Mitch waited for us in a small conference room with rich walnut furniture, a pitcher of water and glasses in the center of a long table, and ten plush chairs. A window filled the far wall, letting in plenty of sunlight for the
ficus
sitting in the corner. The poor little baby was dropping leaves much the same way Mitch would be dropping this case if I had my way. I made a mental note to check on the neglected darling if the meeting ended amicably.

“Sit,” Mitch commanded. The room might be nice, but Mitch was the same old grump.

I chose a chair and took a good look at my adversary. The gray in his hair was more obvious in this lighting as were the crinkle lines that had formed around his eyes. He must have gotten those from laughing. So where were the jokes when he was with me?

I’d barely sat when Mitch reached across the table and slid a microphone in front of me. “We’ll be recording this. Speak clearly. Okay, let’s get started.” He leaned forward and rattled off my name, the date, and other statistics then glared at me. “Yesterday, you told me you went to The Garden Gate after your fight with
Picklemann
.”

“Alleged fight,” Adam said.

“Fine, alleged fight.
Walk me through your morning, step-by-step.”

I looked at Adam for permission to speak, and he gave me a clipped nod. I slowly and purposefully revealed the details of my morning so Mitch wouldn’t have to ask any additional questions.
Except I couldn’t get out the part about changing clothes.

Mitch leaned forward, his eyes never leaving my face. “Is it usual for you to go home in the middle of the day?”

Great.
He didn’t miss a thing.
“Sometimes.
For lunch.”

“And is that why you went home yesterday?”

I cut my gaze to Adam, who gave me a nod of encouragement. “I did get lunch there, but mostly I went home because I got a stain on my shirt from picking up those soggy scrapbook papers. My work shirts are expensive, and I didn’t want the stain to set in.”

“Are you saying you went home to wash your shirt?”

I nodded.

“So you lied to me yesterday.” His eyes drilled into me. “Or are you lying today?”

Adam held his hand in front of me and said to Mitch, “Care to rephrase that last question, or should I take my client and go?”

Mitch glared at Adam then locked gazes with me again.
“Fine.
You omitted this piece of information yesterday. How do you explain that?”

“I didn’t even think about how washing my shirt would look.”

His mouth dropped open. “You expect me to believe you didn’t think I’d need to know about this?
Even after I asked for your clothes?”

“Honestly, Mitch, I was so in shock over finding Bud that until Adam brought it up late last night, I didn’t think about it.”

Adam leaned forward. “She’s being straight with you, Lawson. If you could’ve seen her reaction last night, you would know she hadn’t made the connection.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer.” Mitch scowled and sat back.

And so it went. Mitch pelted out questions like hail on a garden, trampling everything under his fury. He met each of my answers with skepticism or downright disbelief, even when I told him about seeing something white moving in the park and seeing Rachel there, too. Now, after nearly an hour of questioning, Mitch transitioned to the same ground for a third time.

Adam pushed his notes away in frustration. “All due respect, Chief, but you seem to have something against my client. She has been forthright with you. You’ve tried to trip her up by asking the same question multiple times. She continues to give you the same answer because she’s telling the truth. It’s time you cut her some slack.”

Mitch sneered. “No one cut Bud
Picklemann
any slack.”

“Then maybe you should focus your effort on finding the real killer.” Adam shot to his feet and packed his things into his briefcase. “Paige had no motive to kill
Picklemann
. Sure, he presented her with a problem, but she solved it, and with no detriment to her company. If you’d stop and look at the case with an open mind you’d see the details don’t add up.
If
Paige killed
Picklemann
, why would she find the body and call 911? Why would she hide the body on her work site? And for that matter, why hide him at all if she was just going to turn around and find him? Then there’s the murder weapon. Supposing the forensics report does state that her shovel was used to kill
Picklemann
. Why leave it in the park with her fingerprints all over it?”

“I don’t think—” Mitch said.

“Maybe you should start thinking.” Adam turned and urged me to my feet. “Unless you have any charges to bring, we’ll be going.”

Mitch’s furious gaze locked on my face. “You’re free to go for now, but you can be sure once the forensic team is finished and the autopsy is completed, we’ll be revisiting all of this. So don’t leave town.”

I gave the
ficus
one last look before Adam escorted me out of the room, down the hall, and into the lobby. Jubilant over the outcome of the meeting, I turned and threw my arms around his neck. He was tall, and I stood on tiptoes to reach around his broad shoulders. He smelled of minty soap and a light musk aftershave. Like a lawyer should, I suppose. He also felt solid, firm, muscular, as if he worked out.
Very
unlawyerly
.

Umm, nice
.
I was merely thanking him, but now. Now, what? What was I doing as I clung to him? The boyfriend sweater from last night popped into my mind. A strong urge to snuggle followed.

Adam awkwardly fumbled with his briefcase and finally clasped my arms to set me away. His eyes were far from excited over my unbridled display of affection.

“Sorry.” I reluctantly moved a step back and looked into his eyes. I’d felt a connection, strong and solid. Not like a lightning bolt, nothing earthshaking or stomach turning, just a solid sense of his goodness. He cleared his throat, and I leaned back. “I guess a client shouldn’t fawn over her attorney like that.”

He smiled, and from where I stood, I could see a tiny scar on his chin that winked when his lips turned up. “Don’t get me wrong, Paige, I’m not at all opposed to the hugging. I just don’t want you to get so excited over this little victory. We have a long way to go until you’re in the clear.”

“Don’t worry. I know I’m still the prime suspect without an alibi.” Smiling over my connection with Adam, I slipped my hand through his arm and tugged him toward the exit. “It just felt so good to see the thunderous look on Mitch’s
face,
I wanted to celebrate for a minute.”

He pulled open the door and waited for me to step outside. “Okay, as long as you realize we still have a lot of work to do.”

“Umm, yes, work.
Lots of work.”
My thoughts still on the hug, my voice sounded more dreamy than businesslike. “How about we tackle some of it over lunch?”

He glanced at the tall clock tower on the corner. “It’s a little early for lunch.”

Eleven thirty
, early?
Maybe in the civilized world.
In the boonies people often ate at this time of day. “Well, maybe it’s a tad early.” I batted my eyelashes. “So how about you hang around until it’s time to eat?”
Flirting.
Not very well, but flirting? My future freedom was in jeopardy, and I was flirting. I had to stop. This was crazy. I needed to remember why he was here. “I’m not asking you on a date or anything. We have to plan a strategy, and we both have to eat.” Trying to control my behavior, I kept my wayward lashes still and peered at him.

“
Aww
, really, no date?”
His eyes turned mischievous, giving him a little boy
look
that was extremely enticing.

I was in trouble.
“Nope, strictly business.”

“A business lunch would be good.” His eyes said he knew what I was up to. His voice was all professional and controlled. “Give me a computer and phone to use for the next hour to get a little work done, and I’m all yours.”

“Deal,” I said before he changed his mind.

Relieved to have that settled, I kept my arm from darting out and linking with his again and resumed our stroll toward The Garden Gate. Before I blurted out some other stupid comment, I focused on the success of the meeting and my lifted spirits.