Free Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8) by Vanessa Gray Bartal Page A

she couldn’t remember his name. His flashlight beam landed on her face. “Hey, don’t I know you?”
    “No,” Lacy said.
    “You’re Cantor’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”
    “Uh…” Her mind was blank. How was she going to get out of this without Jason finding out?
    “You are. I remember you now. What are you doing here? And where are your pants?”
    “It’s kind of a long story,” she said. “One I tell better while wearing clothes. Do you mind?” She motioned to her pants.
    He tore them down and inspected them. “I don’t think these are going to do you much good.” He sounded amused as he tossed the pants toward her.
    She tried to catch them, missed, and bent to pick them up. He was right; she realized when she made her own inspection. The pants had ripped almost in half from top to bottom. Only the seams at the ankles still held together. She dangled them in front of her, for all the good they did. Her kneecaps were now modestly concealed, but her hindquarters were still flapping in the breeze.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “I was coming to get my mom’s car,” she said.
    “Now?” he asked, incredulous.
    “He said it would be ready today,” she said, stamping her foot in frustration. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so humiliated. In her life, a lot of embarrassing things had happened, but she was usually wearing pants. This was like a bad dream, one from which she couldn’t wake. 
    “Ma’am, are you aware that the owner of this shop is dead?”
    “Please stop calling me ma’am. It’s Lacy, and yes, I’m aware. Look, I’m really sorry. I can see this was a miscalculation on my part. Can I please go?”
    His smile slipped. “If it were up to me, yes, but Detective Arroyo gave us specific instructions to pick up anyone we find here. It’s almost like he knew this was going to happen.”
    “Please, I can’t go to the station like this,” she pled. Her voice wobbled.
    “I’m really sorry,” he said, and he sounded sincere. “We like to take care of our own, but Detective Arroyo has a way of finding things out. If he knew I let you go, he’d have my job.”
    She nodded, defeated. It wasn’t fair of her to ask him to cover for her.
    “I won’t cuff you,” he said.
    “Oh, goody,” she said, although she was thankful for the small favor. He held open the back door of his cruiser. Lacy ducked inside. The backs of her thighs stuck on the leather and made a loud ripping noise when she tried to slide across. She was almost positive she saw the deputy’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter as he got behind the wheel and closed the door. She turned her head out the window and tried to tamp down the rolling tides of mortification.
    She would never get over this, never. It was bad enough that she was being hauled in to the sheriff’s office without pants, but it was her boyfriend’s place of work. Did these things happen to other women? Did they ever accidentally show up at their boyfriends’ offices in a t-shirt and underwear? Lacy hoped so. She would hate to think she was the only one.
    “Is there any way we could not tell Jason about this?” she asked.
    The deputy cleared his throat a couple of times before answering. “He won’t hear it from me,” he said, and she believed him. Regardless of whether he was only doing his job, Jason wouldn’t be happy with the man who brought in his pantless girlfriend. And a righteously indignant Jason was a fearsome thing.
    They arrived at the sheriff’s station. He drove around to the back.
    “You’re taking me through the jail?” she said, abashed.
    “Policy,” he said.
    She squeezed the bridge of her nose and tried not to cry. The jail was for criminals and drunks, not hapless business owners who fell off a fence and lost their pants.
    He opened the car door for her. She considered refusing to get out, but given his strict adherence to the rules, he would