by Renee George
They had interviewed the entire cast of the play, but no crew. There wasn’t a statement from Brady or from Taylor Thompson. I read over Sabrina’s account. She said she hadn’t spoken to Evelyn during rehearsal and after, she picked her son up from a friend’s house. The friend’s parents corroborated that she had picked up Josh at six-forty-five. They noted the time because they were getting ready to go out to dinner.
Did Sabrina have an alibi after all?
Milo Greene, who’d agreed to talk to me at three today, had said he’d left and went straight home. He hadn’t seen Evelyn again after that. His wife didn’t get home from her parents until after eight, so he had no alibi for the time in between rehearsal and eight p.m.
Sunny had gone to the courthouse. Her and Babe had gone home together to relieve the babysitter. After Ruth phoned Sunny for the community center key, she came back into town early. Alibi.
Eldin Farraday went home to shower, and only returned to town after the sheriff called him to help work the crime scene. No alibi.
Roger Parks said he took Michele home and ran errands after, but no one saw him to corroborate his statement. Freaking punk. No alibi.
Michele went home to babysit Linus since her dad worked late and her mom was having a girl’s night. Alibi.
Billy Bob, who was apparently playing the ghost, had skipped rehearsals because of a house call. Patient backed his account. Alibi.
Oh, and this was interesting, and it added to the timeline. Evelyn had called Bob Winston, the manager of the community center, demanding that he let her into the community center to retrieve her fruit. He said, she hadn’t made a lot of sense, but the woman was scary, so he did what she asked. That had been at six-twenty. That solved the case of how she got in there if Sunny locked it. Michele must have tried the doors to get her phone between six and before Evelyn showed back up around six-fifteen.
Lastly, I read Jo Jo Corman’s statement. He went home after rehearsals. He said he had dinner with his dad and didn’t leave his house the rest of the evening. Brady corroborated Jo Jo’s account. I worried my lower lip between my teeth. Brady had been awfully worried for Jo Jo after I told him about Evelyn’s murder. Hmmm. Alibi. Big question mark.
“Damn it.” I set the files down.
“Find something?” Tyler asked.
“No,” I lied. I had to find out why Brady was afraid for Jo Jo. Afraid enough to lie for him. I didn’t see the kid as a murderer, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t. I can’t tell you how many people over the years I’ve interviewed that said things like, I would have never suspected, he was always a nice guy, etc., etc. If Jo Jo was guilty, I’d have to turn him in. Maybe he had a good reason for killing Evelyn Meyers, but there was no way a therian court would look past the staged body.
Shit, shit, and more shit.
Chapter Thirteen
I texted Brady and asked him if he wanted to meet me for lunch. He said he was starting a bathroom addition for a client, but he could get away for an hour around one-thirty, did I want to meet at his house?
My fingers shook as I texted yes. I knew I’d be cutting it close to my scheduled meeting with Milo Greene, but I had a feeling Brady would be asking me to leave before the hour was up.
I grew queasy on the drive out to his house. How in the world could I ask him about Jo Jo without sounding like I was accusing him of aiding and abetting a criminal? I didn’t want to believe the kid could kill and then pin Evelyn to a wall. I didn’t get that vibe, but I had seen how angry he’d gotten at the rehearsals. What if Jo Jo had a temper that he’d been able to hide from everyone—everyone except his dad.
Blowing up my love life before it even had time to sprout legs was not how I’d imagined my week going. At all.
I pulled into Brady’s gravel drive, rocks crunching under my tires. Apprehension filled me until I thought I’d explode anxiety all over the dashboard.
Pull yourself together, Wilhelmina Boden. This was not me. This was not how I behaved. I’d become the head security officer for the Tri-State Council because I knew how to separate my personal life from work.
Yeah, said my inner voice. But, as Ruth pointed out, you never cared about your personal life before now.
I wanted to yank out my stupid inner voice and strangle it. Mostly because it was right.
Brady opened his front door and smiled at me. He wore a white t-shirt that hugged his broad chest, and a pair of jeans that made me purr. My stomach dropped. I didn’t really need to know what he was hiding about Jo Jo, did I?
I had to remind myself that a woman was dead. The killer was the bad guy, not me. I had to follow the lead even if it meant losing my shot with Brady.
However, nothing said I couldn’t ease into the implication that Jo Jo was suspect number one at this point. I turned off the engine and got out of the truck.
“Hi,” I said. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” I inwardly groaned as more IQ points slipped away.
Brady chuckled. He tilted his head, gazing at me in a way that reminded me of my neighbor’s pooch when the dog found something curious. It was adorable. “I’m frying up some hamburgers. How do you take yours?”
“Medium rare.”
“Good, that’s the way I like mine, too. I can take them out of the pan at the same time.”
“Nice.” An unnatural giddiness welled up inside me as I followed into the house. Finally, I’d get to see his home. The smell of juicy beef, sautéed onions, and garlic perfumed the living room. “It smells fantastic.” The couch and chair were light blue chenille, and as I got closer, I detected the scent of detergent. The furniture had been recently cleaned. I reached down and touched the carpet. Damp. It had been shampooed. An old entertainment stand, full of scratches and scuff marks had been wiped down with lemon oil. Pictures of Jo Jo from infant until he was about seven years old filled one wall. My heart sunk when I saw the family portrait: Brady, Rose Ann, and baby Jo Jo. They’d been a happy family before tragedy struck. It was the only picture of Rose Ann out in the open. I wondered if he kept the rest in his bedroom like a shrine.
Brady stepped out of the kitchen. “Burgers are ready. I hope you brought an appetite.”
“I never leave home without it.” I pushed aside my morbid thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Satisfy hunger first, curiosity second, and third, ruin my shot with Brady.
He placed the burgers on sweet buns that he’d buttered and grilled. We sat a square dinner table with a slit in the middle for a leaf. There was a high back chair on each side, and two against the far wall. Mustard, catsup, mayo, pickles, sliced tomatoes, and sliced onions were already on the table.
Brady’s kitchen was far bigger than I expected. “You could put my whole living room and kitchen in your kitchen,” I said.
“Rose Ann insisted on a large kitchen. Some people don’t like company when they cook, but she loved having company around.” He blinked at me. “Does it bother you if I talk about her?”
“No. Not at all.” Maybe. She was his past, but it wasn’t like he’d divorced her. If she’d lived, they would probably still be together. In that context, it was hard not to feel a little jealous. “I’d like to know more about you, about your life. She had a big part in shaping who you are today. I can’t be mad about that. I think you’re pretty great.”
“I think you’re pretty great, too.”
“Now that we’ve started our mutual admiration club let’s get down the serious business of digging into these yummy burgers.” I fixed my burger with mayo and catsup, pickles, and tomato. My taste buds exploded with the first bite. Every bit of the burger was seasoned to perfection, and the sweet-salty roll had me salivating for more. I debated for a minute whether it was better than an orgasm.
Nah. But it was a close second.
“Damn it, man, this is a fucking awesome hamburger.” My mouth was still full, and a piece of bun fell onto my plate. Embarrassed, I picked it up and crammed it into my mouth.
He watched me fr
om the other side of the table, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. “You eat the way you interrogate suspects. Aggressively. It’s sexy.”
I choked on a laugh, and another piece of burger escaped my mouth. “Don’t make me laugh,” I said. “Not while I’m eating. I take my food very seriously.”
“I can tell.” He stood, picked up his napkin, leaned across the table, and wiped the corner of my mouth.
“Am I drooling?” Because, whoa baby, with Brady this near, drooling was a distinct possibility.
“No drool. Just some mayo.” He sat back down.
“I’m not fit to be around civilized people.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not civilized.”
I snorted. “Right. You were the mayor of this town, and before that, you practiced law. It doesn’t get much more civilized than that.”
His expression grew serious. “And I lived in the bottom of a liquor bottle for almost ten years after that. Being a lawyer. A leader. Those days are over for me.” Brady rubbed his chin. “I don’t know why I said all that. It’s called Alcoholics Anonymous for a reason.”
“How long have you been sober?”
“If I make it, I’ll get my two-year chip in August.”
I set my burger down on my plate. “Why wouldn’t you make it?”
“Some days are worse than others, but stopping didn’t make the urge go away.”
“My dad was straight-laced my whole life. I never even saw him drink a beer, let alone any kind of hard liquor. I’d experimented with drinking briefly, but I didn’t enjoy feeling out of control.” I poked a finger in the top of my bun, unable to meet Brady’s gaze. “I guess I’m telling you this, so you understand just how little I know about what it means to be an alcoholic. I know it’s an addiction, but I won’t pretend to know how you feel or what it takes to keep you sober.” I glanced up from my plate, his amber eyes piercing me with their intensity. “Am I a problem? Does being around me make you want to drink?”
“Yes,” he said. “And no.”
“You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”
Brady got up and walked around to my side of the table. He knelt next to my chair and placed his hand on my knee. “When I met you last June, my worst fears were being realized. I’d already lost Rose Ann, and I’d almost managed to lose my son. I wanted nothing more that morning than to crawl into a vat of whiskey and drown myself. After it was over, I wanted to drink.” He shook his head. “I attended an AA meeting every night for two weeks before I could get my head straight enough to function. But once I got there, all I could think about was the ballsy redhead who’d offered me a cup of coffee on a really dark day.”
I pressed my palm to Brady’s cheek. He closed his eyes briefly and leaned into my touch. When he opened his eyes, he smiled. “I couldn’t get you out of my head. It drove me crazy.”
“I have that effect on people.”
Brady turned his face and kissed my palm. “Well, thinking about you like that made me want to drink even more. Though to be fair, some days all it takes is a bad weather forecast to get me there.” He took my hand with his and interlaced our fingers. “You see, I’d been mourning my wife for two years. The guilt I felt about doubting her, for believing rumors about her, and to find out...” He closed his eyes again as he remembered the pain. “I held on to the grief. I made a promise to a ghost, a promise I mean to keep, and my guilt kept me sober. But when I think of you, the grief ebbs, I forget the remorse for a second, but when I remember, man, when I remember, that’s when it really hits me.”
“I’m not trying to take her place in your life.”
“I know, but in some ways, I felt like I was trying to replace her in my life with you. Which is not your fault. You hadn’t done anything but bring me a cup of coffee.”
I turned in my seat, and Brady positioned himself between my legs, his forearms resting on my thighs. The conversation, while decidedly not sexy, did not mar my libido’s reaction to him at all.
He reached around my back, his hand sliding up my spine until he cupped the back of my head. I moved with him, our lips meeting in a press of mutual desire. “I don’t want to mess you up. I don’t want to make your life worse,” I murmured.
He smiled and leaned back so I could see his face. “That’s just it. You don’t make things worse. Not anymore. I think that’s what scared me back in October. When we kissed, it felt right. I forgot what it was like to be...”
As he groped for a word, I supplied the one Ruth had used. “Happy.”
He smiled. “Yeah, happy.”
“Does it feel weird making out in Rose Ann’s kitchen?”
He laughed. “This hasn’t been her kitchen for a long time, but yes, maybe a little.”
“So, maybe we should just eat lunch for right now.” I eased away from Brady.
He sat back on his haunches. “Did I ruin this?”
“You haven’t ruined a thing.” But he had given me a lot to think about. “I just don’t want this delicious food going to waste.” Our luncheon had turned into true confessions, and since I’d already killed the mood, I decided to ask the hard questions. “So, Billy Bob thinks Evelyn’s murder took place between six-fifteen and seven o’clock.” I blew out a breath. “Do you believe your son was involved?”
Brady’s expression flattened and stood up abruptly. “I know my son. He didn’t have anything to do with this.”
Brady returned to his chair. He stared at his hamburger but didn’t pick it up. Well, he’d lost his appetite. Good job, Willy. And all that talk of staying off booze haunted me now. Would my questions push him over the edge? I had to believe Brady was stronger than that.
“You thought differently two nights ago, right? Talk to me,” I said softly. “Maybe I can help, whatever the truth is.”
He glanced at me, his expression pained. “I want to, Willy. I really do.”
“You can trust me.”
“Can I? You’re the Tri-State Council investigator. You can’t withhold evidence from the investigation, can you?” He studied my face. “That’s what I thought. You don’t have to hide what you don’t know.”
As I watched his facial expressions run the gambit of emotions, I was suddenly struck with an epiphany. I would keep his secrets. If Brady wanted me to, I would lie. I would withhold. I would do anything necessary to keep him from feeling one more moment of pain. What was wrong with me? Why did Brady affect me this way? I didn’t know. These kinds of emotions were new, not to mention this strange resolve to protect Brady and his son.
“Nothing stays hidden for long,” I said. “It’s better to get out in front of the problem before it becomes too big to reconcile. If Jo Jo didn’t have anything to do with Evelyn’s murder, let’s prove it.” I reached across the table and took his hand. “Tell me the truth, Brady. I’ll keep Jo Jo safe. I swear it.”
Brady gripped my hand. “He came home around nine o’clock. He had blood on his shirt and pants. His right hand was swollen and bruised. He’d been in some kind of tussle.”
“So, he lied to the police.” Jo Jo said he’d gone right home after rehearsal and didn’t leave the house.
“He asked me to cover for him, so I did.” His jaw tightened. “He’s my son.”
“I understand.” I squeezed his hand. “Did you clean the furniture and floors to hide evidence?”
Brady’s eyes widened, and a sly, embarrassed smile crossed his lips. “Christ, no. That was for your benefit. I cleaned last night hoping you might stop by. This house has had two men living in it exclusively for over a decade. I couldn’t get all the stains out of the sofa, but cushions turn.”
I snorted a laugh. “I’ll buy that.” I paused. “Did you ask Jo Jo what happened?”
“I did. He told me he didn’t want to talk about it. That night, after you told me about Evelyn, I asked him if he had anything to do with it. He told me he didn’t. I believe him. Whatever Jo Jo got himself into earlier in the evening, killing that woman wasn’t
part of it.”
I nodded. “I believe you. And him.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Evelyn had no defensive marks. No sign of a real struggle. The blood from the sword was minimal since the puncture happened when her circulatory system had been completely compromised, and she was close to death. Other than that, she had no open wounds. Where ever Jo Jo got that blood and those bruises, it wasn’t in the process of killing the town jerk.”
The burden of worry eased from his eyes. “I can live with that.” He got up again and rounded the table to me. He picked me up with an ease that made me giggle and kissed me soundly. We made out like two love-sick yet virginal teens with a lot of over-the-clothes petting. I had to admit, the anticipation excited the shit out of me.
When we finally came up for air, Brady asked, “Can I take you out again tonight?”
“Absolutely.” I looked at the clock on the microwave. It said it was two-forty-eight. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
My appointment with Milo Greene was at three o’clock. “Shoot! I have to get to the bank.”
Chapter Fourteen
Driving while horny should be illegal. I found myself constantly distracted by shivers and tingles from memories of Brady’s mouth on mine, his hands on my body, and his sexy groans as he smooshed his jean-clad parts against me. So much so, I missed the turn to the bank and had to go up another block to turn around.
I rushed inside, already a few minutes late. There was a receptionist behind a circular desk on the right-hand side as I entered. To the left, there was a long counter with four openings but only three tellers. I noted the three offices. Two were for loan officers, and the third had Milo Greene’s name on it.
The receptionist, a woman named Sally with nutmeg hair in an A-line cut, stretched her lips into a tired smile. “Can I help you?”
