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When he was at work, Pete Riley was a serious, by-the-book, up-and-coming detective. Off the clock he had a charming, boyish demeanor about him. And, from Theodosia’s perspective anyway, Riley was easy on the eyes. He was tall with high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, and blue eyes a shade lighter than hers. She’d fallen into the habit of simply calling him Riley. And he called her Theo. It was as simple and sweet as that because it suited them both.
RWWR. This from Earl Grey.
“Ah, another party heard from,” Riley said as he leaned down and grabbed Earl Grey’s head in his hands. “How are you doin’, fella? Keeping guard over the old homestead?” He rubbed Earl Grey’s ears, his muzzle, then patted his broad shoulders. Earl Grey, a mixture of dalmation and Labrador (a Dalbrador), reveled in the attention.
Because it was after six and Theodosia hadn’t eaten yet (and Riley was always in the mood for a snack), she said, “Are you hungry?”
Riley’s eyes lit up. “Are you kidding? I’m famished.”
Theodosia pulled open her refrigerator and did a quick check of the goods. She had wedges of baby Swiss and Brie cheese, some cold cuts and potato salad. Add some crackers and fresh veggie slices and she had the perfect antidote to an evening snack attack.
She fixed a meat and cheese board, added dollops of mustard and mayo, then carried it into her living room, where Riley had already flaked out in a chintz-covered chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
“This is the life,” he said, reaching out to grab a cracker, slice of roast beef, and a hunk of Swiss cheese all in one fell swoop.
Theodosia knew this was the life, but not because of the food. It was her house, her little cottage, that made her heart beat faster. She’d worked long and hard to afford this cozy little Queen Anne–style cottage with its angled roofline, stucco exterior, and crossbeams. Drayton always said if she allowed moss to grow on her roof the place would look like a hobbit house. Of course, the interior of her home was just as intriguing, with pegged wood floors, a brick fireplace, leaded windows, and chintz-covered furniture.
“You didn’t just show up for the cheese and crackers, did you?” Theodosia said finally. She knew Riley was here on account of Claxton, the dead politician. Because of the tea party disaster.
Riley shook his head. “Nope.”
“So what’s up?”
Riley chewed his bite of cheese, swallowed, and said, “Tidwell and the powers that be at City Hall believe Claxton’s murder is a disaster in the making. With a complete meltdown to follow.”
“A meltdown?” Theodosia was amused.
“On the magnitude of Chernobyl.”
Theodosia leaned forward, her curiosity starting to ping. “Tell me.”
Riley drew a breath and seemed to gather his thoughts. Then he said, “Hear me out for a few minutes, will you?”
Theodosia nodded. Riley was working up to something; she just wasn’t sure what it was.
“Claxton was connected,” Riley said. “And by that I mean big-time connected. The man’s been a professional politician all his natural born days and has had his sticky fingers in literally hundreds of political issues.”
“Such as?”
“Permits, inspections, licensing, you name it. Claxton’s held so many city and county offices and served on so many committees, boards of directors, special action groups, and political action committees that it would take twenty single-spaced pages simply to make up his bio.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Theodosia asked.
“It is when you’ve developed a reputation for playing down and dirty. For being someone who accepts bribes and kickbacks and demands favors. Claxton was also a fixer in many cases and the rumor around police headquarters is that Claxton engineered countless political shakedowns.”
“You’re telling me he was a bad guy?”
“With a heart as black as coal,” Riley said.
“But Claxton was running for a seat in the state legislature.”
“Moving on up to the big time,” Riley said. “Gonna rub elbows with the pros. So far it’s been a hotly contested race.”
“But not anymore,” Theodosia said. “Now that Claxton’s dead.” She blinked. “Wait a minute, is that why he was murdered? For political gain? Could the killer have been a political opponent?”
Riley shrugged. “It’s possible, but the investigation’s just getting under way. We won’t know anything for sure until we dig deeper. And remember, a whole lot of people wanted Claxton dead. The man wasn’t just feared, he was hated. He had mortal enemies in every aspect of his political and personal life.”
“So what’s the bottom line here?” Theodosia asked.
