Outside the Law

“Uh, I have two tickets to see Dirty Rice next Friday and I thought you might like to go.”

There. She’d at least said the words, though with far less charm than she’d envisioned. She held her breath, bracing for the blow.

“Oh, hell, Beth, I can’t Friday night. I have something planned already. Maybe Billy would take the extra ticket off your hands.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll ask him.” Dammit. She was going to kill Raleigh—this was all her fault. Of course Mitch had said no. He probably already had a date for Friday night. Guys like Mitch didn’t sit around waiting for women to ask them out. They made plans. They did the asking.

What had she been thinking?

She wanted to run for the safety of her lab, where she could hide behind a microscope. But Mitch would know something was wrong if she suddenly took off like her tail was on fire. So she kept walking with him down the hall to the lobby, pretending she hadn’t just had her heart body-slammed.

“Celeste didn’t say what the cop wanted?” she asked, desperate to fill the silence. A Louisiana cop wouldn’t drive all the way to Houston on a whim; chances were good he was here on official business, and that usually meant bad news.

“The guy wouldn’t say.” Mitch sounded unconcerned, but Beth wasn’t fooled. When he flashed his playful smile at her, she could tell he was forcing it. “So, Dirty Rice, huh? I didn’t know you were a zydeco fan.”

“I’m not. I mean, I like it okay.”

“So you bought tickets because…” He seemed genuinely curious, not judgmental.

She couldn’t admit she’d bought them because he liked zydeco. Then, inspiration struck. “I won them from a radio station.”

“Oh.” He seemed to be digesting that. She wasn’t the type to call in to radio stations trying to win stuff.

They passed through a door in a frosted glass partition that led into the lobby of Project Justice, the Houston nonprofit where they both worked. The lobby was a large space with cold marble floors and wood-paneled walls, rather stark, Beth had always thought. It was intended to impress, but not to be inviting. Daniel Logan, CEO of Project Justice, didn’t want just anyone wandering in off the street and feeling at home. So the only visitor seating was a couple of hard chairs.

The cop had elected to stand, his back to Celeste, studying an arrangement of framed press clippings on the wall. He was a beefy guy, his muscular shoulders straining against his khaki uniform. His dark brown hair was cut very short, revealing a tan line at the margins.

Celeste made a big show of ignoring him, her nose buried in a Soldier of Fortune magazine, a large knife out on her desk—just in case.

Mitch picked up his pace, striding confidently into the lobby while Beth hung back. “You wanted to see me?” His voice contained a touch of arrogance.

The stranger turned, and Mitch skidded to a halt. “Dwayne?”

“Mitch. Been a while.”

“Yeah. A while.”

So, they knew each other. Maybe this was a personal visit, not an official one. An old friend, looking him up… No, that wasn’t right. Whatever their relationship, it wasn’t warm and fuzzy. The two men sized each other up, radiating tension.

“Why the big mystery?” Mitch asked. “Why didn’t you tell Celeste your name?”

“I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. This isn’t exactly a social call.”

Mitch looked confused. “Did someone die?”

The cop named Dwayne looked faintly amused. “Funny you should ask that. I’m here in regards to an incident that happened twelve years ago. A Monte Carlo was stolen from the parking lot of a Piggly Wiggly. Ring any bells?”

“Yeah, I believe I do recall that incident,” Mitch said with an exaggerated Southern accent. “But the charges were dropped. Buried, in fact.”

Charges? Mitch had been arrested and charged with a crime? Her throat tightened as she recalled the last guy she’d dated, who’d also had a criminal past. Vince had explained away the assault charges, claiming it was all a misunderstanding, and she’d been stupid enough to fall for it. Until he’d broken her jaw.

She gave her head a quick, involuntary shake. No way was Mitch in the same boat as Vince. He’d freely admitted he’d been a “wild kid,” but Beth had pictured him pulling pranks, maybe spray-painting a bridge or decorating trees with toilet paper. She’d known nothing about car theft, but that wasn’t violent. Still, it was bad.

“I’m not here about the theft per se,” Dwayne said. “You had a friend with you that night. Robby Racine. That right?”

Abruptly Celeste came out of her chair, proving she’d been listening keenly despite her show of disinterest. She was well into her seventies, with wild gray curls and a spare, wiry body that she stuffed into the most improbable outfits. Today it was a zebra-striped, bat-wing shirt, black leggings and red boots. But anyone who knew her was scared of her. “Mitch, don’t say another word without a lawyer present.”

Mitch turned to Celeste. “This is my brother.”

“Half brother,” Dwayne said.

Beth thought the distinction odd, as if Dwayne wanted to deny the relationship.

“Whatever, I don’t think he’s here to arrest me.” But when Mitch returned his attention to Dwayne, he looked less than sure of himself. “Are you?”

“I’m just here to talk. So, about Robby…”

“Robby Racine was with me that night,” Mitch confirmed.

“You happen to know where he is?”

“Robby? Good gravy, no. Haven’t seen him since that night. Getting arrested for stealing a car would have been his third felony. He’d have done time for sure. He took off.” Mitch seemed to relax slightly. “I figure he’s in Mexico.”

“You figured wrong. He turned up the other day.”

“No kidding. What’s he up to these days?”

“Nothing. That’s the point. He turned up in a shallow grave on some land owned by your mother. And you were the last one to see him alive.”

Beth’s head spun. This could not be happening. Mitch, her Mitch, a murder suspect? She simply could not picture it. He was so nice, so laid-back. He was a computer geek. Since when did geeks go around stealing cars and killing people? It was ridiculous.

“Where did you find Robby?” Mitch asked. “My mom never owned any land that I knew of. She and Daddy were poor as cockroaches at a homeless shelter, you know that.”

“Hell, Mitch, I don’t know the details. I volunteered to come here, pick you up and take you to Coot’s Bayou for questioning. Thought it might go down a little easier if you saw a friendly face.”

Mitch looked as if he wanted to spit. “Friendly, my ass. You’re loving this. And if you want me to come to Coot’s Bayou for anything, you’ll need a warrant.”

Celeste pushed the intercom button. “Raleigh, wherever you are, get your ass into the lobby. Stat.”

“Mitch,” Beth said carefully, “don’t you think you should clear this up?”

Judging from the surprised look he gave her, he’d forgotten she was there—and didn’t seem to welcome her contribution. “I don’t owe the Coot’s Bayou police anything.”

“They just want to talk,” Dwayne said.

“That’s what they always say,” Celeste interjected. “You think we were born yesterday, sonny?”

“Celeste, thank you, but I’ll handle this.” Mitch focused on his brother. “Dwayne, whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. I haven’t even lived in Louisiana for seven years!”