Perfect Fit (Serendipity's Finest 1)

“I don’t have any afternoon meetings. I can come with you.” He paused. “If you think that’s okay.”

“I don’t see why not,” Cara said, touched he’d offer.

“Great. See you soon.” He disconnected the call.

Thirty minutes later, Mike arrived and five minutes after that, they pulled up to a beautiful Colonial-style home that had been meticulously cared for and maintained. Cara wasn’t overly familiar with this side of town, but she knew the houses here cost a pretty penny.

She let out a long whistle. “Nice.”

“Very.” Mike raised his glasses and studied the house before dropping them back over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

The judge’s wife met them at the door. She was an older woman with gray hair and a friendly expression on her face. “Mike Marsden, welcome,” she said, gesturing for them to step inside.

“Thank you for letting us come,” Mike said. “This is Officer Cara Hartley.”

“Nice to meet you,” Cara said, shaking the woman’s hand.

“Pleasure,” the other woman said. “Marshall’s in the den. It’s where he spends most of his days.” She started walking toward the room.

Mike glanced at Cara and shrugged, and they followed her into a room filled with sunshine. Obviously Mrs. Baine loved and cared for her husband. She’d opened the shades and put real flowers around to make for a cheery atmosphere and space.

“Marshall, you have company.”

The judge turned his gaze from the television, which had Wheel of Fortune on the screen. At seventy-three, the judge was still a young-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair, who had retired because of his condition and not because he’d been ready to leave the bench.

He glanced at Cara and Mike with clear eyes. “Well, who do we have here?”

“I told you the new police chief, Michael Marsden, was coming to visit, remember? And he’s brought Officer Cara Hartley with him. They want to ask you a few questions,” his wife explained, as she walked over and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the blanket on her husband’s lap.

He squeezed her hand, and she stepped away. “I’ll go get some refreshments,” she said.

“No, please don’t go to any trouble,” Cara said.

“We won’t bother you long,” Mike said to Judge Baine.

She nodded. “If you change your mind, let me know.” With a wave, she walked away.

Mike and Cara settled into chairs across from the judge. “So how can I help you two young people today?” he asked.

“We need you to go back about thirty years,” Mike said. “To a case about a guy stopped for a traffic violation who had drugs and thousands of dollars of marked bills in his trunk.”

Mike had been smart in laying out the facts for the judge. Even if he’d seen hundreds of drug cases over the years, he surely hadn’t had many that involved marked bills.

Judge Baine raised his gaze to the ceiling, and Cara figured he was thinking back. She glanced at Mike, who studied the older man but waited patiently.

“That’d be 1983, right?”

“That’s right,” Cara said softly.

“Oh, my years on the bench, the stories I could tell you.” And for the next twenty minutes, with the television and Pat Sajak blaring in the background, that was what he did, allowing Cara to understand why people said those with Alzheimer’s had no problem with long-term memory.

It was short-term memory that caused more of an issue, and that became clear when the judge wound down his storytelling and focused on Cara. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

She blinked in surprise. “I—uh—”

“She’s with me, Your Honor,” Mike said, speaking deferentially to the older man.

“Oh, Rex. Didn’t I tell you not to come see me here at home?”