Along Came Trouble

She nodded, her expression bleak.

He wanted to relent, to reach for her and hold her until those uncharacteristic tears dried up, but he steeled himself against that reaction. He needed to be a cop first, a friend second, at least until he knew more. It might seem cold and unfeeling, but it was the best way to help her.

And to protect himself, he thought bitterly. He couldn’t let himself forget for one single second that he’d been burned once by this very same woman. Lust aside, he couldn’t let himself trust her, not for a minute. She could have come here just to muddy the hell out of any investigation by the local authorities. Maybe she wanted the state police on the case, for some reason—they would take over if there was any question about whether the sheriff’s department had a conflict.

“Did you do it?” he asked, leveling a look straight into her eyes. He would know if she was lying, had always been able to tell, not because she was lousy at it, but because he could see into her soul. He knew her inside out, knew what she was capable of. Or at least he’d once thought he did, and she’d let him believe it, right up until the day she’d announced her engagement to Chandler. He’d missed that one coming.

Now there was a flicker of hurt in her eyes at the question, but then she responded, her tone as cool and impersonal as his. “No.”

Tucker held her gaze, but she never once wavered, never even blinked. Something that felt a lot like relief—or maybe more like cautious optimism—rushed through him. “Okay, then, why don’t I make some coffee and you can tell me what’s going on.”

At least that would get her into some clothes and out of this bedroom. Maybe then he’d be able to concentrate, act like a policeman instead of a frustrated ex-lover who wanted to jump the bones of a potential murder suspect.

She seemed surprised. “Just like that?”

He shot her a rueful look. “You knew how I’d react. That’s why you’re here and not at the station over in Montross.”

“That’s one of the reasons,” she conceded.

“And the others?”

She sighed. “Maybe we’d better save that discussion for another time.”

Since Tucker’s supposedly rigid self-control had been weakening for the last ten minutes, he knew better than to press her on that. One tiny hint that she was back here because of him, because of something personal, and he’d be in that bed and all over her. It seemed like a really bad idea to go that route, especially if someone had very recently killed her husband.

Which, he noted as he headed for the kitchen to make the coffee, she didn’t seem to be all that broken up about. She was scared and shaken, not grief-stricken. He was going to have to ask her about that. Hell, he had so many questions, they might not get out of the house for days.

While the coffee brewed and he waited for Mary Elizabeth to join him, he called the station and told the dispatcher that he wouldn’t be in.

“Until later?” she asked, sounding stunned.

“No, I won’t be in at all,” he told her, understanding her shock. He hadn’t taken a day off in weeks, if not longer. Work had been his refuge, especially since Bobby’s wedding. He knew that he was on his father’s shortlist of projects. Staying out of King’s path had seemed like a good idea. “Until further notice, I am officially on leave.”

“Well, good,” Michele said, rallying. “It’s about time. I hope she’s gorgeous.”

“This is not about a woman,” Tucker said very firmly.

“Yeah, right. It’s always about a woman when a workaholic male finally takes time off out of the blue and in the middle of the week.”

“Well, this time it’s not,” he said, lying through his teeth. The last thing he needed was word getting around that he was holed up at home with a woman. Until he knew what was going on with Mary Elizabeth, he had a hunch no one should know she was even in town, much less hiding out at his place. He told himself he was gathering evidence, not hindering an investigation in which he already knew he would have no formal role. He needed an hour, two at most, to get a firm grip on what the hell was going on. After that, he’d go the official, by-the-book route.

“Have fun,” Michele said cheerily, clearly not believing him.

Tucker hung up on her. He looked up to find Mary Elizabeth regarding him with amusement.

“Haven’t taken much time off lately?”

“No.” He poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to her. He surveyed her from her tousled, subtly frosted brown hair to the pink tips of her perfect toes, noting the shadows in her eyes and the fact that she was wearing another one of his shirts and not much else. “I asked this before, but I think maybe I ought to ask it again— Where are your clothes?”

“In the trash,” she said with a shudder.

He stared. “Why? Please don’t tell me there’s blood all over them.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you that,” she said.

Tucker was forced to admire the stubborn, defiant jut of her chin. He’d leave the issue of the bloody clothes for later. As long as they were in his trash, whatever evidence they might provide was safe enough.

“Are you hungry? The cupboard’s pretty bare, but I can manage eggs or cereal.”

“Nothing for me. You go ahead.”

“I had breakfast earlier, while I was waiting for you to wake up.” He handed her the coffee, noticed that her hand shook as she accepted it. She was not nearly as composed as she wanted him to believe.

She met his gaze. “Then I guess there’s nothing left but to deal with all those questions racing around in your head.”

“Just one question for starters,” he corrected. “What happened?”

“If only the answer were as simple as the question,” she said. She took a sip of coffee, then another, clearly not anxious to get into it. She set the mug on the table; then, as if desperate for something to do with her hands, she picked it up again.

“There are lots of starting places,” he told her. “The beginning. The end. Anyplace in between.”

Still she hesitated. The color in her cheeks faded and her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she’d retreated to a place where her world had come crashing down.

“I found him in my grandfather’s library, in a chair in front of the TV. The news was on. The anchor was talking about some fireman who’d rescued a cat from a roof.” She met Tucker’s gaze, looking lost. “Funny how I can remember something like that, but I can’t remember what it felt like to love my husband.”

She sounded so pitiful, looked so fragile, that once again Tucker fought the temptation to reach for her, to offer any sort of comfort. Years of training as a cop told him to sit perfectly still, to wait her out until the whole story had come spilling out. Years of loving her made that almost impossible. His fingers tightened around his own mug of coffee and he waited.

“I thought he was asleep at first, but he was a light sleeper. Usually the slightest sound brought him wide awake. When I spoke to him and he didn’t answer, I knew something was wrong. I knew…” Her voice shook, then steadied. “Somehow I just knew that he was dead.”

“Did you call for a doctor? An ambulance?”

She shook her head. “I started to. I really did. I walked closer to get the portable phone beside him. That’s when I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“The bullet hole.” She shuddered. “In his chest. And the blood. There was so much of it. The bullet must have hit an artery or something. I touched him. His eyes were wide open and he was cold.” Her gaze sought Tucker’s. “That means he’d been dead a long time, right?”

“Probably,” Tucker agreed. “Was it a suicide?”

She shook her head. “Definitely not his style.”

“That’s not an explanation that’s going to wash with the police. Any man’s style can change if he’s feeling desperate enough.”

“Okay, then, there was no gun.” She regarded Tucker with a helpless look. “That means he had to have been murdered, right? There’s no other explanation.”

“You’re sure about the gun? Think, Mary Elizabeth. Could it have fallen on the floor, slid under the chair?”

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes at his harsh tone. “I looked,” she whispered. “I looked everywhere, and then I realized that someone had shot him and that I was going to be the first person everyone thought of. I panicked. All I could think about was coming here and telling you, letting you figure out what happened.”

“Why would anyone think you’d done it?” he asked, even though he knew that the spouse was the most likely suspect in a case like this, at least until things had sorted themselves out and more clues had been uncovered.

“Because I was leaving him for good.”

Tucker was as shocked by that as he had been by her announcement that Chandler was dead. “You were?”

She nodded. “It was a well-kept secret that we were having problems. I’d moved out of the Richmond house months ago.”

“You didn’t come back here,” he said. He would have known, would have heard if she’d been back at Swan Ridge alone. If nothing else, King would have warned him away from her.

“No, I traveled with a friend. Larry told everyone I was taking an extended vacation, that he’d planned to go along but that pressing matters in Richmond had kept him here.”

“Any of that reported in the media, any speculation that you two were splitting?”

“No. His press secretary was very careful. He knew Larry would fire him if so much as a hint leaked out.”

“Okay, then, if everything was so hushed up, what makes you think people would suspect you of killing him?”

“I got back to town two days ago. I’d made up my mind to end things. We went to dinner in Richmond, and I told him it was over. We had a really nasty, very public brawl. I had thought it would be better if I told him in public, that he wouldn’t risk a scene because of the political ramifications, but I was wrong. He went crazy. He started accusing me of cheating on him.”

“Were you?”

“Of course not,” she retorted. “I couldn’t believe the lies that came pouring out of his mouth. He didn’t believe a word he was saying. He was just trying to give me a taste of what it would be like if I went through with a divorce. He wanted me to see that my name would end up being dragged through the mud.” She shuddered. “People were staring, starting to whisper. It was obvious that he was already off to a good start at ruining me to save his own political career.”

“So there were a lot of witnesses to this scene?” Tucker said. “Anyone you knew?”

“I don’t know. I was too humiliated to look around. It was a restaurant that’s popular with the movers and shakers in Richmond, so I imagine it’s a safe bet that there were people there we knew. Why?”

His mind was already whirling in a dozen different directions. That scene couldn’t have done a better job of setting Mary Elizabeth up to take a fall. “Because if one of them had a grudge against your husband and wanted him out of the picture, you had just handed him the perfect opportunity to arrange it and throw greater-than-usual suspicion on you.”

She looked shaken by his assessment. “Greater than usual?” she repeated in a whisper.

“You knew you’d be under suspicion,” he said. “You said that was why you’d come to me.”

“I know. Hearing you say it, though…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m scared, Tucker.”

Again, he fought the temptation to offer comfort. She needed real help more than she needed empty reassurances. “Let’s get all the facts on the table, okay? How did Chandler end up at Swan Ridge? Did he come back here with you after dinner that night?”

“No. I told him I was coming here and that he should stay in Richmond, that I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

“He agreed?”

“He said he’d stay in Richmond and come down here later to pick up a few things. I made it a point to be out of the house all day yesterday to avoid another confrontation.”

“Where? Were you with anyone?”

She shook her head. “I took the boat out.”

“And stayed on the water till eleven?” he asked skeptically.

“No, till dusk.”

“Where do you keep the boat?”

“At the marina at Colonial Beach. I didn’t think we should keep it here because of…well, you know.”

“Because my brother owns the marina,” Tucker said, realizing anew in just how many small ways they had managed to keep their lives from intersecting. “What did you do next?”

“I stopped over there and had dinner.”

“Did you see anyone you knew?”

“No. The restaurant was almost empty.”

“Would the waitress remember you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. We talked about her daughter and the trouble she’s having in school and about standardized testing. I know a lot about it, because it’s one of Larry’s campaign issues.”

“Did you mention Larry? Did she realize he was your husband?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. His name never came up.”

“What time did you leave there?”

“Around ten-thirty, maybe a little later.”

“Then what?”

“I drove home. When I got to Swan Ridge, his car was in the driveway, so I knew he was inside. I almost turned around and left, but I didn’t want to act like a coward, not in my own home.”

“So you went in, and that’s when you found him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have help working at the house?”

“Just Mrs. Gilman, but she only works when I call her. I hadn’t let her know that I was back in town.”

“Is that unusual? Wouldn’t you normally call her to get the place ready for your return? Maybe to go in and dust, stock the refrigerator, whatever?”

Her face paled. “Yes, but I…I didn’t this time.”

Tucker could see exactly how suspicious that would look to a jury. “Why?”

“I was too upset after I saw Larry that night. I came straight down here without calling. I just wanted to get away from him, to be alone.” Her gaze clashed with his. “It looks bad, doesn’t it? Like I didn’t want anyone around so I could kill him?”

“That’s one interpretation,” he agreed. “But your explanation is just as logical. The man had just given you a taste of how vengeful he could be. It’s little wonder you wanted to get away from him as fast as possible.”

“Will people believe that?”

He met her gaze. “I do.”

“Thank you. It’s more than I deserve.”

“Look, let’s get one thing straight,” he said bluntly. “I might hate what you did to me, but I don’t think you’re capable of murder.”

Relief spread across her face, only to fade in an instant. “Tucker, what should I do?”

Because he knew exactly how fast things would spin out of control once word of Chandler’s death started to spread, he said, “You need to hire a criminal attorney, someone from Richmond, I think. Do you know any good lawyers down there?”

“The city is crawling with them, though most of the ones I know don’t like to get their hands dirty with anything as messy as murder.”

Tucker nodded. “Then we should call Powell Knight. If he won’t take the case, he’ll recommend someone who will.”

“Powell Knight who bloodied your nose over me in the fifth grade?” she asked incredulously. “He’s a lawyer?”

Tucker chuckled. “He stopped the assaults before law school. He’s been walking the straight and narrow for years now. And he owes me. My nose is still crooked.”

Liz smiled for the first time since she’d begun talking. “It is not. It just has a little character.” She lifted her hand as if to touch it, then drew back with a sigh.

“Why does life have to be so damn complicated?” she asked wistfully.

“Keeps it interesting,” Tucker said. He might have said more, but common sense and practicalities kicked in. “Do you have a cell phone with you? Why don’t you make that call to Powell? I’ll see if I can’t rustle up some clothes for you to wear, then I’ll call the station and have a deputy meet us at Swan Ridge.”

“Do you have a stash of women’s clothes around here?” she asked, regarding him with curiosity.

“No. I’ll call my sister.”

“No,” Liz said at once, looking panic-stricken. “Tucker, you can’t call Daisy. She already hates my guts for what I did to you. She’ll be furious that I dragged you into the middle of this mess.”

“I would have been dragged into it one way or another,” he said, shrugging off her fears. “It happened in my jurisdiction. If you don’t want me to call Daisy, do you have any better ideas?”

She hesitated, her shoulders slumping. It was tantamount to an admission that she’d maintained few real friendships in Trinity Harbor. He almost felt sorry for her, but he steeled himself against the reaction. She’d made her choices. Her grandfather had been an important man in Trinity Harbor. She would have basked in the same respect shown him if she hadn’t hurt a Spencer.

“I’ll call Daisy, then. You don’t even have to see her. And she doesn’t need to know what’s going on, or even who the clothes are for.”

“You shouldn’t have to lie to your own sister on my account.”

“It’s an omission, not a lie.”

“I doubt she’ll see the distinction once she hears the whole story.”

“Let me worry about Daisy. You call Powell.”

As soon as she’d gone looking for her cell phone, he called the station and asked for Walker. His brother-in-law had been a homicide detective in Washington before he’d hooked up with Daisy and moved to Trinity Harbor. He was the best deputy Tucker had, and the only one he wanted on the scene this morning.

“I need you to get over to Swan Ridge,” he told Walker. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem? That’s Larry Chandler’s place, isn’t it?”

“There’s a report that he’s dead. I’ve got his wife here with me. Keep this under your hat until you see what’s going on over there. I’ll be there right behind you.”

“Didn’t I hear that you once had a relationship with Liz Chandler?” Walker asked. “Are you sure you ought to be anywhere near the scene?”

“Dammit, Walker, I know better than to take on the case myself. That’s why I called you, but I’m not keeping my nose out of it. I want to know everything you find the minute you come up with it. And I want you to do it all by the book, no matter how bad it looks for Mary Elizabeth.”

“Do you think she did it?”

“What I think doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the truth.”

“Noble words,” Walker said. “But what’s your gut telling you?”

“It’s your gut that matters. Do your job.”

“I’m on my way.”

“And try to keep the media from finding out anything, at least until we have a fix on what went on over there.”

“Done,” Walker promised.

Tucker placed his next call to his sister. “I need some clothes over here—a pair of your jeans, a T-shirt, some underwear, some shoes. And I need it without a lot of questions.”

“But—”

“No questions, Daisy. Please, just this once, help me out without giving me the third degree.”

“Third degrees are your business,” she said with an indignant huff. “Okay, I’ll bring everything over there. Want me to leave it in a plain brown bag on the front porch and slink away?”

“Actually that’s not a bad idea.”

“Fat chance.”

“Daisy,” he warned.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got it. Bring the clothes, leave the questions back home.”

“Thank you.”

“But you’ll owe me,” she told him.

“I usually do.”

As soon as he got off the phone, he retrieved a clean garbage bag and went looking in his trash for Mary Elizabeth’s bloodied clothes. She hadn’t exactly tried to conceal them. They were right on top, in plain view. He took that as a good sign. Less positive was the fact that there was a lot of blood, more than a person would get checking a man’s pulse. Was there as much as if she’d shot her husband at close range, maybe even struggled with him as he bled? Tucker didn’t even want to speculate on that. He’d leave it to the experts.

He turned and saw Mary Elizabeth regarding him uneasily. Her gaze shifted to the trash bag, then back to his face.

“Tucker?”

He met her gaze. “What?”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I won’t even be involved in the decision,” he told her.

Something that looked like panic flickered in her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because by coming here, and because we have a past history, you’ve made sure I have to take myself off the case.”

“But—”

He cut her off. “That’s the way it has to be, Mary Elizabeth. You know that. I’ve got my best deputy heading over to Swan Ridge right now.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

Tucker’s blood ran cold. “Why do you say that?”

“I wanted you to handle this.”

The icy fist kept a firm grip on his insides. “Because you thought I’d protect you?”

“No. Because I trust you.”

Tucker wanted desperately to believe that’s all it was, that she hadn’t come here hoping to use their past to keep him from delving too deeply into the circumstances surrounding Chandler’s death.

“I hope you’re telling me the truth.”

There was genuine hurt in her eyes when she met his gaze. “I’ve never lied to you. Never.”

“I think maybe that’s open to interpretation,” he said quietly. “But what’s done is done. All I care about is whether you’re being honest now.”

“I am. I swear it.”

He nodded. “Then we’ll deal with the rest as it comes.”

“Together?”

He thought of the sensible reply and the one that came from his heart. “Together,” he agreed.

All he could do was pray that he wouldn’t live to regret it.

3

T ucker had made one serious miscalculation when he’d called Daisy. He’d forgotten that Mary Elizabeth’s very distinctive car—a Jaguar with vanity plates he’d sometimes spotted driving too fast on the county’s back roads—had to be parked somewhere in the vicinity. He hadn’t noticed it the night before, but it was a sure bet she hadn’t walked to his house from Swan Ridge.

He realized his mistake when his sister came barreling into the kitchen like an avenging angel and tossed a bagful of clothes straight at him. The heavy bag caught him right in the gut. She always had had a great arm, to say nothing of an amazing protective streak when it came to him and Bobby.

“I sincerely hope those clothes are not for Mary Elizabeth,” she said, staring him down.

“What makes you think they are?” he replied defensively.

“Because that’s her fancy car sitting in plain view in front of your house. I’m not stupid, Tucker. Neither is anyone else in this town.” She regarded him with a worried frown. “I hope to heaven you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” he said, tucking a hand under her elbow and steering her straight toward the door without wasting time on the explanation she was so obviously hoping for. “Thanks for coming over here so quickly.”

“Why does a woman with a designer wardrobe need my clothes?” Daisy inquired testily. “You two going somewhere incognito? I hate to tell you this, but it will take more than a change of clothes to pull that off.”

Tucker sighed. “No questions, remember?”

“The woman broke your heart,” his sister said fiercely. “Have you forgotten that?”

“Not for a minute.”

“If you say so,” she said, her doubt plain. “In my experience, men can push an amazing amount of past history out of their heads when they start thinking with another part of their anatomy.”

He scowled at her. “Don’t make me sorry that I turned to you for help this morning.”

After an instant’s hesitation, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “And don’t make me sorry I gave it. I love you.”

“You, too, kid.”

He watched as she walked to her car, shot a disparaging look toward Mary Elizabeth’s sports car, then drove off with a distracted wave in his direction.

“Will she go straight to your father?” Mary Elizabeth asked, coming up behind him.

“No,” he said with confidence. “Daisy never tattles.”

Mary Elizabeth looked skeptical. “That’s not the way I remember it. She was the first one to run to King when she realized you and I were having secret meetings out behind the barn.”