“Not in a few days. But that’s how it goes with them. When you run across that pair, they’re aggravating someone.”
“I’m looking for them in regards to James Brown’s death.”
“I’ll let you know if I see them. Check area liquor stores. Those two will do anything for a bottle of hooch.”
Would they commit murder? The chances of them finding bottles of booze at the empty Pirate’s Cove Restaurant were nil. How did James Brown wind up in the wrong place at the wrong time? If North’s theory about an arsonist was correct, at least one other person was involved in this case.
The hotel was less than a mile from the law enforcement center. Ballard dropped her at the door. “Catch you later,” he said.
Laurie Ann strode into the carpeted lobby but before she reached the elevator, the desk clerk called her over. “He’s not up there.”
She turned. “What’s that?”
“Mr. North. He left a note for you,” Kadesh said.
A note? She didn’t like the sound of that. She collected the fat envelope and felt a wave of relief when she felt the irregular outline of her keys. “Thanks.”
The shadows were lengthening as she sat in her Mustang and tore open the envelope. He’d gone to investigate another brushfire four counties over.
That was a helluva note.
She’d let him out of her sight, and he’d bolted.
Would he come back?
Worse, would the chief find out she’d lost their arson investigator?
Chapter 14
Saturday night and Laurie Ann didn’t have a date. Not that she usually had a date, but she’d decided to crawl through the bars tonight looking for Spivey and Miles. Ordinarily, she’d curl up with a book and her pets at home and say “who cares about dates or bars?” She got her fill of drunks on the job.
She put on a clean shirt and cargo pants, combed her hair, draped her St. Christopher’s chain around her neck, and decided against makeup. Her tabby cat, Pumpkin, immediately claimed her dirty clothes by curling up in them. Her three-legged dog, Gabby, barked his disapproval at being left behind yet again.
“I won’t be long, gang. A couple of hours at most. Then we’ll turn in for the night.”
At her first stop, Bully Boys, she threaded her way to the dimly lit bar and ordered a beer. This place wasn’t on her personal radar, but since it was rougher, she thought she’d hit it earlier in the evening instead of later. Country music pulsed at an ear-pounding volume.
To her dismay, off-duty officer Tom Harlow zeroed in on her. “Shuggie,” he said, wrapping her in an unwelcome hug. “Whatcha doing out here with us bachelors?”
“Hanging out,” she replied, trying and failing to get out from under his beefy palm.
He grinned from ear to ear, leaning in close to carry on a conversation. “I don’t recall seeing you hanging out here before. Is something going on?”
“What would be going on, Harlow? Do you think I’m here to spy on you?”
“Heck, no.” He studied her again. “Are you? What’d I do? Am I in hot water?”
“If you are, I don’t know about it. I’m too busy working with the arson investigator to keep up with the scuttlebutt.”
His eyebrows waggled. “In that case, wanna dance?”
She peered around him to see who she might ask about Spivey or Miles. “No. I’m looking for a couple of guys.”
“You found one.”
“Not what I meant. I’m looking for Spivey and Miles.”
“You can do better, Laurie Ann. If you’re not interested in me, I can fix you up with some of my drinking buddies.”
She twisted and pushed him away. “Let go of me. I’m not here for a hookup. I’m working on my case.”
He edged in close again. “Ahh. A little undercover work. Why didn’t you say so?” He turned around, banged his glass on the counter to quiet the room. The bartender dialed the music back to a tolerable level.
“Anybody seen Spivey and Miles tonight?” Harlow asked.
“Hell, no,” Buster O’Reilly said. “Ain’t seen those critters; don’t wanna see them. Not unless they got the money they owe me.”
“I seen ’em,” Jordan Kirk belched from the corner of the room. “They was hitching on the state highway about mid-county sometime late afternoon. I was on my way to the drug store for rub—for something.”
Laughter echoed through the room as Harry Mendez called out, “I saw ’em diving in the Dumpsters at the crab plant yesterday. Good thing you didn’t give them a lift, Jordan. Your truck would still reek.”
Conversations filled in the gap until the noise level of the room ramped back up. The music pulsed again. “See?” Harlow said. “All you had to do is ask.”
“Thanks.” Laurie Ann pushed her mostly full beer glass across the bar and prepared to leave. Harlow’s method of information gathering was crude but it worked. Now she had some ideas where the drunken duo had been. Neither of the reported locations was anywhere near her crime scene.
Pity.
“How about a kiss to pay me?” Harlow asked.
She barely stopped a grimace. “Don’t think so.”
“You wanna go out sometime?”
“I don’t date coworkers.”
“That’s a dumb rule.”
She felt like a hypocrite, given that she’d kissed Wyatt. But she had no interest in Tom Harlow. She didn’t want to spend a minute more than she had to in his company.
“We’re colleagues, and I plan to keep it that way.”
“Colleagues? That sounds so formal. Can’t we be friends?”
“We’re acquaintances. Please move aside. I’ve got another stop to make this evening.”
To her chagrin, he fell in step beside her as she exited the bar. The evening air felt thick and close, boxing her and Harlow in.
“Where are we going?” Harlow asked.
“
We’re
not going anywhere. Get one of your buddies in there to give you a lift home.”
“You could do it.”
“Not happening. I hate being rude, but your tenacity is forcing me to be blunt. Leave me alone.”
With that, she made her escape.
The Main Mast was quieter, with folks sitting at candlelit tables. In the far corner, dapper Doug Morgan played the piano. The soft music filled the room, and she tried to relax with a deep breath. Not working. She strode to the bar and ordered a ginger ale. Before she could canvas the room, her realtor friend Megan invited her to sit at her table.
“Love to,” Laurie Ann said in a breezy tone. The chemistry between Megan and Dave, newlyweds for four months now, fluoresced like a neon sign.
Dave’s lopsided smile, his adorable cowlick, and his thickly lashed bedroom eyes had set every heart aflutter when he first moved to Mossy Bog. But it had been clear from the start that the blonde realtor was the only female he noticed.
Lucky woman, Laurie Ann thought. Megan had a career she loved and a man who doted on her.
“I want to hear all about the new man,” Megan said once they were settled. “We missed the fireworks at the picnic today, and that’s all anyone’s talked about.”
Laurie Ann didn’t have to pretend confusion. “Fireworks?”
“Patty said your new beau stuck by your side the entire time. Arletha said you came back from your beach walk flushed as if y’all were necking. Is he a good kisser? I want details before I explode from curiosity.”
Laurie Ann gazed at the empty dance floor for a moment while she gathered herself. “Wyatt’s a friend, that’s all.”
“You can do better than that. Dave doesn’t even believe you, do you, Dave?”
Dave wore a pained expression from the elbow in his gut. He covered it with a smile. “I don’t believe you,” he said, following Megan’s lead.
“We only met yesterday. Trust me, I’m not ready to bear his children,” Laurie Ann quipped, hoping that would defuse the inquiry.
Megan’s face glowed with near-religious fervor. “Oh, my God. You kissed him.”
“I’m trying to change the subject. Hint. Hint. I need information to help me solve James Brown’s homicide.”
“What’s up with that?” Megan sipped her umbrella drink. “I thought the big guns handled murders.”
Laurie Ann sighed with deep relief. Finally, the conversation was veering in the right direction. “They do. This is unusual. The chief and the sheriff thought it was an accidental death, and both of them are looking over my shoulder. If I make a mistake, I’ll be taken off the case.”
“That’s harsh.”
“I want that promotion, so I can’t screw up.” Laurie Ann leaned forward to speak in confidence. “Which brings me to why I came here tonight. Can you get me a list of the folks who had access to the place while y’all had the keys?”
“It’s a short list. The only people who went out there during our listing were the Foxworths.”
Would Wyatt see that as incriminating evidence? She pressed on. “Your firm handled the sale of Pirate’s Cove. Are the Foxworths the type to torch the place for the insurance money?”
“I don’t think so. Besides, it will cost them more to replace the restaurant than the insurance payout. If they replace it. Nothing there now except ghosts.”
“You think ghosts set the fire?”
“Ghosts are good for tourism. Arsonists aren’t. We need property buyers. Make that arson investigator fall in love with you so he’ll stick around. Then I’ll make him buy something from me. I’ve got four nice waterfront listings to sell.”
Laurie Ann fingered the rim of her ginger ale glass. “Wyatt’s a short-timer.”
“That’s a crying shame. Especially with him being so tall and all.”
She caught her friend’s eye. “And such a good kisser.”
“I knew it.”
Chapter 15
Sunday dawned with an ugly squall, keeping all but the most devout out of St. Luke’s Episcopal, but Laurie Ann was glad of the low attendance. Fewer people to ask her questions about the man who’d accompanied her to the picnic. Fewer people to hail her as a hero for finding little Taylor Sutton. Fewer people to grill her about her new assignment.
By late afternoon, the sun came out, and Laurie Ann worked in her flower garden. The simple motions of tugging out dollar weed, clover, and Virginia creeper kept her hands occupied. But not her mind.
James Brown had been murdered.
She yanked out the withered leaves from last season’s lilies, feeling the dry husks crumble in her hand. When she was a kid, James Brown had worked odd jobs for families. Her father had invited him to dinner several times, and he’d eaten twice as much as either of them. She remembered thinking what a big appetite he had for such a small man. Another memory surfaced. He sang while he raked leaves and painted the house. Gospel music. She hadn’t thought about that for years.
The last two times she’d rousted Brown, once from the highway convenience store and the other time from the Catholic churchyard, she’d been sharp with him. Her father always had a kind word for the drifter, and he must have had similar run-ins with Brown when he worked the city beat. How did her father rise above what Brown had become and treat him like the man he used to be? She was embarrassed that she’d seen the man only as an obstacle. His noncompliance made her look bad.
She rocked back on her heels, thoughts whirling. She’d become her job, and she wasn’t the hotshot officer she thought she was. She’d lost sight of helping people. People in Mossy Bog respected her father, even though he’d retired and devoted the last five years of his life to hunting and fishing, he still commanded their respect.
What would folks say about her in twenty years? Would they remember her callous treatment of James Brown and other homeless people? Or would they remember her for finding little Taylor Sutton? Would she be defined by what she didn’t do or what she did?
Her pocket chirped.
The phone.
Wyatt’s name flashed on the display. Her smile went bone-deep at the sound of his deep, rumbling voice.
“I’m headed your way,” Wyatt said.
She pressed the phone closer, hungry for his news. “Was it your arsonist?”
“Not hardly. An amateur started this fire. The burn was less complete. No structures were involved, and no one died.”
He sounded disappointed. “Those are good things,” she reminded him.
“I need to catch this guy.”
“You will. When one of my cases stalls, I go back to square one. There’s usually another line of inquiry buried somewhere in the information.”
“I’ve been over the files so many times I can practically recite them. If anything was there, I’d have found it by now.”
“I’ve been thinking about our case,” she began. “About tangential information.”
“Yeah?”
“James Brown wasn’t always the town drunk. He did odd jobs for a long time, and he was a good worker. Daddy occasionally brought him out to the house and gave him work, food, clothes, and some money.”
“Your father’s a good man.”
His observation was on point. She cleared her throat. “Just thinking out loud here. Somehow, he went from productive to shiftless. I want to know why. I’ve got a lead on his last known associates, Ray Spivey and Frankie Miles.”
“Go ahead and pick Spivey and Miles up. I’ve got questions for them, too.”
“They’re in the wind. I put out a BOLO on them. They’ll turn up soon. Not many hiding places floating in free booze in Tidewater County.”
“Good.”
He sounded weary, and that depressed the hell out of her. “How about dinner tonight?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound desperate or needy.
In the time it took him to answer, she mentally kicked herself to the curb and back three times. Men didn’t like take-charge females. Men liked to think they were in charge. Men liked to do the asking.
“Dinner sounds great,” he said. “I’ll be in Mossy Bog by six. Where shall I pick you up?”
Might as well jump off the high dive, she thought to herself. “Come out to my place. I’ll cook dinner. Any food allergies or preferences?”
His voice deepened. “I eat anything that isn’t moving.”
She laughed as her mind veered off on a big bad wolf tangent.
The better to eat you with, my dear.
Would Wyatt North eat her up? “I promise not to serve you roof shingles or road kill. Come on out whenever you’re ready. Dinner’s at seven.”
“It’s a date.”
The phone clicked in her ear before she could tell him where she lived. This would be interesting. She gathered up her pile of weeds and carried them to her new compost pile behind the pump house. The entire edge of the adjacent woods was fronted by a bamboo thicket, courtesy of her great grandmother.