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“I’ll pick you up at nine,” she said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “MOM, THIS IS the best pot roast I’ve ever had.”

  Hudson’s mother, Binnie, giggled. “You say that every time you eat it.”

  “It’s true every time I eat it.”

  “Which is, like, every week,” Hudson’s brother, Parker, said. “Why did you make his favorite dinner, anyway? I thought we were celebrating my birthday.”

  “Don’t you like pot roast, Parker?” Binnie asked.

  “Sure, but...it’s not my absolute favorite.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Binnie looked embarrassed. “I guess I don’t know what your favorite dinner is.”

  “Now look,” Hudson chided his brother. “You embarrassed Mom. What is your favorite dinner, anyway?”

  “You see? See there? That’s exactly my point. Everybody knows Hudson’s favorite meal is pot roast with potatoes and green beans. And apple pie for dessert. What are we having for dessert?”

  “Well...apple pie,” his mom said.

  “For the record, since you asked, my favorite meal is fried catfish and collard greens. And cheesecake for dessert.”

  “Well, on Hudson’s birthday, that’s what we’ll have, and the slate will be clean,” Binnie said. “But tonight...well, you’re not the one who might end up in Huntsville eating prison food.”

  There it was. Hudson had been hoping to avoid talking about his supposed crimes. It was bad enough when he’d only been suspected of using excessive force. The possibility of her eldest boy being convicted of murder had made his mother come unglued, and he didn’t want a repeat performance. “Mom, they haven’t even taken me in for formal questioning.”

  “Well, have you seen the newspaper or watched TV lately? They’ve got you tried and convicted.”

  “Don’t read the papers. Mom, I’ve told you that. They’re full of it. Long as it’s shocking, doesn’t matter if it’s true.” And what could be more shocking than a police officer, sworn to uphold the law, killing someone?

  “Have you hired a lawyer yet?” Parker asked.

  “Project Justice has a lawyer assigned to look after my interests. I’m following her advice.” Hudson had provided his family with only the barest of facts about the case. He wouldn’t have told them anything—except he felt it was necessary to reassure his mother that he wasn’t letting his own police department steamroller him into a life sentence—or worse.

  Parker, who looked a lot like Hudson except with shorter hair and a slightly rounder face, swallowed a huge bite of potato, then gestured with his fork. “Yeah, but she’s looking out for everybody, not just you. She’s also protecting the chick, the victim’s daughter, right? That’s what the paper said.”

  “Don’t call her a chick. It’s disrespectful. She and I are in this together.”

  “The way I see it, you two have completely different goals. If she goes down, you’re off the hook. And vice versa.”

  “That’s not the way this works. We both know it was some third party. We’re trying to help each other.”

  “Hudson.” His mother looked at him sternly. “How do you know she didn’t do it? Is it because she’s so pretty?”

  “Yeah, not to mention she’s a bazillionaire now that her old man is dead,” Parker added.

  “I just know.” He really didn’t want to get into this, especially not with his mother. And definitely not with his father, who had his head down and was shoveling in the food, pretending not to be involved, though he was for certain taking it all in.

  None of his family knew the reason his fate was tied with Liz’s, and he didn’t enlighten them.

  “You’re not usually so trusting,” Parker said. “When it comes to criminals, you’re just as suspicious of a pretty face as anyone else.”

  That was when a phone rang, thankfully distracting everyone from the argument. No one moved.

  “Mom?” Parker said. “Isn’t that ringing from your apron pocket?”

  “Oh, I guess it is.” She pulled what looked like a very cheap phone from her pocket and stared at it, perplexed. “I haven’t even given this number to anyone, so I don’t see how it could be for me.”

  “Have you used it to call anyone?” Parker asked.

  “Well, of course.”

  The phone went silent. She shrugged and stuck it back in her pocket. Although she liked the idea of having a mobile phone, so she could talk to her friends and relatives while she was in the garden or out shopping, she’d never truly embraced the technology.

  “Whoever you called has the number to your phone,” Hudson pointed out.

  “Oh. Well, if it’s important, they’ll call the home phone. Anyway, the minutes are almost gone on this one. I bought a new one this afternoon.”

  “Wait,” Parker said. “When you run out of minutes, you buy a new phone?”

  “Well, you get a ton of free minutes with the phone,” she said defensively. “I thought they were meant to be disposable. Is that not right?”

  Parker rolled his eyes. “Any more potatoes, Mom?”

  “On the stove.”

  Parker got up and headed for the stove.

  “Bring enough for me, too, please,” Hudson said.

  His mother hopped up. “Here, I’ll get them for you, dear.” She whisked Hudson’s plate away and scurried to the stove. Parker just stood there holding his empty plate, staring in disbelief at their mother playing blatant favorites.

  “Don’t worry,” Hudson said in a loud stage whisper to his brother, “it’s only temporary. She doesn’t really like me better. Remember when you got accused of cheating on a test in junior high? Remember how Mom put extra cupcakes in your lunch sack and bought you new jeans when you didn’t even need ’em? I was lucky she didn’t forget to take me to school. She’ll get over it. Soon as I’m cleared.”

  “If you’re cleared.”

  Everyone froze. Hudson gritted his teeth and looked at his father, who’d finally decided it was time to speak up.

  Rusty pushed his chair back and stood. “Hudson, forget the potatoes. Walk with me.”

  This wasn’t a good sign. His father, whom everyone called Rusty for the fiery red hair he’d once possessed, didn’t invite a private conversation unless he had a pretty strong reason. The last time he’d done it, it was to inform Hudson that he was pulling the plug on his son’s surfing career unless he enrolled in college.

  Four years earlier, Rusty Vale had retired from the Houston Police Department, where he’d risen to the rank of captain. His bum knee had made it impossible to continue in that capacity. He’d taken early retirement and bought a few acres in Rosenburg, southwest of Houston. He had a garden, a few chickens, a few goats and leased the rest of the land for cattle grazing. Between his pension and selling eggs, honey and goat’s milk, he made a fair living. And the whole family ate really well. Whatever Rusty didn’t grow, he bartered for with his neighbors.

  Rusty wordlessly headed out the door, expecting Hudson to follow. Which he did.

  Rusty said nothing until they reached the end of the long gravel driveway. “You’re sleeping with that girl, aren’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Now, how the hell had Rusty heard about that? Hudson played dumb, just in case his father was talking about something else. “What girl?”

  “The daughter.”

  “I slept with her. Once. I had no idea who she was.”

  “Did she know who you were? That you’d beat up her father?”

  “Yes. She claims she admired me for standing up to Franklin Mandalay. She says her own father was a terrible bully.”

  “And you believe her?”

  Hudson wavered. “I’ve tried to figure out her angle. But it doesn’t make sense. She didn’t do herself any favors by getting tangled up with me. Best-case scenario, I was some kind of thrill lay for her, and we just had the bad luck to get together on the worst night possible.”

  He hated to state it in such bald terms. But he could n
ot afford to get sentimental where Liz was concerned. What if she was playing him? What if she’d been in cahoots with her father that night? What if she’d gone to his house to look for something Mandalay could use as leverage against Hudson?

  Hudson didn’t want to think these things about her. But if his job had taught him one thing, it was that however bad you believed people were, they could be even worse.

  “Who else knew you were together?”

  “No one! Unless someone saw us dancing at the wedding and followed us. Then decided to off Mandalay to... I don’t know. Create irony? It makes no sense.”

  “What’s your take? You have any idea who did it?”

  “Mandalay was involved in something illegal. When I arrested him he was handing over a pile of money to a prostitute—way more than any ordinary john would pay a hooker. He was involved in something fishy—and he was willing to go to great lengths to protect it.”

  “I always knew he was dirty.”

  “You know something about Mandalay?”

  “Yeah. He killed his wife.”

  Hudson couldn’t believe his ears. He stopped walking, just stood shaking his head in the dusty street. “You investigated Holly Mandalay’s disappearance?”

  “Not me, personally, but a buddy of mine who worked in Missing Persons, Homer Vilches. We all figured Mandalay was good for it. But someone from up high—I mean, really high—said to leave it alone.”

  “You think Mandalay had the Houston chief of police in his pocket? Or the homicide captain, maybe?”

  “Or the mayor. Who knows? Lot of corruption going on back then.”

  Hudson told his father what he’d found in the wall safe. “There was something brown and crusty stuck between the links of the watchband. I think it was blood. I’m having it tested.”

  “Why?”

  Hudson shrugged. “If he murdered his wife, maybe the crime came back to haunt him. Maybe there’s a connection. I’m grasping at straws.” He didn’t mention that he also wanted to find out what had happened to Liz’s mother. For her. Despite her pretended indifference, it must eat her alive inside not to know, to wonder if she’d been abandoned by the woman who was supposed to love her more than anyone.

  “I got a few folks owe me some favors,” Rusty said. “Homer Vilches died a few years ago. Cancer. But I know a couple of other old-timers who might remember something about that case.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “And you... Could you for the love of Pete be more careful who you take to your bed? Your brother does a complete background check on every woman he dates—before he asks her out.”

  “It’s a weakness. I admit it. But honestly, even if I’d known who she was, I’m not sure it would have made a difference. We didn’t know her old man was gonna get himself offed.”

  “And you’re positive she didn’t do it?”

  “Yes. Well, pretty sure. She left my house at four. Time of death could have been as late as five—but she didn’t even have a car. She would have had to take a taxi....”

  “Did you see the taxi? Maybe Mandalay picked her up from your house...and something happened.”

  “No.” He was the first to believe the worst about his fellow human beings. But his cynicism wouldn’t stretch far enough to accommodate his father’s theory. “She’s not capable of murder. I might be an easy lay, but I’m also a good judge of character. If she gave a crap about money, she wouldn’t be working at a free clinic counseling teenage mothers and prostitutes.”

  “If you say so, then I believe you. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  Hudson’s phone rang. The silver one, from Project Justice.

  “Hold on, Dad. I have to take this.” He clicked the phone on. “Yo.”

  “It’s Mitch. I’ve been looking at the call history on that phone we found in Mandalay’s safe. Almost all of the calls are to throwaway cell numbers—a sure sign of criminal activity. No way to trace the owners of those phones, but I was able to figure out where one particular number—one he called on a regular basis—was usually located. It’s in the Barrio. I’ve narrowed it down to about a four-block area.”

  “That’s fantastic, Mitch.” Four blocks was a big chunk of real estate, but still, he was going fishing tonight.

  * * *

  ELIZABETH JUMPED WHEN her cell phone rang. No, not her regular phone, she realized. It was the encrypted phone Daniel had provided. She pulled it out of her purse and fumbled with the unfamiliar screen, finally finding the talk button. “Hello?”

  “Liz. It’s Hudson.”

  As if she couldn’t recognize his voice by now, or the fact that he was the only living person in the world who called her by a nickname. She still wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to introduce herself as Liz. Her mother had called her that, but nobody else. “What’s up?”

  “I got a lead. That cell phone we found in the safe? Mitch traced several calls to a certain location in the East End. The number he was calling was a throwaway, no way to determine the owner. But Mitch was able to figure out a physical location—well, within a few blocks. It’s a place where a lot of hook—I mean, ladies of the evening—hang out. I thought I might drive around, see if I spot either Jazz or Fish Tattoo man.”

  “Hudson, are you sure? Your car—it’s so recognizable.”

  “Oh, I’m not gonna be in my car. Daniel gave me a loaner. The license plate will trace back to someone totally unconnected to me or Project Justice. And I have no intention of stopping or confronting anyone. I just want to see what’s going on down there.”

  “If you’re sure it’s safe.”

  “I’m so sure that I want you to come with me.”

  She looked down at herself. It was only eight o’clock, but she was already in her jammies. She’d planned to go to bed early and watch some mindless TV. “Hudson, we can’t be seen together.”

  “And we won’t be. My loaner car has tinted windows. I’ll pick you up at ten sharp in front of your building...okay?”

  Elizabeth knew she shouldn’t. But driving around with Hudson sounded a whole lot more appealing than watching reruns of The Rockford Files. Being at her father’s house yesterday, seeing those items that had belonged to her mother, had stirred up a lot of uncomfortable memories—things she didn’t want to think about or talk about. She didn’t feel like calling any of her friends; she couldn’t talk about what was going on, and Daniel had stressed that she might be in danger if the real murderer was someone trying to get to her father’s money. She found that unlikely, but she didn’t yet know what her father’s will contained. She was reasonably certain he’d left the bulk of his estate to her, but he’d probably left sizable bequests to other people, too, like Mrs. Ames.

  “Liz?”

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll go. See you at ten.”

  Ten seemed a long time away. Elizabeth washed her dishes—she hadn’t eaten much of her dinner of pasta with sauce from a jar, so she saved what was left in a plastic container. After the kitchen was spick-and-span, she wondered what wardrobe would be appropriate for surveillance, or whatever it was they were doing. Reconnaissance, maybe. She settled for jeans and a beige knit shirt with a zipper down the front, one of her favorites because it was so comfortable, although she couldn’t help thinking about Hudson tugging on that zipper. She topped the outfit with a lightweight navy hoodie for warmth. She wore her running shoes—just in case she had to run, she thought with a laugh.

  Surely Hudson wouldn’t put her in any danger.

  A new doorman had taken Oscar’s place while Oscar and his family were in Aruba, or wherever Daniel had sent them. He believed he’d won a contest, which was logical, since he was always entering sweepstakes to keep the boredom at bay while he sat at his desk.

  Daniel had known that, somehow. He thought of everything.

  Elizabeth had no desire to make casual conversation with the new guy about her plans, or have him see her leave, so she departed through the garage entrance, walked out through the security
gate and strolled casually toward the front of the building. At the stroke of ten o’clock, a ruby-red Lexus pulled up to the curb and the passenger window slid open.

  “Hey, there, baby, goin’ my way?”

  She quickly opened the door and slid inside the climate-controlled interior. “Wow, when Daniel gives you a loaner, he doesn’t skimp.” Though in all honesty, Hudson himself was way more interesting than the car. Dressed in faded jeans and a gray T-shirt with the name of a gym on the front, a baseball cap pulled down low, tonight he was all bad boy.

  She’d pictured him in faded jeans that first night they met; the reality was even better than her fantasy. The denim molded to his thigh muscles and cupped his equipment. Her mouth went dry.

  “This puppy’s got a 380 V-8 under the hood, eight-speed automatic transmission, sport-tuned air suspension, variable gear-ratio steering and teleios alloy wheels.”

  “How do you know so much about it? Are you some kind of Lexus expert?”

  “I looked it up. It’s also got heated seats, moon roof, onboard GPS, and it syncs with my iPod.” To prove his point, he switched on some music.

  She was surprised to hear one of her favorite bands’ music surrounding her. “You like the Gipsy Kings?”

  “Love flamenco music. I’m kind of shocked you even know who the Gipsy Kings are.”

  “Saw them in concert last year. Hey, this isn’t some ploy to make me think we have something in common, is it? I mean, those Project Justice guys can probably find out in ten minutes which teeth I have fillings in and what brand of nail polish I prefer.”

  Hudson laughed. “I swear I don’t have any inside information about you. I really do like flamenco music. I like guitars in general—rock, blues, everything from Clapton to Hendrix to B. B. King.”

  “Do you play?”

  “Sadly, I’m tone-deaf. I can listen and appreciate, but I can’t sing or play a note.” He slid the car smoothly into the sparse evening traffic. “Do you play?”

  “I wanted to play guitar when I was a kid. You know, I wanted to form a group like Josie and the Pussycats. But my father didn’t think that was dignified enough. So it was piano lessons for me. Six years’ worth. And when I didn’t excel, I was moved to the violin and then the clarinet. I can play all of them, but not well.”