I had so many questions.
I was too new at this to know how to proceed. But maybe we should play it by ear.
I talked through my theory with Michael, and he listened quietly. I held my breath when I finished, waiting for his reaction.
He slowly nodded. “You might be onto something. I think it’s worth checking out.”
Relief washed through me. Good. I wasn’t totally crazy.
A few minutes of silence fell between us as we continued down the road.
Michael glanced at me a second later. “So, last night you got another glimpse of the social scene here in Storm River, huh?”
“That’s right. And, once again, it proved to me that I do not fit in.”
“That’s not what Velma said.” He raised his eyebrows.
I turned toward him. “What?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t the one who brought it up. But it was all Velma could talk about—how fantastic you looked in that little red dress.”
I felt my cheeks heat. “She did a good job helping me to blend in.”
“You know that if you’re not comfortable in this line of work, there are jobs for you up in DC. The fact that you’re bilingual, that you used to work for the government in Yerba, that you’re intelligent . . . there are probably other things out there for you.”
I drew in a breath at his advice. “Do you think I should quit?”
Did he think I wasn’t cut out for this type of career? That I was doing a poor job?
Michael glanced at me and shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I’m actually glad that Oscar hired you. But I also know that you’ve almost died three times since I’ve known you. That’s got to be a lot for you to comprehend. Plus, you’ve got scruples. That’s a blessing and a curse in this profession.”
“This is all a little more than I expected,” I told him. “But I haven’t felt this invigorated in a long time.”
“It’s good you’re being honest with yourself. But no one is going to blame you if you want to move on.”
“I almost think you’re trying to get rid of me.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “Get rid of you? No, of course not. I’m starting to like having you around. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”
“I’ll try to keep myself in check.” I cleared my throat, trying to turn the subject from me to something else. Like Michael. “Sometimes, I’m surprised that you’re still working for Oscar. You also have other skills.”
He shrugged. “This keeps me close to my daughter here in Storm River. That’s really all I want. I’m not much of a bureaucrat. Playing those games like they do up in DC? It’s not my thing.”
“I see.” I pointed to an exit in the distance, realizing our chat needed to come to an end. “Right here is where we need to go.”
I knew that in less than five minutes we were going to be at our destination.
I braced myself as I tried to figure out how things would go.
Michael and I walked into the Green Leaf Tavern and paused. Just as when we’d come the other day, the place was about a third full. TVs played in various corners and memorabilia hung on the walls.
But it was the person behind the counter who caught my eye.
The bartender. Zack.
Michael and I strode toward him, and I braced myself for the confrontation.
“You two are back again?” Zack said. Just as before, he dried some glasses. “By the way, I realized where I recognized you from. You’re Michael Straley. You played three seasons with the Mets.”
Michael pretended like he didn’t hear him. “We have some follow-up questions.”
“I told you everything I knew when you came in last time.” Zack shrugged, appearing annoyed with his pressed lips and narrowed eyes.
I leaned closer. “Everything?”
His face grew paler, but he said nothing.
“What I’m wondering is if anybody else came in here talking about Flash?”
“People talk about Flash here all the time.” Zack pointed to the walls. “There are pictures of him everywhere, and people know he likes to hang out here when he can. There’s nothing unusual about that.”
“But did you ever hear anybody come in and talk about a plan to ruin him?” Michael clarified.
The bartender’s neurotic drying ceased as he looked at us. “I’m not sure really why you would ask that. It’s a weird question.”
“You seem to know a lot about him,” I said. “Do you happen to know where Flash lives?”
“Another strange question. If you ask any of the locals around here, they’d be able to tell you the answer to that. It’s pretty well-known where he lives.” An edge crept into his voice.
“So I take that as a yes?” Michael said.
“I’ve heard rumors.” Zack started rubbing the same glass again over and over.
I had a feeling that Zack had taken the job here precisely because Flash frequented this place.
“I happened to call your boss before I came,” I said. “Turns out that the day Flash and Sarah were in here, you got off work a few minutes after they left.”
He shrugged and put one glass away, only to grab another. “I’m not sure. I don’t really remember.”
“Maybe it was because you knew something bad was about to go down that day.”
“Sounds like a stretch, if you ask me. But if my boss said I left shortly after, then I guess I did. I’m not sure what that proves.”
I glanced at his arm. I knew the man who’d threatened me last night had cut himself when he’d hit Detective Hunter. That meant he probably had a bandage on his arm.
“Can I see your arm, Zack?” I asked.
Zack tensed and went completely still. “Why would you need to see my arm?”
“Just show her your arm.” Michael’s voice turned hard. “Unless you’re trying to hide something.”
“Of course, I’m not trying to hide anything.” The man set the glass down and began to roll up his sleeve.
But before he finished, he grabbed the glass again and threw it at Michael. Then he took off in a run.
Chapter Thirty-One
Michael blocked the glass before it hit him, and it bounced off his hand, shattering on the other side of the bar. Wasting no time, Michael sprinted after the man.
Zack was faster than I’d given him credit for. I followed behind and reminded myself that I needed to up my workout routine if I was going to stay in this line of work.
But as soon as I stepped outside, a new figure came into view.
Detective Hunter.
He stood on the sidewalk with his gun drawn and two officers—one of them being Bradford—beside him. Zack stopped in his tracks and raised his hands in the air.
I joined Michael near the door and soaked in the scene.
Detective Hunter paced toward us, his eyes still on Zack as Bradford handcuffed him.
“How did you know?” I asked him.
Hunter shrugged and glanced at me. “I didn’t. I followed you. I wanted to see what you were up to.”
“Is that right?” Today out of all days I hadn’t actually noticed that I was being followed. Maybe I shouldn’t give so much credit to my instincts after all.
“Do you want to tell me what you put together?” Hunter asked.
I stood by Michael, feeling some kind of strength through his presence. Then I launched into my theory. “I realized that Sarah had been in here talking with the man she was working with about how they would take down Flash Slivinski. They both knew what Flash had done, knew he was responsible for that hit-and-run. They wanted to get money out of him and ruin him.”
“Keep going.” The detective’s gaze remained hooded as he waited.
I nodded toward Zack as he stood near the police car. “The bartender is one of Flash’s biggest fans. It’s why he started working here, if I had to guess. He overheard what they were saying and knew he had to do something. He didn’t want to see his idol go to jail or ha
ve to give up his career.”
“Okay . . .”
I swallowed my nerves before continuing. “I’m guessing that Zack also takes sleeping pills. It’s a well-known fact that Flash uses them. I suspect Zack slipped a few into Flash’s drink, thinking that if Flash passed out, he could somehow avoid what was to come.”
“Keep going,” Hunter said.
“But when Zack saw Flash leave with Sarah, Zack knew that the pills might not work. Sarah was about to blackmail Flash, and Zack wanted to stop her. My guess is that he had no intention of killing Sarah, but it just happened in the heat of the moment.”
“Is that right?” Hunter called back to Zack, who stood by a police car.
He scowled. But his anger quickly crumpled into grief. “I didn’t mean to do any of it. No one was supposed to die. I was trying to talk some sense into her. But she tried to leave. I grabbed her, and she fought back. I grabbed the knife from the butcher block and . . .”
He hung his head and sobs wracked his body.
“You followed me to the fundraiser,” I continued.
“I needed a moment to talk to you alone,” Zack said. “I just wanted you to figure out that Sarah was the bad guy, not Flash.”
I guess he didn’t give much thought to the fact that he’d also killed someone. He’d justified his actions, I supposed.
“How did you know it was him?” Hunter asked.
“It was the scent,” I explained. “This place is known for its whisky. Not only does it smell yeasty, but there are also hints of vanilla and oak. We truly are what we eat—and we begin to smell like certain things. The scent of whisky had seeped into his skin and was eventually emitted through his pores. That’s why you don’t eat bacon before you go into the jungle. All the predatory animals will sense you coming—”
I noticed everyone staring at me again, and I stopped my blathering.
Hunter pulled his gaze away from me and turned back to Zack. “How did you know what Sarah was doing?”
“It’s like the Knives Out girl said—I overheard Sarah and her friend talking,” he said.
“I . . . don’t have any knives on me.” What in the world was he talking about?
“He means you look like someone who was in a movie,” Michael whispered.
Hunter continued as if he didn’t hear me. “Sarah’s friend?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Sarah was working with someone.”
“Who might that be?” Hunter stared at me. “Did you figure that out as well?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” I grinned. Then I pointed to someone in our circle. “Bradford did it.”
Everyone turned to the officer.
His eyes widened, and he let out a strained chuckle. “Me? Why would I do that?”
“I checked. You were the officer on the scene the night of the hit-and-run. I made a quick call about it this morning. Sarah just happened to witness the accident, and she came to you with what she knew. The two of you came up with the plan together.”
“Why would you think I knew Sarah?” he asked.
“You tried to scrub your social media of it, but I found a picture in the cache of the two of you together,” I said. “You went to the same college. It’s been a busy morning for me.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Bradford said.
“I saw those cartoon cats in your police cruiser and assumed you liked felines. But then I realized they were from the card game Exploding Kittens. The waitress at The Board Room said a group always showed up to play that game, and it just so happened to be the same time she often saw a black sedan. A quick social media search showed me more than one picture of you with your car—one that looked just like the vehicle that hit Michael’s a couple days ago.”
Bradford’s face grew paler. “That’s ridiculous. Just because I play a card game and drive a dark sedan means nothing.”
“I’m nearly certain you were the one who left the camera in Flash’s condo,” I continued. “You also left that threatening note on the BMW.”
“Why would you think that?”
“The paper it was written on . . . it’s the same kind found on the pads in the police station’s supply closet. I saw them there when I was cleaning. I also saw your signature on the list inside that same closet. I assume you have to record whenever you check out things from the resource closet. I realized that the scrawl matched.”
Bradford scowled but said nothing.
“And the night Damien got out of his handcuffs? It was because you let him out,” I said. “You knew he was amped for trouble, and you saw him look at me with hatred in his gaze. Everything fell into place at just the right time because you also happened to recognize me from the video footage that you collected from the condo.”
“Why would I collect video footage?” Bradford was trying to look cool, but his motions were becoming more jerky. His breathing looked shallow. His eyes flickered as he tried to process all of this.
In other words, we were making him nervous.
“Because you wanted to make sure no one found out what you’d done,” Michael said. “You had to see who might discover your secret.”
Bradford scoffed. “You don’t have a lick of evidence to prove any of it.”
“Except for me,” Zack said. “I can ID you as the man who was with Sarah Vance that night.”
Bradford’s eyes widened again. He started to take off in a run when Hunter pulled his gun.
“Stay right there,” Hunter growled.
Bradford stopped in his tracks and scowled. The other officer handcuffed him and began reading him his rights just as another police car pulled onto the scene.
Hunter turned back to me. “How did you put all that together?”
“It all started with the scent of whisky.”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed, either because he was impressed or thought I was over the top. “Very observant of you.”
“I should be observant. My dad taught me to be vigilant. He said it might save my life one day.”
“Well, I would say that he taught you well.” Hunter offered a smile, one that actually looked sincere.
“I would say he did too,” I said.
The look of approval the detective gave me made a surprising warmth rush through me. I wasn’t one to crave validation from other people, but right now it felt good.
Maybe I’d finally found something that I wanted to do—and that I was good at.
Maybe.
Chapter Thirty-Two
As Michael and I climbed into his dad’s Jeep to go back to the office, all of my fuzzy, warm feelings began to fizzle. As my adrenaline wore off, reality hit me.
I remembered the struggles I’d faced over the past few days. I recalled my guilt. The fact I had to be sneaky. The reality that I couldn’t even pray to God to help me because I knew He probably didn’t approve of my actions.
Solving the case had left me on a mountaintop. But I couldn’t rely on my emotions right now. I had to use my head.
I couldn’t continue doing this. It had been fun. Investigating had been a thrill.
But I knew I was going to have to tell Oscar that I would be quitting.
As much as I’d loved doing this, I wasn’t sure how I could keep working this job and feel good about myself. The moral line I walked was too thin. Lying to my mom was too hard.
Maybe I’d wait until Monday to give Oscar the news.
Maybe.
“Good job back there,” Michael said. “I think even Mr. Hard-to-Impress Detective Hunter was amazed.”
“I don’t know about that.” I shrugged. “But thank you.”
Just then, my phone buzzed.
I looked down, and I saw that I had a message from . . . Jono, of all people.
So how about that dinner date sometime?
Funny, I figured that he fed all the ladies at the gala those lines and that he would have forgotten about me.
I stared at the message for a moment, contemplating how I s
hould respond.
I hadn’t been out on a date since Sergio. But maybe it was time to start thinking about it. I’d put my life on hold for the last six months—that’s when all the trouble in Yerba had started and when Sergio had broken up with me. I needed to start living again. Plus, I needed to figure out if Jono had some kind of connection with my past.
“Everything okay?” Michael glanced at my phone, a wrinkle forming between his eyes.
I held up my phone. “I just got asked out on a date.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Is that right? With who?”
“None other than the one and only Jono.” I braced myself for Michael’s reaction. I knew he wouldn’t approve.
“What?” Michael glanced at me, almost like he thought I was joking. “And what are you going to say?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll say yes. Not because I think the two of us have a future together, but maybe because it would be a good start for me to get back into the world of dating.”
His jaw flexed a moment until he finally said, “You can’t fix him, you know.”
His words caught me by surprise. “What do you mean? Who said anything about fixing him?”
Michael glanced at me again, concern in his gaze. “You’re that kind of girl. The kind who will take on a guy for a project so you can help him through all of his problems. You can’t make Jono a better person.”
My eyebrows shot up this time. “You have strong feelings about him.”
“You’re a big girl. You can do what you want. But it’s only fair to warn you.”
I nodded, simply to show I was listening—not agreeing. “But just one date couldn’t hurt anything, correct?”
Michael didn’t say anything
I put my phone away. I would think about it. But, for now, Michael and I needed to give Oscar the update. Then I needed to get home so I could spend some time with my sister.
When I got back to my house two hours later, I found a note from my sister saying she’d left for the beach later than expected, so she was running behind. That was fine with me. I could use some time to decompress.
The Art of Eavesdropping Page 18
