B.J. Daniels - One Hot Forty-Five

Shane led Lantry through a door and down a hallway between a half-dozen cells. All but one was empty. He noticed that Dede Chamberlain had been put in the last cell at the end of the row and guessed that was probably because she’d been disruptive and they hadn’t wanted to hear it.

Lantry had dealt with his share of young wives married to rich older men. He knew the type. Privileged, spoiled, demanding, born with a sense of entitlement.

As he neared the former Mrs. Frank Chamberlain’s cell, he saw a small curled-up ball under what looked like red fake fur. He cleared his throat, and she sat up looking sleepy-eyed for an instant before she became alert.

Lantry had never laid eyes on the woman before and was more than a little surprised. Dede Chamberlain had already been locked up in the Texas mental facility by that time so the only person Lantry had dealt with was her lawyer. When he’d handled her husband’s side of the divorce, he’d assumed the fiftyish Frank Chamberlain hadn’t been far off base when he’d claimed his younger wife was a gold-digging, vindictive, crazy bitch who was trying to take all of his money—if not his life.

Having seen his share of crazed trophy wives, Lantry had put Dede Chamberlain in the same category. He’d expected Botoxed, health-clubbed and hard as her designer salon acrylic nails.

That’s why he was taken aback now. This woman looked nothing like the ex-wives he’d dealt with during his career.

Dede Chamberlain had the face of an angel, big blue eyes and a curly cap of reddish-blond hair that actually looked like her original color. There was a sweet freshness and innocence about her that he’d always associated with women from states that grew corn.

But if anyone knew that looks could be deceiving, it was a divorce lawyer.

She blinked at him as if surprised to see him, then rose to come to the bars. “Thank you so much for coming down here, Mr. Corbett,” she said in a voice that was soft, hopeful and edged with maybe a little fear.

“I’m not here to represent you.”

“You’re not?” She lost the hopeful look.

“If you weren’t already locked up and facing life in prison or worse, I would have you arrested for whatever you did to my Lamborghini.” He stopped and frowned. “Why are you wearing a Santa Claus costume?”

She waved a hand through the air. No acrylic salon fingernails. Not even any polish on her neatly trimmed bare nails, he thought, distracted for a moment.

“The Santa suit? It’s a long story,” Dede said. “But you probably shouldn’t hear about it since you aren’t my lawyer. But for the record, I never touched your car. You can blame Frank for that.”

Lantry shook his head. “Why would your ex-husband and my client, who I might add I got a huge settlement for, want to destroy my car?”

“I can understand your confusion, Mr. Corbett. But that’s why I had your brother call you. Your life is in danger because of something my ex-husband was involved in.”

Lantry nodded, wishing he hadn’t bothered to come down here. What had been the point? The woman had escaped from a mental institution. Two mental facilities, actually, and had shown a history of fanatical behavior on the verge of homicidal during the divorce. Had he expected reason from this woman?

He shook his head and turned to leave.

“Why do you think I’m in Whitehorse if not to warn you?” she said to his retreating back. “Why come all the way to Montana? Why not just take off to some place where no one could find me and save my own neck? Isn’t that what you would have done?”

That stung, but he couldn’t deny the truth of it. He stopped walking away and turned to look back at her, something in her words making him hesitate.

“I would be dead right now if it hadn’t been for the two inmates who broke me out with them from the state hospital,” Dede said.

“Instead, you came here to save my life.”

She nodded, obviously missing the sarcasm in his tone—or ignoring it. “My motives weren’t completely altruistic,” she said. “I’m hoping you can save us both. But if they—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “Who’s they?” he asked, waiting for her to say she didn’t know so he could walk out without feeling the least bit guilty. “I thought you said Frank was behind this death wish for me?”

“Actually, it’s two childhood friends of Frank’s,” she said. “I only know them as Ed and Claude. But when they showed up in Houston, that’s when Frank began to change. I could tell he was afraid of them, but it was as if they had some kind of hold on him.”

This all sounded like a bad B movie, and Dede Chamberlain was writing it from somewhere inside her demented brain.

Lantry had heard his share of pre-divorce stories over the years. He didn’t want to hear Dede Chamberlain’s, didn’t want to feel any sympathy for her. Marriage was a choice, and she’d stupidly married Frank.

Those big blue eyes filled with tears. She bit her lower lip as if fighting to hold them back. “I know those men are why Frank turned on me—and why they’re now trying to kill you.”

He couldn’t help but ask. “Didn’t you question him about what was going on?”

“He said I was imagining things. But one night after he’d had a few drinks, he seemed to be the old Frank I’d fallen in love with. He said that he’d believed a man could change, could overcome his past, even his upbringing. I said I believed that too, but he said we were both wrong. That his past had come back to drag him down, and there was no escaping it.”

“What does any of this have to do with him trying to kill you or me?” Lantry asked impatiently.

“Didn’t you ever ask yourself why it wasn’t enough for Frank to just divorce me? He had me committed so no one would believe anything I said.”

And it was working, Lantry thought.

“Last week Frank called me and warned me they would try to kill me and that I had to get out of the hospital.”

Lantry rubbed the back of his neck. His head hurt, and he needed sleep. “You do realize how crazy this all sounds, don’t you?”

She nodded. “They’re counting on you not believing me. That’s why you have to get me out of here so—”

Lantry let out a laugh. “I don’t think so. I’ll take my chances with Frank and his boys. But thanks.”

“They tried to kill you once when they rigged your Ferrari,” she said grabbing the bars of her cell, calling after him as he started to turn away again.

“Lamborghini,” he said, turning back to her.

“Whatever. All those kinds of cars look alike to me,” she said and glanced at her watch. “We don’t have much time, Mr. Corbett. I’m your last hope. Once they kill me, there won’t be anyone who can save you.”

Why was he still listening to this woman? Because of an uneasy feeling that her story was just crazy enough to be true.

“How did you get to Montana anyway?” he demanded, wanting to trap her in a lie so he could wash his hands of this whole business and get back to bed. “Frank took all the money, the cars, the houses—”

“I have my own money, Mr. Corbett.” There was a hard edge to her voice. “I didn’t marry Frank for his, no matter what he led you to believe.”

Lantry couldn’t hide his surprise. He had wanted to believe she was a crazy gold digger. It made what Frank did to her easier to be a part of. “Even if I believed that Frank’s buddies tampered with my car, they had other chances to kill me after that. So why haven’t they tried?”

“I suspect they didn’t know where to find you,” she said. “Ed has got to be in Whitehorse by now. Claude is either still at the hospital or on his way here. If I have to go back in the mental hospital, he’ll kill me. He came close in Texas. I’d be dead right now if Violet and Roberta hadn’t broken me out. I know all this is hard for you to believe—”

The cell-block door opened, and his brother stuck his head in, motioning to him.

“Hold that thought,” Lantry said to Dede, shaking his head at how foolish he was to buy into any of this. So the woman had her own money and she was no dummy, her story was still preposterous.

“We just got a call,” Shane said. “A stolen vehicle believed driven by one of the patients Dede Chamberlain escaped with has been spotted. The patient, Violet Evans, is from here. The sheriff and I are going out there now. Are you about through with your client?”

“She’s not my client,” Lantry snapped irritably. His cell phone rang. He checked it. “I need to take this.”

“Deputy Conners will be here in case you get any ideas about breaking her out,” Shane joked.

Lantry mugged a face at his brother and took the call as the cell-block door clanged shut. “So, what did you find out?”

“How about ‘Hello, James, sorry to wake you too damned early in the morning and ask you to track down my wrecked car.’”

“Sorry.” James Ames was a close friend and a damned good mechanic. “You found it? And?”

“The brake lines weren’t cut.”

So it was just as he’d suspected. Dede Chamberlain was delusional.

“The steering mechanism was hinky, though.”

“Hinky?” He glanced down the line of cells at Dede, then turned his back to her.

“I’ve never seen one torqued quite like that from an accident,” James said. “What did you hit?”

“Nothing. I just suddenly lost control of the car. Are you saying it had been tampered with?” Lantry said, keeping his voice down.

“Only if someone was trying to kill you.” James laughed as if he’d made a joke. “I guess in your profession that’s always a possibility, though. Guess they missed you this time.” He was still chuckling when Lantry hung up.

He glanced back at Dede again. She was holding on to the bars, watching him with that hopeful look on her angelic face again. Damn.

As he walked back to her cell, he pictured Frank Chamberlain, a handsome, well-to-do, powerful man in Houston who didn’t need to resort to murder to get what he wanted. “You say Frank called to warn you. But if Frank wanted to protect you, why didn’t he break you out himself?”

“How did Frank tell you he made his fortune?” she asked, the change of subject giving him whiplash.

“A killing on Wall Street.”

She smiled ruefully. “He told me his grandmother left him the money.”

Lantry had never cared how his clients made their money as long as he got paid. Frank Chamberlain had paid right away. The check had gone through, and Lantry had put the case behind him and gone to Montana for a family meeting on the Trails West Ranch, where his father and new wife had just settled. He hadn’t planned to stay so long, but he’d gotten involved in some family legal business and then it was almost Christmas….

“Frank lied to both of us, and worse, involved us in his past.” Dede met his gaze with a challenging look. “You’re starting to believe me, aren’t you?”

The woman didn’t know a Lamborghini from a Ferrari. Did he really think she knew the brake line from the steering mechanism?

“Even if I bought into this, the state is sending someone to pick you up in—” he glanced at his watch “—less than—”

Her bloodcurdling scream made him jump back. She began to rattle the bars, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded and reached out to stop her.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and the strings from his bolo tie. He heard fabric rip as he tried to pull away, the bolo tie tightening around his neck. The door to the sheriff’s office clanged open, and the still-wet-behind-the-ears deputy came running toward them.