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He wasn’t positive how to handle this novel situation. Did he argue? Let her have her way? Try to reach a compromise?
The bottom line was, could he turn over the reins of this investigation to Jada like she wanted? He was no follower. He was the commander, in the past, now and forever. Might as well try to break the habit of breathing as try to stop leading.
A thought tapped for attention at the back of his brain. Jada said she had her own suspects her own ideas about who was behind the fake marriage licenses. This meant she wasn’t totally on board with Ian’s own conviction that everything had been orchestrated by CGTV.
Since that was the case, it wouldn’t be hard to step back and let Jada follow the trail of evidence all the way to its end, where she would discover that she was wrong and Ian had been right all along.
He turned the idea over in his head, checking all sides to make sure everything lined up. Yes, he could hang back and let her take the lead as long as he knew exactly where they’d end up. And he believed he definitely knew that.
He smiled and stood. “I accept your conditions. So what’s the plan?”
She returned his smile and maybe it was wishful thinking, but Ian thought he saw a glimmer of relief pass over her features, which could only mean she didn’t truly want to leave him.
“I need to get to Springers Glen as soon as possible to question the clerks in the courthouse records department. I think I’ll get better results if I speak to them in person,” Jada said.
“Good idea. Car or helicopter?”
Jada looked thoughtful. “How long will it take the helicopter to get here?”
The game was afoot.
Chapter Two
JADA AND IAN MOVED OUT of the bright sunshine and into the dark interior of the historic Springers Glen Courthouse. Ancient, scuffed wood floors creaked under their heels as they walked down the narrow hallway. It smelled like industrial cleaner and citrus bug spray, underscored with the hint of mildew often present in old buildings.
Jada knew she looked a fool in her disguise. Agatha had loaned her a giant floppy hat, Sasha had let her borrow some oversized butterfly sunglasses, and Marina had added a scarf around the top of the hat, tying it under Jada’s chin supposedly to add a classy Dorothy Dandridge touch. Ha. More like Laura Ingalls Wilder, Jada thought.
She reached up to remove the giant sunglasses.
“No,” Ian said, touching her arm, “leave them on. Best to stay covered until we’re there.”
She pushed the glasses back up her nose. “But they’re so dark, I can’t see.”
“Hang onto my arm and I’ll guide you.”
“I don’t know. You’re wearing sunglasses, too. It’s the blind leading the blind, isn’t it?”
He chuckled softly. “So we bounce off a few walls. No big thing. Point me in the direction of the records office and I’ll try not to get us killed on the way.”
“Up ahead on the left, down the stairs. It’s in the basement.”
“Why are records departments always in the basement?” Ian asked.
“No idea. In case there’s a tornado so all the paperwork won’t blow away?”
“Maybe. But if there’s a flood, it’ll all get wet.”
“From the smell, I’d say a hundred floods have already come and gone,” Jada said.
They decided it was best to risk discovery and lift their sunglasses up so they could safely navigate the stairs. They survived the journey without mishap and saw no one on the way.
“What does this woman look like?” Ian asked. “The D.A. who’s meeting us?”
“Late twenties, taller than me. Pretty.”
“I think I see her but it’s hard to be sure.”
“I see a shadowy outline. Could be her,” Jada said, squinting through the dark lenses.
They found their way down the hall and stopped in front of who Jada could now see was, indeed, the district attorney, Ophelia Wyatt. She was dressed in a tailored, navy power suit that complimented her mocha skin tone. Beside her, a handwritten sign hung on the shuttered window to the records department which said the office was closed.
Jada introduced Ophelia to Ian and they shook hands.
“Thank you for calling me in on this, Jada,” Ophelia said. “It’s been quite the enlightening morning.”
“I knew you’d be the person for the job,” Jada said.
Ophelia ushered them down the hall and into a small conference room, closing the door behind them.
Jada pulled off her disguise and looked around. They were in a nondescript, beige, windowless room with a single table, six chairs and little else. Fluorescent lights buzzed in the low ceiling. The most she could say for the place was that it had been recently painted. It was a snug, claustrophobic space and Jada was glad she wouldn’t be in it for long.
Two women sat on the far side of the table. Jada recognized one, but not the other.
Jada, Ian and Ophelia sat down.
“These are both of the clerks who currently work in the records department. This,” Ophelia gestured to the woman Jada didn’t recognize, “is Violet Crow. She normally works in the county clerk’s office, but she’s been filling in today for Sylvia Watson, who’s currently away on leave as I told you when you called.”
Jada and Ian greeted the middle-aged woman, who returned the greetings along with a nervous smile.
Ophelia turned to the elderly lady wearing a floral print housedress, her snow white hair twisted into a tight bun at the back of her petite head. “And this is Nell Wyatt, a part-time employee in records, and she’s also my grandmother. I assume Jada has told you that, Ian?”
He nodded.
Jada recalled his reaction when she told him that a Springers Glen city councilman, Frank Wyatt, was Nell Wyatt’s son and Ophelia’s father. This was undoubtedly how the elderly clerk had kept her job at the courthouse a couple of decades beyond the time when others had been forced to retire. Ian laughed and said he was glad to see nepotism was as alive and well in small town government as it was in city government.
Jada smiled at the elderly lady, who smiled back.
“You’re Kenya and Montpelier’s girl. How’s your folks?” she asked Jada.
“They’re fine, thank you. On the road still. I haven’t seen you in ages, Mrs. Nell.”
“No, you young people are always busy, busy, busy. No time to sit and visit. Just like Ophelia. She hasn’t been by for Sunday dinner in weeks.”
Ophelia grimaced. “Now’s not the time for that, Grandma.”
“It’s never the time,” Mrs. Nell said. She flashed her pearly-white dentures in Ian’s direction. “And who did you say this tall drink of water is?”
“Ian Buckley. Remember? We went over this a few minutes ago?” Ophelia asked.
“Hmm. I like the look of him. You caught yourself a good one, Jada. If I were forty years younger, er, fifty. Wait, sixty? Nah, fifty. If I were fifty years younger, I’d set my bonnet for you, sir.” She winked at Ian.
Ophelia patted her grandmother’s hand. “That’s great, but we need to get moving.” She turned to Ian. “We’ve already gone over what you’re here to talk to them about. Feel free to ask whatever is necessary. We want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do, I assure you.”
Jada bet she did.
Ian gestured at Jada. They’d decided on the way in to town that she’d do the questioning.
She began with Violet. “How long have you been filling in for Sylvia?”
“Only today, this morning,” Violet blurted in a rush.
Jada tried to set her at ease with a smile. “Thank you. Did anyone come in this morning asking for copies of marriage licenses?”
“Yes, two people, and they both wanted the same thing, basically. One of them, a polite young woman, was already waiting when we opened.”
Ian shifted in his chair, and Jada knew he was frustrated that his own employee hadn’t been waiting, too.
“Can you remember exactly what she a
sked for?”
“Oh yes. It’s been all over the internet, so I’d heard about it already. She wanted me to get her a copy of a marriage license recently filed for Ian Buckley. She was very clear that she wanted a copy of the original license, not a printout of the computer entry.” She shot a quick glance at Ian, then back to Jada.
“And did you give her one?”
“I would have, except I couldn’t find the original license. There was no license with Ian Buckley marrying anyone.”
“What did she do when you told her?”
