Chapter 41
“You know who killed Gerald and didn’t tell the police?” Noah said while struggling to hold on to his temper. Although he and Harper were running a parallel case to Detective Mignon and his team, the info pertinent to the case was passed on.
“I couldn’t blame this person without evidence,” Betty Anne said, becoming defensive. “I only have my suspicions.”
Since the widow had backpedaled, they’d have to draw out the name. This suspect must be someone she cared about.
“Then do tell us what led you make that inflammatory statement,” Harper said. She’d slated Noah as good cop. She was all bad.
Noah vowed to stop and buy ass-kicking boots for her on the way home. He let that go for now and pulled out his notepad and pencil. “How about we start from the beginning.”
Betty Anne reached for a glass of tea sitting on the end table. Her hand shook as she sipped the beverage. When she was ready, she returned the glass to the coaster, and plunged right in.
“For the last seven months I’ve been having an affair. And before you ask, it wasn’t started through the BDSM site. In fact, I never met anyone from there. I made that post to get back at Gerald for all his cheating. My lover took the photo.”
This confirmed some of Noah’s suspicions. Her lover was likely a Muskrat. “Was this your first affair?”
She shook her head. “My second. The first was three years ago and brief. This time I fell in love.”
Remembering how she dressed and carried herself while her husband was still alive, Noah had difficulty imagining anyone noticing her as a potential lover, or her sneaking out to a motel after her kids left for school for illicit sex.
The bondage photo changed his perception of the merry widow. “Since you’re bringing this up, I assume you suspect your lover as the killer?”
“I do.” Betty Anne rubbed her arms as if chilled. “I didn’t plan on betraying my marriage again, but he pursued me for months until I broke down. He was so handsome and charming, and Gerald was an ass. I needed validation so I slept with him.”
Noah knew from FBI interrogations that it was best to let suspects lead the conversation. They almost always overshared, which led to slipups and confessions.
Betty Anne was no different. “He tried to talk me into leaving Gerald and running away with him. I couldn’t. Despite Gerald being a terrible husband, he loved our kids. I thought that if I waited until they graduated and moved out, then they wouldn’t be around when things got ugly.”
From all he’d heard about the Covington family, an ugly divorce was a given. “Your lover had other ideas?”
She nodded. “Every time he heard something nasty or saw Gerald mistreat me, he got angrier. Then the day Gerald died, we met at our spot and he told me that I was free.”
“He could have heard the news about the murder on the radio or TV,” Harper countered. “That doesn’t make him a killer.”
“Nor did he confess exactly.” Betty Anne’s gaze met Harper’s eyes. “After the murder, I had a lawyer friend check the time the 911 call come in. My lover told me I was ‘free’ an hour before the police knew Gerald was dead.”
* * * *
Stunned was the word Harper would use to describe herself at that moment. There was no way that anyone knew Gerald was dead besides her and the killer before the police burst in.
She couldn’t imagine a housekeeper or other hotel employee keeping a dead body to themselves, and the video had not shown any visitors that morning prior to her arrival. From what she learned from internet newsfeeds, he been dead for several hours by the time she stumbled into the crime scene.
“Who is your lover?” she asked in a thin voice and braced herself. They’d already narrowed the likely suspect pool to employees. Still, Betty Anne’s lover could be anyone.
Dear lord. Don’t let it be Willard.
Betty Anne’s lip trembled. Whoever the man was, she meant every word when she said she loved him. “Deke Trotter.”
Harper’s heart stopped. “What?”
“Deke is my lover.”
Noah let out a low whistle. “You’re kidding?”
The widow did not appear insulted at their disbelieving faces. After all, Deke was the golden boy, the man that sold millions of calendars with him in various degrees of undress. To picture him romping between the sheets with Betty Anne was up there with finding Martians building space stations on the moon or the world suddenly spinning in the other direction.
“Impossible,” Harper blurted out. She didn’t want to believe her friend could set her up for the crime and gaslight her afterward.
“It’s true.” Betty Anne retrieved her phone from beside her on the couch. She scrolled, then held the screen up for Harper and Noah to see.
The image was a pool shot with palm trees in the background. Seated on Deke’s lap and leaning against his perfectly ripple chest, with his hand on her stomach and thigh, was a tankini-clad and smiling Betty Anne.
The intimacy of the photo couldn’t be mistaken.
“We took a weekend in Florida.” Her voice held a wistful tone. It had to be breaking her heart to give him up.
What was the creaking sound, Harper thought bitterly? Yep, the world was spinning in the other direction.
“I can’t believe this,” she mumbled. “No offense, Betty Anne, but you are not his usual sex kitten girlfriend.”
“None taken,” the woman said. “What’s that saying? You can’t judge a book by its cover?”
So true. She’d seen Betty Anne unwrapped. And therapy couldn’t erase that image.
Noah glanced at Harper. “We have to find Trotter.” He returned his attention to the widow. “Do you know where he is?”
“I think he’s at the stadium.” She looked at her watch. “Today is fan day.”
Great. The stadium would be packed.
“I’ll text Mignon,” Harper said. She pulled out her phone and sent a long paragraph to the detective, then muted the ringtone. He wouldn’t be able to tell her to stand down.
Betty Anne jumped to her feet. “I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not,” Noah said. “He might turn violent.”
“My cuddle bear wouldn’t hurt me,” Betty Anne assured him. A wistful smile etched her mouth.
Cuddle bear? Harper rolled her eyes. They were living in a strange new world. First Betty Anne had married Gerald, and now she’s sleeping with his killer. The woman had terrible taste in men.
“We can’t risk your safety.” Noah was adamant. “He’s already killed one person. Anyone could be next.
Shy and retiring Betty Anne vanished. Cold and calculating took her place. “If you don’t let me go with you, you won’t make it back to your car in one piece.”
“I’ll get the dogs,” Berit piped up from the doorway.
In that moment, Harper had to wonder if Deke had been the seduced and not the seducer. For all that Betty Anne appeared on the surface, she had a mean streak under her dumpy clothes and simpering demeanor.
Was it possible that she’d wound up an angry Deke, armed him, and pointed him at her husband? Was she the mastermind of the murder? For now, Harper wouldn’t rule it out.
She’d express that thought to Mignon and let him run with it. Once Deke was interrogated, and if he confessed, she’d be off the hook and her part in the case, over.
Betty Anne knew she’d won. “I’ll get my purse.”
Harper, Noah, and the widow Covington trumped out to the car. Betty Anne made a face. “Do we have to take that junk heap? I have a brand new Lexus in the garage.”
“Get in if you want to go,” Harper said in an authoritative tone. “Back seat.”
Once loaded up, Betty Anne wasn’t finished grousing. She picked at her pant legs. “Do you have a dog? I have hair all over my slacks.”
Waiting until they were on the road at a speed where Betty Anne couldn’t safely jump out without injury, Harper said, “It’s goat hair.”
“Yuck.” Betty Anne furiously brushed her hands over her legs. She lifted her hands and goat hair covered them, too. “Take me back. I want my car.”
Choking back diabolical laughter, Harper hit the gas and the car chugged up over fifty mph. “Too late.” She saw Noah grin. “It’s from Harriet, Estelle’s goat.”
A frown crinkled her brow as she rubbed her palms on the driver’s side headrest. “Gerald’s grandmother, Estelle?”
Harper nodded. “The same.”
Plucking and wiping went nowhere. With the windows open, the hair just blew around the car and landed back on the static she’d kicked up with all her leg rubbing.
“That crazy old woman hates me.”
That was two of them. Any sympathy she’d felt vanished. Betty Anne was not the mousy kicked-around wife they’d thought. Yes, her husband was a scum bag. But Betty Anne’s wiring was misfiring.
The stadium lot was full when they arrived. Kiddies and their parents stood in a long line to get inside.
“So much for an interrogation on the down low,” Noah said. “We won’t get anywhere near him.” He glanced at Harper when she pulled the car into a spot and turned off the engine. “What do you want to do?”
When Betty Anne dropped the bomb about Deke, Harper went numb. If Betty Anne was right, and he was their killer, then Deke had betrayed her in the worst way. The only retribution she’d accept was to get justice.
She had to see this done. “Let’s go take him down.”