The Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen

little less damning for her to turn up with him. And, as she reminded me, Dylan was a damn sight better looking that I was — lumps and all.

“We’ll have to take my Harley, Mrs. P,” Dylan said, in his best apologetic voice.

“I’ll go get my helmet!” She clasped her hands together, beside herself with excitement. “And I’ll hold on tight.”

I bit down on the smile; I just bet she would.

One last time, I reminded Mrs. Presley that she had hidden a fugitive from the law. Though I had every confidence I was correct about who killed Jennifer, and who (grrrrrr) tried to frame me for it, there was no need for Mrs. P to expose herself as having harbored me. She just shrugged her shoulders. “By the end of the day, you’ll not be a fugitive from the law, Dix. You’ll be a hero.” She stood in that way — shoulders back, hands on hips, feet firmly planted on the floor — that told me there was no sense in arguing with the woman.

But I really didn’t want to.

I liked that she had faith in me. And for that alone, this petite little lady in her flowered shirt and granny glasses looked pretty much like a hero to me.

While Mrs. P went to make herself ready, Dylan and I ate the rest of our breakfast and planned. The players had all received a personal invitation, and I was sure each would be in attendance at the Weatherby mansion. (Of course, in Dickhead’s case, he’d bring half of Marport City’s police force along with him.) More specifically, I’d called the meeting for the very room where Jennifer had died — her study. And this time, I wouldn’t be hiding under the desk.

At least I hoped I wouldn’t be.

+++

“One call and I can have you arrested on the spot, Ms. Dodd. And if you try to run, I’ll make that call so fast you’ll think you’re running backwards.” Judge Stephanopoulos held up her cell phone for emphasis.

“I understand, Judge. And I wouldn’t dream of betraying your trust.”

She huffed. “If it wasn’t for Rochelle’s faith in you….”

I sent a quick ‘thank-you-I-owe-you-big-time’ look at my friend. Rochelle flashed back a ‘you-can-bet-I’ll- collect’ acknowledgment. And I bet that she would.

I didn’t like the formality with which Judge Stephanopoulos addressed me this morning. But I couldn’t blame her. Technically, she was helping someone wanted by the police. Technically, she could get in a bit of trouble here herself — the line she was walking was pretty thin. But, this was a woman made of some brass. And honor. She was also a woman who believed in justice, and I had a feeling she’d do whatever she could to see that it prevailed.

So when I had called Rochelle (to confirm some things I suspected and to ask for — okay, beg for — her help), she’d presented everything to Judge Stephanopoulos who, according to Rochelle, shook her head and reluctantly agreed to meet with me and hear me out. Under one condition — that after I’d had my say, I’d turn myself in whether my suspicions panned out or not. I had agreed. We met. She listened. And she — yesss! — agreed to help me.

We would go to the Weatherby home together, where I would turn myself over to the police. Judge Stephanopoulos was an officer of the court bringing in a fugitive. But she’d make sure I had a few minutes of say before Dickhead hauled me away. That’s all I asked for. Yet if my theory was correct and I could pull this off, there would be no need for Dickhead to arrest me once this meeting was over.

Now, as we sat in the Judge’s car, she glanced back at me again as she put her phone away. “All I can offer you is time and forum. But nothing beyond that.”

“Of course, Your Honor.”

We were simply driving around Marport City now as we waited for the meeting hour to approach. Having stopped at the local drive-through coffee shop, I was well and truly caffeined. Dylan had gone over to the Weatherby house earlier, with instructions to call me on my cell once everyone had arrived.

Even though the Judge’s windows were tinted and therefore I wasn’t likely to be spotted, it was strange being out and about the town as ‘me’. There were no disguises today. No hair dye, no tinted shades, no red blazer. Firstly, I didn’t want Ned Weatherby or his parents to recognize me from the real estate agent fiasco, but also because I was through with running from the Flashing Fashion Queen. Through with disguises on this one. Through with hiding because of her.

“You know, Dix,” Rochelle said, “Dylan Foreman could be in a bit of trouble here, too.” She was sitting in the front passenger seat while Judge Stephanopoulos drove. “If you don’t walk away from this scot free, Dylan doesn’t either.”

Judge Stephanopoulos nodded. “Rochelle’s right, Ms. Dodd. Detective Head could well arrest Mr. Foreman for aiding and abetting.”

I’d thought of that, of course.

I’d given Dylan the option of cutting and running from mi vida loca last night while he still could. As it stood, there was nothing that could concretely link him to me since I’d been on the lam. Sure, he’d helped me escape custody at the office, but that couldn’t be proven. And Dylan was too smart to admit to anything, or be intimated under police questioning. He’d get a genuine chuckle if they pulled the good-cop, bad-cop shit with him. But once he entered that Weatherby house to set this up with me … if my goose was cooked, his good-looking gander was hitting the BBQ too. I had made that perfectly clear to him.

Dylan hadn’t blinked. Had not hesitated. He hadn’t missed a heartbeat before he answered my offer with, “Forget it, Dix. We’re in this together.”

Those words echoed through my mind now, as we drove around Marport City.

Then my cell phone rang. Judge Stephanopoulos glanced at me via the rearview mirror. Rochelle turned once again in her seat to stare as I answered.

“We’re ready, Dix. Everyone’s here.”

“Thank you, Dylan.”

I snapped the phone shut. Drew a deep breath. “Judge Stephanopoulos, Rochelle, its show time.”

Judge Stephanopoulos nodded, then headed the car to Ashfield Drive. And though I knew what awaited me, she couldn’t drive fast enough for my liking. But once the house was in view, my gulp was audible.

“Well, isn’t that a proper welcoming committee,” Rochelle muttered.

I’d expected cops, but good Lord! The street in front of the Weatherby mansion looked like a river of red and blue bar lights. Shit, there were enough police cars to escort President Obama through Kandahar.

My thoughts flashed back to Dylan. I’d instructed him to call me only when everyone was convened. Detective Head, on the other hand, would have been dead set against allowing this gathering to happen. He’d have used every threat and intimidation tactic at his disposal, including this display of police might, to make Dylan cave on that point. But Dylan hadn’t blinked. Thank you, Dylan.

Everyone would be sitting in Jennifer’s study right now, nervously awaiting my arrival. And Judge Stephanopoulos was my ticket in there. I surely hoped.

I opened the door and climbed out of Judge Stephanopoulos’s car.

“Dix Dodd, you’re under arrest.”

Detective Dickhead’s gleeful words reached me at the same time as the reek of the stale cigarette smoke that clung to him.

“Back on the butts, Detective?”

“Yeah, and just see what it’s done for my mood,” he smiled. “Now, hands behind your back, Dodd.”

He was in a better mood, all right. Hell, he was almost dancing as he pushed me up against the car and nodded to one of the female officers present. The officer — Officer H. Lapp according to her badge — frisked me quickly, then put the handcuffs on me. This I’d expected, given my last encounter with Dickhead when I’d taken off on him, leaving Blow-Up Betty in my place. He would make damn sure it wouldn’t be happening again, and the female police officer was there to ensure that no pleas of feminine emergencies would throw things off.

But when Officer Lapp moved one hand to my head and another on the small of my back to prompt me into the police car, Judge Stephanopoulos, followed by Rochelle, stepped out from the Judge’s car.

“Unhand Ms. Dodd,” the judge said, quietly but with unmistakable authority.

The female officer glanced at Judge Stephanopoulos, then did a double take. “Oh, Your Honor.”