Her Lost Alibi by David Berens (e reader .txt) 📕

a finger. He nodded to the left and the right and for the first time, six officers came into view—three on each side, dressed in black S.W.A.T. gear, mean looking rifles leveled at him.

“I know what you might be thinking, son,” Minter said, “And I assure you that these men and their fully automatic M4 rifles will turn your head into a watermelon of mush long before you ever pull the trigger.”

The only sound in the bar was the creaking of leather from the gloves of the officers and the slight crunch of their boots as they stepped closer. Amber was surprised at the tone Minter’s voice took on as he spoke one more time.

“Mr. Morales, you might not know this, but that girl’s father isn’t with us any longer to defend her honor as he tried to do so long ago. But I am here now. And if you harm one more hair on that girl’s head,” he said, his words unusually clear and precise, “I will allow these men to turn you into a pile of Jell-O.”

27

Tomorrow

Amber Cross sat in a rocking chair on the balcony of Minter Tweed’s office overlooking the city square. Warm amber streetlights glowed through the ashy gray Spanish moss that hung from the ancient Southern Live Oak trees. Beautiful fountains splashed and tinkled. Children played as parents packed up picnic baskets and playthings to head home. The cicadas and stars were coming out for the nighttime symphony that Amber had grown to love. She had enjoyed the time with her father in Florida and the idea of moving back there had blossomed in her mind … until he passed. But sitting here, watching the antebellum city settle in for the night, she knew her heart was here. This was home now.

“My dear,” Minter Tweed said in a voice that could easily have been Mark Twain’s, “you seem a million miles away tonight. Are you well?”

She held up a half empty glass of Franzia Pinot Noir and smiled. “I’m more than well. I’m happy.”

“That is fine,” he said, smoke rings that smelled of cherry and chocolate wafting up around his head. “Mighty fine.”

A silence fell between them. Not an awkward one, but a comfortable one. The kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled … because it is already full.

“You know,” she said, as a light mist began to fall, “I don’t think I’m going back to the police department.”

“Well now, that is a sudden revelation. What has brought forth this life-altering decision?”

“After I got back, after all that I’d been through with the Morales case, they wanted to put me back in the basement scanning files,” she said, emptying her wine. “I can’t do that. I’m not a secretary.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “Why, the investigative work you did for them was extraordinary. You brought a fervor and an intelligence to that case that no one had before you.”

She shrugged. “I got a guilty man released from prison.”

Minter took his pipe from his mouth and stopped rocking. He leaned over and touched the arm of her rocking chair. “And then you found the truth, doggedly, determinedly, tenaciously at that. You did what was necessary to bring him to justice yet again. Even to the detriment of your own safety.”

She gently touched the healing knot on her forehead. The bruising and swelling were going away, but it would be awhile before she would look like herself again.

“A mistake I hope you will not repeat again,” he added, standing up from his chair. “Come now, let’s go inside before this rain soaks us through.”

As she rocked slowly in the growing mist, she cocked her head to the side. “So, something’s been bugging me for a while,” she said. “Torres was killed in New York, Morales fled to Florida … but the case file was here in Georgia—Savannah, Georgia to boot.”

He nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“Why? Why was it here? It’s been bothering me ever since I watched Governor Cruz in the press conference when they released Morales from .”

His eyes narrowed. “Now that … is a very good question. I cannot think of any good reason for it to be here. Maybe the chief has an answer to that.”

She considered it for a few minutes, thought she might call Chief Decker in the morning … or maybe not. What did it matter now, really?

She looked up at him, “Minter, when I went to Florida to get Morales … how did you know where I was going? How did you know where to find me?”

He smiled and the sparkle in his eye returned. “While you are an incredibly gifted young investigator with a tremendously bright future before you, I will always be one step ahead of you.”

She knew he was being playful, but in some ways, she knew it was true. He had led her to most of the important discoveries she had made in the Morales case.

“I guess I still have a lot to learn,” she said, standing with a groan.

“Well, now,” he rubbed at his snowy beard, “that is an interesting proposition.”

He thought for a moment more, tapping his fingers in the air as if on an invisible calculator. Then he smiled broadly.

“I accept.”

“Wait.” She raised an eyebrow. “You accept what?”

“Why, the honor of being your mentor,” he said, holding his arms open wide. “I believe I can put you on a small, but acceptable stipend—likely more than the SPD was paying you—and we can get started right away.”

She blinked. “Are you saying you’re hiring me?”

“Of course I’m hiring you,” he said. “But only as long as you want to stay. You have so much to learn and I have much to teach you. I can’t do this forever. I’m getting a bit ‘long in the tooth’ as we say here in the South.”

“But … I mean … what will I do here?”

He waved a hand through the double doors of his office. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She walked in and sat down. Minter refilled their