Shenny’s resembled a shoebox, with a flat roof and narrow windows set into siding above chest-high brick.
Cut off from the highway by a belt of trees, a graveled area fronted the building. Maggie parked beside a maroon pickup, forming the closest thing to a row among the scattered vehicles.
“One thing before we go in,” Dallas said from the back. “I heard some about Laurel’s business with Henry Zales.”
Maggie twisted around to him. “The divorce lawyer Laurel saw in Lynchburg? That was the call you took? Why didn’t you tell us in the office or during the drive?”
“I was enjoying spring.”
What he was enjoying was springing it on her.
“My source says those two peas weren’t so happy in the pod. Eugene’d learned a bit from his first three wives — at least from divorcin’ them. Before the fourth wedding, he got himself a real strong lawyer from up your way, Maggie, and had Laurel sign an agreement. Sort of two-barreled affair — a regular pre-nup in case of divorce, but also an agreement on what her allowance would be during the marriage. Could have been a union contract, with cost-of-living increases and raises for seniority and all. Laurel was lookin’ to Henry Zales to renegotiate.”
“Her attorney volunteered that?”
He gave an easy wave of his hand. “Not saying I talked to Henry Zales. Not saying it at all, though we do go way back. And even if I did talk to him it’d be a matter of confirming, rather than volunteering, because I had an inkling.” Dallas’ gaze flickered to the back of Carson’s head.
Maggie filed that away, but kept to the main thread. “What argument was Laurel using?”
“According to my source, her only argument was she wanted more. She was mad as a wet hen when Henry Zales told her the agreement didn’t leave him a glimmer of daylight. Stirred up the whole office with her exit scene. This was before she left Eugene.
“And then, last week, she waltzed in to his office and ordered him to start working on a new document that would give her exactly what she’d wanted. When the matter of Eugene and his lawyer was brought up, she laughed and said his lawyer had no say in it and Eugene would sign all right. She’d made sure of that.”
“She’d made sure of it — it was already settled?”
He nodded. “That’s what she told Henry. I have the name and number for Eugene’s lawyer, if we get Eugene to agree he can talk to us.”
Maggie looked out the back window past Dallas. “From what you’ve said, Eugene was nuts about her at the start. If he had enough control over his emotions to be practical then would he reverse himself now when — from what we’ve heard — the bloom was off the rose and her power over him had waned.”
Dallas’ eyes lit. “The bloom off the rose, yes, and Laurel’s sexual power over him waning. But there are other kinds of power.”
“Like?”
“They are as varied as the human race, my dear.”
“Can we narrow it down some?” Maggie heard, but didn’t respond to Carson’s grunt of amusement. “What—?”
But Dallas was maneuvering himself out of the car. She could follow or be left behind.
Carson held open Shenny’s glass outer door. A second set of doors opened to a constricted area with benches to either side. Beyond were three arches — to the left opened to a restaurant, straight ahead pointed to restrooms and telephones, to the right could pass for a cave. In the center was a lectern, with a dark-haired smiling woman behind it.
“Why, Dallas Monroe, it’s about time you came by. We haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.” The woman’s smile slid over Maggie, then broadened for Carson. “And J.D.! Well, if this isn’t a fine day!”
Carson smiled. “Good to see you, Janice.”
“You two young people go on in, and I’ll catch up after I say a real hello to Janice here.” Dallas gestured to the cave on the right. Carson put his hand under Maggie’s elbow. Moving forward was the best way to avoid it.
Carson pointed to a small table beneath a curtained window and across from the bar. Three men sat at the bar’s far end, with two other patrons widely separated along the length. A man with gray hair in an uneven ponytail was bartending.
Carson pulled out the chair with its back to the bar, presumably for her.
She took the chair closest to her, angling it. “To interview the bartender, we should be at the bar.”
He left the chair she’d refused and took the one opposite her. “Dallas is clearing the decks with Janice. She owns the place. Besides, talking at the bar wouldn’t get us a thing from Barry. If customers know he gave up their secrets, he won’t hear more. He’ll come to us.”
“We’re supposed to sit here and wait?”
His left eyebrow quirked up. “You could have a drink. Relax. What do you do to relax, Maggie?”
“Read.”
“Anything besides case materials and legal opinions?”
She ignored that, because the answer was no. Remembering her conversation with Jamie, she said, “Garden a little.”
“You find that relaxing, do you?” He didn’t believe her.
“No.”
He was going to laugh again.
She moved the dish with pink and blue packets of fake sweetener to the precise center of the table, prepared.
No sound came from him.
She looked up. He watched her, laughter lightening his eyes without mobilizing his mouth.
Abruptly, she said, “What you said — about what it’s like when someone’s trying a case.”
“When you’re trying a case,” he corrected immediately.
“That was based on your experience?”
“You mean my handful of times representing a client in a courtroom? No. Most haven’t lasted long enough to need to filter out anything except a couple flies buzzing around. I recognized it four and a half years ago in you. I’ve seen it in combat.”
“Oh, come on!” she scoffed. “You’re likening my concentration during trial to a soldier in combat? What, I’m afraid to die? I’m prepared to kill an enemy?”
He rubbed his chin. “Could be — afraid to die, prepared to kill an enemy, in legal terms. To make sure no one storms your position, to defend your certainty.”
“If I’m not certain, I don’t go to trial.”
His mouth stretched in a quick, sardonic grin. “No claiming you were just following orders for you.” He added a nod, as if he expected no different. But his gaze went far away. “When a soldier’s in combat, there’s a sort of bubble … a zone…” Slowly, he brought his gaze back to hers. “That’s what I saw in you. When you tried me. And at other trials.”
Something went up her spine. “What other trials?”
“A few of yours in Fairlington.”
“You haven’t — I’ve never seen you.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “I wasn’t part of those trials. I was filtered out.”
Was it possible? Maybe. After one of her earliest cases, Jamie and Ally said they’d been in the courtroom and she’d had no idea.
“Why would you go to my trials?”
“To be a decent defense lawyer, I need to know how the best prosecutors operate to counter their moves. You’re a damned good prosecutor.”
She’d done the mirror image — watching top-notch defense attorneys, no matter how hard it had been.
It was reasonable. Yet his answer didn’t satisfy her.
“You were fascinating to watch,” he added. “Determined to make everyone see it your way.”
“As I said, I don’t prosecute unless I know they’re guilty.”
“Know.” He hooked one elbow over the back of his chair. “Such certainty.” She braced for a probe. Instead, he said, “Whatever Dallas says to the contrary, that on-a-mission concentration suits you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Her monotone had more impact than sarcasm.
She shifted to see Dallas still talking to Janice. The bartender moved from a solitary customer to the trio. Carson continued to watch her.
“This is a waste of time.” She pushed her chair back.
“Dallas is coming.”
“Here you are,” Dallas said, as if he’d been searching for them. He took the chair facing the bar. “Any moment now, any moment.”
Before she could ask what that meant, the gray-haired bartender showed up. “Can I get you folks something?”
“Have a seat, Barry,” offered Dallas.
The bartender gripped the back of the empty chair. “That’s okay, I’ve got work.”
“Janice is covering for you, and she said to take all the time you need.”
Barry’s hands tightened enough to show white at the knuckles, then he pulled the chair back and sat.
“You might not remember me, I’m Dallas Herbert Monroe. I knew your momma, Barry. Fine woman she was. This is Ms. Maggie Frye, and I think you know J.D.”
Barry dipped his head toward her and mumbled, “Carson.” He looked at Dallas. “What’s this about?”
“We’d like to talk to you about Laurel Tagner.”
“You and everybody in the county.” He sounded more pleased than disapproving.
“This is an official enquiry.”
That was pushing it, but Maggie didn’t object.
“Official?” His voice flattened. “I already talked to the sheriff. Told him when she was last in, who she was with, all that.”
“Good, then you’ve cleared the surface and we can get below it. I understand Laurel’s been coming here regular for quite a while.”
“Not real regular, not recent.”
“What’s recent? Last week?”
“More’n that.”
“How much more?”
Barry darted a look over his shoulder. Janice, now behind the bar, looked back. Barry’s shoulders jerked and he faced them with a new attitude. “Not as much since she moved back to Rambler Farm.”
“But before?”
“Sure. Ever since she was, uh, legal age.”
“What about her sister?” Maggie asked.
“Charlotte? In here? No way.”
“When Laurel came in after she moved back to Rambler Farm,” Maggie pursued, “who did she come in with?”
“Nobody. Always walked in alone.”
“Who’d she leave with?”
“Always walked out alone.”
She’d kept Carson’s face in view as she’d asked and Barry answered those questions. Still, it surprised her when Carson interposed, “In between walking in and walking out?”
Barry smirked, then tried to cover it. “Little bit of everything with three legs. She was a pretty girl, who didn’t hide it. Most everyone appreciated that. She had ’em all wrapped ’round her little finger.”
“Ever cross your mind one of them might have killed her?” Dallas asked.
“Nah. They were the same guys sniffing around her since she was a kid. If they were going to kill her for being a tease, they’d have done it years ago. Besides…”
“Besides?” Dallas insisted smoothly.
Barry’s eyes darted to her, then Carson. He sighed. “She said some stuff that made me think there might be somebody else. Not one of the regular clowns.”
“What did she say?” Maggie asked.
“Small stuff, you know? One time she said something like people you thought would never be worth knowing could come in real useful. That sort of thing.”
“She never mentioned a name?” Carson asked.
He could be asking to be sure Laurel hadn’t mentioned him, though that was a gamble.
“Nah. Said she’d promised. Said it wasn’t like any other relationship she’d ever had. I thought she enjoyed making it a mystery.”
“Was it like her to keep a secret like that?” Dallas asked.
“Nah. She liked talking, especially about whichever guy was wrapped tightest around her finger at the moment.”
“You believe this mystery person was a man?” Maggie slipped in.
It could have been Carson. He might have intrigued Laurel, someone dangerous, someone outside her social group. He could have sworn her to secrecy to avoid gossip or because it would end his cordial relationship with the judge.
“Laurel didn’t give much thought to women,” the bartender said.
“Maybe that’s what was different this time,” Dallas said.
Barry shrugged.
“Who were some of these guys she had wrapped around her finger?” Carson asked.
“Christ, I could be here all night. Easier to say who wasn’t.”
“Even after she married Eugene?”
“Sure.”
“Married men?” Was Dallas directing this away from Carson?
“Yup. She liked married men — and those about to be.”
Maggie asked, “Did she mention Carson?”
The grooves across Barry’s forehead shot up. “You kidding, lady?”
“No.”
Barry switched to Carson, whose expression hadn’t changed from concentrated interest, then back to her. “Not that I ever heard.”
“What about Teddie Barrett?”
“Teddie?” His voice rose with surprise, possibly something more. “What about him?”
“Did you see Teddie in here?”
“A few times,” he said cautiously.
“Drinking?”
“That’s what folks do here.”
“With anyone in particular?”
Muscles shifted in his face. Was that supposed to be amusement? Or was it slyness pretending to be amusement? “You’re not thinking he was one of Laurel’s entourage, are you?”
“You’re saying Teddie Barrett didn’t drink with Laurel?” Maggie pursued.
“Yeah, I’m saying.”
“Who did he drink with?”
“Anybody who’d buy him a drink.”
“Did that include Carson?”
Barry’s brows rose. He turned to Carson. “She’s really not part of your fan club is she?”
Neither was Barry, apparently.
Carson’s expression never changed. “What’s the answer, Barry?”
“Not that I recall.”
* * * *
While Dallas wandered toward the trees to call Scott at the office, Carson returned her stare over the top of the car. Nothing about his look invited questions. That never stopped her.
“Do you maintain you never gave Teddie alcohol?”
“Yes.”
“And you have no idea how he happened to be drunk that night you happened to take him home, the night before he happened to die — or be killed?”
“That’s correct. I have no idea.” He added, “It’s not your fault.”
“There’s an entire universe of things that aren’t my fault.”
He gave her a steady look. “These murders.”
These murders. But another—?
With a vinegar sharp twist of her lips, she said, “You’re telling me not to blame myself for not convicting you?”
“I’m telling you not to blame yourself for prosecuting me.”
“And of course, the secondary meaning you’re trying to convey is that I let the real murderer go?” That didn’t carry the bite it needed. Because one or the other statement was true.
“Not you alone. Us. All of us. Dallas and me and most of Bedhurst County, all of us who knew I hadn’t murdered Pan, but didn’t find out who did.”
He was good. He was very, very good.
“This is a waste of—”
“I’ve noticed something that’s changed since you prosecuted me.”
She didn’t respond.
“You get involved in investigating your cases now.”
“A good prosecutor needs to know—”
“You didn’t do it before.”
“I was learning. And—”
“You’re obsessive about it. Won’t go to trial without delving into the investigation yourself.”
“I am not—”
“Obsessive. That’s your rep. But what I’ve got to wonder is why someone as obsessive as you are never came back and checked this case again.”
“I never doubted your guilt.”
Slowly he pivoted as he opened the car door, then came back in as close as possible with the car between them and looked over its top at her. “Most lawyers are better liars.”
“I have never doubted your guilt,” she repeated.
In the background, Dallas ended his call.
Carson’s eyelids dropped lower. “Yes, you did. And we both know when.”
She snorted, dropped into the car seat, jammed the key in, and adjusted her seatbelt.
He got in, faced her. She had to still to hear his low voice. “If you stop cross-examining me, I might tell you more.”
“Cross-examining is what I do.”
“Doesn’t always work, though, does it?”
Before it deteriorated into a staring contest, Dallas opened the back door and got in.
“Let’s make another stop while we’re out here on the highway,” he said.
“Where? Did you learn something from the call?”
“One thing at a time, Maggie, dear. We’re not far from the place of business of Eugene Tagner’s second wife.”
“Why would we want to talk to Eugene Tagner’s second wife?”
“Because Eugene’s been seein’ Renee,” Dallas said.
Maggie faced Carson’s profile. “You said that when we talked to Tagner—he’d been seeing Renee. How’d you know?”
“Heard some things.”
“As have I. But what’s most interesting is what I haven’t heard.” Monroe’s eyelids drooped sleepily. “Neither Louelle nor Janice shared with me exactly what Eugene and Renee have been doing when they’re together.”