Misty walked down the center of the courtroom and took a seat on the second bench, beside Caroline, Jack and the Adamciks. Across the aisle, Cathy and Beto Flores, Rory and Lisa Keller, and Russ and Angie Riley sat stoically, every one of them victims of the basket vandals, and as vested in today’s sentencing as Misty was.
The jury had deliberated for only a couple of hours yesterday before handing down a guilty verdict. The defense had argued passionately for a lenient sentence based on Hutch’s previously productive life, an argument Misty had countered with a description of the pain she’d suffered and the trauma she still coped with. Today’s sentence would tell the victims whether they’d get some justice for the trauma they suffered.
Hutch was already seated and looking as impassive as he had throughout the trial, but the DA and the defense attorney were nervous and showing it. The jury filed in, formalities were quickly carried out and the jury foreman handed the bailiff a folded piece of paper, which he carried to the judge. The judge nodded and handed the paper back to the bailiff, who returned it to the foreman, who read they were sentencing Hutch to twenty years in the penitentiary, the maximum sentence for aggravated assault, and they were fining him the maximum of ten thousand dollars.
Misty fought the urge to jump up and pump her fist, and looked around at the satisfied expressions of the other victims.
The judge thanked the jury and adjourned court. The judge and the jury filed out and Hutch, who had been denied bail and was already in handcuffs, was led from the courtroom. The gallery of spectators drifted out, and it was only then that Misty and the rest of the victims allowed themselves to smile and pump the air and high-five one another.
“Well, how does it feel?” Jimmy Adamcik asked as he hugged Misty. “Did you get the closure you needed?”
“Most definitely,” she assured him. “It felt good to see that SOB walk out of here with that kind of sentence. I’ll have an easier time putting the whole thing behind me now.”
“I think we all got some closure today,” Jack Briscoe said as he gave Misty a hug. “I think we all feel like you do.”
“And this is just the first trial,” Russ Riley reminded them. “He’ll be tried again at least three more times and Roxanne has her own trials to face. I hope this means that the rest of the sentences will also be stiff.”
“I think they will be,” Rory Keller volunteered. “The people of this town didn’t appreciate the way we were all treated. Especially Misty and Angie.”
“So, folks, would it be just horribly crass of us all to have a little celebration of this momentous occasion later this evening?” Russ asked, his eyes dancing with devilment. “Privately of course—don’t want to be too tacky about it. What do you think, Misty?”
“Yes, it would be crass as all get-out, but do you think I care after what they put us through?”
“Amen to that,” Angie said. “Let’s get together.”
“We’ll supply the house and the booze,” Jimmy volunteered.
Jack and Caroline volunteered to bring some home-grown steaks, side dishes were agreed upon, and that evening Misty found herself enjoying the impromptu get-together that was maybe not so much a celebration but an affirmation they had seen justice served today.
While she was pleased, not only for her own sake but for the sakes of the wonderful people celebrating with her, she felt bad for Alex. Leigh Anne’s killer would never stand trial, and Alex would never experience the kind of closure that they had today in Verde.
And without that closure, was Alex doomed to forever live in the past, unable to put Leigh Anne’s death behind him and move on with his life, and love Misty?
*****
Misty sat on the edge of her bed and stared down at the two little pink lines on the pregnancy test she had picked up on the way into San Antonio and had taken as soon as she’d hit the front door.
She gazed, mesmerized, at the stick as fear and elation warred inside of her head and tears burned in her eyes. Pregnant. She really was pregnant. She and Alex had made a baby on that ill-advised night of passion in Corpus Christi. On the night that had begun so passionately and ended so badly, Alex had gifted her with the child she wanted so much.
Good God, what had they done?
Misty felt tears starting to well as she gently laid her hand on her still-flat stomach. She had a baby growing inside of her. She was going to hold a tiny baby and feed it from her body. She was going to play with blocks on the floor with a toddler, read a story to a kindergartener and tell funny stories about this precious, wonderful child to anyone who would listen.
She felt a sob tear through her, and another, and finally she covered her face with her hands and sobbed out loud as terrified exhilaration permeated her body.
She was going to have the child she’d dreamed about all her life.
She was going to have everything she’d ever wanted.
Well, not everything, she admitted to herself later that evening as she drank a glass of iced mint tea, the sparkling water she usually loved for some reason bitter on her tongue tonight. Yes, she’d daydreamed about this moment for years, but part of that daydream had always included a smiling, proud father-to-be.
And here she sat by herself, alone in her joy.
She hadn’t heard from Alex since the night they’d made love in Verde. Not that she’d tried to contact him either, other than to send a text saying that she was back in town and ready to resume the subterfuge. She had no idea how he felt, or what the night they’d spent together had meant, or if he even wanted to sleep with her again.
And now this.
Misty would have to tell him about the baby. Sooner or later, he would need to know, and he deserved to know that he had fathered another child. But would he even want this baby, the product of a brief fling with a woman he didn’t love? Would he want a child who wasn’t his precious Leigh Anne’s?
Misty rested her hand on her stomach, amazed at the love she already felt for this little one, a child she hadn’t even known for sure existed until today.
She didn’t know how Alex would feel. She hoped he could find it in his heart to care—as much for his sake as for hers and the baby’s. But if he didn’t, if he couldn’t love this child, the way he or she deserved, then he would not be a part of this child’s life. Period.
She didn’t know much about bringing up a child, but she knew this much: Her baby would never be made to feel that he or she was second best in their father’s affections. Misty had experienced that rejection all of her life, from both of her parents to some degree. She knew how much it hurt and she was damned determined that this baby would never know that feeling. This little one would come first with his or her mother and she would make sure the baby knew it with every fiber of their being.
And the father? He would have to give his child the best of his love, or he would not be part of this baby’s life. Harsh, maybe, but there would be no room for compromise on this. This was the way that she felt, and this was the way it was going to be.
*****
Misty packed her trumpet in her gig bag and collapsed into a chair in the break room, more tired and discouraged than she had been in a long time. It had been almost a month since she’d gotten back from Verde and she and Alex had resumed their fruitless subterfuge. She was beginning to wonder if the band was really involved after all.
There had been no more incidents at any of the band’s gigs and there hadn’t been any hint of drugs at the club. As her father reminded her at least twice a week, Kirby’s trial date was coming up and they appeared to be no closer to identifying the guilty party than they were when they entered into this romantic charade almost three months ago.
Chito told them when and where their next two gigs would be and one by one the band members took their leave. Misty wondered if Alex knew they were finished for the evening. She’d seen him take his drink and disappear into the manager’s office during the band’s last set. She was about to go looking for him when he appeared in the door and motioned for her to come with him. “Sorry, I had to go over the books and tonight’s the only chance I’ve had to do it. Ren’s still not back full time and we’re having to cover both him and Tio Joaquin.”
“Ren was here tonight.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “First things first, I suppose.” He put his hands in his pockets and said no more.
They exited through the side door and walked down the Riverwalk toward the parking garage. He wasn’t going to discuss it with her, was he? Just like he hadn’t discussed anything with her since she’d gotten back from Verde.
He’d been perfectly polite, but as remote and unapproachable as she’d ever seen him. He spoke when spoken to and answered questions, but they had not discussed their progress or lack of it in fingering whoever had framed Kirby. He hadn’t brought up their night at the lake, leaving Misty no clue how he felt about her or about the night they’d spent together.
But in all fairness, she’d been just as reserved with him. She’d asked after his uncle a couple of times but made no mention of their night together or Alex’s disappearing act the next morning. And she sure hadn’t told him about the baby.
Now that the double euphoria of nailing Hutch’s sorry ass to the wall and finding out she was pregnant had worn off, Misty found herself facing the prospect of single parenthood a bit more realistically.
She was already coping with nausea in the morning and being bone-tired for the rest of the day, and she was beginning to wonder how she was going to handle the rest of the pregnancy and the inevitable challenges of raising a child going it alone.
She couldn’t see either of her parents doing much to help, and she had no idea whether Alex would be willing to step up to the plate and be the kind of father she was going to insist that he be for this child.
As Caroline had been advising for the last two weeks, Misty had to tell him and she had to tell him soon, but she kept putting it off, dreading Alex’s probable reaction.
And it didn’t help that she was becoming more worried about Kirby by the day. If she and Alex couldn’t figure out who was behind the drugs, her little brother could very well have to go to prison, an experience that would most likely destroy him.
Riverwalk. Garage. Car. They were silent on the way back to her house, too. Ugh.
Insult to injury, Misty groaned when she spotted her father’s car in the driveway. Rolando was sitting on her front step. Her hormones were making her snap impatiently and tear up at the drop of a hat and any encounter with Rolando was bound to set her off.
“Just shoot me now,” she murmured as Alex cut the engine and Rolando started toward the car. “One off word out of that SOB and I may kill him and tell God he died.”
“You want me to tell him to come back tomorrow?” Alex asked as they got out of the car and he handed Misty her gig bag.
“You can try,” Misty said dryly.
Rolando met them halfway across the yard. “I need to talk to both of you. Damn it, Misty, this is taking too damn long.”
Alex turned to Rolando, his eyes cool. “And good evening to you too, sir. Aren’t you going to even say hello to your daughter and ask after her well-being? Or would greeting us graciously this evening be too much to ask?” He turned to Misty. “He always rude, or is it just you and me?”
“When he wants something, yes, he’s rude to everybody. But I think you’re the only one he’s ever decked.” Misty fought back a laugh when her father’s face turned red.
“All right, all right. I think we all know I have the manners of a boar hog.” Rolando leaned over and kissed Misty’s cheek. “I am glad to see you, mija.” Misty unlocked the front door and flipped on the light. Rolando took a better look at her. “You look tired, Misty. Playing all these gigs on top of your job is wearing you out.”
That and carrying your grandchild. “I’m all right.” She tossed her gig bag in the front closet and the three of them settled in the living room. “I assume you want an update on our nonexistent progress. Well, nonexistent is the operative word and I’m beginning to wonder if someone in the band is really the culprit.”
Rolando shifted in his chair. “I know you feel like I’m pressuring you and maybe I am, but Kirby’s trial date’s coming up and if you—Alex—we can’t find out who’s really responsible Kirby could very easily be sent up.” Rolando ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I’m scared to death for him.” He turned to Alex. “I didn’t mean to be rude to you and Misty, honestly. I’m just terrified and I’m taking it out on anybody and everybody.” He looked from Alex to Misty. “Is there anything, anything more than you two can do to finger the real bad guys in this?”
Alex and Misty looked at one another, Alex tilting his head to encourage her to speak first. “What if we set up a little private sting?” Misty asked.
“Put out the word that we’d like to make a purchase or two,” Alex agreed speculatively. “Shake up the apple tree and see if any fruit falls out.”
Rolando raised his eyebrows. “You think a dealer would really believe either of the two of you would want drugs? No, forget I asked,” he said when Misty and Alex looked at each other and laughed out loud. “I guess anybody and everybody does them these days.”
“Sadly enough, Mr. Martinez, pretty much,” Alex said. “And they would seriously believe it of me, as much as they’ve seen me drink the last few months. My using drugs would be the next logical step.”
Misty looked at Alex and hoped her surprise didn’t show. He not only realized he was drinking too much, he knew that others were aware of it. “I agree. He would be perfectly believable as a potential customer. He could put the word out the next time we’re in the club, which will be two nights from now, and we can see if anybody in the band takes the bait.”
“And if they don’t?” Rolando asked anxiously.
Alex leaned forward. “Then we can rule out the band and look elsewhere. But I still say it’s somebody in that damned band. It has to be.”
“So who do we drop hints to that we want to score?” Misty asked Alex.
“The bartenders are a good bet. Even if they don’t use themselves. Or I can drop a hint to a certain cousin of mine.”
Rolando sat forward. “You think your cousin may be involved?”
“Mr. Martinez, he’s our number-one suspect and has been from the beginning.”
Rolando sat back and huffed out his breath. “Dios. A Navarro involved in something like that. Hard to imagine.”
Alex shrugged. “Anyway, we can put this into motion two nights from now and see what happens. I hope it works. The sooner we can get this over with, the better.”
So you can quit this charade and go home to your memories and your bottle. Misty couldn’t hide the flinch as she quickly looked away from Alex and focused on her father. “Tell Kirby we’re doing our best, Dad. That’s all we can do.”
She managed to hold back her tears until Alex and her father were out the door.
Damn it, he couldn’t wait to get away from her, she thought as she swiped at the tears that were running down her face. He couldn’t wait for this charade to be over so he wouldn’t have to see her anymore. And if he felt like that, what were the odds that he would want anything to do with their baby?
*****
Alex sat on the sofa and stared down at his favorite picture of Leigh Anne, the one taken of her campaigning with him the summer before she was murdered. Her smile was bright and genuine and her baby bump clearly visible as she shook hands with an old man in a wheelchair.
She hadn’t like the picture much, claiming it made her look fat, but Alex thought it had captured her perfectly, her blonde beauty, her intelligence and the loving, wonderful spirit that had been Leigh Anne Barnes Navarro.
He ran his finger down the picture, carefully studying Leigh Anne’s image before putting the picture to one side and taking a generous gulp of the neat Scotch in the tumbler on the coffee table. He eyed the amber liquid as he felt the all-too familiar burn down the back of his throat. No, it would not be a stretch for a dealer to think he’d want to score drugs, not that he would ever really use anything besides the Scotch he was anesthetizing himself with too much these days. If he was honest with himself, it wasn’t doing a thing to relieve the grief and the guilt and the morass of misery his life had become since Leigh Anne died.
Alex tossed back another gulp of Scotch anyway, his thoughts turning as they had so often in the last month to Misty and the passionate night they’d spent together, and he wondered for the umpteenth time if his father hadn’t called and he hadn’t been given the perfect excuse to run out on her if things would have worked out differently.
Maybe if he had stayed and talked to her the next day they wouldn’t be at this cool and remote impasse right now, with neither of them having the courage to breach what had become a tall, impenetrable wall between them.
Misty probably thought that all he wanted from her was just that one night, and that was bound to have hurt her. He hadn’t missed her flinch or the fact that she’d quickly turned away this evening when he said he’d like for the charade to be over.
A part of him wanted more than one spectacular night in Verde. And that part wanted the charade to be over so that maybe, just maybe he could approach Misty honestly, without the subterfuge and the playacting that went with it. That part of him wanted to get to know Misty better and maybe even learn to care about her, to open his heart to something besides grief and loneliness, to know warmth and goodness and maybe even love.
Another part of him wanted to turn tail and run at even the thought of loving again. He could lose Misty just as easily as he had Leigh Anne.
And yet another part of him felt as guilty as hell for even wanting to care about another woman.
Alex tossed back the rest of the whiskey.
Yes, he was terrified of loving again. He’d loved Leigh Anne with every fiber of his being, and losing her had just about killed him—and would kill him eventually, if he kept drowning her memory in the booze every night.
He’d learned the hard way that nothing was forever, and he didn’t know whether he had the courage to put himself out there again, to love another woman the way he had Leigh Anne, when he could lose her too.
He didn’t know if he even deserved another chance. And besides, what business did he have even wanting to love another woman, when he still loved Leigh Anne and always would?
Even wanting to care again made him feel guilty and disloyal to the wife who had loved him so much.
Loving another woman just seemed wrong.
Leigh Anne deserved better from him than that.
*****
Alex leaned against the bar and eyed the bartenders as he sipped the drink in his hand. Damn, how did one go about asking around about a drug dealer? It was one thing to sit in Misty’s living room and come up with a plan and quite another to march up to the bartender and ask to be put in touch with a drug dealer, especially with the squeaky-clean image the Navarro Corporation cultivated.
He’d gotten what little marijuana he’d smoked from his college roommate, and when he asked Misty if she had any idea how to approach the bartender she laughed and said she didn’t know either, she’d always gotten her pot from Caroline and Caroline’s hell-raising first husband.
So here Alex was, trying to look cool and nonchalant and feeling like a complete idiot.
He finished his drink and waited until Barry, the bartender Misty swore was batting for both teams, finished flirting with a couple of young men at the end of the bar. “Can I get you a refill, Mr. Navarro?” Barry asked helpfully.
“Not at the moment.” He leaned forward, although with the mariachis at full volume and the noisy chit-chat he was in little danger of being overheard. “Actually, I’m not in the mood for more alcohol. I’d love something a little more exotic, though. You know anybody who could fix me up?”
Barry’s eyes widened and he looked around wildly. “I—I don’t know, Mr. Navarro.”
Alex looked Barry in the eye. “Yes, you do, Barry. I’m not trying to trick you or trap you. I would honestly like to know if you know of anyone who can fix me up with a little something.”
Barry let out an amused snort. “In that case, I can certainly mention it to someone who can help you out. But I’m honestly surprised you’re asking. You should know exactly who to talk to. Now, can I get you another drink?”
Alex ordered up the drink and turned the bartender’s words over in his mind. He should know exactly who to talk to? Did that mean it was Ren after all?
Alex waited impatiently until Misty’s gig was finished and they were on the way to the car. “I asked Barry about finding a dealer and he laughed in my face. He said I should know exactly who to talk to.”
“Exactly, huh? So it take us right back to the band.”
“Sounds like. But there are seven people who could be our dealer. We need to narrow it down.”
“Maybe there’s a way we can do that.” Misty whipped out her phone and scrolled down the numbers. “Kirby? You still up? Good. Can Alex and I come by in a few and talk to you again? Good, we’ll see you in a bit.” She put away her phone. “Maybe he’ll be able to remember something if I probe a little.”
Misty entered her father’s address in Alex’s GPS and twenty minutes later they were parking in the driveway of a faux-Victorian gingerbread two-story in a gated community in the suburbs. “Tacky, I know, but Kirby’s mother liked it,” Misty said. “It’s a lot nicer inside.”
“So where is Kirby’s mother?” It occurred to Alex that neither Misty nor her father had ever mentioned her.
“She died a few years ago. That’s when Kirby started going off the rails.”
Alex followed Misty to the front door and a younger, masculine version of Misty let them in. The boy was handsome but too thin and showing the stress he’d been under since his arrest. “Dad’s already gone to bed. Can I get you anything? Iced tea? Soda? A drink, Alex? Some of that sparkling water you love, Misty?”
“Uh, plain bottled water for me,” she said. “Not much in the sparkling water mood tonight.”
That was odd. Alex thought Misty lived on sparkling water.
“Now Kirby, I want you to think back and think back hard on the night the drugs were planted and you were arrested. I need to go over that night step by step, particularly in regards to the band.”
“Okay. I didn’t know any of the older band members personally. I thought Haley, the girl on the violin, was cute. I flirted with her a few times and thought about asking her out on a date but then I saw the young guy on the vihuela put his arm around her and snitch a kiss when the old man wasn’t looking and figured he was her boyfriend. I knew the gringo-looking one was a Navarro and connected to the club.”
“So what about the night you were arrested? Do you remember who was doing what that night?” Misty pressed.
“We weren’t all that busy, it being a weeknight in the winter. I was taking a load of dirty dishes back to the kitchen when I heard a commotion and saw the cops searching the lockers. Next thing I knew they came and got me and showed me the stash they’d found in my locker.” Kirby sniffed and wiped his eyes. “And my life’s been shot to hell ever since.”
“Okay, let’s backtrack to earlier in the evening. What did you see earlier? Who did you see in the break room?”
Kirby thought a minute. “I walked by once when it looked like the whole band was in there tuning up. Sounded like it, too. And then they went on stage.”
“What about between sets? Did you notice anything then?”
“Nothing in particular. They were all in the bathroom, I think. No, wait. I was walking by. I heard somebody whisper something and a locker door slam, and then I heard the gringo saying something like ‘Break it up and get your strings retuned. We go back on in a minute’ and when I walked by Haley and Eric were standing real close to each other and giving the gringo a fuck-you look.” Kirby’s eyes got big. “You think they could have planted it then?”
“Why not? Especially with the whispering. The kissing could have been a cover,” Misty told him.
“And so could Ren’s comment,” Alex added. “They put on a little act for anybody walking by while they planted the drugs. Would only take a matter of seconds.”
“But which one of them?” Kirby asked.
“It looks like all three,” Alex said grimly. “Damn.” He cringed inwardly at the thought of his own flesh and blood involved in something like that.
“Okay, Kirby, this is a lot more than we had to go on before.”
“But is it enough?” Kirby asked anxiously. “Is it enough to save me?”
“You know…” Alex said thoughtfully. “It may very well be.”
Misty asked Kirby a few more questions and the two of them wished the boy good night. “So, were you lying to Kirby or do you really think we know enough to save him?” Misty asked quietly as they drove toward her house.
“I think we do, but I also think it’s time to try to re-involve the authorities. What we’ve learned on our own seriously implicates somebody in that band and any investigator worth his salt would know it.”
“I’ll go back to Ellison. Tell him what we’ve learned and get him thinking about his case.”
“And I’ll approach Ren and tell him I’m branching out. We can see what he does. You play again three nights from now. I’ll talk to him then.” Alex slapped the steering wheel in frustration. “Damn it to hell. What if he’s guilty? What will this do to Tio Joaquin? Ren’s an only child and it’s just been him and Tio Joaquin since Tia Katy died twenty years ago.”
“Maybe it isn’t really him,” Misty said. “Maybe it was just the other two that night.”
But it looked to Alex like Ren was involved up to his eyeballs.