by Norah Wilson
“Actually, would you mind picking me up?”
“Sure.” She forced a smile into her voice, unsure of whether playing with fire was a good idea. “No problem.”
“Normally, I’d never ask a lady to be the designated driver, but—”
“But I’m no lady?”
He laughed. “I was going to say, depending how things go, I might want to have a few drinks. Keep pace for a couple of rounds.”
“Of course. The more you relax and loosen up, the more they will.”
“That’s the theory.”
“Okay. But again, these are newspaper people we’re talking about. You might have trouble keeping pace with some of them.”
He chuckled again. “Don’t worry—I won’t get sloppy drunk.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Ever see Josh drunk?”
The question caught her by surprise. “Just once. It was very funny.”
“The time he kissed you?”
“Oh, no. I mean, he’d had a few beers that evening, but he definitely wasn’t drunk.”
“So, tell me about this other time. I haven’t seen him more than pleasantly buzzed since we were about twenty-three.”
“It was kind of an accident,” she admitted. “He’d come over for a mini–Burn Notice marathon on my day off. I made rumrunners with some Cuban rum a friend brought back for me. I wasn’t drinking myself because I was taking acetaminophen for a sinus headache, and combining the two can be an invitation to liver failure.”
“I see where you’re going. You had no idea how strong the rum was?”
“Not a clue. But by the time the credits rolled after the last episode, I was sore from laughing.”
“So did you pour him into a cab and send him home?”
She snorted. “To Sylvia Stratton’s house in that condition? How heartless do you think I am? He crashed on the couch.”
There was another of those silences. Instantly, she imagined what it would be like if Boyd ever crashed at her place. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t be sleeping on her tasteful beige sofa. The thought sent sparklers of excitement erupting everywhere.
Maybe she should break her rule.
Actually, it wouldn’t even be breaking it, would it? She’d sworn not to get entangled with a man again until she was ready for the demands of a relationship. But if she got together with Boyd, it wouldn’t be an entanglement. He’d be Toronto bound the minute his investigation was over.
“So, pick me up tonight?” he said.
“Be ready at five thirty,” she said.
She’d do what she could to try to help Boyd find out more about Josh’s death.
And if he made a pass at her after he’d “relaxed” with a few drinks? For the first time in years, she had absolutely no idea how she would handle that.
The thought was as arousing as it was scary.
CHAPTER 13
Boyd liked the pub—an Irish one—immediately. Its long, narrow single-story construction made it look odd, hunkered there among taller, more modern office buildings in the busiest part of the downtown core. Inside, it was dark, packed, and noisy. Advertisements for fine Scotch whiskeys covered every available bit of wall space that wasn’t devoted to flat-screen TVs. As a casual spot to kick off the traces on a Friday night and get a start on the weekend, he gave it a thumbs-up.
“Hayden! Over here.”
Beside him, Hayden lifted a hand to wave at Grace Morgan, who’d stood up at a crowded table to flag them down. She was more casually dressed this time but was still a looker.
“Better watch it,” Hayden said dryly as they started toward the table. “Detective Morgan looks like he’s ready to march you outside.”
“What?” He gave Hayden a sidelong glance. “She’s a striking woman. Surely he’s used to men—”
“Leering at his wife?”
“I was going to say appreciating his good fortune.”
“I’m sure he is used to it. But he probably doesn’t see every man who looks her way as quite such a threat.”
Boyd frowned. When they had to stop to let a group of exiting patrons pass in the narrow space between the tables and the long bar, he took the opportunity to question her. “Did Detective Morgan see Josh as a threat?”
“Josh?” Her head whipped around. “Of course not.”
“Why not?” As he looked down at her upturned face, he almost lost the thread of his thought. She wore a tiny jean jacket buttoned over a white blouse, but because she’d left her hair loose, there wasn’t much of the jacket to be seen. Strands of glorious blonde curls fell to breast level on the front, and tumbled down her back. Her lips were slightly parted and looked so damned kissable. He forced his mind back to the topic at hand. “Grace Morgan was clearly fond of him and held him in high regard for his journalistic accomplishments. I gather they spent at least some time together, in a mentor–mentee relationship. If Ray Morgan had reason to be jealous of anyone, it would be of Josh, surely.”
The single-file exodus had passed, but instead of forging on toward the table, Hayden stood there looking at him as though he were incredibly dense.
“What?” he said.
“You two might have been identical twins, but I don’t imagine people mixed you up very often.”
“Well, one of us had to be the evil twin, right? Isn’t that how it works?”
She looked up at him, laughter in her eyes. “Not evil, just . . . edgier.”
He felt his chest expand, but he wasn’t sure whether it was the smile or the words.
“Come on,” he said. “We’d better get over there or they’ll think we’re having a moment.”
As they approached the table, Boyd saw Dave Bradley. He was seated near the end of the table with his back to the wall. Boyd would’ve liked to sit next to the guy, but short of asking someone to swap seats, that wasn’t happening. All the seats toward that end of the long table were taken.
Putting his hand on Hayden’s elbow, he subtly steered her to the opposite side of the table so he could at least observe Bradley.
She seemed to know what he wanted, sliding into the closest empty chair beside a man he recognized from his visit to the paper. What was the name? Toner? Tozer?
Boyd took the seat beside Hayden, which put him almost at the opposite end of the table from the man he wanted to study.
The man on Hayden’s left greeted her, then leaned forward to address Boyd. “Murray Totten,” he said. “Glad you could come.”
Ah, Totten. He’d known it was a T word. “Thanks for volunteering the name, man. I know we met briefly at the paper. The memory isn’t what it used to be when I first put a shield on.”
He grinned. “All that writing you guys do in those little black notebooks isn’t just for the court’s benefit, huh?”
“Exactly.”
“Yo, people,” Totten said, loudly enough to get the whole table’s attention. “Why don’t we go around the table and introduce ourselves for Boyd’s benefit.”
Everyone obliged, including Grace Morgan and her husband. The only empty seats at the table had placed them across from the Morgans. After a few comments from folks about how happy they were to have Josh’s brother and his friend join them, people resumed their conversations.
The waitress arrived, and Boyd ordered one of the Picaroons drafts Hayden had introduced him to on his first day in Fredericton. Hayden ordered a virgin Caesar.
When the waitress left, Boyd looked across the table at Morgan. “Anything new since this afternoon?”
The other man shrugged. “Still working the numbers. But I did send the forensics lab a when-can-we-have-the-results kind of query. That might speed things up, but you never know. If you ride them too hard, I suspect they find a reason to drop you down a notch—or ten—on their list of priorities.”
Bo
yd nodded. “I hear you.”
Grace leaned forward, the better to be heard over the din in the packed pub. “Hayden tells me you’re staying in Josh’s old room at Dr. Stratton’s house.”
“That’s right,” he said dryly. “And I’m guessing by the expression on your face that Josh probably told you a little about how daunting the doctor can be.”
Grace Morgan smiled warmly and it was like she’d turned on a high-watt inner light. He blinked. Ray Morgan was one lucky guy. Boyd cast a quick glance at the detective, and it was plain he knew just how fortunate he was.
An unexpected lump arose in his throat. This was what Josh had been looking for, what he’d hoped he’d find with Hayden. Josh had only talked at length about his feelings for Hayden the one time, mainly because he knew Boyd had a low threshold of tolerance for emotional talk. But it had been there in the background, every time the two of them had talked about Hayden.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, there’ve been some awkward moments. On the whole, I’d rather go into a domestic call without backup than run into her in the hallways.”
Morgan laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“And you have breakfast with her every day like Josh did, don’t you?” Hayden asked.
“That’s not so bad, actually.”
“I’d brave it for the coffee alone,” Morgan said, then exhaled sharply as his wife jabbed him. “What? It’s amazing. A special blend of organic coffee beans, freshly ground. Tell her, Boyd.”
“He’s right,” Boyd confirmed. “It is great coffee, and she puts on a good spread. I drink her fresh-squeezed orange juice and eat the free-range eggs and bask in her approval.” He shrugged.
“Josh loved those breakfasts,” Hayden added. She was smiling but blinking back tears. “There were times I told him to just crash on the couch after a movie marathon, but he usually wanted to go home. He said it was to avoid the walk of shame the next day—Sylvia would inevitably leap to the wrong conclusion. But I’m convinced he just didn’t want to risk missing out on breakfast.”
Grace laughed. “I’m sorry—forgive me. But I was picturing Josh doing his impression of Dr. Stratton looking askance at him when he walked in the door after staying out all night.”
“You mean like this?” Boyd gave his own Sylvia Stratton impression, and the two women dissolved into giggles. Even Morgan smiled.
“Joking aside, breakfast at Chez Stratton is a major perk,” Boyd said. “I’ve stayed in five-star hotels that wouldn’t measure up. And that woman is hard-core about eating organic. I think even the butter is from organically raised, grass-fed cows.”
“Did she always eat like that, I wonder,” Grace said, “or did she get into it when her husband got ill?”
“No idea,” Boyd said. “I don’t even know if the guy can eat.” He looked at Hayden.
“I have no idea either,” she said. “But if he’s not able to take food by mouth, they probably liquefy that wonderful organic food and tube-feed him. Commercial formula has its place, but it can’t hold a candle to real food, which can actually help patients heal. Whether or not Dr. Stratton switched for him, he’s very lucky to have that kind of nutrition.”
“As am I,” Boyd said. “But she seriously thinks she can have me feeling like a new man when I leave here.” He slanted a look at Morgan. “I told her it would take more than a few weeks to reverse the effects of a cop’s diet.”
“True that,” Morgan said. He leaned back in his chair, throwing his arm casually across the back of his wife’s chair. She leaned in toward him, an infinitesimal shift, but one that seemed to unite them somehow. “So, what’s she do for dinner? I’m guessing lots of salmon, greens, that kind of thing?”
“I’m on my own for everything but breakfast.” He glanced at Hayden. “Hayden has taken pity on me and kept me company for dinner a couple of times, but I’m gradually finding a few good spots.”
“Oh, where are my manners?” Grace exclaimed. “I should have invited you to dinner by now.” She glanced at Hayden. “You too, of course, Hayden.”
“Accept quickly,” Hayden advised. “Grace is an amazing cook. Better than anything you’ll find in a restaurant here, or, well, pretty much anywhere. Josh used to actively fish for invitations, I think.”
Grace laughed. “Don’t build his expectations up too high. Now that Emily is crawling, I’m not quite as ambitious in the kitchen as I used to be.”
Ray leaned closer to his wife. “Sweetheart, he’s a cop. You couldn’t possibly disappoint him, even if you were a mediocre cook, which you are not.”
Hayden concurred, and she launched into a description of some of the meals she and Josh had enjoyed at the Morgans.
Listening to her, Boyd realized that while Josh and Hayden hadn’t been frequent guests, they’d dined together a handful of times in the almost six months Josh had been in Fredericton. Plus Morgan had no doubt joined these Friday night happy hours with his wife at least occasionally. To think Boyd had once entertained the thought that Morgan might be dogging it on this investigation.
Then Hayden said something about one of Grace’s recent articles, and the two ladies were off again.
Boyd took the opportunity to look down the table at Dave Bradley. The other man was just excusing himself. As he got up and headed in the direction of what Boyd presumed was the men’s room, he excused himself and followed.
Dave Bradley looked more than surprised to see Boyd enter the washroom behind him. “Hey, Boyd,” Bradley said, an unsettled expression on his face.
“Hey, Dave.” Boyd crossed the small room to lean against the vanity between the two sets of taps.
A moment later, Dave approached the sink to wash his hands. “How’d you make out with your search for Josh’s notebook?”
“No luck.” Boyd purposely did not give ground, forcing Bradley to come closer than he was likely comfortable doing. As a tactic, it was probably pretty transparent—no one liked their personal space invaded—but he didn’t especially care. “Not so far anyway. I almost have to wonder if someone else found it sooner.”
“Someone else?” Bradley’s gaze darted away. “Like the cops, you mean?”
“If it was a cop, it must’ve been a crooked one, because Ray Morgan assures me nothing like that was logged into evidence.”
“Huh.” Bradley dried his hands and tossed the towel. Boyd noticed a level of discomfort in the other man’s demeanor.
“But I was thinking more like someone at the paper.”
Bradley’s face flushed. “Like me, you mean. That’s why you followed me in here? To quiz me about Josh’s notebook?”
“Quiz you?” Boyd unfolded his length and stood, towering over the shorter man.
“Look, I’m sorry about Josh.” For a change, Bradley met and held Boyd’s gaze. “I really am. But you’re barking up the wrong tree. I did not take Josh’s notebook. I didn’t hide it or destroy it. Hell, I’ve never even seen it, at least not that I remember.” Bradley’s gaze slid away again.
Despite his general jumpiness, there was a ring of truth to the man’s words. Which was probably why Boyd went on the offensive.
“So, what’s this about you pursuing Hayden?”
Bradley paled. “I don’t know what Josh told you, but I haven’t said a word to Hayden in months. I promised your brother I’d leave her alone and I have. I don’t know what more I can do.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Christ, the last time I had a sprained ankle, I drove myself all the way to Oromocto instead of going to the local ER, in case I caught her on duty and she took my being there the wrong way.”
“Why were you so squirrelly when I came to your office, if you had nothing to be worried about?”
“Because I took something! All right?”
Boyd kept his face expressionless. “What’d you take?”
“Pictures.” His face was s
o flushed now, he looked like he could have a heart attack. Wouldn’t that be poetic if Boyd had to call Hayden in here to work on Dave Bradley?
“Relax, man. Just take a breath, calm down, and tell me about it.”
Bradley gulped a few breaths, but he still looked like hell. “Josh took pictures of me. I was sort of following Hayden. I never meant her any harm and I’m sorry if I scared her, but I only wanted to—”
“Come on, Bradley. I’ve been a cop for a long time. I have a pretty good idea what you wanted.” Boyd’s hand itched to smack the bastard. Guys like him never saw the harm in what they did. “So Josh filmed you stalking Hayden Walsh and was holding the footage as insurance to make sure you left her alone.”
“Yes.” Bradley gulped more air. “He took pictures, mostly, but there was one video. When we got word at the paper that Josh had died and there would be a death investigation, all I could think about was someone finding that file with the pictures, the video, and Josh’s notes.”
“So you tossed his office until you found the file?”
“Yes. And I deleted it from his camera too. There was a copy on the memory card.”
“How do you know there aren’t other copies on his hard drive? Or in his Dropbox?”
He laughed, but it was a strangled, unhappy sound. “Because no one from the police department has come to talk to me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I did try to get into his laptop, but I couldn’t crack the screen saver password to get at anything.”
Boyd had had a little trouble with that himself, trying everything from childhood pets to name-and-birth-date combinations. Finally, he’d typed in HaydenWalsh, and the computer obligingly logged him in. “Then I turned up and your editor turned it over to me.”
“Yeah.” He let his breath out with a heavy sigh. “And I’ve developed an ulcer, waiting to hear they’ve wrapped up their investigation.”
“So I should feel bad for you? Is that it?” Boyd raked Bradley with his gaze. “That’s kinda what you get when you do shit like that. You’ll always be waiting for the shoe to fall.”
Bradley turned beet red. “I didn’t do anything terrible. I just liked her, you know? But when he showed me the pictures and the video . . . it looked so much worse. Much creepier.”
