Gun in the Gardenias Read online

  “All good things, I hope,” he said lightly.

  “I’ll need your help when you get here.”

  “Again?” he asked, his voice resigned.

  “Easy stuff,” she said. “I finally emptied the kitchen and scrubbed the room itself all down, but I’ve got everything kitchen-related in the living room, and I honestly don’t know what a lot of this stuff is. There are so many different kinds of pots and pans and bowls, and I don’t know why anybody would need all this stuff.”

  He chuckled. “That I can handle. I was checking in to see when you wanted to do dinner.”

  “A little later is fine. I just came back from a nice lunch with Nan.”

  “Good. I have some extra caseloads I have to work on. Somebody keeps dumping old cases on my desk.” He sighed. “And, before we can close them, we have to check for other related incidences.”

  “You’re welcome,” Doreen said cheerfully. “Why don’t you give me a shout before you’re ready to leave?”

  “I can do that.” After that, he hung up.

  Doreen went back to look at the rest of the canned goods. She shrugged. “Mack, you just signed up to help me sort all this mess.” Turning, she returned to the kitchen to clean the dirty shelves and then put them beside the front hall closet.

  Since that was settled, for now, she grinned and went over to Solomon’s files. Grabbing Steve’s big folder, she went out to the back porch, file in hand, and read. The journalist had worried Steve was money laundering. Doreen didn’t understand how that worked because he was a lawyer, but then figured lawyers could be crooked. They probably had accountants in their pocket anyway. Well, at least her husband had.

  And that reminded her of another lawyer—Mack’s brother. She set out a notepad and started a to-do list. The kitchen and the living room went on the top of the list, while the two piles in the garage made it to second and third places. The closet followed after that. And then she added Mack’s brother.

  After that, she started a new page and jotted down notes about Steve. The journalist had handwritten notes summarizing Steve’s life. It was all there—where and when he had graduated high school, where and when he had gone to college, where and when he’d gone to law school, and when he had passed his bar exam. She was fascinated as she read through it. Everything seemed nice and neat. She couldn’t understand why the journalist had been so concerned with Steve.

  When she got to the part where Steve was somewhere around age thirty, she learned he had hooked up with a company called Brownwell. Apparently, there he became more of an enforcer-type lawyer than a corporate legal one. As in handing over payouts in return for silence. According to Solomon’s handwritten notes, Steve paid off people to stop lawsuits. She wondered if that was considered normal legal work, then shrugged. It seemed like the world didn’t operate in the same way she expected it to anymore.

  Either way though, Doreen was happy studying the case files. She didn’t have to take much in the way of notes because the journalist had done such a good job. It felt like working with a professional. Not to be caught without it, she got up and scanned in the summary. It would be nice if the journalist had put the files on a disk, but she didn’t know if he had been computer-loving enough for that. Or maybe there were disks in the boxes she hadn’t checked yet. She went through the Steve folders again, looking at the notes, interviews, and contracts. The contracts should have paid out immense amounts of money, yet somehow they were cut in half at the final payout signatures. She skimmed through the summary pages again. It was a fascinating read. But it wasn’t very helpful in terms of understanding if Steve was a crook or not because, as far as she was concerned, all lawyers were crooks. Some of them played just inside the edge of the law. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off the pages.

  By the time she finished going through the entire stack of files regarding Steve, the afternoon was almost gone, and evening loitered around the corner. Her phone buzzed, and Mack told her that he was on his way to her house and then promptly hung up.

  She glared at her screen. “I’m pretty sure,” she said, “I told you to tell me when you were leaving.”

  But a short browse through her phone proved he had, with a text, and she had missed it. She hopped to her feet and put on coffee, then carefully placed the Steve folders back into the box. As she did that though, she decided to scan the whole thing first. So, when Mack walked in her front door, she was still working on that project, with over two-thirds of the stack to go.

  He looked at her, smiled, and said, “That’s a heck of a pile in the living room.”

  She nodded. “It is, indeed.”

  He looked at the folder she held, and his eyebrows shot up. “Whose file is that?”

  “Steve’s,” she said darkly.

  He reached out his hand in an instant. “I want it.”

  “I know,” she said, glaring at him. “And you can have it after I’ve scanned it. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and it was given to me.”

  He shook his head. “In a criminal case,” he said, “you don’t have any rights.” Something about his tone was gentle, but it was also fairly invincible.

  “Pour us some coffee please.”

  He glared at her, and she shrugged. “I’m scanning these, in case somebody tries to steal them.”

  “In that case, make sure you send me the PDF too.”

  “You’re welcome for Penny’s file,” she said, trying to keep his thoughts off of what she was doing.

  “Right,” he said. “I forgot about that. I should have hit Reply and said thanks.”

  “You should have. I’m not sure where all of it can be used, but I do know it’ll help the defense. Maybe the prosecutor can use it to keep from getting caught with the information they didn’t know about.”

  “Good thinking,” Mack said when he returned with two cups of coffee and set them on the table. “How much more do you have to go?”

  “Most of this, from here on in, is all on the same size of paper,” she said as she filled the chute and hit the Scan button. “After this, I think it’s just one more stack.” She picked up her cup, then said, “Let’s take a quick look through that stuff in the living room.”

  When they reached the living room, Mack just stood there and stared. “All of this came from the kitchen?” he asked.

  “All of it. The cupboards have all been scrubbed down, waiting to be refilled.” Then she grinned at him. “There’s also the garage, which I have to show you afterward.”

  Too taken in by the mess before him, Doreen thought he barely registered what she had just said about the garage. He started sorting through the things. “It’s always good to have tongs,” Mack told her. Then he picked up another long-handled thing. “You need this for mashed potatoes.” After that, he pointed at something. “And that’s a slotted spoon for scooping up steamed veggies.” Then he kept up his litany as he moved a pile off to one side and left a bunch in place. Finally, he said, “There. Most of the rest are broken and aren’t of any value.”

  Doreen thought Mack was done commenting, but he pointed at the dishes. “Are you getting rid of those?”

  She nodded. “I’m short on boxes again.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’ve taken so much stuff out of this place. You almost need a cardboard box factory to make it all happen.” He added the utensils to the dishes and then started in on the bowls. “This one is a measuring cup. It’s not a bowl, and there should hopefully be a couple more of them.” He searched the pile, then spied something that interested him. He exclaimed, “Aha,” and lifted three similar nesting cups with handles. He put those inside the bigger one. “You’ll keep that set,” he said as he placed them to the side with the utensils she was to keep.

  After that, he sorted through the real bowls. “You need mixing bowls. These stainless steel ones will last forever, but these are pretty dented and look like they are scraped.” Then he found brightly colored glass bowls. “Which do you like better?”


  “The colored ones,” she said.

  Like a magician, out of the pile he pulled a set of four that nested inside each other. “Here,” he said. “These are good ones to keep. Oh, and you might want to keep one of the big bowls too, just in case.” He pulled out one of them and set it off to the side. Then he continued his inspection. “You’ve also got a wooden salad bowl set. And a glass set. Which one would you like for your salads?”

  When she realized that was what they were for, she chose the wooden one. She put it off to the side, and he added salad bowls that went with it.

  She laughed in delight. “I couldn’t even see all these in there.”

  “Why don’t you go put those away, and I’ll get started on the baking dishes now?”

  She hopped up and moved what he had sorted into the cupboards where she thought they would work well. She returned to witness him muttering to himself over the pots. He was checking their condition, mostly their bottoms, and whether or not they had lids that fit. Then he turned to her and said, “Put these away. They’re good and solid. Nothing’s loose or wonky. You have two good pots that don’t have lids and a massive pot that’s not necessarily a canning pot, but you could use it as one.”

  “What are those lids with holes in them for?”

  He frowned, but his lips twitched.

  She held a pointed finger at him. “Don’t,” she warned.

  “Canning lids.” He cleared his throat. Then in a very gentle voice, he said, “In the olden days, they tinned food. They put the food into tins, and it became ‘canned food,’ but nowadays we bottle them. You’ll get canning jars and sealing lids, and you’ll use a pot like that with the rack that fits it.” He reached across and pulled out some tongs. “These tongs go with it too. Why don’t you hang onto this? Maybe you’ll want to make some canned fruit or fresh fruit purees.”

  Just the thought of that was enough to make her mouth water. She nodded eagerly.

  He set the canning pot off to the side with all the related pieces that went with it. Then he returned to commenting, saying, “Roasting pans. Everybody needs one or two. I’m selecting two different sizes for you, and the rest can all go. They’re either warped or bent.”

  Aside from the tin set, there was something else that had her curious. “What’s that round ball thing?” she asked.

  “It was all the rage for a while,” he said. “You’d make these half-and-half cake pop things and insert a popsicle stick in it so the kids would have a little cake ball on the stick.”

  She just stared at him.

  “Personally I like my cake in about six layers and slathered in icing, but to each his own.” He shrugged, then set them off to the side. He picked up a weird bright red plastic thing. “These are silicone pans.”

  “How are you supposed to use those for anything? They’ll wobble and drop for sure.”

  “I never really got the hang of it. Some people love them though.” He shrugged again, then grabbed a bunch of cookie sheets, muffin tins, and bread pans. “You probably won’t ever use any of these, but they’re all in very good shape, and I don’t want to shortchange you on the fun if you end up doing some baking.”

  She loved the way he put that. She smiled.

  Then, with everything sorted out among the kitchen supplies, Doreen stopped to look at the scanner. She pulled the finished stack out, then started the new stack, only to land her gaze on a picture of Steve and Penny. The picture just sat on top of the stack of files she was supposed to scan. The two had their arms around each other. Doreen pulled the photo free and turned it over, reading the note on the back. And gasped.

  Stay away from Penny … she’s my wife, not yours.

  Chapter 11

  Friday Early Evening …

  “What is it?” Mack asked from behind her, pouring a fresh cup of coffee.

  “It’s a warning note to Steve to stay away from Penny,” Doreen said. She held it out for him.

  “The scans may be problematic,” he said, “since notes are on the back of some of these docs.”

  She frowned. “I thought I’d sorted everything that had stuff on the back but maybe not.” She checked the rest of the stack. “Oh, that’s the only one misplaced.”

  “Interesting,” Mack said with a frown as he placed the picture on the kitchen table. “All it proves though is that Penny and Steve had a relationship.”

  “And she lied about it. And did George know?”

  “No idea. But since it seemed like George had committed suicide, that may have been one of the many reasons why.”

  “I’d hate to think that George knew of his wife’s infidelity. It’s an awful feeling.”

  “And, of course, you know that firsthand. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “But it doesn’t really matter anymore because that part of my life is over.”

  Mack tapped the notepad in front of her.

  “Oh,” Doreen said, remembering her list. “That reminds me. Have you talked to your brother yet?”

  He shook his head. “We did talk a few days ago or maybe last week. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t gotten an update from him on disbarring your divorce lawyer.”

  “Sorry,” Doreen said. “I’m definitely responsible for a lot of the work coming your way.”

  “You are,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’m not complaining. Crystal is coming home this weekend.”

  With her mind too full of Penny and Steve, it took Doreen a moment to remember who Crystal was. When she did, she cried out and raced to his side. “Really?”

  “Yes,” he said, grinning down at her. “The current plan has her flying in tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. I thought it would take much longer!”

  “Well, the fact of the matter is, she’s Canadian, so the embassy there in Mexico helped her get home right away.”

  “That’s so soon.”

  “It is,” he said. “While you’re still scanning, let’s go sort some more of the kitchen’s things.”

  They returned to start with the canned food. He chuckled at seeing the potatoes, then set it off on one side.

  “What we’ll do,” he said, “is separate everything that’s over its due date. If it’s under a year late, the food bank will take it. If it’s over a year, it’s for the garbage can.”

  Most of the food was past their dates. As they worked, Mack said, “We often see this in old people’s homes. They forget that they’ve bought something, and they keep rebuying it.” Then he chuckled. “This flour is quite old, and some of these things look rancid. I suggest we get some garbage bags and just toss out the bulk of this. When you do some baking, you can start fresh and buy small quantities.”

  The whole ordeal took them twenty minutes. And as soon as they got all the garbage bagged, Mack took it outside and dumped the bags into the trash can. He ignored the media that snapped his picture.

  “Sorry,” he said, when he returned to her. “But the media will think we’re in a relationship or whatever.”

  She groaned. “They just never give up.”

  “They’ll go away eventually,” he said, looking around the kitchen. “Maybe you can find some bags to put the rest of these dishes and things in. At least they’ll be packed up somewhat.”

  She did just that but then told him, “Now my cupboards are bare.”

  “Sure, but what you have is what you need,” he said with a shrug. “And what’s gone is stuff you didn’t need anyway.”

  She beamed at him. “I like that.” She walked over to the scanner and set the last group of pages to start scanning. Then she stood guard over the files and eyed Mack as he prepared the pork chops.

  Without looking up, yet sensing she was looking at him, he asked, “Are you leaving Steve alone?”

  She froze.

  He frowned and turned to her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I do want you to take this seriously.”

  She could see he was gearing up for a really good lecture, so, in a small voice, she
said, “I forgot.”

  He narrowed his gaze. And his hands, covered with meat juices, almost went to his hips. He stopped himself at the last moment and walked to the sink, as if trying to hold on to his temper. He took his time washing his hands before turning around and leaning against the sink. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, and, in a very soft voice, he asked, “What did you forget?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I ran into him this morning.”

  “And you’re just telling me now?”

  “I did try to call you,” she said in self-defense. “Honest. But I got your voicemail, so you were busy, and I figured maybe I’d given you more-than-enough work, and you didn’t want to talk to me.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  She shrugged. “Besides, there wasn’t much to tell.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” Mack said. “Tell me what happened.”

  She relayed a little bit of the event and tried to downplay it.

  “And did you take it as a threat?”

  She stared at him, wondering how she should answer, and then decided to be truthful. “Yes,” she said gently. “I think I did.”

  “Think?”

  She nodded. “Okay, so it was likely a threat. But he doesn’t know what I know. He doesn’t know I have these files. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “But you did bring up the gun. He did acknowledge it was his, correct?”

  She shrugged. “Well, he didn’t say, ‘Yes, it’s my gun’ or ‘Yes, I dropped it when I flipped over the fence,’ but he was shocked that I knew. And he didn’t like the fact that I told him how you guys were coming after him.”

  “You really didn’t tell him that, did you?”

  “Well, I told him that he better have his answers straight before the police get to him.”

  “You realize, of course, he’s probably halfway out of the country by now then?”

  “Maybe not,” she said cheerfully. “Honestly, I think he would stick around and make sure I didn’t get to talk to anybody else instead. Plus, he’s intent on telling everyone how I’ve made all this up about Penny.”