Rigged

  ALSO BY D.P. LYLE

  The Jake Longly Series

  Deep Six

  A-List

  Sunshine State

  The Cain/Harper Series

  Skin in the Game

  The Dub Walker Series

  Stress Fracture

  Hot Lights, Cold Steel

  Run to Ground

  The Samantha Cody Series

  Original Sin

  Devil’s Playground

  Double Blind

  The Royal Pains Media Tie-In Series

  Royal Pains: First, Do No Harm

  Royal Pains: Sick Rich

  Nonfiction

  Murder and Mayhem

  Forensics For Dummies

  Forensics and Fiction

  Howdunit: Forensics; A Guide For Writers

  More Forensics and Fiction

  ABA Fundamentals: Forensic Science

  Anthologies

  Thrillers: 100 Must-Reads (contributor); Jules Verne, Mysterious

  Island Thriller 3: Love Is Murder (contributor); Even Steven;

  For the Sake of the Game (contributor); Bottom Line

  Copyright © 2020 by D.P. Lyle

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-60809-338-0

  Published in the United States of America by Oceanview Publishing

  Sarasota, Florida

  www.oceanviewpub.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my wonderful agent and friend, Kimberley Cameron, of Kimberley Cameron & Associates. KC, you’re the best.

  To Bob and Pat Gussin and all the wonderfully dedicated people at Oceanview Publishing. Thanks for your friendship and always spot-on insights, making my writing the best it can be.

  To my writers’ group for helping make this story work. Thanks, Barbara, Terri, Craig, Donna, Sandy, and Laurie.

  To Nancy Whitley, who always edits and proofreads my work.

  To my friend and fraternity brother, Attorney Dag Rowe, for help navigating the legal intricacies of divorce in Alabama.

  And, of course, Nan, for everything.

  CHAPTER 1

  LIFE RUNS IN odd circles. Creates circumstances you never see coming, could never predict. Makes for strange bedfellows.

  As my grandfather was quick to say, “Life can park your butt in some unpleasant locales.” Loved that guy. More so than my father, Ray, who could be a pain in the ass. Not that I didn’t love him, just that he was a bit intense for my tastes. I think he and I tolerated each other as much as anything else. I often wished he was more like his father, but that train hit the rails decades ago.

  Back to parking your butt in unpleasant places.

  Right now, mine had found itself on an uncomfortably hard, wooden chair behind the defense table in the Gulf Shores Municipal Courthouse. I wasn’t sure what caused the most unease—the seat, the fact that I was the defendant in the proceedings at hand, the stack of charges levied against me, or the sullenness of Judge Ruth Corvas. The woman was all decked out in her black robe, shoulders hunched forward, sharp eyes following my attorney as he walked back and forth before her, offering his closing argument. She looked like a hawk, eyeing prey. Maybe a turkey vulture sizing up carrion. Made me reconsider having waved my rights to a jury trial.

  I was good with people. Always had been. That’s one reason Captain Rocky’s, my bar/restaurant, was so successful. I was the “face” of the operation. A jury might like me; Judge Corvas less so. She looked like she had eaten a bad taco. Or too many barbecued beans.

  I could almost hear the rattle and clank of my cell door.

  All that aside, the most uncomfortable situation here today was my lawyer. Walter Horton. Yeah, that Walter. The one that had sliced and diced my finances during a nasty divorce proceeding. Picture being stripped naked, sprayed with icy water, and slowly bleeding to death. That doesn’t quite cover it, but you get the idea. And then, after my legal colonoscopy, dear old Walter had married my ex. Tammy the Insane, as I so affectionately call her. Not that the moniker was erroneous—she truly was deranged. Apparently, Walter didn’t see her that way, which made me question his judgement.

  But he was hands down the best attorney along the Gulf.

  And now I was in his hands.

  See, life can put your butt in some unpleasant locales.

  “Your Honor, this entire case is a sham,” Walter began. “It has no basis in reality, or in the law. The plaintiff, Mr. Edward Peck, has accused my client, Mr. Jake Longly, of kidnapping, auto theft, assault, and public humiliation and defamation.”

  Walter turned slightly and pointed toward Eddie Peck, who looked considerably different than he had that night. Blue suit, red tie, clean shaven, hair combed to perfection. Not sloppy, disheveled, hair matted with drunk sweat. All in all, he scrubbed up nicely.

  “Mr. Peck should be thanking my client for saving his life.” Walter turned back to the judge. “And potentially the lives of others.”

  Walter walked back to the table, squared up some papers, and gave me a wink. Walter winked at me? Like we were old buddies or in some mutual conspiracy? The truth was that after the plaintiff’s attorney, a slick SOB if there ever was one, finished his final argument, I felt like I was headed for Kilby’s death row. I came off as an unrepentant master criminal who had unmercifully brutalized poor Eddie. I swear Judge Corvas looked at me like I was a serial killer.

  Looking for moral support, I glanced back at Tommy Jeffers, aka Pancake, and Nicole Jamison, who sat right behind me. Pancake, my best friend and a witness in these proceedings, seemed unperturbed, but Nicole, my girlfriend, also a witness to all that went down, had arranged her wonderful blue eyes in a wide stare that only added to my discomfort. Maybe she was working on an escape plan. A distraction of the guards while I bolted. She could do that without even trying. Or maybe a saw in a cake. Problem with that was that Nicole didn’t cook. She possessed a multitude of skills, but none included an oven. The kitchen wasn’t her best room.

  Walter continued. “The facts that we have presented before the court tell the true story. Mr. Peck entered Mr. Longly’s establishment, Captain Rocky’s, just after 11:00 p.m. Several witnesses stated that he was extremely intoxicated and belligerent. Private Investigator Mr. Tommy Jeffers testified that his inquiries revealed that Mr. Peck had just been expelled from another establishment, Jimmy’s Wharf, for similar behavior. Your Honor has several affidavits from witnesses who support these facts. He then drove the half mile to Captain Rocky’s in his severely inebriated state.”

  Walter looked at his shoes, gave a slight shake of his head. Waited. Letting those facts sink in before resuming. He did so in a calmer, softer voice that required the jury to lean forward. He had their complete attention. He was good. Very good.

  “Mr. Peck ordered a double scotch. Ms. Carla Martinez, the manager at Captain Rocky’s, testified that when she saw Mr. Peck’s state of inebriation, she refused to serve him. Mr. Peck took offense. Became angry, shouted, called her a few unrepeatable names. As he reached for his car keys, which he had tossed on the bar before him, Ms. Martinez secured the keys, saying he was in no condition to drive. My client, sensing the situation, approached. He offered to call Mr. Peck a cab. Even offered
to pay for it. For his good-citizen concern, Mr. Longly was shoved, and a punch was thrown.”

  That’s me. Concerned citizen. Knight in shining armor. White horse. Galahad. The whole enchilada. Unfortunately, Judge Corvas’ hawkish eyes didn’t soften. Could she really toss Dudley Do-Right in the slammer?

  “Fortunately,” Walter pressed forward, “the punch missed my client. At this point, Mr. Tommy Jeffers interceded, grabbing the plaintiff in a bear hug. Once order had been restored, a cab was indeed called, and Mr. Peck left for home.”

  Walter now looked back toward Peck.

  “So, Your Honor, Mr. Longly did not kidnap Mr. Peck. He was free to go at any time. Just not behind the wheel of his car. He did not steal Mr. Peck’s automobile. He merely kept the keys until the plaintiff could return the next day, sober, and retrieve them. He did not assault Mr. Peck and, in fact, was attacked himself. Only when Mr. Jeffers interceded was a truly physical altercation avoided.”

  Walter adjusted his tie. He looked sharp. Expensive, perfectly tailored three-piece gray suit, white shirt, red power tie. So Walter. He could afford fancy duds. Hell, I helped pay for them.

  “So, here we are. Mr. Peck asking for fifty thousand dollars from my client. A ridiculous proposition. He should be grateful Mr. Longly and his staff interceded and prevented him from potential harm to himself and others. Mr. Longly didn’t call the police and have Mr. Peck arrested for assault, or for DUI had he left in his vehicle. He took care of him. Got him safely home. Mr. Peck should be grateful, not vengeful.” Walter walked toward the bench and faced the judge. “As for any public humiliation or character defamation, I think Mr. Peck took care of that himself. He needed no help from my client in that regard.”

  Judge Corvas didn’t take a recess, or delay the proceedings for her consideration, or anything along those lines. She made her judgement right then and there. Weren’t quick judgements bad for the defendant? Like the evidence was so overwhelming that the result was obvious? Or was that only in jury trials? Judge Corvas didn’t look happy. Did she ever? She stared at me. Uh-oh. But then turned a glared at Eddie Peck.

  I won.

  She tossed the case, admonished Eddie Peck regarding frivolous lawsuits, and even approved my restraining order, Walter’s idea, that prevented Peck from reentering Captain Rocky’s. Peck was furious, tried to protest, but Judge Corvas gaveled him into silence, adding that if he continued his protestations he might find himself in contempt. Peck stormed from the courtroom.

  I shook Walter’s hand and thanked him.

  My new buddy. Uh, probably not.

  CHAPTER 2

  HUNGER GNAWED AT Pancake. Not exactly earthshaking news. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember many moments when he wasn’t hungry. Maybe for half an hour or so after his mom’s Thanksgiving dinner, but that’s about it. But, come on. The three donuts—only three—he had eaten two hours earlier merely smoothed the edges. Got his juices flowing. Now, the feed-me beast had awakened and needed sustenance.

  But his growling stomach wasn’t the only reason he ambled around the corner from Bancroft Street, where he had parked his massive black Chevy dually, and on to Fairhope Avenue. Beautiful downtown Fairhope, Alabama. He hadn’t been there in, what? Twenty years? Probably more. Not sure why. Cool, artsy, great restaurants, and right on the eastern edge of Mobile Bay, which added brilliant sunsets to the mix.

  His destination was Mullins Bakery. A block and a half up the street. Where Emily worked. The fluttering in his stomach wasn’t simply hunger.

  Emily Rhodes. Now Emily Patterson. Been a long time since last he saw her. Not since she wore pigtails and had a gap in her front teeth. Would she remember him? He had her photo inside the gray canvas messenger bag that looped over his left shoulder. She had grown into a beautiful woman. No surprise there. She had been a beauty in the sixth grade. Prettiest girl in school. Even with a gapped-tooth smile, she won that prize. To Pancake anyway.

  Inside the bakery, the rich aromas of butter, sugar, and coffee flavored the air. A woman stood behind the counter, ringing up a customer. She looked forty-ish, thin, fit. Not like she worked in a bakery. Dark hair with a few gray streaks, smile open and welcoming. She handed the customer a bag of something sweet and a to-go cup of coffee, saying, “Thanks for dropping in.”

  The customer left and Pancake stepped up to the counter.

  The woman smiled. “What can I get you?”

  “Is Emily in?” Pancake asked.

  “She isn’t here. Probably running late.” She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”

  Pancake gave her a benevolent smile. “Sorry. I’m Tommy Jeffers.”

  “You? You’re Tommy?”

  Who was this woman? Why would she know him?

  She apparently sensed his confusion. “Emily talks about you all the time. How you guys were sixth-grade sweethearts.”

  “We were.”

  “She speaks fondly of you.”

  “And I of her.”

  “I’m Allison.” She wiped her hands on a counter towel and extended it toward him. They shook. “Allison Mullins. I own the place.”

  “Smells good.”

  “I do know my way around an oven.”

  “Looks that way.” He nodded toward the glass display case. Croissants, donuts, cinnamon rolls, and an assortment of other gooey creations stared back at him. “What’s your speciality?”

  “Everything.” She laughed. Pleasant and full. “You look like a ham and cheese croissant guy.”

  “I am. Maybe a couple of them.”

  “Heated?” Pancake nodded. Using tongs, she grabbed a pair and placed them on a paper plate and slid them into the toaster oven on the counter behind her. “Coffee?”

  “That’d be nice.”

  She poured a large cup and slid it on the countertop. “Emily said you were a big guy, but I never imagined this.” Another laugh. “She showed me a picture once. From school. I recognize the red hair, for sure.”

  Pancake remembered the picture. Those little ones that schools made each year. And kids traded with each other. He remembered swapping his for one of Emily’s. Near her school locker, glancing over his shoulder, making sure no one was watching. He still had her photo in his top drawer at home. Inside the small wooden box where he kept such things.

  “I haven’t seen her since then,” Pancake said. “Of course, back then she was Emily Rhodes. That summer her family moved up here.”

  “She still lives in the family home. A couple of miles north. Near Seacliff.”

  Pancake knew that. It was in the file he and Ray had built on Emily.

  “So, she’s not here?” he asked.

  “No. She’s supposed to be. Should’ve been here an hour ago.”

  “She late often?”

  “Some.” Her brow wrinkled. “Come to think of it, she said she had some meeting this morning. Not sure where so maybe that’s where she is.”

  “The meeting was with me. Here.”

  “Oh? She didn’t tell me you were coming. The one and only Tommy Jeffers.”

  “Folks call me Pancake.”

  “Pancake?”

  He shrugged. “A name I got later. In high school.”

  “Let me guess. Football? Pancake blocks?”

  “Very good,” Pancake said. “Most folks think it’s from eating.”

  “I have a son. He plays. Big guy, too. Not your size, but he’s big enough to eat me out of house and home.”

  “My mom would’ve agreed with that.”

  The oven dinged. Allison retrieved the plate. “Let’s sit.” She ferried the steaming croissants to a table.

  Pancake sat, snatched up one, and took a bite.

  “These are great. You’re my new favorite person.”

  She smiled. “Love to hear that.” She seemed to examine him. “So you’re the famous Tommy Jeffers?” She shook her head. “Never thought I’d get to meet you. But now that I have, I see what Emily was talking about.”

  “What’s that
?”

  “Your eyes. Lively. Intelligent. She said that’s what she liked most. You were smart.”

  Pancake shrugged. “I get by. But Emily was the smart one.”

  “She is that.” She glanced toward the entry. “I wonder where she is? Can’t imagine her being late for a meeting with you.”

  “She doesn’t know the meeting’s with me,” Pancake said. “Just my firm.” He smiled. “I wanted to surprise her.”

  “What’s your business?”

  “Private investigations.”

  “Oh. Does this have to do with her divorce?”

  “It does.”

  She gazed toward the front windows, and the street beyond, unfocused. “She told me she’d finally filed it.”

  “A few days ago.”

  “You’re from Gulf Shores? Right?”

  Pancake took another bite, nodded. “I am.”

  “I know she hired some attorney from down there.”

  “And he hired us. Longly Investigations.”

  “To do what?”

  “Mostly financial stuff.”

  “I’m glad she finally decided to move on. She’s hemmed and hawed about it for months.”

  “Divorce is never an easy decision,” Pancake said.

  “That’s true. For Emily particularly so. Made her feel like she’d failed. Or some such nonsense.” She smiled. “Emily doesn’t fail at anything. She’s a smart cookie.”

  One croissant down. Pancake lifted the second one, took a bite. “I take it you know her husband?”

  “I do. Sean’s his name.”

  Pancake knew that, too. “What’s his story?”

  “He’s okay. Not a bad guy.” She gave a half smile. “Just not overly ambitious. Or attentive.”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Sort of. They get along fine. Most times. He just has a wandering eye.”

  “Seems to be a common state.”

  “They separated six months ago. Maybe a bit longer.” She flattened one palm on the table, stared at the back of her hand. “I hope this doesn’t become messy. I’d hate for her to have to go through a bunch of crap.”

  “Seems fairly low temperature,” Pancake said. “At least from what we’ve managed to dig up.”