High School Reunion (13 page)

Cade acknowledged the newspaper editor with a nod. “Dave, thanks for staying and taping the interviews. You know not to tell anyone what you heard.”

“Sure thing, Cade. Want me to leave the camera?”

He looked at Laurel who shook her head. “I think we’ve talked to everyone.”

“You know, I never did see Kathy Adler,” Dave said.

Laurel scanned her list. “No, but her husband said she’d gone home.”

“Okay.” Dave yawned. “See you tomorrow.”

After he left, Cade turned to Laurel. “What do you think about Kathy disappearing?”

She shook her head. “You saw her. She was already tipsy at the beginning of the party. In that state I don’t think she could have overpowered Debra and strangled her. But we definitely need to talk to her as soon as possible.”

“So what about the others?” Laurel rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “You know, any of our usual suspects could have killed Debra.”

Cade bit off a curse. “What do you mean?”

“The DJ lowered the lights once the dancing started.”

“Yeah,” he said. He remembered being glad the lights were dim while he was holding her in his arms on the dance floor. That memory stirred his libido and he had to force his gaze away from the delicate shadow between her breasts.

“Everybody seems to have developed night blindness. Not a single person remembered any of our suspects being in the room during that time.”

“Langston?”

She shook her head. “Swears he never left the room. But he wouldn’t name anyone specific he was with. The only time I remember seeing him is when he was dancing with Kathy. I was deliberately watching people and I can’t tell you whether anyone disappeared before I left to meet Debra.”

“What about the couples? Didn’t they vouch for each other?”

“Sure. Most of the guests didn’t seem to have a clue what was going on. But our usual suspects were careful not to implicate anyone—or alibi anyone. So we have no witnesses. The only one who has an airtight alibi is Debra’s husband. He was in a conversation with the DJ about music during the time she was killed.” She rubbed her temples again. “All we have to rely on is physical evidence.”

“Well, we may have solved one mystery.”

“Really? What?”

“Debra was missing a fake fingernail.”

Laurel sat up straight. “A French nail?”

He frowned and shrugged.

“They have white tips,” she said. “Like the one I found in my room.”

“I don’t know. I already gave it to the ME.”

“Which hand?”

“Right.”

Laurel shook her head. “I can’t believe it was Debra who broke into my room.”

“Is it easier to believe she could knock Misty out and leave her there?”

“No. I can’t imagine her doing
anything
sneaky or violent. Not to mention the skill it would have taken to pick that lock at the B&B.”

The bed-and-breakfast—of course. “Hang on a minute,” he said. “Maybe she didn’t have to break in. Holder is Fred’s brother-in-law. I’d forgotten that. Fred’s sister died several years ago, but Debra could have gotten a key from her uncle.”

“Well, we’ll know when we get the ME’s photos. You did tell him to photograph the hand with the missing nail, didn’t you?”

“I went one better. I got some instant shots. I keep a camera in my pickup.”

“You took pictures?”

She didn’t have to look so surprised that he’d followed basic procedure and taken crime-scene photos. He opened his mouth but she obviously read the irritation on his face.

“Sorry. Of course you did.”

He pulled the small stack of photos out of his shirt pocket.

Laurel took them. As she spread them out on the table he stepped behind her and leaned over. When he did, her evocative gardenia scent assaulted his nostrils. Damn, did she have to smell so good? Forcing himself not to press his nose against her hair, he pulled back an inch or so.

“There’s the shot of her hand.” He pointed over her shoulder. “I need to get a digital camera, but right now this is the best I can do.”

“It’s good enough. Her nails are pink, not French.”

“I thought you said they all had the French ones.”

“They did. Debra must have had hers redone sometime today.” She sat back and her hair brushed Cade’s cheek. Gardenias whirled around his head, just like when he and she were dancing. He straightened and stepped away. Another few seconds and he’d be looking for a cold shower. He cursed under his breath. He had to do something to stop this ridiculous and extremely inconvenient physical attraction to her.

He spoke through gritted teeth. “So it could still be hers. I guess she’d have to redo them if she lost one?”

She sighed. “We have to rely on the DNA.” She gathered up the photos and handed them back to him.

He nodded toward the video camera. “Any decent info on that thing? An eyewitness? A confession?” He was kidding—sort of.

She sent him an ironic glance. “At least three people tol
d me in strictest confidence that George Honeycutt is having an affair. Nobody knows who with, and everybody is sure Debra knew about it.”

“What did Honeycutt say?”

Laurel squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “He seemed genuinely broken up. In shock. Almost as devastated as her dad.”

“Yeah, I talked to Fred while the ME was working on her. He said she’d been upset about something. When he asked her about it, she told him everything was okay, that she was stressed out about the upcoming reunion.”

“I asked George if she’d seemed upset or worried and he said she was always upset about one thing or another.”

“Did you ask him about Ann Noble?”

She nodded. “He seemed shocked. Said he barely knew her. He appeared to be telling the truth.”

“I’ll check with Fred. He never liked his son-in-law. He always complained that George was too controlling.”

“Controlling?”

“According to him, George didn’t want Debra to leave the house at all without him.”

“That could be ominous. Makes me wonder how she managed to get away during the party. We should go over his interview together. His answers were pat. Maybe too pat. I want to study his body language.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “How is Fred holding up? I only saw him for a few seconds.”

“She was his only child. Her mother died a few years ago.”

“Poor Fred.”

Cade assessed Laurel. She looked like she was about to collapse. Her hands were shaky and her face was pale.

“Speaking of holding up—what about you?”

Laurel’s jaw tightened and she looke
d down at her hands. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have let Debra go out there by herself. I should have insisted that we meet before the party, or made her talk to me on the phone.”

“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. You can’t blame yourself. She must have told someone that she was meeting you.”

“Or someone saw her leave and followed her. I heard footsteps running past me just before I tripped over her body.”

“Yeah, I heard them, too.”

“Did you see anything?”

“It was too dark. But it sounded like a man. Too much noise for a woman.”

“So what next? Roust Kathy out of bed and grill her?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything else we can do tonight. You haven’t had a full night’s sleep since you got here. I say we turn in and start fresh in the morning.”

“We should go over the interviews.”

“We will. But not tonight.”

Laurel rubbed her face and twisted her hair up. “Aren’t you concerned that the person who killed Debra will run off—or worse, go after someone else?”

Cade spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes. But what do you suggest I do about it? Put everybody in town in jail?”

“No, of course not.” Her cheeks turned pink. “But what if the killer runs?”

“Then we’ll know who he is, because everybody else will still be here.”

She sent him a withering look.

Cade shrugged, then picked up the video camera and opened the door.

With a sigh, Laurel stood and followed him out into the empty main lobby of the Visitor Center.

“What about Ann Noble?” he asked as he held the exi
t door open for her and then led the way to his pickup. “She never showed up. Nobody mentioned her?”

Laurel shook her head. “Nobody. I asked Ralph where she was but he acted like he was the last person in town who would know her whereabouts.”

“I wish we could find someone who’s seen them together,” Cade said.

“Me, too. Ann says she’s sleeping with George Honeycutt. George denies it, and Ralph would rather leave himself without an alibi than betray his ‘unnamed lady friend.’ So who do you think is lying?”

Cade reached around her to open the door. “All of them.”

L
AUREL SNUGGLED DEEPER
into the handmade quilt Cade had given her and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend the light shining in through the window wasn’t the sun. No such luck.

It had taken her forever to get to sleep the night before. It was after 2:00 a.m. when they’d gotten back to Cade’s house. Then they’d argued over where she would sleep. She’d won that round. There was no way she’d have gotten one wink of sleep lying in Cade’s bed while he tried to fold his long body onto the couch.

He’d finally relented and given her a quilt and a pillow, still grumbling about her stubbornness.

When he’d come out of the bathroom, she’d caught a glimpse of him in his dress pants and no shirt. She’d listened to him moving around in the bedroom while her brain turned each sound into a video. She heard him kick off his shoes, heard the soft sound of fabric sliding along skin—his pants.

Then a drawer opened and closed, and she heard more fabric rustling, and finally, the quiet creak of bedsprings when he got into bed.

Her mind had obsessed over what he wore to bed. He’d gotten something out of a drawer. Boxer shorts? Pajama bottoms? Another pair of those sexy gray sweatpants?

She’d groaned quietly as a bone-melting thrill streaked through to her core and reminded her of how safe, how sexy, how feminine she’d felt when they’d danced.
Argh!

She’d stuck her head under the covers that smelled like him, and forced herself to think about Debra’s murder. The concentration it required to mentally trace the steps of the killer had settled her mind and she’d finally fallen to sleep.

And now, too few hours later, the sun was getting brighter, defying her attempts to ignore it. She stuck her nose out from under the quilt and squinted at the window, then sat up and reached for her purse. Groping inside, she finally closed her fist around her cell phone. She looked at the display. Seven o’clock.

She groaned.

A movement caught the edge of her vision. Cade stood in his bedroom doorway in the sweatpants she’d fantasized about. They rode low on his hips. His upper body was bare, as were his feet. The early morning sunlight dusted his skin with gold as he rubbed his chest and yawned, then pushed his fingers through his tousled hair.

“D’you sleep okay?” His voice was soft and rough.

Trying to pretend that seeing him warm and sleepy, just out of bed wasn’t turning her on, she shrugged. “Pretty well considering.”

She sank back down onto the couch and pulled the quilt up over her breasts. Her satin pajamas were fairly modest but she still felt self-conscious, especially considering the sexually charged intimacy of their situation.

“I told you to take the bed.”

“It wasn’t that. It was just—everything.”

He clamped his jaw. “I know. Need the bathroom?”

She shook her head. “Go ahead.”

By the time he came out, she’d taken a quick tour of the kitchen, rinsed out the coffeepot, found a can of coffee in the freezer and brewed a pot.

“Wow.” Cade rounded the corner between the bathroom and the kitchen. He grinned as she handed him a full mug.

“What a great way to wake up. Coming straight out of the shower to a hot cup of coffee.”

She looked at him over the brim of her cup. “Your coffeemaker has a timer on it.”

He shook his head. “That’s too much trouble. I like this method better.”

She squeezed the cup tightly and did her best not to melt under his killer grin. Was he
flirting
with her?

Enough of that, she lectured herself silently. “So I guess we’d better get going. Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“Not a bit.” His gaze left her face and traveled down the front of her satin pajamas. She’d have sworn she felt them dissolving under his heated gaze. Why did she ever think they were modest?

“Let me know if you need any help.” When he met her gaze again, she was shocked to see raw hunger there. Then his mouth widened slowly into an innocent smile.

Heaven help her, he
was
flirting with her. She set her cup carefully on the counter, working hard not to smile. “I think I can manage.”

She glanced toward the bathroom. She was going to have to squeeze past him to get out from behind the counter. She waited for him to step aside, but he didn’t. He just stood there.

With a glare, she rounded the corner of th
e counter. At the very last second, he stepped aside enough that only her shoulder brushed his bare chest.

She couldn’t look at him. “What’s first on the agenda this morning?” She tossed the question over her shoulder.

“I wish it wasn’t Sunday. I’m ready to officially request the FBI’s help.”

Her heart leaped as she turned. He did believe she could help him—unless he was going to request another agent. “Help with Debra’s death, or with Wendell’s case?”

“Both.”

“And you want to request me.”

He nodded.

“We can call my boss, Mitch Decker. He can authorize my official presence on the case. Want to talk to him now while I shower?”

“Sure. It’s not too early?”

She grabbed her phone. “He and his wife have a new baby. He’s probably been up for hours already.”

Sure enough, when Mitch answered his phone, Laurel could hear the baby crying.

“Mitch, hi. Sounds like you’re having a great morning.”

“Morning, Laurel. Joelle is teething, so she’s grouchy and her mom and dad are sleep-deprived. What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be having fun at your high-school reunion weekend?”