Chapter 8
“I didn’t—” Harper stopped in mid-sentence as the woman glowered down at her from her lofty perch. She couldn’t bring herself to argue with a grieving relative, even if the older woman was wrong. Plus she looked ready to kick Harper’s behind. In a matchup, Harper wasn’t confident she’d win.
Worse, that crooked finger was up to something. She felt a twitch in her lower extremities. Had her ovaries shriveled up? Would she wake up tomorrow with hideous boils all over her body?
Didn’t ancient curses usually involve infertility or children born bearing a pronounced cave-dweller-type forehead and a hairy back hump? If this woman had some sort of mystical power, Harper was in serious trouble.
Noah stepped up and the finger dropped. Her ovaries stopped twitching. Thank goodness.
“I’m Noah Slade.” He reached up a hand. The still unnamed woman stared a few beats at his handsome mug. Her heavily lined face softened slightly. Noah clearly had a knee-wobbling effect on women of all ages. “And you must be Gerald’s grandmother, Estelle.”
“I am.” She took his hand. That explained the large gap in ages between Gerald and Estelle.
When Noah said he did research, it must have included extra branches of the family tree.
“Are Gerald’s parents around?” he said.
“They moved to Ibiza last year to join a cult of chanting toga wearers.” She shook his hand. “What do you want Mr. Slade?”
“As I said, I’m investigating the murder and am trying to find out what I can about your grandson. I’ll welcome anything that’ll help me find his killer.”
“Other than her?” Leveling a withering scowl at Harper, Estelle shifted and walked to a long bench on the porch. She dropped onto it with a small grunt. Her knees popped with the effort. “With her arrested, the case is closed.”
Harper bit her lip and remained silent.
“All of the facts have not come out,” he said patiently. “I hope that you’ll be objective and go over all the evidence with an open mind before making a judgment.”
Yes. He was good.
The senior harrumphed and indicated a spot next to her. Noah sat, leaving a place on the end for Harper. She chose to stand and leaned against a porch post, out of the direct sight of the other woman. No sense inciting her temper. She couldn’t take the risk of another dose of finger curse.
If Gerald’s grandmother was anything like him, who knew what could happen. Even if she wasn’t a witch, Estelle might push her off the porch. She looked mean.
“I don’t know what evidence you need,” the woman said as she shifted to peer-scowl at Harper. “It sounds like the police have their suspect picked out.”
Noah nodded. “I agree, she does look guilty, but there are issues with the case.” He ignored Harper’s frown. “Gerald was a big man and Harper is, what, a hundred and twenty-five pounds? It’s hard to imagine her getting the jump on your grandson.”
“Have you seen the movie Carrie?” Estelle countered. “A bitty thing can do a lot of damage. And she has shifty eyes. Killers have those kinds of eyes.”
Harper wanted to tell her that her eyes were not shifty, and furthermore, she did not have the psychic ability to move objects with her mind.
The woman was obviously off her rocker.
Noah flicked a quick glance at Harper. “Yes, well, Carrie aside, as a former member of law enforcement, I like to line up the clues into a solid package before I commit to sending someone to prison for life.”
Estelle’s eyes bore into him. The rusty cogs in her mind were grinding. She finally spoke, “Are you two having sex?”
As if that’s the only reason anyone would be on Harper’s side! “No, we are not having sex.”
“Are you sure?” the woman pressed.
Harper lost it. “It may have been fifty years since you’ve seen a naked man, but I do know sex well enough to know that Noah and I are not having any.”
For a minute, she thought Estelle was about to do the finger thing again. Instead a gleam filled her eyes. “You have a short temper, missy. No wonder you’re suspect numero uno.”
A tug on her pant leg cut off a curt reply. Harper looked down to see the fainting goat munching on her jeans leg with her funky goat teeth.
“Shoo!” she commanded and shook her leg. The goat held tight. She jerked harder. “Let go!”
The goat didn’t budge. She had the fabric frayed on the hem. Harper sucked in a big breath and shouted, “Bad goat!”
The beast stiffened, fell sideways, and pitched off the porch,
“Oh, no!” Harper ran to the edge, sure the goat had suffered a deadly concussion in the fall. Instead, the goat was feet up inside of a pom-pom bush, twitching her last bit of life before going to her maker.
Harper put her hand on her hip. “Don’t go there, Harriet,” she snapped. “I know you’re faking.” As if the goat understood English. “Get. Up.”
Noah and Estelle hurried over. The latter leaned down for a closer look. “I think you killed her this time.”
“She isn’t dead.” Harper pointed. She wasn’t about to fall for that crap again. “She’s breathing.”
The goat opened one eye, then the other, then pulled the closest leaf into her mouth and masticated it into a pulp. Once she finished, she struggled out of the bush and ran around the porch and up the stairs.
Harper darted behind Noah. “Keep that thing away from me.”
It wasn’t that Harper didn’t like animals. She just liked the kind you could put on a leash and walk up and down on the sidewalk in a civilized manner. Or a cat that you tossed catnip toys to while sitting on a couch. Farm animals were not her thing.
“She likes you,” Estelle said with disgust in her voice. “I always thought that goat needed therapy.”
Noah managed to position himself between Harper and the jeans-eating goat. After a couple of minutes, the goat got bored and wandered off. The last they saw of her, she was chasing a squawking duck around the house.
Noah took the opportunity to re-focus the investigation. He reclaimed his seat. Estelle remained standing.
“Let’s put aside for a moment that Ms. Evans is the killer and talk about other suspects.” He pulled a small notebook and a pencil stub out of his shirt pocket. “The last time you saw Gerald, did he discuss any troubles he was having, or maybe threats against him? Did he have any enemies that were aggressive or potentially dangerous?”
Estelle’s face clouded. “Two thousand and ten.”
Both Harper and Noah stared. Then he said, “That’s how many enemies he had?”
Harper knew he wasn’t well liked, but even she wouldn’t think Gerald could tick that many people off. He must have started collecting enemies shortly after his birth.
“No,” Estelle said. “That’s the last time I saw him.”
Now that was a revelation. Despite sometimes being exasperated by her small and quirky family, she couldn’t go a week without talking or texting to one or more of them. To not talk to her brother or aunt for six years was mind-boggling.
For Gerald to blow off his family was disturbing, even if his grandmother was a dragon.
“That’s really sad,” Harper blurted out.
Estelle turned her direction. “His parents might not come back for the funeral, if that tells you anything.”
For the first time, Harper got a glimpse behind the façade that surrounded Gerald. She didn’t know if she should feel sorry for him, or his family. Yes, he was a scum bag, but it was hard to imagine not seeing your son buried after his murder.
What kind of parents where they?
Noah asked a couple of follow-up questions, but Estelle didn’t have anything current to share.
As the pair walked back to the car, Harper turned pensive. She vowed to never let a week go by without telling her family that she loved them.
* * * *
Noah sensed her downturn in mood as soon as she crawled into the car and snapped on her seatbelt. The vehicle whined as it rolled over. The car had who-knew-how-many-years-of a teen boy driver behind the wheel. He was impressed that it ran at all. That was the only thing about the wreck that impressed him.
Harper appeared defeated. He wasn’t sure if her mood came from the case or the fact that she had goat slobber on her jeans. She was hard to read.
He chose the former. “Hey. This is just our first interview. Sometimes investigations take months.”
“It isn’t the investigation that concerns me, although I don’t have months to flush out the killer.” She cupped her face with both hands. “Can you imagine dying and your family doesn’t care enough to return to Michigan and see you buried?”
So that was it. She’d seen a crack in the carefully crafted veneer that the bastard Gerald Covington had built around himself, and it humanized him to her. She clearly didn’t like knowing his family may have screwed him up.
“Didn’t you say Gerald was an awful person?”
“He was. Still. How could his parents not go to his funeral? He’s their son. Who does that?”
He reached and put his hands over hers. “HJ, I’ll make you a promise. If you croak, I’ll throw myself onto your casket and weep and wail. It’ll be one hell of a show.”
Her big brown eyes looked up at him. Gone was the moping face and impatience reined. “Not funny.”
He flashed a grin. “Then why are you smiling?”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are.”
One corner of her mouth twitched. He’d always had the ability to make her laugh. Clearly that hadn’t changed.
Before she could answer, movement from the front of the car turned them both that way. Harriet the goat had her front hooves on the bumper and was staring through the windshield.
“Are you kidding?” Harper said. “That goat needs a tranquilizer dart.”
Noah chuckled. “She’s got a girl-crush on you.”
“And you need new material, funny guy.”
With that, she shifted the car into reverse and, careful not to hurt the goat, backed up. Goat hooves dropped off the bumper. Harper hit the gas and did an awkward turn around where the drive widened, then raced for the road.
Harriet took off after them.