Murder Deja Vu

Dana. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you. I’d rather go back to prison.”
    “Nothing will happen. Now, tell me, where are you?”
    “On my way to see an old acquaintance. I’ll call you later.”
    “Okay.”
    “How’s Frank?”
    She looked across the room at the two people with her and smiled. “He’s okay. I love him. Lana too.”
    “He’s something, isn’t he?”
    “I love you, Reece. Be careful.”
    “Stay safe.”
    Dana could have left the room, but she had no secrets from these people. Along with Jeraldine and Clarence, they were Reece’s best friends, and now, along with Harris, they were hers.
    Tears spilled from her eyes.
    “He’ll be all right, Dana,” Frank said. “His head’s on straight. Maybe for the first time since he went to prison. He has a reason to go on, and there’s nothing stronger than love to inspire a man. I know.”
    Lana sat on the arm of Frank’s chair. They were holding hands, and Dana wanted to cry. Some things in life didn’t seem fair. Premature death, for one.
    And good men falsely accused of murder.

Chapter Twenty-Nine
Reality Bites

    Harold County, North Carolina

    R obert’s heart raced; his blood pressure soared into dangerous territory. The nerve of Wright coming into his office and accusing him of being an accessory to murder. How dare he? And to cite Harry Klugh .
    He wiped the sweat dripping into his eye. Well, he could stop his bullshit indignation. No one was in his office to notice. He was in trouble and knew it. Klugh was unstable, a nutcase. That was why Robert used him. He had no ethical base from which to operate. The man never asked questions. He read between the lines. No telling what he’d do if the police grilled him. He’d say Robert hired him, that he only did what Robert wanted. But he never told Klugh to kill Lurena Howe, only to get evidence that tied Daughtry to Rayanne Johnson. Even the bartender at Rudy’s identified Daughtry as an occasional customer.
    Damn. If it ever came out he told Klugh to get evidence, his career would be in the crapper. Bribing a witness was a federal crime. If anyone should know that, Robert should. Then he considered the charge of murder—a bigger federal crime.
    He rose from his desk and walked the room. He thought more clearly in motion. Got the juices flowing and the sticky shirt off his back.
    But wait. Wright was only guessing. How could he know anything for sure? Klugh wasn’t a novice. He wouldn’t take someone out and leave a witness. No one saw him.
    They couldn’t prove a thing. Still, he couldn’t take any chances. He needed to call Klugh. How did Wright know he met Klugh? Who saw them together in the diner? Then he thought about his calls. He’d never called Klugh from the office, but Klugh had called Robert. They could get a record of the calls.
    So what? He didn’t deny knowing Klugh. Could someone have overheard their conversations? What did he say when they talked? Nothing. He didn’t say anything. He talked to him in person about getting the evidence. When he called, they spoke cryptically. He wasn’t stupid, though Klugh had a few screws loose.
    He’d have to think about what job he hired Klugh for. That was what he told Wright. What job? Think, Robert. Think.
    Walking around in circles made him dizzy. He felt nauseous. Maybe I should go home. Call Klugh from a payphone. That’s what I’ll do.
    He went into the bathroom he insisted the county put in his office and looked in the mirror. Jesus, he looked ready to stroke out. Sweat beaded his hairline. Thin people in good shape weren’t supposed to sweat like this. He splashed water on his face, wiped it off, and used the damp towel to scrub the back of his neck. Maybe he should change his shirt. No, he’d go home, take a shower. He adjusted his suspenders and slipped on his suit jacket.
    He looked better. Fresher. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath. Calm down Robert. They have nothing on you. Suspicion isn’t fact.
    He didn’t like this Wright guy. The man reminded him of a bulldog. Not visually—he looked like a pansy—but he was tenacious. He’d known men like Wright. They never gave up. “And Robert Minette never gives up,” he said aloud. He breathed in again, grabbed his briefcase, and went into the outer office.
    His secretary looked at him, then looked at the appointment book. “Is everything all right, Mr. Minette? You don’t look well.”
    “I’m feeling ill, Doris. I think