From what Noah remembered, Harper knew lonely and family disconnect. Her parents died in a boating accident when she was young. The only immediate family she had was her brother and aunt and they lived out of state. A few cousins rounded out the picture. All in all, it wasn’t much.
“I hope so.” They climbed inside the car. “I’m just glad that you solved the Harriet thing with the new purchases.” He covertly watched her face as they drove off. “At least you won’t be bothered by her anymore.”
“Yeah,” she said wistfully. “There’s that.”
She didn’t look relieved.
Chapter 32
The sports agent’s office was in Chicago. Luckily, he was visiting a small high school just over the border in Ohio. A kid there had an arm that rivaled Cy Young and had the potential to go bigger with the right coach.
Harper Googled the agent and got a photo off his website. They parked at the school and headed to the field.
The line at the concession stand wasn’t long and Noah wanted food. He bought a sketchy hotdog on a stale bun and an equally stale bag of popcorn for her. Noah paid the modest fee to get in and they wandered past the fence and into the stands area.
A group of bleachers, mostly filled with supportive onlookers, watched the field. Several people at the fence shouted encouragement to the players, or in the case of one guy, called his kid worthless and an embarrassment to his family tree.
“You want to hold him down while I kick him,” Harper said. She hated negative parents. This guy helped no one by humiliating his poor kid in front of the crowd.
“You hold, I’ll kick. These are steel-toed boots.”
Both sent the father a shaming look and he flipped them off in response. Harper hoped that the son fled that jerk into college, or the pros, and never looked back.
She certainly would.
Scanning the crowd, they moved on. A few minutes later, she spotted the agent in the middle of the bleachers wearing a Cubs hat. He was a stout man with a tie tight enough to strangle his double chin, and two sweat stains under his arms.
He pulled out a stopwatch when the inning ended and the teams switched out. As Harper knew exactly zero about baseball, she assumed the new pitcher on the mound was the kid phenomenon in question. The agent focused on him as he warmed up.
“Up there.” She tipped her head up. Noah found the guy and headed that way. They took seats behind him. He was pale and trembling as if chilled on the warm day.
Instead of confronting him right away, they ate their subpar snacks and watched. The agent spoke into his phone during the first few pitches, talking in some sort of foreign baseball language that might as well be Latin.
Noah tried to explain in whispers in her ear. However, the shivers going down that side of her body, from his mouth so close to her lobe, made learning baseball speak impossible. She wanted to climb into his lap, press her face against his neck, and inhale his yummy scent.
A popcorn kernel caught in her throat and she coughed to expel it. Several parents turned to frown. The agent talked louder. Noah pounded her gently on the back.
“Should I perform the Heimlich Maneuver?”
Her scowl lost weight while swallowing the kernel with a sip of bottled water and tears rimming her eyes. “I’m going to Heimlich you with my Keds sneaker.”
Noah chuckled. “Don’t let Mignon hear you say that.”
She pulled herself together. “Mignon is starting to like me. By the end of the case, he’ll have me on his Christmas card list.”
Finishing off the hotdog, he said out of the corner of his mouth, “I wouldn’t wait by the mailbox.”
They watched the game and when the inning was over, Harper pounced. She tapped the agent on the shoulder. He turned in his seat. His Santa cheeks were sunburned.
“Excuse me, sir, but aren’t you Sherman Stiles, otherwise known as Sherman the Shark?” She got that off a few articles about the guy online. He’d been suspected of killing and eating fellow agents over stealing clients, but that was never confirmed.
“Who’s asking, honey?” He dragged a rude but appreciative ogle down her body, stopping the longest on her chest.
A rumble rose in Noah. Her grip on his arm kept him from launching the guy over the back of the twenty-foot bleacher onto the cement below.
An “I can handle this” look settled him down. If there was one thing a cheerleader learned from years of wearing skimpy costumes, it was how to deal with overheated men.
“I’m Harper Evans, formerly of the Lansing Mighty Muskrats. This is investigator Noah Slade. We need to talk to you about the death of Gerald Covington.”
Almost the entirety of her introduction seemed to go over his head. He placed a moist hand on her knee. “Please tell me you were a cheerleader.”
Of course he’d focus on that.
She bent his pinky finger backward. He whimpered and pulled free. “Geez. I was just trying to be friendly.” The reason he was called “shark” became obvious seconds later when he said with a yellowed-teeth grin, “Why don’t we discuss that corpse Covington back at my hotel? I have a hot tub and bubble bath. Swimsuits optional.”
His hand returned.
Her death grip, nails included, kept Noah seated.
“If you don’t behave,” she said in a low, even, and entirely dark tone, “and remove your hand, I’m going to snap off several fingers before you can work up a scream.”
He gaped and jerked back.
Her expression lightened. She refused to look, but it sounded like Noah choked on his tongue.
“Now, Sherman.” She released her PI. “I understand that you represent Dyshawn Hart? Is that correct?”
“That is correct.” He put his hands under his sweaty armpits where appendage removal was unlikely.
“We understand that you’re trying to renegotiate his contract,” she said. “Correct?”
“Also yes.” His upper lip was damp. “Dyshawn did not have proper representation when he signed with the Muskrats. Dyshawn’s dad also says his son was a week from turning eighteen when he signed the contract. If we can prove that, then Covington took advantage of an underage kid.”
Where his motives were out of concern for Dyshawn or greed, it didn’t matter. He had a reason to hate Gerald.
“Does Gerald’s death help your case against the team?” Noah said. Sherman dabbed his forehead on his sleeve. He looked shaky. He couldn’t be that upset about losing a couple of fingers. It wasn’t as if she’d actually do it.
“It might. It might not. I have lawyers checking everything. If there’s a hole, we’ll find it.”
Darn. So far, the man was straight forward. Still they knew he was within driving distance of the hotel during the murder. He could have easily completed the task with no one the wiser. But was he skilled enough to get in and out without being seen on video?
Harper leaned in. “Did you kill Gerald Covington?”
His red face went scarlet and he sputtered, “Of course not!” He jumped to his feet and knocked a chips and cheese dip container off his lap. Many eyes spun their way. “I didn’t kill anyone!”
Noah followed him up. “Settle d—”
Sherman eyes widened. He staggered backward, clutching his arm. Noah tried to grab him as Sherman pitched sideways, stumbling into a woman in a team jersey. She gasped as he kneed her in the back of her stadium chair.
“Ghaaaaaa,” the shark gasped and went down hard, his stout legs buckling under his bulk. He and the women hit the metal floor between the rows of seats, her muffled cries for help beneath the agent were nearly drowned out when the home team hit a home run and the crowd cheered.
“Oh shit,” Noah said and launched into action.
Chapter 33
Noah and Harper spent the next two hours making sure they hadn’t killed Sherman the Shark. Harper, un
der the guise of being his niece, found out that his widow-maker heart artery was clogged up with what looked like a solid stick of butter. Sherman had been a walking dead man.
If not for the quick intervention of a former FBI agent, he would be in the morgue with a toe tag and a Y incision across his chest.
Although the stress of being accused of murder hadn’t caused the attack, it certainly hadn’t helped. The doctor asked Harper about Sherman’s history. She admitted to not knowing and steered him toward several phone numbers she’d found on the agent’s phone during the ride to the hospital.
Before further questions were launched in her direction about next of kin and such, she claimed a stomach ache and the need for fresh air. She and Noah fled the building.
The stomach ache wasn’t a lie. She sucked at deceit.
“I’m going to hell,” Harper mumbled after they got to the car. Her eyes burned from the florescent hospital lighting.
She retrieved her hand sanitizer and scrubbed her and hands arms. Hospital germs were the worst.
“At least Gerald will be there to welcome you.”
Her lips twitched. She could always count on Noah to make an inappropriate comment to lighten the mood. “That’s not nice. Thank goodness you know CPR.”
Hooking an arm around her shoulders, he pressed a kiss on her temple. “You could look at this situation another way. We may have saved the shark. Had he been driving his car when the attack happened, he could have taken out innocent children and puppies who wouldn’t be alive today.”
She dropped the bottle in her purse and tipped her face up. “Aren’t you Mary Sunshine.”
“Hey, if the glowing globe fits—” He kissed her lips. “You always taste good.” She nudged him with her elbow when his hand slid low on her back.
“Not the time or place, Slade.”
By his expression, he conceded. Reluctantly.
“Why don’t we head back to Ann Arbor?” he said. “There’s nothing we can do here. If he is our killer, it’s unlikely he’ll be able to flee anytime soon.”
They loaded into the car and took off. There was a new whine under the hood. Harper was convinced that eventually the car would die and they’d have to push it into a ditch for burial. Then she’d owe the rental company a ghastly amount of money for failure to return the vehicle.
Not happening. She patted the dashboard. “Love you, Harvey. Just a few more days, buddy.”
Noah grunted. Ye of no faith.
The car would make it back to their lot if she had to carry the wreck to Cheap on her back.
“Do you have plans for tonight?” Noah asked. He rolled down his window when a foul smell filled the car. “You might want to pull over. I think something’s burning.”
A rest area appeared on the horizon. Harper steered onto the off ramp. Once parked, they got out. Noah popped the hood and checked the oil and radiator levels. “They’re both fine.”
He dropped to his knees and looked under the car. “Gross.”
“What did you find?”
Instead of answering, he walked over to the thick weeds on the end of the parking lot and tromped around. He finally bent and came up with a big stick. He returned, knelt, and poked at something under the frame.
Thunk.
“Is that a dead possum?” She didn’t wait to for the answer. “Gross,” she said, echoing his sentiment and pulled her shirt up over her nose. The animal was flat and way past fresh. She’d likely picked it up long after its fatal run in with another vehicle.
“Harper, come over here.” He left no room to argue. He pulled her around to the other side of the car and pointed.
Up to his eyeballs in weeds, an upraised nose sniffed the air, connected to a brown and black head, peering out from a patch of milkweed.
Not bothered at all by the presence of Noah and Harper, a coyote, skinny, mangy, and on a mission, darted out of the weeds, trotted over to the car, and bent to retrieve the possum with his sharp canine teeth.
Without pause, he lifted his road kill, spun around, and trotted out of sight.
Harper released her breath. “He didn’t even look at us.”
Noah nodded. “He wanted his lunch.” He glanced at her. “You know, being with you is one strange adventure after another.”
“Are you complaining?” She sent him a flirty glance and strolled around the car to the driver’s door.
He leaned his elbows on the roof of the rental. “Darlin’, I haven’t had this much fun in a very long time.”
Warmed by the comment, she smiled and climbed inside. “Is that why you were about to ask me out on a date before we pulled over?” The idea of having a real date with Noah both exited and terrified her. Sex, she could reconcile as a mutual sharing of pleasure. Dating seemed more like a relationship.
“I wasn’t asking you out.” His eyes filled with apology. “I’ve been trolling the society pages and Betty Anne is attending a charity event in Novi tonight. I thought we should go and scope things out.”
“Oh.” Humiliation burned her face. She shifted her attention to starting the car.
Noah nudged her arm with a knuckle. “Hey. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. There is no one I want to date more than you.”
Sex, yes. Conversation, no. She reached for the gear shift. “You don’t have to say apologize. I understand. We don’t have that kind of arrangement.”
He pulled her hand away from the shifter. Reaching behind her neck, he turned her to face him. “Once we find the killer, I’m going to ask you out to dinner, where we will have a serious conversation about where we go from there. And if you agree to give us a shot, I’ll be a happy man.”
Harper’s lids fluttered closed as his mouth settled over hers. He kissed her until she couldn’t think straight. When he lifted his head, there were no lingering doubts of his sincerity. He wanted more than sex.
Fine. But what did she want?
* * * *
Harper dug through her closet and pulled out a little red dress that she’d been saving for a special occasion. A charity event with Noah was the perfect place to dust it off. Small crystals edged the hem and bodice, giving the dress sparkle and she needed sparkle. After his comment in the car, she wanted to knock Noah’s feet out from under him.
Since his confession, she’d been feeling warm and fuzzy. Despite locking down her heart with a chain Noah couldn’t break, she just couldn’t completely shake him off.
Yes, she agreed to sex, no frills, all fun, sex. But she couldn’t quite fully give him her trust.
What if they dated, got married, and had kids? Then something crappy happened. Would Noah run for refuge with another woman? He had before. Could she take that risk?
Equal parts of her were worried, and ready, to take the next step. She so wanted to test his lovemaking skills.
With the tide turning away from her as his best suspect, Mignon was unlikely to interrupt her and Noah again. By the end of the evening, she hoped to be knee deep in the sheets with a warm and naked Noah.
After showering and flat ironing her hair for a different look, she put on makeup and a barely-there red bra and matching tiny panties. Next, she slipped into the dress and loved the feel of the satin against her bare skin.
Shoes with sparkles on the straps completed the picture. She’d just found her dress clutch when Noah arrived. She’d left the door unlocked. “You ready?” he called out.
Taking a deep breath with her hand on her chest, she walked into the living room on high heels.
Noah went still. “Wow.”
Dressed in a tux with a white shirt and bowtie, he was heart-stoppingly handsome. Not only had he shaved, but he’d had his hair trimmed. “Yeah, wow back.”
She joined him. He took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, sending tingles up her arm. Up close, he smelled spicy and
male. If not for the chance to speak to Betty Anne, and having spent too much time on her hair, she would’ve chucked their plans and taken him right to the bedroom.
Noah offered her his arm. “Is it appropriate to be very aroused right now?”
Laughing, she linked her arm through his. “I hear you.” She steered him to the door before she lost her resolve to behave. Going with an attempted baseball analogy, she said, “You’re pitching pheromones that I’m catching.”
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.
The Sweetheart Mystery Page 18
