Lethal Lifestyles (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 6)

by LynDee Walker

  “For the wrong kind of guy, a loss like that isn’t easy to get over.”

  Bob touched the end of his nose with his index finger, nodding. “For a lot of people. I’ve thought often the past few years that I wish Parker had been the loser that afternoon. Things might be whole lot different now.”

  He pinched his lips together, and I shook my head. “I thought I got it, and now you’ve lost me.”

  Bob laughed. “Grant is so confident. So easy. It’s one of the things I admire about him. If he’d lost, his day would’ve mildly sucked, and then he’d have gone right back to being him: happy he got to play and knowing he gave it his all. That’s the kind of guy he is. Burke was not that kind of guy.”

  Uh-oh.

  “It ate at him. We heard he got offered a scholarship to UVA the following spring too, and didn’t go because they signed Parker first. The coach told Landon that off the record, so we never ran it.”

  My eyes popped wide. Giving up a scholarship to a division-one school is some pretty serious hatred. The wiki article floated through my thoughts.

  “But I read online last night that Burke went to Tech. Maybe they just made him a better offer and the UVA coach was pissed about losing him.”

  Bob nodded. “I can’t say for sure that’s not true.”

  I watched his face when he stopped talking.

  “But?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “There’s a ‘but’ in there you didn’t elaborate on. What is it?”

  “It just never stopped after that, Nichelle. That College World Series ring Parker never takes off? Who do you think he beat to get it? Not in the finals, but on his way to them.”

  “And to a guy like Burke, that meant he’d have surely won if it hadn’t been for Parker.”

  “And he might very well have. All loyalty to my alma mater aside, Mitch Burke had a hell of an arm.”

  “Then why didn’t he ever make it out of the minors?” Parker would probably still be throwing fastballs for the Generals if he hadn’t gotten hurt.

  “Lack of focus. Got a little too into drinking and girls. Messed up one too many times and got cut.”

  “How was that Parker’s fault?”

  “In anyone else’s mind, it wasn’t by a longshot. But Burke convinced himself his downhill slide began when he went out to celebrate the fact that Parker wasn’t playing anymore.”

  I blinked. “Hang on. What?”

  “I know it’s crazy. I know it’s horrible. But trust me, Mitch Burke was not the sanest or nicest guy you’ve ever met.”

  Celebrating someone’s dream-ending injury was pretty damned far from anything resembling nice. If Bob was right, the victim was a tool. “How do you know this, chief?”

  “Burke’s father is the President of the Virginia History League. Family goes back to some famous boat from Jamestown, plantation aristocracy that turned a small fortune into a very large one when an ancestor got into ironwork and construction a hundred or so years ago. Richard Burke—that’s the victim’s father—had a few friends on our board. When Mitch got kicked out of baseball, I got an order to call him for a job interview.

  “His clips were good. He needed experience. But I was willing to give him a shot. Since everyone on the sports desk knew why he wasn’t playing ball anymore, I asked him in the interview if he’d gotten a handle on those problems. He told me they were all Parker’s fault—and why he thought so—and left. Didn’t tell me if he wanted the job. Didn’t ask me about a salary.”

  Bob put one hand up. “That’s not all. Richard Burke isn’t the sort of man who gives up easily. After I talked with Mitch that day, I started getting pressure from upstairs to fire Parker, who was the best damned baseball reporter I’d ever read. It didn’t take but two phone calls to find out where it was coming from.” Bob nodded at my dropped jaw. “Obviously, I didn’t. So Mitch got a job keeping stats for the Generals. Publicly, he said he was thrilled, looking forward to working his way up. Privately, I heard he blamed Parker for being stuck in an entry-level job he hated.”

  I put a hand to my temple. “That’s…Jeez. But, um, Burke is the one who’s dead here.” I blew out a long breath. “And surely the guy you’re describing had a long list of enemies.”

  “Were any of the rest of them on this property yesterday?”

  “Only one way to find out.” I set my cup on the table and stood. “Start digging.”

  “Where?” Bob kept his seat.

  “I need a washcloth and a hair tie, and then we gotta go see if we can rouse Parker.”

  5.

  Faulty assumptions

  There wasn’t enough concealer in North America to help the purple circles under my eyes, but a ponytail and some sunglasses later, I opened the cottage door and stepped onto the little porch. The pink pillows in the white wicker rockers looked even more inviting than the night before. Too bad Bob had pretty much ensured I wouldn’t have time to sit down for the rest of my stay.

  Jogging down the steps, I turned toward Parker and Mel’s cabin. “What do you think, chief? Tapping on the window?”

  “Why don’t I just go to the door and tell Melanie I want to have a word with Grant if she answers?” Bob grinned. “Not everything has to be cloak and dagger, Nicey.”

  I laughed, which felt so good I kept doing it for a little too long. “Point taken,” I said when I caught my breath. “You could be offering marital advice.”

  “I do have plenty of that.” He stopped walking and shook his head. “Damn, I miss her.”

  “I’m sorry.” I put a hand on his back and stood with him for a few blinks until he started walking again.

  “I’ll hang back and then join y’all in a minute?”

  He nodded and started toward the door.

  Before he got halfway there, Parker’s voice behind me nearly sent me out of my skin. “Pretty here, isn’t it? Generous of Dale to let us stay.”

  I spun on one wedge and forced what I hoped was a calm smile. “I can’t think of a better place to begin a life together,” I said, turning my head to whistle at Bob. He did a double take when he saw Parker and strode back to us.

  “What’re you two up to this morning?” Parker asked, wiping his face with a mint green towel so plush it looked like a family of Whos could be living inside.

  “Looking for you, as it happens,” I said, holding the panic out of my voice only because I’d had an awful lot of practice.

  “Here I am.” He draped the towel around his neck, the ends falling over his bare shoulders, which hardly registered. Hundreds of women would be more than a little thrilled to have shirtless sweaty Grant Parker smiling at them.

  I just wanted the wedding fairy to conjure a way to avoid ruining his day. In the next two minutes. I moved my eyes from the towel to his face, trying to look interested in what he was saying. “Mel has a million things on the list for today, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to run out here before everyone was up. At least, before I thought anyone would be up.”

  I shot a what-now glance at Bob and he clapped Parker on the back and steered him toward the steps of my cottage. “Come have some coffee with us, son.”

  Parker fell into step beside me for a few strides, his eyes burning a hole in my profile until he stopped and swung me to face him. “What’s wrong, Nichelle? Is it the cake? The flowers? Jesus, tell me the seamstress didn’t ruin Mel’s gown.”

  What I wouldn’t have given for any one of those problems in place of Mitch Burke in a wine barrel.

  I sighed. “No—”

  “Inside, kids. Come on.” Bob cut me off and waved us to the front door, shaking his head when I raised a brow at him. “You never know who might be listening,” he murmured as I walked through the door he was holding open.

  Right.

  Parker paced the width of the living room, which took him all of four strides each way. “What’s going on?” he blurted as soon as Bob shut the door.

  Bob and I exchanged a long look. He nodded, and Park
er stopped pacing. “You two are scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, Parker.” I sighed. “I’m not—dammit, there’s no easy way to say this.”

  “Say what? Andrews is canning me? Your ATF agent friend told you Mel is a fugitive? Or she used to be a man? Just tell me.”

  I crossed the room and laid a hand on his arm. “One of the vineyard employees found a body in a wine barrel last night.”

  His face went blank. “A what?”

  Words tumbled from my lips so fast they practically tripped over each other. “It’s terrible all the way around. The victim, their loved ones, your wedding, Mr. Sammons—I have a shorter list of people I’m not worried about or feeling sorry for. I wanted everything to be perfect for y’all, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Parker nodded, his eyes fixed on the fireplace across from him. “Perfect,” he echoed.

  I patted his arm and turned to Bob, telegraphing a “your turn” with my wide eyes.

  Bob nodded and cleared his throat. “Why don’t you have a seat, Grant?”

  Parker’s eyes slid from me to our boss and back again as he moved to the loveseat and flopped down. “There’s more?”

  There always was.

  Bob took the chair, his jaw tightening as he leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees and fixing his eyes on Parker’s expressionless face. “From what Nichelle overheard, we‘re pretty sure the body they found was wearing Mitch Burke’s college ring.”

  Parker’s breath stopped, his still-sweaty blond head dropping into his hands.

  I took half a step toward him, trying to decide if he needed reassurance or comfort, before three raps on the door froze my foot in midair.

  Sammons. The sheriff. Melanie.

  I filed through a mental list of possible visitors as I patted Parker’s shoulder and moved to the door, trying to come up with a reason I didn’t want company that wouldn’t sound like I was hiding something.

  I sucked at lying.

  But a hungry black bear on the porch would’ve surprised me less than Maisy, carrying a bag of bagels and wearing an exceptionally Splenda-riffic smile.

  I slipped through the crack and shut the door behind me, pasting my own fake smile in place and keeping my body in the doorway and one hand on the knob.

  “Good morning?” I couldn’t stop my voice from rising at the end of the simple platitude.

  Maisy spoke through the smile—which looked plastic and bizarre. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Since when do you care?” I didn’t bother to try to hide my curiosity. She’d been nothing but nasty and backstabbing since she first set eyes on me.

  “I want Melanie to be happy.” Still with the creepy automaton grin.

  “Me too. But I don’t think you have to be my BFF to accomplish that. Just try to be nice in front of her.”

  She nodded, still holding the bagels.

  I waited three beats for her to reply. When she didn’t, I clapped my hands together and grinned, forcing brightness into my tone. “Fabulous. We’re all on the same page then. Enjoy your breakfast, Maisy.” I put my hand back on the doorknob.

  She started to turn back to the steps and paused, the bag of bagels falling to the soft grey wood-planked floor.

  I froze, the knob turned a quarter of the way, and followed her wide-eyed gaze. What now?

  Maisy was looking at the window—or, at what was on the other side of it.

  Parker. Minus a shirt. In my room at before-respectable-hour in the morning.

  “All on the same page, huh? I guess I have a few chapters to catch up on.” Maisy backed down one step, the fake smile twisting into a sneer.

  “I promise you, it’s not what you’re thinking.” My fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into my palm. The truth was so far from what Maisy assumed, one couldn’t hit the other with a long-range missile. But how the hell was I supposed to stop her from thinking terrible things without blabbing about Burke? I was still holding out hope that we could spare Mel this particular clusterfuck, and I wanted to get Parker and Bob’s thoughts on that before anyone else found out what was going on.

  But I also didn’t want Mel—or anyone else—to think I was sleeping with her fiancé.

  Before I could decide what to say, Maisy turned on her cerulean sandal pump and stomped down the steps, striding in the direction of the lodge.

  Awesome.

  I took a step toward her huffily set shoulders, then paused and backed toward my door. I couldn’t leave. And Mel was still asleep. I’d catch up with Maisy after I took care of Parker. If I could take care of Parker.

  I pushed the door open and stepped through, falling against the back side when I shut it. “Just one thing. I just want one good thing to happen today.”

  The words came out under my breath, my chin dropping to my chest.

  “What was that?” Bob asked, his eyes straying from Parker, who had straightened, his unblinking eyes locked on the little stone fireplace.

  I waved my hand. “Unimportant. Has he said anything?”

  “Not a word.” Bob’s brow furrowed as he watched Parker.

  I shoved off the door and crossed to the loveseat, perching on the arm and reaching for Parker’s shoulder, painfully aware of his lack of proper attire and hoping to God no one was peering in the window.

  Poking one finger at his skin, I caught his eye when he turned toward me. “What’s going on in your head?” I folded my hands into my lap.

  “I’m just—Jesus, Clarke.” Parker’s voice was hoarse. “What happened? How did they find him?”

  “I wish I had an answer for that. I overheard very little. They found him in a wine barrel, and the sheriff thinks he didn’t put himself in there. That’s all I’ve got.”

  Parker shook his head, his eyes drifting back to the fireplace. “I can’t believe this.” He stood. “I should go find Dale and see if I can help.”

  I glanced at Bob. “What are the chances we can keep Mel insulated here?”

  Parker paused, his hand moving to run through his hair. “Keep Mel safe.” He nodded. “I need to take care of her first.”

  Bob cleared his throat. “Grant, son, I’m more worried about you than anything else. Melanie is strong. She’ll be okay, even if we do have to tell her—” He raised one palm when I opened my mouth to object. “I said ‘if,’ not ‘when.’ We have bigger things to be concerned about, Nicey.”

  My eyes wide, I looked past Parker, shaking my head just enough to let Bob know I wanted him to shut up.

  It didn’t work.

  “Mitch Burke is dead, and you were on the premises when the body was found, Grant.” Bob’s best impartial reporter voice delivered the words, but Parker still looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “Where did you go when you got here yesterday? Who were you with?”

  Parker pulled in a deep breath. “You can’t believe…” His gaze jumped from one of us to the other before it settled on me. “I mean, I guess you could. You did. Before.”

  I sat up straight and locked eyes with Parker.

  “No. Way.” I punctuated the words with head shakes, grabbing his hand in both of mine. “I was wrong then. I know better now. But Bob has a point—the local sheriff doesn’t know you like we do, and we need to make sure your alibi is airtight before this gets out of hand.”

  He held my gaze for a long minute before he squeezed my hands. “Thanks, Clarke.”

  From the corner of my eyes I saw Bob, studying Parker with an odd unreadable look. I squeezed back and smiled to keep my friend’s attention on me.

  “No worries, Parker. We’ll dispel any suspicion and save the wedding too. Have you seen my track record?”

  I flashed a grin I hoped was more reassuring than maniacal, standing and spreading my arms wide. “I got this. Maid of honor superpowers, activate!”

  That got a semblance of a laugh from Parker, who babbled something about needing to wake Mel so she could get her parents from the airport as he stood to leave.

>   I walked him to the door, wondering if I should try talking to Sammons or the sheriff first. Turning toward the shower, I caught a worried frown creasing Bob’s brow and dropped onto the loveseat. “I want to erase that look from your face, but something tells me you’re about to blow my attempt at a good mood all over the valley.”

  “Grant didn’t say where he was.” He let the words fall one by one, his tone flat.

  “You can’t possibly—” The rest of that stuck in my throat when Bob’s eyes met mine.

  Cold. Serious. Suspicious.

  “My God, you really do. Bob—how could you?” I croaked.

  “I asked him outright, and he went around the question.”

  “Because he was hurt that you’d even think such a thing! I would’ve done the same in his place.”

  “How about when I first told him it was Burke? He didn’t even flinch. He knew this guy, for Chrisssakes.”

  “He was in shock! Not everyone dissolves into a puddle when they hear about a tragedy.”

  Bob met my eyes and shook his head. “I’m not big on emotional outbursts myself, but you saw me this morning when you said Burke’s name. And you saw Grant when I did. Step back and consider that, and then tell me I’m wrong.”

  I shook my head hard enough to dislodge my hair from its ponytail. “I don’t have to consider anything—I know him better than that. Apparently, better than you do. Two years ago, I thought the worst of a man I saw as an egotistical ass, and you told me I was wrong. Now I’m telling you: You are wrong, chief. Grant Parker is my friend. And he might be a lot of things, but he’s no murderer.”

  “Nicey, try for some objectivity. You don’t understand. Burke—” Bob sighed and tossed his hands up when I cut him off.

  “Hated Parker. I heard you the first time. And I don’t want to hear any more of this ridiculousness—not even from you.” Especially not from him. I blinked back angry tears, striding toward the bathroom. Pausing in the doorway, I turned back and cleared my throat. “You can either get on board with clearing this mess up and saving their wedding, or you can get out. The door is unlocked.”