Millie cocked her head. “Have you ever met Clay Baker?”
Lila looked off to the side. “Yeah, a couple of times when I conducted inventory, he and his brother came into the bar.” She looked down at her hands.
“Did you ever speak with Clay?” Millie asked.
“No,” Lila returned. “I mean, he talked to me a couple of times, but I kept my head down and worked. He seemed...” She mulled it over as if thinking. “I don’t know, slimy.” She looked up at Millie. “I’m sorry. I know you dated him, and I mean no offense.”
“No, slimy fit Clay perfectly,” Millie said. “I hadn’t realized that you’d met him also.”
Verna snorted. “I don’t think there’s a woman in town who hasn’t met Clay at least once. He hits on everybody, right?”
“What a jackass,” Valerie said, sipping her latte.
The door opened and a very wet Scott Terentson walked in wearing jogging shoes, running shorts, and a tank top plastered to his muscular body.
June coughed, Verna gasped, Lila stared, and Valerie made a sound like a horny cat.
Millie’s breath caught in her throat and her entire body heated, head to toe. “Morning,” she managed to strangle out as her friends all erupted into giggles.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Around noon, Scott steered his vehicle competently through the rain and parked at the curb in front of the chief’s station. Millie remained silent on the way into town, and he glanced over at her. “Are you okay? I mean, besides the obvious issues of stabbings, bombs, and loss of employment.”
“Yes. Besides the obvious, I’m fine.” She rubbed at a bruise on her chin. “What do you think of Lila?”
“I haven’t given her much thought,” Scott said blithely, jumping out of the vehicle and pushing through the wind to reach the passenger side. The rain had stopped for now, but a chill still hung in the air. “Let’s get inside, Mills,” he said, helping her out.
She let him assist her down and stood on the sidewalk looking both ways. The town appeared quiet in the late morning but even so, Scott ushered her inside the chief’s office, not happy until she was off the street. At this point, he expected bullets from any direction. “Hey, Chief,” he said as they walked inside, noting the man behind the reception desk.
“Hi.” Today the man wore his customary uniform with his utility belt in plain sight, showing a sidearm, handcuffs, a radio, and pepper spray. “You’re right on time. Rupert Skinner is in the interrogation room waiting for you.” The chief’s tone remained level, but a glint lightened his eyes.
Scott read him quickly. Good. He didn’t want the chief liking the prosecuting attorney who wanted to put Millie away. “He does understand this interview goes both ways, right?” Scott pressed a palm to Millie’s lower back and ushered her behind the reception desk.
“Yup,” the chief said.
“Great.” He leaned down to Millie. “Let me do the talking. I think he wants to trip you up, and it doesn’t hurt for him to know you have representation.”
“No problem.” His girl looked adorable today in her green sweater and jeans, and he wanted to claim every inch of her body instead of dealing with bombings and murders. Instead, he settled into the moment and followed her and the chief to the interrogation room, where he took a position across from the prosecuting attorney.
Rupert Skinner’s scalp gleamed between strands of hair under the fluorescent lights, and his drab brown suit seemed a size too big, hanging off his frame and making him look hunched over.
Scott had read a preliminary report on the guy created by one of his associates. He’d grown up poor, attended college and law school on scholarships, and reputedly held lofty ambitions. Scott hadn’t found dirt on him as of yet, but if something untoward existed to be uncovered, his private detectives would find it.
Skinner looked up, ambition in his brown eyes. “Thank you for coming in.” He stood and his red tie flopped on an untidy pile of folders on the table.
“Happy to discuss this,” Scott said smoothly, pulling out a chair for Millie.
She sat and he did the same, waiting until the other two men sat across from him.
Scott looked at the chief, who had remained silent thus far. “Do you have an ID on the three men who attacked us?”
Skinner cleared his throat. “You mean the three men you brutally murdered?”
Ah, this was how the day would go. “Actually, we acted in self-defense and I think you know that, Skinner,” Scott drawled. “So let’s not play games. Do you have IDs?”
“We actually do,” the chief said, without any file folders in front of him.
The prosecutor stiffened.
