C.A.K.E novel Chapter 18

"Do you have any other piercings or tattoos, ma'am?" The female intake officer holds open an envelope for Arden to place her jewelry into it.

"No," she replies as she removes her earrings. The brilliant diamonds encircling her left ring finger are the last to go. She slips the rings off her hand, having to give the precious metal a little tug.

The officer waves a metal detector wand along Ardi's body. When the device reaches her waist, it goes crazy. The woman's expression sours.

"You sure you don't have any piercings or weapons hidden on you?" She eyeballs Ardi when she assures her that she's not concealing any weapons or belly piercings underneath her cotton skirt. "Lying to me is only going to make this harder on you."

Arden takes a breath before explaining why she'll set off every metal detector within a hundred-mile radius.

"I have metal implants in my hip and both knees, along with titanium rods in my left femur and tibia. There are also several pins in my right leg and ankle."

She pauses to let the woman take in what she said. Her expression still seems skeptical.

"If you check my wallet, there is a card in there that will verify everything." Arden shifts her weight to her other foot and glances up at the ceiling. "Or if you'd prefer, I can show you the scars."

The woman frowns at Arden before reaching for the handbag. She watches the officer locate the small piece of plastic that indicates Ardi is indeed a bionic woman. After a cursory scan of the card, the woman places it back into the wallet and continues the standard booking procedure.

The officer rifles through Arden's belongings, spreading the contents of her purse onto a worn counter. She documents and bags every item that might be considered contraband. When she pulls a bottle of painkillers from its depths, she glances up at Ardi.

"I have a script for those," Arden says in an almost whisper.

"Then you won't mind if we check with your doctor."

"Whatever you need to do, officer." She sighs. The beginning of a headache is scratching at her delicate composure.

A light frisking, a urine sample, and a few mugshots later, Arden is sitting with her right handcuffed to a bank of rickety plastic chairs. It's the middle of the day on a Wednesday. There are only three other people in the open area of the intake room.

If it were the weekend, an endless parade of the drunken and disorderly would be punctuating the relative silence. Good thing Melinda sprung her trap sooner rather than later.

Arden tries to keep her eyes trained on the floor, attempting to distract herself by counting the dents and scratches in the speckled white tile. But she can't shake the feeling that someone else's eyes are on her.

She angles her head to the side, examining her surroundings in her peripheral. A female desk clerk is staring at Ardi like she stole her man. The woman doesn't look familiar. But that has never stopped anyone in this town from developing an uninformed opinion about who Arden is.

Lillian's death and Warren's campaign thrust Ardi into a blaring spotlight that was equipped with a high-powered microscope. Before she could get a handle on a solid opinion of herself, the whole city had written an identity for her.

Five minutes before the accident, Arden wouldn't have minded the attention. She was a great student, star athlete, and Olympic hopeful. Her talents deserved recognition.

But after that day, she was the girl who had survived the gruesome crash on the Southside. Then she was Senator Warren Mitchell's daughter. No one knew Arden―not in a real sense. Everyone knew what they read about her. But very few people bothered to go beyond that.

Arden doesn't know what this woman may have heard that's sticking in her craw. But whatever it might be, is her own damn problem. There isn't space in her mind at the moment for any more jealous women.

She looks up and catches the woman glaring at her. Her first instinct is to roll her eyes. Then she reconsiders. Conjuring up her sweetest smile, Ardi grins at the woman until she looks down at her desk.

Little Miss Attitude goes back to her work, allowing Arden to concentrate on calming her fried nerves. Her mind wanders to Elliott. Then guilt creeps up from her gut and settles into the seat beside her.

Just as the feeling of Casper's lips flashes into her conscious thoughts, her husband comes through the door. Guilt is replaced by a rage that threatens to consume her.

Elliott is escorted into the processing area by two officers. He begins struggling in their grip when he spots her.

"Arden, darling. I am so sorry." Eli shakes his guards and rushes over to her. He bends to kiss her, widening his stance to steady himself. Both of his hands are cuffed in front of him. But he ignores his bindings long enough to caress her cheek.

"This isn't your fault." Ardi grasps his hand with her free one and shakes her head. She grits her teeth as the words escape her mouth. "Do not apologize for her."

"Okay, that's enough." One of the officers admonishes Eli, attempting to separate the two. After some effort, their hands are pried apart. "Let's go."

"Elliott, we'll get out of this." She calls after him as he is all but dragged down the hallway. Biting her lip to fend off the tears building in her eyes, she waits until he's out of sight to release a low agitated grunt.

When she turns her head, she finds that once again the female desk clerk's gaze has fallen upon her. This time the woman doesn't look away, and neither does Arden exercise her infallible southern manners.

Glaring back at the woman, she fires off a rhetorical question. "The fuck are you looking at?"

The officer sucks her teeth and shuffles a stack of papers. Then she picks up the landline and relays something to the person on the other end in a hushed tone.

A few minutes later, a rather tall gentleman emerges from the back offices and makes his way over to Arden. The man spends what seems like an eternity towering over her before speaking.

"Mrs. Stone?" She glances up at him. He pulls a key from his pocket and undoes the end of the handcuffs that are attached to the seat. Taking hold of her elbow, he helps her stand.

Choosing now to introduce himself, he fastens her hands behind her back again. "I'm Captain Lane. There are a few questions I need to ask you. Is that all right?"

She nods and Captain Lane escorts her to an interrogation room with nothing but a wooden table and two more hard plastic chairs. The instant she steps into the room claustrophobia hits her. Tight quarters have never bothered her, but being stuck in this one with a member of law enforcement has awakened her inner neurotic.

He seats her in the one farthest from the door and then removes the cuffs from her hands. Lane discards the handcuffs on the table along with the key.

Thankful to be free of her restraints for the moment, Arden begins rubbing her wrists. It no longer feels so much like the walls are closing in on her. As that feeling subsides, Arden takes the opportunity to study Captain Lane while he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes the seat across from her.

Met with a pair of deep brown eyes, she tries to discern whether or not he's an agent of the dark side.

His headful of salt and pepper hair and matching trimmed goatee might suggest he'd be more at home seated by a fireplace wearing a mohair sweater with a cigar perched between his lips. There are probably a couple of grandkids somewhere that he should be waiting for in a carpool line, not playing good cop/bad cop with her in this sparse room.

Unable to determine the presence of any bias from his stoic expression, Arden waits for him to break the suffocating silence. She takes a deep breath. Though her insides are more muddled than the Alabama dirt after a heavy rain, she's determined to maintain a placid demeanor.

"Mrs. Stone, I'm going to be straight with you." He produces a manila envelope that's been tucked underneath his arm and lays it on the table between them. Then he pushes it aside. "We found drug paraphernalia in your home. But your drug test is clean."

He leans back in his chair and scratches at the neat hairs on his chin, keeping his focus on her the entire time. Arden does her best not to squirm. But his eyes seem to be boring into her. Her innermost thoughts aren't expecting company, so he needs to take that penetrating stare elsewhere.

"You look like a woman who's never so much as ingested a poppy seed ..." he muses. "Something doesn't quite equate."

Ya damn skippy something doesn't equate.

He may have some sense after all, though nothing in his static demeanor has given her a concrete reason to believe so. Lane regards her with the same disinterested look on his face.

Ardi decides that it's best for him to pose a direct question to her before she volunteers anything. At this point, words are precious ammunition that should be used with careful measure.

Plenty of people have gone down for stupid shit because they couldn't keep their mouths shut. Her effortless poise has given her a safeguard against any mindless rambling.

"Arden." Lane rests his elbows on the table and sighs. "I don't know who you've pissed off, but someone has it out for you." He grabs the envelope and pulls out a few sheets of paper along with a couple of photos. "And unfortunately some of the officers at this precinct have fed into the farce."

Thank God at least one person hasn't been snowed by Melinda's storm of lies. The tense tide of emotions crashing up against the shores of her weathered mental state begins to recede, taking with it the bear of a migraine that's been rampaging through her head.

He slides a piece of paper to her across the table. At first, Arden just glances down at the document, reluctant to surrender the piercing gaze she has on him. Then she notices the letterhead on the paper.

It's a transcript of the call that was made to Child Protective Services. She reads over the page, her eyes burning with every falsified word about her and Eli's life with the twins.

According to this, she and Elliott are both addicts who aren't even particular about their drug of choice. Everything from homegrown meth to high-end cocaine and prescription pills is mentioned in the laundry list of illegal substances the Stones are alleged to abuse.

There's also an allusion to a bustling drug trade that uses Arden's place of business as its hub. The form reads like the front page of a gossip rag.

The accusations that are aimed solely at Arden are more outrageous. Melinda claims that Ardi starves Rowan and Teagan, forcing them to work all hours at her bakery for leftover food. The loathsome bitch even went so far as to allege that Arden has beaten the children on several occasions.

"None of that is true." Her hand trembles as she slides the paper to the officer. "This entire thing has been instigated by my husband's ex-wife."

"Well, that explains a lot." Detective Lane mutters something to himself and spreads the pictures before her. "This anonymous caller knew exactly where to find your supposed stash."

"She planted this." Shaking her head, she examines photos of the needles found in the downstairs bath and a plastic baggie of a white substance that was wedged between the sofa cushions. "Her boyfriend must have hidden that there."

"There's really no explanation needed." He raises his hands to halt her speech. "For someone who is supposed to be running a large-scale drug smuggling operation, there was very little evidence of anything of that nature found in your home or business."

Placing the photos back into the envelope, he interlocks his fingers and begins twiddling his thumbs.

"What I would like to know is why this woman has targeted you and your husband."

"Captain ..." She pauses to release an exhausted breath. "I'm sure there's someone from your past who would love to see you suffer."

"There have been one or two." He nods. "But the most a woman has done to me is key my car, or lace my shampoo with a depilatory. None of them has gone to the trouble of falsifying evidence to have me arrested."

"If I could understand Melinda's warped mind, I'm sure I'd be the next Nobel Prize winner." Arden wraps her arms tight around herself. "Not even Freud could crack that nut."

That gets a quick laugh from him along with a shake of his head. But the smirk is short-lived. He recovers his all-business expression within seconds.

"Is there any possibility that even a shred of these allegations could be true?" he asks, staring Arden dead in her eyes.

"No." Her tone even and definite, she doesn't shrink from his scrutiny. "Elliott and I would never jeopardize the safety of our kids."

Captain Lane spends another minute or two in contemplative silence, seeming to be wrestling with some dilemma. Then he sighs and rises from his seat.

Asking Arden to stand and place her hands in front of her, he handcuffs her wrists again. The action is gentle, done with more care than the two overzealous rookies who arrested her.

"It looks like my officers might have jumped the gun on this one. If this has indeed been a misunderstanding, you have my apologies, Mrs. Stone." Before he reaches for the door handle, he makes Arden a promise. "I will see to it that everything is straightened out as soon as possible."

Not yet willing to abandon her reticent attitude, she offers him another nod in return. He takes her elbow, guiding her out of the room and down the narrow hallway. Instead of being seated in the main holding area again, Arden is placed in a solitary cell.

Once Lane has cut her off from the less-than-favorable atmosphere of the rest of the precinct, her senses take in the stark surroundings. It's no Four Seasons. But at least she doesn't have to worry about any other offenders or fighting for her jailhouse virginity.

She expresses her gratitude for the relative privacy with a silent prayer. With her sanctified moment out of the way, she asks God to turn a blind eye to her next thoughts.

Sitting on a bench that's been bolted into the brick wall, she works out the logistics of her murder plot. Her current environment serves to further fuel the bloodthirsty images running through her mind.

First, I need to start seeing that hack therapist again. If I talk crazy enough, maybe I can swing a diagnosis of bipolar or dissociative identity disorder. Whichever one will make that temporary insanity defense most plausible.

Yeah, yeah. Then one of my 'alternates buys a plane ticket to New York, round trip. Elliott can't know. If I make up something about a wedding convention, that might work. I'll need a boning knife, couple pairs of leather gloves, a few plastic tarps, garbage bags, zip ties, Lorazepam . . .

The heavy steel door unlocks with a mechanical click, interrupting her homicidal calculations. A plainclothes officer enters the small cell with her.

"Arden Elizabeth Mitchell." She keeps her head lowered. Almost twenty years have passed, and she still recognizes his voice. Its slow drawl rakes across her skin like hot coals. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

She can feel his eyes roaming over her body. Wishing she could shed her skin or scrub it clean off her bones, she meets the smug expression of the officer. Light-skinned, hazel-eyed, and a headful of soft curly black hair, he's still the same.

Gavin Taylor.

Her high school boyfriend stands before her as good-looking as ever. But Arden remembers what lies underneath that handsome exterior. And it's far from glamorous.

"The name is Stone now, as I'm sure you are well aware." She takes notice of the shining badge at his waist. "Didn't realize they were allowing mitches to join the police force. Times certainly have changed."

He smirks and takes a seat next to her. The smell of his cologne repulses her. The cloying scent stings at her nose, inducing a feeling of nausea. Ardi positions her body as far away from him as possible, nearly slipping off the edge of the hard metal bench.

"But I see that smart mouth of yours hasn't missed a beat." Gavin skims his finger along her cheek, making her flinch. "Told you it would get you in trouble one of these days."

She rolls her eyes at him and turns her head. Giving him the privilege of a response would be opening the door for him to dig deeper into her business. There's enough on her plate without the addition of another crazy ex.

"So I hear you're doing heroin now. Elliott get you started on that shit?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. She continues to ignore him. "Figures. Give a white boy an African queen and he just runs her into the ground."

Last she checked Gavin's father was still a white man. It takes everything in her to keep that retort to herself. Her silence just seems to fuel him.

Gavin never did operate like normal people. Anyone else would shut up. Not him though. He's a dog looking for a bone. And Arden looks like his next chew toy.

"I must say though, for an addict you look . . . exceptional." Gavin traces his hand along her leg until he reaches the hem of her skirt. "Where you hiding the track marks, huh?"

"Don't touch me." His fingers begin to lift the material draped over her skin. Arden jerks her leg away from him.

"The only reason you're not sitting in a cell with the other junkies and prostitutes is because of me." He snickers and gives her a sidelong glare. "A thank you would be nice."

"Is that right?" She narrows her eyes at him.

"It is." He licks his lips and puts his hand back on her knee. "So you might want to skip your usual self-righteous good girl act."

She doesn't attempt to move away from his offending touch. Instead, she just glances down at his hand, before looking up into his light eyes.

"In that case, Gavin ..." With a nod of her head, she urges him to come closer. Dropping her voice down to its darker boudoir tone, she leans in to whisper in his ear. "Put your hands on me again ... I'll break every bone in your pathetic body, and then grind them into dust. Are we clear?"

Arden pulls away from him with a devious smile on her lips. The way she's feeling at the moment, she would have no problem going through with her threat.

"That just sounds like foreplay to me, baby." Gavin lets his hands get familiar with her skin for another second or two, then smiles at her. "Besides, we both know you like it a little rough."

"There's a big difference between rough and violent, Gavin." Arden cuts her eyes at him. If looks could kill, he'd be six feet under a pile of dirt and heavy cement.