Thirty-Five and a Half Conspiracies
Page 8
Jim scowled, but he opened one of the empty pens and waved for me to enter. After I did, he shut the door behind me and grinned at Deputy Miller. “I would have thought she’d have cuffs with bail that high.”
“She’s not a threat to anyone. She couldn’t hurt a fly.”
If he weren’t six feet under, Daniel Crocker might’ve had a thing or two to say about that, but now didn’t seem like a good time to mention it.
Deputy Miller approached the bars. “It’s probably gonna take them a while to come up with the money.”
“Randy,” I said firmly, my voice low. “I don’t have that kind of money, and I know for a fact Mason doesn’t have it either.
“He can post the title to your farm and also use your businesses as collateral. But it’s gonna take him some time to pull it all together. He and I already discussed this possibility. Just sit tight.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Someone should be back to get you out by the end of the day. Don’t you worry.”
“Okay.” I looked up at the clock on the wall. 9:30 a.m.
It was gonna be a long wait.
Chapter 3
By noon I’d gained and lost two fellow inmates—both had been released within an hour of their internment. Jim had brought me a tray with a bologna sandwich, and I half expected Mason to walk in and tease me about getting arrested just so I could eat the sandwiches. Of course, it was likely to be hours before anyone came to get me.
Much to my surprise, a sheriff’s deputy walked in just as I put my tray on the floor. “Rose Gardner, your bail’s been posted. You’re free to go.”
“Really?”
The deputy led me to a small changing room where I swapped out the orange jumpsuit for the clothes I’d been wearing when I was arrested, then on to a waiting room where I signed out and received my personal possessions. I looked around as I signed the form. “Where’s Mason?”
“Who’s that?” the receptionist asked.
“Mason Deveraux.”
She squinted at me like I’d lost my mind. “Why would the assistant district attorney be down here? Besides, I hear he lost his job.”
“Who posted my bail?”
“Darlin’, I don’t have that information, but your attorney should be able to find out for you.”
“Thank you.”
If Mason had posted my bail, then surely he’d be here waiting for me. Something told me it wasn’t him.
So Carter really had come through. But did Skeeter Malcolm even have a million dollars?
I left the courthouse, figuring I’d head to my office since my truck was at home, along with my cell phone and wallet and anything else that would be of use. I wasn’t prepared for the blast of cold air that hit me. The sheriff’s department had shown up at my front door and dragged me away Friday night, so I didn’t have a coat.
My landscaping office was across the street, but Carter Hale’s office was on the way, albeit on the opposite side of the square. I decided to stop by and demand some answers.
Carter’s receptionist looked up from her computer when I walked into the small waiting room. I’d been in this office only a few days ago, but at the time I’d been too preoccupied with watching Skeeter’s goon, who had been loitering outside my office, to notice the decor. But today I took in the dingy lighting, the plastic office chairs, and the stained commercial carpet. I could only hope Carter was more skilled with the law than he was at decorating.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, then her eyes widened. “Oh! You’re her!”
I cringed. “You know me?”
“Of course. You and your friend sure stirred things up last week.”
“Sorry.”
“No! Don’t be. It’s usually dry as burnt toast around here. Carter was in a good mood for the rest of the day.”
“You don’t say?”
“But I also know who you are because Carter took your case.”
“Yeah … and speaking of my case, can I talk to him?”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
But just as she was getting out of her chair, a door at the end of a short hallway flung open and Carter came barreling down the hall.
“Greta! Did you get a call from the courthouse about—”
He took one look at me and stopped in his tracks. “You’re here. You really are out.”
“Yeah. I was hoping to talk to you about that.”
He glanced at Greta and motioned to his office. “I think it’s better if we have this discussion in private.”
I nodded and followed him. He shut the door behind us and gestured to a chair in front of his desk.
“I need to call Mason,” I said. “He said it was gonna take him all day to get the bail money, so I have a sneaking suspicion he didn’t post it.”
Carter sat in his office chair and leaned back. “He didn’t. That’s what I was on my way to see Greta about.”
“Did Skeeter post it?” I wasn’t sure being this direct was the best course of action, but I didn’t have time to beat around the bush.
“No,” he said with a frown. “Someone named Glenn Stout from Little Rock posted your bail. One million cash.”
My mouth dropped open. “Who’s Glenn Stout?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t Skeeter using some kind of alias?”
“She’s not a threat to anyone. She couldn’t hurt a fly.”
If he weren’t six feet under, Daniel Crocker might’ve had a thing or two to say about that, but now didn’t seem like a good time to mention it.
Deputy Miller approached the bars. “It’s probably gonna take them a while to come up with the money.”
“Randy,” I said firmly, my voice low. “I don’t have that kind of money, and I know for a fact Mason doesn’t have it either.
“He can post the title to your farm and also use your businesses as collateral. But it’s gonna take him some time to pull it all together. He and I already discussed this possibility. Just sit tight.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Someone should be back to get you out by the end of the day. Don’t you worry.”
“Okay.” I looked up at the clock on the wall. 9:30 a.m.
It was gonna be a long wait.
Chapter 3
By noon I’d gained and lost two fellow inmates—both had been released within an hour of their internment. Jim had brought me a tray with a bologna sandwich, and I half expected Mason to walk in and tease me about getting arrested just so I could eat the sandwiches. Of course, it was likely to be hours before anyone came to get me.
Much to my surprise, a sheriff’s deputy walked in just as I put my tray on the floor. “Rose Gardner, your bail’s been posted. You’re free to go.”
“Really?”
The deputy led me to a small changing room where I swapped out the orange jumpsuit for the clothes I’d been wearing when I was arrested, then on to a waiting room where I signed out and received my personal possessions. I looked around as I signed the form. “Where’s Mason?”
“Who’s that?” the receptionist asked.
“Mason Deveraux.”
She squinted at me like I’d lost my mind. “Why would the assistant district attorney be down here? Besides, I hear he lost his job.”
“Who posted my bail?”
“Darlin’, I don’t have that information, but your attorney should be able to find out for you.”
“Thank you.”
If Mason had posted my bail, then surely he’d be here waiting for me. Something told me it wasn’t him.
So Carter really had come through. But did Skeeter Malcolm even have a million dollars?
I left the courthouse, figuring I’d head to my office since my truck was at home, along with my cell phone and wallet and anything else that would be of use. I wasn’t prepared for the blast of cold air that hit me. The sheriff’s department had shown up at my front door and dragged me away Friday night, so I didn’t have a coat.
My landscaping office was across the street, but Carter Hale’s office was on the way, albeit on the opposite side of the square. I decided to stop by and demand some answers.
Carter’s receptionist looked up from her computer when I walked into the small waiting room. I’d been in this office only a few days ago, but at the time I’d been too preoccupied with watching Skeeter’s goon, who had been loitering outside my office, to notice the decor. But today I took in the dingy lighting, the plastic office chairs, and the stained commercial carpet. I could only hope Carter was more skilled with the law than he was at decorating.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, then her eyes widened. “Oh! You’re her!”
I cringed. “You know me?”
“Of course. You and your friend sure stirred things up last week.”
“Sorry.”
“No! Don’t be. It’s usually dry as burnt toast around here. Carter was in a good mood for the rest of the day.”
“You don’t say?”
“But I also know who you are because Carter took your case.”
“Yeah … and speaking of my case, can I talk to him?”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
But just as she was getting out of her chair, a door at the end of a short hallway flung open and Carter came barreling down the hall.
“Greta! Did you get a call from the courthouse about—”
He took one look at me and stopped in his tracks. “You’re here. You really are out.”
“Yeah. I was hoping to talk to you about that.”
He glanced at Greta and motioned to his office. “I think it’s better if we have this discussion in private.”
I nodded and followed him. He shut the door behind us and gestured to a chair in front of his desk.
“I need to call Mason,” I said. “He said it was gonna take him all day to get the bail money, so I have a sneaking suspicion he didn’t post it.”
Carter sat in his office chair and leaned back. “He didn’t. That’s what I was on my way to see Greta about.”
“Did Skeeter post it?” I wasn’t sure being this direct was the best course of action, but I didn’t have time to beat around the bush.
“No,” he said with a frown. “Someone named Glenn Stout from Little Rock posted your bail. One million cash.”
My mouth dropped open. “Who’s Glenn Stout?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t Skeeter using some kind of alias?”
