Heart of Ice

Chapter Fifty

Cherrystone

Camille Hazelton didn’t like what she was hearing one bit. She leaned close to Emily Kenyon and jabbed a finger at her. Tricia Wilson was a liar. Close, but it didn’t touch. They met in Hazelton’s office and associates and clerks who probably already knew the score scuttled by, hoping for a glimpse of some fireworks between Cherrystone’s most powerful women.

“This is a huge mess, damn it, Emily.”

“You don’t have to tell me. And you don’t have to poke me to get me to listen. I get it.”

“I’m sorry. But these walls are cheaper than justice these days and I don’t want to raise my voice. But this probably means we have to drop the charges. You know that, don’t you?”

“Can’t you give me a little time?”

“For what? To dredge up another winner like Tricia Wilson? We should have vetted her from the onset.” Camille caught herself, she’d used the word we. She knew that the error in judgment was shared. “Cary McConnell is going to have a field day with this.”

“She was sworn in. She’s perjured herself in that depo. I’m going to make sure she goes to jail for that. It’s the least I can do. Honestly, paybacks are hell and I intend to make sure Miss Patty or Tricia or whatever her name is understands that.”

“Look, Camille, I think I can do something here. Something’s not right and I’d like a chance to repair it.”

“Oh my God, Emily, are you looking for redemption? Hasn’t the meter on that one run out by now?”

It was a cheap shot at things long since past. It was meant to sting and Camille Hazelton hated herself for saying it. She liked Emily very much, but she’d been pressed to her wit’s end. She could read the headlines the next day. The thought of them made her blood boil.

Car Dealer Released From Trumped-Up Charges

Camille sat down at her desk and Emily slumped in the chair across from her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, doing her best to cool off. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Emily said, wondering if the thought of the little girl who had died because of a mistake she had made so many years ago as a Seattle cop was always on the back of everyone’s minds. The wound that would never heal. Did they see her at the mall and think to themselves, “Oh yeah, that’s the woman who let Kristi Cooper die in that underground dungeon.” Did the woman who always chatted so amiably when she had her hair cut say to the other women when she left the room, “Oh that’s her. That’s the one I’ve been telling you about. The one who let that kid starve to death.”

“Really I am. It’s just this case. I know you do good work. We’re going to be crucified by McConnell and Crawford. You know how much I’d hate to be tarred and feathered.”

“From a woman with some experience there, let me tell you it’s no picnic.”

Emily managed a smile, a gesture that meant a call for a truce. “We’re on the same side, Camille. Give me twenty-four hours before we go to McConnell and the judge.”

Camille looked at her watch, an expensive Cartier that she surely didn’t buy at Rondo’s Fine Jewelry in town. “I’ll time you.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“I was kidding. Let’s see what you can come up with by the end of the day. Go bust some heads, shake some trees, do whatever it is that you gun-toting sheriffs do.”

“Are you asking me to shoot Cary McConnell?”

A look of horror came over Camille Hazelton. “God no, Emily! No such thing!”

“Just kidding,” she said. It was a gotcha that felt only a little bit good. She still had no plan. No hope for one. She thought of the one person she could call.

Chris Collier was eating a can of tortilla soup that he’d microwaved in a measuring cup because all the other vessels that could hold soup were dirty. He wasn’t a slob, he was just the kind of guy that liked to run a full load of dishes. And that meant about once a week. Cooking for Emily was one thing. Cooking for himself? A chore. When the phone rang, he set down his spoon and answered.

“Hi, baby,” he said, seeing it was from her. His mood lightened. “Miss me already?”

“You know I do. But it’s more than missing you right now. I need you, Chris. The Crawford case is crumbling. Can you come over to Cherrystone?”

He didn’t ask why. There was no need to. “Of course. I’ll leave in fifteen minutes. I have to put some food out for the cat.”

“You have a cat?”

“Sure.” A kind of mischievous look came to his face. “And you thought you knew everything there was about me.”

“I guess I did.”

“Actually, I’m feeding the neighbor’s.”

That was more like it. She hung up feeling a sense of relief. Not because the man liked cats—always a good sign in her book—but because whenever she needed him, Chris Collier had always been there for her.

He never, ever wavered.

Emily pulled all the Crawford files and carried them to her car.

“Need some help, Sheriff?” It was Jason.

“No, I can manage.”

“I heard about Ms. Wilson,” he said.

If Jason had heard, it wasn’t from her. The word was getting around fast. Too fast. The minute Cary McConnell got wind of it, he’d be in front of the judge in the same breath.

“Let’s keep a lid on it, please, Jason.” Her tone was more scolding than she meant it to be.

Jason looked hurt. “I’m not stupid, Sheriff,” he said turning on his heels and leaving her to deal with the big box of files.

Emily called out after him, but he either pretended not to hear or the sound of traffic drowned out her call. She felt about two inches tall, and ashamed that she’d treated him with such a dressing-down. It was uncalled for. With all that was happening—in her life, in Jenna’s life—upsetting Jason Howard was the last thing she needed.

As Jenna would say whenever something had gone awry with the sorority job, “My life sucks royally right now.”

Like daughter, like mother.

She put the car in gear and went home, thinking that nothing else could happen to make the day any worse.