Mary Baxter - In Hot Water

In the process of being led out of the house by the two officers, Seymour had barked an order for her to call his attorney. She had waited until she was on her way to the station to do so. By then her mind had cleared somewhat, and she could punch in Keefe’s number on her cell phone.

He appeared now as composed as ever, dressed as impeccably as ever, though she knew he wasn’t. Maci had observed a little tick in Keefe’s right cheek when he was under stress and that tick was present as he made his way toward her.

Maci had been told to take a seat in the outer lobby and that the chief would be with her shortly. So far, shortly had not come, giving her plenty of time to observe the police station. This afternoon there was a lot of activity. Phones rang while officers and other personnel scurried about. Although she had received several curious glances, no one had bothered to speak to her or ask if she wanted or needed anything.

She couldn’t believe she was here. The horrendous circumstances made the situation even more demoralizing.

When the press learned of this…

“Maci, what the hell is going on?”

She turned her attention back to Keefe. She had never heard him say anything that resembled a curse word. But then she’d never seen him this flustered. His features were pinched and he was out of breath.

Despite the fact that Seymour could be overbearing at times, he and Keefe seemed to have a genuine friendship. While Keefe handled mostly taxes, he had at one time practiced some family and criminal law. So he wasn’t completely out of the loop when it came to helping Seymour. Maci never doubted Keefe had Seymour’s best interest at heart. If he wasn’t the one for the job, he would find someone who was.

“Seymour’s been arrested,” Maci said, hearing the tremor in her voice. She hadn’t bothered to tell Keefe what was going on beforehand. She had simply told him that Seymour needed him and to meet them at the police station. She’d hung up with Keefe still asking questions.

Keefe’s face now drained of its remaining color. “That’s preposterous.”

“It’s a fact,” she countered flatly.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Keefe cleared his throat, then peered down at her, concern mirrored in his eyes. “Of course, you’re not. Forget I asked that.”

“I’m fine,” she said, which was a lie. She was anything but fine. She was sick all over. She clutched at her stomach.

Homicide?

Her wealthy, charismatic husband accused of such an abominable deed was not possible. Only it was possible, or she wouldn’t be sitting in an obscure corner of this godforsaken place.

“You just stay put while I get this mattered straightened out,” Keefe said without further ado. “Then we’ll all be on our way home.”

“Thanks, Keefe,” Maci said, fighting back tears. How could this be happening to her well-ordered world?

Hopefully Keefe could indeed make this nightmare go away.

Moments later Keefe returned, his face as grim as hers. Her heart faltered. Perhaps gaining her husband’s immediate release wasn’t going to be as easy as Keefe had thought.

“The chief wants to see us both.”

Maci stood on unsteady legs, yet when she walked into the rather austere room, she held her head high and her shoulders back. She intended to conduct herself with dignity, and she expected the same from the tall, thin-faced man who was looking at her through narrowed eyes.

Chief Ted Satterwhite introduced himself, then beckoned for both of them to sit in the leather chairs in front of his desk. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked in a deep, hoarse voice indicative of bad sinus drainage.

Both Maci and Keefe politely declined, then Maci asked, “Where is my husband?”

Satterwhite pulled out a big handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped it across his nose before answering, “Waiting to be questioned by the detectives. He’s been read his rights, and has requested that his lawyer be present.”

“Is that necessary?” Maci asked, thankful he didn’t outright blow his nose. She tried to keep her disgust from showing.

“That’s procedure, ma’am.” He pushed back from his desk and crossed a leg over his knee. “That’s how we do things in this department. By the book.”

“I’d like him to go before the judge this afternoon,” Keefe said in a huffy tone as though he resented being talked down to.

“All in good time, Mr. Ryan.”

“Chief—”

“The judge will hear the doctor’s case in the morning.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Keefe declared with a flare of his hand.

Maci groaned, especially when she saw the chief’s features tighten.

“Acceptable or not, that’s the way it is.” Satterwhite’s tone had gone from cool to cold.

His face suffused with unnatural color, Keefe opened his mouth as if to argue, but ultimately ground his jaws together. Maci felt him look at her.

Ignoring Keefe, she faced the chief. “May I please see my husband?”

Satterwhite took his time unfurling his gangly frame to full height. Bastard, Maci thought. He was in his element, lording his control over them. Maci fought the urge to lash out at him, to ask him if he knew who he was toying with.

After all, everyone knew the Ramsey name carried weight in this town. While that hadn’t always been the case, it was now. Her husband was no longer thought of as the downtrodden boy who had defied the odds and made good, but rather as a renowned surgeon. He’d built a stellar reputation in the medical community throughout the entire state of Louisiana. And here in his hometown of Dayton he’d used his wealth and power to the greater good.

Seymour wouldn’t tolerate this method of treatment. But that was before he’d been accused of causing his patient’s death, Maci reminded herself. A negligent homicide charge could relegate him to the bottom of the scum barrel in a heartbeat.

“That can be arranged,” Satterwhite said at last, coming from behind his desk. “Follow me.”

When they walked into the room where Seymour was held, Detective Johnson acknowledged their presence, then left. The chief followed shortly, leaving Maci and Keefe alone with Seymour.

For a moment, a thick, heavy silence prevailed.

“Are you all right?” Maci asked in an unsteady voice.

“I will be, when I get the hell out of here.” Seymour’s eyes darted to Keefe. “I’m assuming you can do that.”

Keefe blew out a long breath. “I can’t until morning.”

Seymour swore.

“Keefe’s doing all he can, Seymour,” Maci pointed out in a calm, soothing tone, hoping to defuse the volatile situation.

“Then it’s not good enough,” Seymour shot back.

Another awkward silence fell over the room. Maci bit down on her lower lip and looked at Seymour. He appeared tired and drawn, yet restless and hyper. Control was what fed him, what made him the man he was, and now that he wasn’t in control, Maci knew he’d be jittery.

Or was he simply acting like a common street junkie who was in the throes of coming off a drug high?

Maci’s stomach hated the path her mind had taken, but she couldn’t avoid the hard cold facts, not when they were being rubbed in her face.

Her husband was a drug addict, and according to the law he was accused of homicide.

“Satterwhite is not someone we…you want to tangle with right now,” Keefe said. “You have to know that.”

“I refuse to stay in this stinking hole overnight.”

Maci crossed to her husband and touched him on the arm. “Don’t do this to yourself. Spending one night—”

He shook off her hand. “I’m not some common criminal, and I resent the hell out of being treated like one.”

“They are accusing you of homicide, Seymour,” Keefe said in a low, even tone. “What do you have to say about that?”