Along Came Trouble

“Other boaters,” Tucker countered, thankful he’d grasped the same point in time to come up with a plausible counterargument. “This time of year the river’s crawling with them, and not just on the weekends. If you don’t want to take the time to track them down, I will.”

“You can’t,” Walker shot back. “Anything you come up with will be suspect, and you know it.”

“Why? She and I have a lot of past history, that’s true, but a lot of it’s bad. Most people around here would believe I have more reasons to want to find her guilty than innocent.”

“Maybe if you were a different kind of man,” Walker agreed. “But you’re a decent guy, and your feelings for people run deep. If you loved her once, that hasn’t just disappeared.” He leveled a penetrating look straight into Tucker’s eyes. “Has it?”

“My feelings don’t have a damn thing to do with anything,” he said tightly. “You handle this case by the book. That’s all I’m asking. If Mary Elizabeth is guilty, if the evidence points to her, I won’t stand in your way. But if there’s evidence that exonerates her, I expect you to find that, too.”

“And you believe she is innocent, don’t you?”

Tucker hated his slight and very telling hesitation. “I believe in her, yes.”

“Why? Because you want to?”

“Partly that,” he conceded, forcing himself to be honest with Walker and with himself. “But mostly because she came to me. Why would she do that if she were guilty?”

“Who better to have in your corner than the sheriff?” Walker said bluntly.

Tucker started to argue, but the words died on his lips. Not once since he’d joined the sheriff’s department had anyone had any reason to doubt his credibility or his integrity. Now, in a matter of hours, anything coming out of his mouth regarding this case was going to be considered suspect. Once again, Mary Elizabeth had managed to twist his life inside out.

“I’m going outside,” he said curtly. “Let me know what’s happening.”

“I’m going to have to talk to her sooner or later,” Walker reminded him.

Tucker nodded. “She’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

“She got a lawyer?”

“He’s on his way,” Tucker said, grateful that she’d insisted that Powell drive straight up from Richmond, rather than waiting. On that score, she’d been thinking more clearly than he had. He’d thought it would be enough to have Powell on standby. Tucker hadn’t seriously believed that Mary Elizabeth would be a suspect for much more than a minute, because his own feelings had gotten in the way. He’d wanted to believe that the real murderer would be so obvious that she’d be cleared at once. Was that the first of many errors in judgment he was likely to make? Or was the first not tossing her out on her lovely backside when he’d first found her in his bed?

Walker nodded. “We’ll talk when he gets here, then. I’m trying to put together some sort of statement for the media. They’re gathering like vultures on the front lawn. You want to look it over?”

“No.”

“They’re going to ask why you’re not involved. What should I tell them?”

“The truth, that Mrs. Chandler and I are old friends and that I wanted this case handled by someone with more objectivity and homicide experience than I have.”

“We could leave out the issue of objectivity,” Walker said. “It’ll be opening a whole can of worms that might be best left shut tight.”

“The information is out there. Someone will open it sooner or later,” Tucker replied. “It’ll be better to be up-front about it.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Walker?”

“What?”

“Don’t do her any favors, but don’t try to railroad her, either.”

His deputy regarded him with annoyance. “You didn’t need to tell me that. I know how to do my job.”

“I didn’t say that to insult you,” Tucker told him. “Under most circumstances, I’d never feel the need to say such a thing, but you’re going to hear a lot of things before this is over with, not all of them favorable to Mary Elizabeth. Daisy and my father hate her guts, and that’s just for starters.”

“What about Bobby?”

Tucker gave a rueful chuckle. “You know my brother. He’s a laid-back kind of a guy. It would take a lot of energy for him to hate anybody, so he stays neutral. He takes his cues from me.”

“And you don’t hate her?”

Tucker thought about just how complicated his feelings for Liz Chandler were, then sighed. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t hate her.” Far from it.

“Anybody else in town going to be anxious to start a lynch mob besides your father and my wife?”

“I’ll have to think about that one. In the meantime, try not to let my involvement muddy the investigative waters.”

“Just how involved do you intend to be?”

“After we get through today, I’m hoping I can turn my back and walk away and leave the whole mess in your capable hands.”

Walker snorted. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be counting on that. Tucker Spencer walking away from a lady in distress.” He shook his head. “Never going to happen, pal.”

Tucker watched Walker leave the room, then glanced back at the woman waiting for him on the terrace. Her vulnerability reached out and tugged at his heart. He hoped to hell Walker was wrong. He needed to run—not walk—away from this mess as fast as he possibly could.

Powell Knight hadn’t changed all that much, Liz noted when he walked around the side of the house. He still had the same easy confidence, the same arrogant polish, the same evidence of expensive taste he’d had way back in high school. Only the leather briefcase in his hand and the cell phone plastered to his ear were new additions.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he was muttering as he walked toward her. “Just tell your client that we’re playing hardball and it will be a cold day in hell before he ever sees one single dime of that money.” He snapped the phone shut, then gave Liz a thorough once-over. A smile broke across his face. “Damn, Mary Elizabeth, you’re even prettier than you are in all those pictures I see in the Richmond papers. How did I ever let you get away?”

He reached for her and twirled her around until she was breathless.

“Put me down, you idiot,” she said, laughing despite the somber occasion and the trouble that was heading her way in the form of an interrogation with Tucker’s top deputy.

Powell shot a grin at Tucker. “What’s the deal? You’re not snatching her out of my arms, leaping to her defense? Not that long ago you’d have punched me out by now.”

“Mary Elizabeth can take care of herself,” Tucker said. “If I were you, I’d get out of range of her knee unless you want to hobble inside looking a little less than your best for this interview with the police.”

Powell put her down and gingerly stepped away. “No interviews, not until she and I have had a chance to talk.” He shot a pointed look at Tucker. “Alone.”

“He can stay,” Liz said at once.

Powell immediately shook his head. “No way, sweetcakes. He’s a cop. And in this instance, until you’re completely in the clear, the cops are not your friends.”

“It’s okay, Mary Elizabeth. He’s right. I’ll go,” Tucker said. He scowled at Powell. “For the record, though, I’m not handling this investigation. I’ve already taken myself off of it.”

“Good to know, but I still don’t want her blabbing any secrets to you. You’re liable to get the idea that you’re duty-bound to repeat them to whoever is in charge of the case.”

Tucker looked as if he might want to argue the point, but he kept his mouth clamped shut and walked away.