Chapter 34
The sun lingered enough to cast shadows over the city while darkness pushed its way through a cloudless sky. Noah led her across the driveway to his truck, enjoying the light floral scent of her perfume. The dress skimmed her curves and did nothing to keep his thoughts G-rated.
His companion didn’t argue when they rounded the Chevy and he reached for the door handle. Even Harper had standards when dressed to kill. The rental would stay home.
“Um, Noah?” She pointed down. “You have a flat.”
His eyes jerked downward. The rim sat on the concrete.
“Come on. Not tonight.” A few curses followed. He bent to run a hand over the tire and found a nail buried in the wall.
“Can you change it?” she said. “Do you have a spare?”
That would make sense. “That is the spare. Damn.” He straightened and rubbed a hand over his head. “I used it four months ago and forgot to buy a new tire.”
They stood there staring at the flat. “We could—”
“Don’t say it,” he warned.
“—take Harvey. All of his tires work.” She’d finished off with a full measure of innocence. She was having a good time with his misfortune. “Or we can waste time getting a rental. We’ll miss our shot at Betty Anne. You choose.”
Humor bubbled up with each word. He, on the other hand, didn’t find the situation funny. At this rate, he’d die and be buried in the damn car someday. He couldn’t shake free of the rusty wreck no matter how hard he tried.
“I swear one day I’m driving a dump truck over that car.” He took her arm while she chuckled. He retrieved a blanket from the backseat and silently cursed himself for not having a spare.
He opened the Yugo’s door and covered the seat with the blanket. He’d be damned if she got one goat hair on that sexy-as-hell dress.
Harper slid inside. He got a flash of pretty legs and that tempered his ill humor. It ramped back up when he slid behind the wheel and turned over the engine. It rattled as if dying.
“Have I told you how much I hate this car?”
She covered her mouth with a hand. “Once or twice.”
Thankfully they made the trip without any mishaps. He found a spot between two BMWs and smirked while imagining the owners’ horrified faces when they retrieved their cars. This once, he got enjoyment from the damn car.
Harper didn’t ask how much he paid for the tickets and he didn’t offer. The hotel was lit with white lights as they passed through the lobby and headed to the ballroom.
Noah had to admit he did some strutting with Harper on his arm. Although he preferred her curly hair loose around her shoulders and down her back, she looked stunning in the red dress and new style. During the ride over, they’d discussed whether Betty Anne would recognize her.
“Hopefully not before we get good intel,” he’d said.
Although digging a confession out of the widow seemed unlikely, copious amounts of champagne might loosen tongues. A misplaced word here or there, could lead the investigation in a different direction. They just had to hope the widow had loose lips or the gossip chain was open for business.
“There are a lot of people here,” she said when they stepped inside the open double doors. Everyone was decked out to party and raise money. “I see a couple of the guys.”
By guys she meant members of the Muskrat team. He followed the path of her eyes. Quarterback Deke and a mountain of a man he thought was Terry Simmons, a defensive tackle, stood together and people watched.
As a guy with an interest in sports, Noah tuned into the Muskrats on TV when he could. Living in Virginia and working full-time left little time to indulge in a lazy afternoon of sports and beer. Since he’d been home, he’d played catch up with local sports teams.
Deke spotted Harper and lifted his glass. His eyes showed his appreciation. Noah instantly disliked him.
“Noah, I know that expression,” she said and waved back. “You made that same face when Rob Garvey used to talk to me in the hallway after biology class.”
Was he that obvious? “And what face is that?”
“The face that comes from smelling a neglected cat box.” Seeing their attention on him, the quarterback grinned with some very white teeth. “Deke and I only had one wild sex-fueled weekend last year. We both realized that if we didn’t stop, we’d end up expiring from orgasmic strokes.”
* * * *
Noah made the “stink face” again. “I know you’re kidding.”
“Do you?” For a man who had no claim on her affections, he sure wanted to mark her as his. Noah needed to be taken down a peg before he piddled on her shoe. “What I did pre-you is my business. What I do now isn’t your business either.”
With that, she weaved her way through the crowd. Deke and Terry welcomed her with smiles and cheek kisses.
“What a surprise to see you here, Harp,” Deke said and pulled her close. She saw his game. If not for her annoyance with Noah, she’d have elbowed him off. “Who’s the guy?”
Any other man and she’d wonder about his motives for asking. Deke, while appreciating her as an attractive woman, had never hit on her once in the two years they’d known each other.
The whole sex-filled weekend thing was a fib.
“Just a guy I know.” How could she define the indefinable? “He’s helping me investigate Gerald’s murder.”
“How’s that going?” Terry asked. He gave Alvin a run for tall and brawny. They could both eclipse a SUV with their shadows. “It’s hard to imagine you as Harp the Killer.”
One thing Harper could count on was loyalty. With a few exceptions, mainly named Covington, the team had her back.
“Thanks.” She accepted a glass of white wine from a passing waiter and sipped. “Could you tell the police that?”
Terry chuckled. “Have them call me.” He looked past her and his face lit up when his wife joined them. Terry was six-four and close to three hundred pounds. His wife, Bettina, was roughly five-three and topped out at maybe one ten. They’d been high school sweethearts and were now newlyweds.
“Hi, Harper.” Bettina was a sweet and pretty Midwest gal with dark hair and brown eyes. She was also a pediatric nurse.
To Harper, Terry had married up. “I heard about Gerald,” Bettina said. “I can’t believe anyone would suspect you.”
Harper thanked her, chatted for a few minutes, and excused herself. “I should find my companion.”
Investigation first, socializing last.
She rounded the perimeter until she spotted Noah at the bar talking with Cassidy, one of the cheerleaders. The gorgeous redhead had a hand on his arm and was laughing at something he said. He clearly enjoyed the company.
Harper tensed. Who knew Noah was so hilarious?
Rather than break up the love-fest, she gulped the wine and headed off.
She spent the next hour reacquainting herself with the small group of Muskrat cheerleaders in attendance, asking if they’d heard gossip about the murder, and snooping on conversations. Several had been at the bar that unfortunate night. No one came off as guilty of the murder.
So far, the only intel came from what played out on TV news and the internet. The night was a bust.
Where was Betty Anne? No sooner had she formed the thought than she spotted her arrive with Berit. Dressed like someone’s grandmother in sea foam green, heavy hose, and low heeled shoes, she scanned the crowd. Harper darted behind a potted plant and peered out between the fronds. Betty Anne didn’t see her.
“Inspector Clouseau, I presume?”
Harper jumped. “You scared me,” she hissed and jerked Noah out of sight. “Betty Anne is here.”
The widow walked over to Deke, and he’d laid his most flirtatious smile on her. Since she was the heir presumptive of Gerald’s shares of the team, Deke now worked for her.
“I know,” he said. “I heard the squeak-squeak of her sensible shoes when she arrived.”
“You are a bad man.” Okay he was funny. She was sure sweet Cassidy and he would get along great. And have cute babies.
With an effort, she stuffed the green meanie aside and focused. “This is the plan. You go left, I go right, and we’ll both try to get close enough to Betty Anne and her pit bull to eavesdrop.”
“You think she’ll confess to the Detroit mayor over shrimp cocktail and spinach bites?”
Back to not funny. “I don’t think she’ll confess at all,” she groused. “I’m not sure what to expect. Perhaps nothing. But we can’t get close to her otherwise, without Berit snapping off my head and clocking you with it. We have to try.”
He seemed to accept that with a lip twitch at the image. If nothing else, Noah was loyal to the cause. And right now, she required loyalty.
Off they went. For the next two hours, the closest Harper got to Betty Anne was two degrees of separation. There were always two people between her and the widow. Any closer and Betty Anne would have spotted her. The last thing she needed was a scene.
Time clicked to almost eleven o’clock when she saw Betty Anne and another woman of about fifty make a break for the bathroom. Berit stayed behind, taking shots with Cody, the punter. The woman swayed on her feet.
Good, the guard-assistant was out.
Harper quickly headed for the ladies’ room.
Luckily there was no line and the widow and friend pushed through the door. Harper waited to a count of ten before slowly easing the door open. A young woman, with toilet paper speared on her spiked heel, jostled past her.
“Excuuuuuuse me.” Snotty and rude, she tottered off. Harper smiled at the two-ply banner waving behind her. What goes around, comes around, and all that.
Hurrying, Harper stepped into the bathroom, darted into an open stall, and slammed the door behind her.
“I can’t believe how you put up with that ass, sweetie,” a woman said. “You deserve a medal.”
Betty Anne’s companion?
A snort followed, a flush, then another. Harper peered through the crack between stall door and frame. The two women reconvened at the sinks.
“There are ways to get even,” Betty Anne said and her mouth thinned. “Painful ways.”
“Oh.” A conspiratorial tone. “Do tell.”
A dryer clicked on. Anything else was drowned out. Darn. Harper waited until they left and exited the stall. As a moderate germaphobe, she washed her hands, and turned off the sink with the paper towel, and used the same towel to pull open the door.
Noah lingered at the bar over a beer. She rushed up, flapping her arms like one of Estelle’s geese. “Oh my gosh! Noah! Betty Anne confessed!”