One Wrong Move, page 20
“Thanks.” She needed copious amounts after tossing all night.
“You sleep okay?” he asked.
“Not really,” she answered honestly.
“Me either. Too much happening.”
“Too much?” Was he referring to the case or the kiss?
“We have a target on us. And having to constantly cover our backs makes it hard to focus on the case itself.”
“Agreed.” She held her mug with both hands, warmth seeping through the ceramic.
“Let me grab you a roll, and we can go over our day.”
“Sounds good. They smell yummy.”
“They’re just the Pillsbury ones, but I like them.” He plated one for her and set it at the high-top kitchen table.
She took a seat opposite him and took a bite. “Delicious,” she said, licking a streak of icing from her finger. “Where should we start our interviews today?” He knew everyone in town. She knew no one. Best to let him pick the order.
“I think our first interview should be with Sarah Basinger.”
“Okay. Why? I’m good with whatever you think, but just curious why her?”
“Because she was the town librarian for nearly four decades.”
“The town librarian.” She wasn’t tracking the connection. “I’m guessing she was at the gala?”
“Oh yes. She attends every function in town. Knows everyone and everything.”
That explained it. “So she’s the town gossip?”
“In a way, yes,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“In a way?”
“Sarah knows all, and I mean all, but she’s judicious about who she shares the snippets of knowledge with. She doesn’t gossip just to gossip. She’s more like a news cable dispensing critical information to those who need it.”
“She sounds interesting,” Andi said before taking another bite of her roll. It melted in her mouth. “These are seriously amazing.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like them.”
“Sorry for getting off topic. You were telling me about Sarah.”
“She’s a fascinating lady and has done so much. She rafted the Grand Canyon while camping out along the way, hiked the Appalachian Trail—the full trail by herself—and even went skydiving not so long ago.”
“That’s amazing. So if she was the librarian for four decades, how old is she?”
“Eighty-three. She retired about ten years back.”
“Wow, and she still attends every town function?”
“And walks three miles every day. I see her every morning when I’m headed to the office.”
“Since you live so close to Jeopardy Falls and it’s such a cool town, why is your office in Santa Fe? More people, more traffic going by it?”
“Greyson moved the office from Tucson to Santa Fe, and when he sold it to Deckard, he decided he wanted to keep it out of our town, away from our ranch. Some of the people we work for are . . .”
He couldn’t be about to say “less than savory,” as she couldn’t picture any of them taking on those types of clients. Not now that she had spent time with them—even Deckard MacLeod, of all people. Funny the difference a day or two could make.
“Sometimes,” he continued, “the people we work with have others who want to harm them or keep something hidden, even come to the office to threaten us to back off.”
“I imagine that doesn’t go over well.”
“Nah. Riley gives them heck.”
She laughed. “I can see that.” She speared a forkful of cinnamon roll. “She and Greyson are funny together.”
“Yeah.” He shook his head and smiled. “It’s like an older, refined brother and a wild, barrel-racing younger sister. Polar-opposite personalities. They’re usually the ones running the office, when she’s not skip tracing.”
“I wouldn’t have called Riley being a skip tracer.”
“Yeah,” he said, setting his coffee cup down. “It comes from us hiding as kids. She knows how those who are hiding think, and she’s super talented at tracking them down.”
“Sounds like it.”
“She also helps people get lost,” he added, pushing his empty plate to the side.
“Like WITSEC?”
“More like abused women, women escaping sex trafficking, that type of thing.”
“Wow. That’s so cool. You all are uniquely talented, but the one I’m curious about is Greyson. I just got this mysterious vibe from him at dinner last night.”
“Greyson is the most generous man I know, and he excels at everything he does. He took Deckard on when he was just starting out, gave him a job, taught him everything . . . Well, probably not everything, knowing Greyson. Then he decided he wanted to slow things down, so he sold the firm to Deckard.”
“And stayed on in the support role.”
He nodded.
“Intriguing.”
“That’s a good word for him.” Christian chuckled.
“I best go get ready,” she said, hopping down and carrying her plate to the sink.
“I’ll take care of the dishes. You get ready, and I’ll run you through the rest of the interviews on our list for today.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
■ ■ ■
Andi settled in the passenger seat, smiling at the quaint town of Jeopardy Falls as they drove through it.
“Sarah lives just a few minutes away,” Christian said, “but would you like to grab some fuel for the day? Java Joe’s is right around the corner, and they have the best nitro brew.”
“Yum. Yes, please.”
His cell rang as he pulled up. “Deckard,” he said, glancing at the phone screen.
“Why don’t I run in and grab our drinks while you talk?” she offered.
“Great. I’ll take a nitro cold brew black. Thanks,” he said.
“You got it.”
Ten minutes later, she exited the shop, the burgeoning wind whipping the hair about her face.
Christian hopped out and opened the door for her. “Thanks.”
She climbed inside, and he followed suit.
“How’s everything with Harper and Deckard?”
“Good, they’re heading out for their first interview.”
The thought of Deckard MacLeod on her case still seemed so surreal.
Christian looked over and gave her hand a squeeze before pulling out. “If anyone can find the truth, it’s Deck. You’re in good hands.”
She prayed he was right.
He arched a brow. “You don’t look convinced.”
“It’s just new to me, and . . .”
“And?”
“My DNA testing put Mitch Abrams at the crime. Deckard believed him innocent and got him off. I don’t see how the two can both be right.”
“That’s a good point,” Christian said, finally having a clear opening to reverse out of the lot. He shifted into drive and headed back up the hill they’d come down. “Shortcut to Sarah’s.” He then slowed to wait for kids riding their bikes on the neighborhood roads to move to the side.
“I always loved riding my bike. Just something freeing about it.”
“Yeah, I never learned.”
She dipped her head, feeling awful she’d brought up something that made perfect sense he wouldn’t have been able to do. “I’m sorry. I . . .”
“All good.” He shrugged. “Just never took the opportunity. I can ride a motorcycle and a horse. Just never tried a bike,” he said as he pulled in the driveway of a caramel-colored adobe home. He shifted the Equinox into park and cut the ignition.
“We have to rectify that when this case is over,” she said, sliding closer to him. “I know the perfect place, and we can take a picnic with us.”
He squeezed her hand again. “That sounds perfect.” He tilted his head and cupped her face.
Without thinking, she leaned into him, and he placed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that all morning,” he whispered, kissing her again. She got lost in the feel of his lips on hers, his breath mingling with hers.
He pulled back just enough to break the kiss.
Come back.
“I wasn’t sure . . . if . . . how . . .” he murmured.
She slipped her hair behind her ear. “How things would be this morning? If we were . . .” she said, nudging him along.
“Moving forward?” he said.
“Yeah.” She held her breath. Please say yes.
He caressed her cheek. “I hope so with all my being.” He leaned back in, his hand slipping behind her neck, his fingers running through her hair.
“Are you two going to sit and canoodle all day in my driveway?” a woman said.
Andi flung back, her eyes opening wide. She looked over at the elderly woman standing in front of the car, one hand on her hip, a smirk on her lips.
Oh sheesh. She’d been so caught up in Christian, she’d forgotten they were in someone else’s driveway.
He gave a we-got-caught smile and hopped out of the car. “Sorry, Mrs. Basinger.”
He moved around to open Andi’s door.
“No need to say sorry. Come on inside. I’ve made tea.”
Andi tilted her head. “How’d you know we were coming?”
“When you get this age, you know everything, Miss Forester.”
Andi looked at Christian. Apparently, she did know everything. Andi smiled. She had a good feeling they just might get a nugget of a clue they desperately needed to move the case forward.
FORTY-EIGHT
CHRISTIAN FOLLOWED MRS. BASINGER around her front walk, Andi beside him.
Mrs. Basinger opened her bright blue door front door that she’d painted with bright red and yellow tulips.
“Come in, dears.” She moved to offer them passage. “Have a seat in the front room and I’ll get us some tea.”
“That’s kind but not necessary, Mrs. Basinger,” Christian said.
She turned on him, her face pinched in an expression of scolding. “What do I keep telling you, young man?”
“Sarah,” he said with a nod.
“Better.” She smiled, then turned toward her kitchen, her multicolored yoga pants and bright purple shirt bringing a smile to his lips. So full of life and character.
Andi sat on the loveseat facing the front window, sunlight spilling through the upper panes as the still-cool wind danced through the open lower screen.
He strode over and took a seat beside her.
“Now,” Sarah said, carrying a wobbling tray toward the coffee table in front of them.
He hopped to his feet.
“Don’t you dare,” she said before he could take a step.
“I was just going to help.”
“And I appreciate it,” Sarah said, “but I’m perfectly capable.”
He hesitated as the tray shook in her hands.
Sarah arched her narrow brows higher, and without another word he sat.
Andi smothered a giggle beside him, and it brought a smile to his face.
“Now,” Sarah said, finally setting the tray on the table. She lifted a sloshing pitcher of tea. “Who would like a glass?”
“I’d love one. Thank you,” Andi said, and Christian followed suit.
Once they both had a drink and a biscochito cookie in hand, Sarah took a seat in the armchair across from them.
“How can I be of help?” she asked. “I heard you two are investigating the heist sprees going on.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Christian cleared his throat at Sarah’s disapproving glance. “Sarah.”
“Could you tell us about the gala?” Andi asked.
“What about the gala, specifically?”
“She likes questions to be specific and concise,” he whispered under his breath to Andi.
Andi nodded and redirected her attention to Sarah. “What time did you arrive?”
“At half past eleven.”
“So a half hour before it ended?” Andi said.
“Yes, dear.” Sarah lifted a biscochito to her mouth painted rose with lipstick and took a delicate bite, then swallowed and wiped her mouth with one of the navy cocktail napkins she’d brought on the gold serving tray. “Let me guess, dear. You were assuming I arrived at the start and left early?”
Andi’s lashes fluttered again. “I . . .”
“Oh, no harm, dear.” Sarah smiled. “It’s only natural to assume a woman of my maturity would be home early and off to bed, but I think the end of the party is when the real party begins.” She lifted her hand to her chest. “Oh, I don’t participate.” She laughed. “The look on your face . . .”
Andi’s cheeks flushed pink.
“I don’t go in for all that carrying on, but at that late hour of a gala—or let’s just call it what it was at that hour, a party—that’s when you see who’s really who.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Andi said. “But it does make sense.”
“It’s like having the best seats to a show. It’s how I know so much.” She winked at Christian.
He mushed his lips together to hide a smile. Sarah Basinger was such a character.
“And did you see anything noteworthy?” Andi asked.
“Now you’re asking the right questions, dear,” Sarah said, sitting back and crossing her legs. Her bright floral yoga pants against the geometric upholstery made for one funky pattern. Sarah had been a renowned painter before rheumatoid arthritis had stolen her delicate painting skills, but she’d taken to bigger projects like the front door or the mural on the back of her house. She had the best attitude—one he greatly admired.
“I don’t know if it’s noteworthy in the truest sense of the term, but . . .” Sarah leaned forward as if about to impart a secret just between her and Andi. “I did see a woman I didn’t recognize get out of a black sedan. Well, it was dark . . . so a dark sedan.”
Right about the time their mystery woman showed up on camera.
“Did she have long, dark hair?” Andi asked, leaning forward too.
“No . . . and then yes.” Sarah smiled.
Christian blinked.
“I don’t follow,” Andi said.
“I saw a woman with spiky blonde hair step out of the passenger seat of the car. Then whoever was driving yelled at her and threw a wig out the window. She put it on. A long, dark one.”
Andi looked at him, her eyes alight. If he didn’t know better, he’d say with mischief. “Our mystery woman.”
“Were you able to see her face?” Andi asked, excitement bubbling in her voice.
Christian held his breath until Sarah answered. This could be the break they needed.
“Oh my. Yes. But I didn’t expect such excitement over it.”
“Thus far, you’re the only one to remember seeing her face,” Andi explained.
“Well, I suppose I was the only sober one at that hour. Most were walking around in a haze or laughing stupor,” she said.
“Could we take you to the station to work with the sketch artist?”
“No,” Sarah said.
“No?” Christian frowned.
“Oh, I’ll go and do it, but there’s no need for you two to take me. You have plenty on your hands, and I’m sure more people to interview. I can see myself down the handful of blocks just fine.”
Christian looked to Andi. Might the danger spill over to Sarah? Andi nodded. “Sarah, I think we—”
“Don’t say it again, young man. Thugs don’t scare me.” Andi’s eyes widened as the sweet lady continued. “If there comes a day I can’t walk the streets of this town on my own, it may as well be my last.”
“Okay then. Well, thank you,” Christian said, as Sarah got to her feet.
“It’s no trouble. Would it also help to know the license plate of the car she arrived in?”
■ ■ ■
After an unhelpful stop at the home of two gala attendees who reluctantly admitted they didn’t remember anything after the first hour of the gala, Christian and Andi planned their next step parked back outside of Java Joe’s over a second nitro and a couple of glazed doughnuts.
Once again, Christian’s cell rang. “O’Brady.” It was good that information was coming in, but he was hoping for a few quiet moments with Andi, and perhaps another world-shaking kiss.
“It’s Joel,” his friend said on the other line.
“Hey, Joel. Let me put you on speaker so Andi can hear, if that’s all right?”
“Of course,” Joel said.
Christian switched the call to speaker and turned the volume fully up for the sheriff. “You’re a go,” Christian said.
Joel cleared his throat. “I just wanted to let you know that Sarah was able to give us a full description that led to a detailed sketch. We’ve got it running on the news now.”
“And the license plate number she remembered?” Andi asked.
“We traced it to a car stolen out of a parking garage downtown. Owner reported it missing that same night, and a patrol car found it abandoned across town. We’ve asked Santa Fe CSI to run it for prints. I doubt we’ll get anything useful, but I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks, Joel.”
“You two have any luck?”
“Beyond Sarah’s help, no. But we’re heading to Brad Melling’s house. Maybe we’ll garner some interesting information there. There’s certainly no love lost between him and Gaiman.”
“You think he could have been involved?” Joel asked.
“He’s one of the top suspects,” Andi said.
“Oh?” Joel asked.
“He had a strong motive for wanting to get back at Gaiman, which puts him near the top of my list,” Andi answered.
“Who else is up there?” Joel asked. “Curious if we’re on the same wavelength.”
“Brad Melling, Veronica Gaiman, and Tad, of course.”
“You think he robbed his own gallery? I mean, I know that happens, but Tad seems so squirmish.”
“I don’t trust Tad as far as I can throw him. I can’t explain it, but there’s something unsettling there,” she said.
“Well, keep me posted,” Joel said. “And I’ll return the courtesy.”
“Of course,” Christian said, then ended the call. He glanced over at Andi and smiled.
“What?” She furrowed her brow.
“Nah. It’s just the first time I’ve heard you go by your gut.”
