Page 38 of So Smitten

“Dammit. That stupid asshole.”

Laura Hagerty chose to go by her maiden name. She lived in Marietta, a half hour northwest of Atlanta and a forty-five-minute drive from her husband’s home. Faith and Michael arrived just as the sun poked its gaze over the horizon.She had answered the door wearing only a bathrobe, and that, accompanied with the eye roll and the lack of any visible sign of grief gave Faith and Michael pause.

“All right,” Laura said. “Come on inside. You can make yourselves coffee if you want. The stuff’s on the counter. I’m going to go get dressed and tell my boss that I can’t come in today. After that, I’m all yours.”

She headed upstairs and Michael and Faith stepped inside, Turk following. Turk sniffed around, trying to find a scent that matched what he’d detected from the crime scene. He didn’t get anything. Apparently, it had been a while since Mr. Evans and Ms. Hagerty had seen each other.

The house itself was stylish and well-decorated. The furniture was high quality, and the appliances were top-of-the-line models. It was noticeably nicer than the furnishings at Evans' house.

“I guess we know who ‘won’ the divorce,” Michael quipped.

Laura came downstairs a moment later in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Her expression betrayed no grief, only irritation. “I’m gonna need to cancel my vacation,” she said, “I was really counting on next month’s alimony payment. Hey, do either of you know how to petition the court for a judgment on his assets?”

“We don’t,” Faith said, “that’s not what we’re here for.”

“Well, what are you here for?”

“To find out who murdered your ex-husband.”

Laura paused. “Ah,” she said, her voice much more subdued. “I didn’t realize he was murdered.”

“We hadn’t mentioned it yet,” Michael said.

“Am I… do I need a lawyer?” Laura asked.

“Not at this time,” Faith said. “We don’t suspect you of being involved.”

Indeed, Faith found it difficult to imagine the five-foot-one, hundred-pound Laura of killing three grown men, especially in that manner. She definitely didn’t overcome Harvey Harris in a fistfight before murdering him. It was an outside possibility, she supposed, that Laura could have paid someone to murder the three men, but Faith didn’t think that was likely, and if it was, she didn’t want Laura to think they thought it was likely. Not yet, anyway.

“Got it,” Laura said. “That’s good. Do you mind if I smoke?”

Faith gestured for her to go ahead. Laura walked to the kitchen and pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from one of the drawers. Faith noticed her hands were trembling. “Is everything all right, Ms. Hagerty.”

“Please, call me Laura,” Laura said, lighting her cigarette. “I hate that name, Hagerty. It sounds like hag and haggard, and I left Bobby to try to put both off as long as possible.”

“But you still went back to your maiden name,” Michael pointed out.

“Yeah, well,” she took another drag. “I guess I hated Bobby more.”

“Enough to kill him?” Faith asked.

Laura met her eyes. “I thought you said I don’t need a lawyer.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t,” Faith said, “but since this is a murder investigation, and you did say you hated our victim, I have to ask.”

Laura scoffed. “Well, to answer your first question, no, everything is not all right. You might think me a gold-digger for saying this, but I’ve been living primarily off of Bobby’s alimony for the past seven years. If I don’t get at least some of his assets, then I’m royally screwed. I’ll have to sell my house and end up living in a crappy apartment on Hansen Street again.”

Faith’s ears perked up at the mention of Hansen Street. “When did you move out of Hansen Street?”

“When Bobby married me fifteen years ago,” she said, “back when I was a naïve twenty-four-year-old and having a man who could do passably well in bed was all that mattered to me.” She chuckled. “Silly little me, I never considered that a man who was good in bed might be good to other women too.”

“When you lived on Hansen Street,” Faith said, “did you have any interactions with the Georgia Syndicate?”

“The who now?”

“Did you ever run into trouble with any of the street gangs?”

She chuckled. “The gangs? No. I made sure I was inside with my doors and windows locked and my gun loaded. I kept waiting for someone to try to convince me to work at one of the clubs, but no one did. I guess I wasn’t as pretty as I thought I was.”

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