Along Came Trouble. Sherryl Woods
truth, that Mrs. Chandler and I are old friends and that I wanted this case handled by someone with more objectivity and homicide experience than I have.”
“We could leave out the issue of objectivity,” Walker said. “It’ll be opening a whole can of worms that might be best left shut tight.”
“The information is out there. Someone will open it sooner or later,” Tucker replied. “It’ll be better to be up-front about it.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Walker?”
“What?”
“Don’t do her any favors, but don’t try to railroad her, either.”
His deputy regarded him with annoyance. “You didn’t need to tell me that. I know how to do my job.”
“I didn’t say that to insult you,” Tucker told him. “Under most circumstances, I’d never feel the need to say such a thing, but you’re going to hear a lot of things before this is over with, not all of them favorable to Mary Elizabeth. Daisy and my father hate her guts, and that’s just for starters.”
“What about Bobby?”
Tucker gave a rueful chuckle. “You know my brother. He’s a laid-back kind of a guy. It would take a lot of energy for him to hate anybody, so he stays neutral. He takes his cues from me.”
“And you don’t hate her?”
Tucker thought about just how complicated his feelings for Liz Chandler were, then sighed. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t hate her.” Far from it.
“Anybody else in town going to be anxious to start a lynch mob besides your father and my wife?”
“I’ll have to think about that one. In the meantime, try not to let my involvement muddy the investigative waters.”
“Just how involved do you intend to be?”
“After we get through today, I’m hoping I can turn my back and walk away and leave the whole mess in your capable hands.”
Walker snorted. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be counting on that. Tucker Spencer walking away from a lady in distress.” He shook his head. “Never going to happen, pal.”
Tucker watched Walker leave the room, then glanced back at the woman waiting for him on the terrace. Her vulnerability reached out and tugged at his heart. He hoped to hell Walker was wrong. He needed to run—not walk—away from this mess as fast as he possibly could.
Powell Knight hadn’t changed all that much, Liz noted when he walked around the side of the house. He still had the same easy confidence, the same arrogant polish, the same evidence of expensive taste he’d had way back in high school. Only the leather briefcase in his hand and the cell phone plastered to his ear were new additions.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he was muttering as he walked toward her. “Just tell your client that we’re playing hardball and it will be a cold day in hell before he ever sees one single dime of that money.” He snapped the phone shut, then gave Liz a thorough once-over. A smile broke across his face. “Damn, Mary Elizabeth, you’re even prettier than you are in all those pictures I see in the Richmond papers. How did I ever let you get away?”
He reached for her and twirled her around until she was breathless.
“Put me down, you idiot,” she said, laughing despite the somber occasion and the trouble that was heading her way in the form of an interrogation with Tucker’s top deputy.
Powell shot a grin at Tucker. “What’s the deal? You’re not snatching her out of my arms, leaping to her defense? Not that long ago you’d have punched me out by now.”
“Mary Elizabeth can take care of herself,” Tucker said. “If I were you, I’d get out of range of her knee unless you want to hobble inside looking a little less than your best for this interview with the police.”
Powell put her down and gingerly stepped away. “No interviews, not until she and I have had a chance to talk.” He shot a pointed look at Tucker. “Alone.”
“He can stay,” Liz said at once.
Powell immediately shook his head. “No way, sweetcakes. He’s a cop. And in this instance, until you’re completely in the clear, the cops are not your friends.”
“It’s okay, Mary Elizabeth. He’s right. I’ll go,” Tucker said. He scowled at Powell. “For the record, though, I’m not handling this investigation. I’ve already taken myself off of it.”
“Good to know, but I still don’t want her blabbing any secrets to you. You’re liable to get the idea that you’re duty-bound to repeat them to whoever is in charge of the case.”
Tucker looked as if he might want to argue the point, but he kept his mouth clamped shut and walked away.
“He wouldn’t do that,” Liz told her old friend.
“Your old lover might not do it, but you never can tell about the sheriff. Since they’re one and the same, I’d rather not take any chances.” Powell tucked a finger under her chin. “You doing okay?”
“I’ve had better days,” she said truthfully.
“I can imagine. Tell me what happened,” the attorney said. “Beginning to end.”
“That could take a long time. I’m not sure how patient Walker Ames is likely to be.”
“He’ll wait,” Powell said confidently. “He doesn’t have any choice.”
Even so, Liz gave him the condensed version of her marriage. She wasn’t surprised to see the shock that registered on Powell’s face. She and Larry had done a great job of covering the chasm in their relationship, particularly in Richmond.
“It all came to a head this week.” She repeated what she’d told Tucker about the fight they’d had, about her retreat to Swan Ridge, about spending the day on her boat, and about going home to find Larry’s body. Powell took copious notes, nodding occasionally but otherwise keeping his expression bland and his own comments to a minimum.
“I didn’t do it,” she said, because she felt she had to get it on the record with him.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said at once. “They’re not likely to come up with anything more than circumstantial evidence. We can beat it.”
Liz felt a shudder of revulsion. “You’re not listening to me, Powell—I…did…not…do…it. If you don’t believe that, then I don’t want you to represent me.”
His gaze shot up then and clashed with hers. Eventually, he nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s make sure that nobody thinks otherwise for a single second. There’s a lot of media out front. I’ll get them around here.”
“Before I’ve talked to the police?”
“Preemptive strike,” he said succinctly. “We get our message out before they do.”
That little chill of dismay ran through her again. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it?”
“It’s a challenge, a battle of wits,” he conceded with a disturbing glint of anticipation in his eyes.
“Same thing. I don’t like it.”
“Sweetcakes, when you’re in this kind of a jam, you need somebody on your side who understands the rules. You don’t have to love me. You don’t even have to like me. You just have to let me do my job. I am very, very good at it.”
A part of Liz knew he was right. The law and politics had a lot in common. Much of the game was about perception. If she was forthcoming with the public, through the media, she could win the first round. She hated it, but it was a fact of life. And the last few years had taught her to be a pragmatist.
But, she