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His head angled in surprise. “Name them.”
“It’s my case, so I’m in charge. Remember that.”
“So noted.”
“No calling me Tadpole in front of the client or anyone we’re interviewing for the case.”
“Of course. That wouldn’t be professional. Understood. What else?”
She tore off a piece of her sandwich and nibbled it as she thought. “I…guess that’s all. The first one is the main thing.” She aimed a finger at him. “Don’t be bossy.”
He blinked. “Who me? I’m not—”
“You are, Mr. Two Pieces of Cake!” she said, laughing. “And you always have been!”
“Oh, see, now the cake thing…that’s wasn’t being bossy,” he said, his expression the image of innocence. “That was foresight, thoughtfulness and practicality.”
She tipped her head back as she laughed.
“I have conditions, too.” His serious tone caught her off guard and quelled her chuckles.
“You do?”
He set his spoon in his empty chili bowl and pushed the dirty dish aside. “If we work together, we keep our relationship completely platonic and professional.”
She snorted. “Naturally. That kinda goes without saying.”
So why did the term “platonic” cause the odd stab of disappointment? Summer could understand his caution since apparently someone was accusing him of untoward advances, but why had he felt it necessary to spell that out with her?
Okay, she had admired his fitness and the way his face had developed more chiseled and manly lines. Had he seen something in her face that he’d taken the wrong way? How embarrassing! Just in case, she added another eye roll and dismissive sniff. “No problem there.”
“Good.” He gave a satisfied nod. “Then we’re in agreement? We’ll work together on your murder case?”
“Uh…yeah.” She blinked, letting the arrangement sink in. She would be teaming up with Nolan. Who was an FBI agent. To solve a murder. Holy crap! She released her breath, and an excited smile stole onto her face. “Okay. Let’s do this!”
The cake Nolan had ordered earlier arrived, and she slid the biggest piece in front of her and dug in. It was divine.
Thirty minutes later, Summer unlocked her office and led Nolan inside. A dark gray cat met them at the door.
Nolan paused, staring at the feline. “Summer, there’s a cat in here.”
“Uh-huh. That’s Yossi.” She slung her jacket across the back of her desk chair and squatted to pat the feline. “Say hello. He’s very friendly.”
Nolan held his fingers out for the cat to sniff, and Yossi rubbed his head on the offered hand instead. Giving the cat’s cheek a little scratch, Nolan stepped deeper into the small office and surveyed the spare decor. The walls were bare, and her furnishings consisted of one wooden bookcase that was overloaded with books and stacks of magazines, two ladder-backed chairs facing a dented metal and faux-wood desk, a lamp and a metal file cabinet. In the corner was what he assumed was the cat’s litter box.
Nolan rubbed his chin as he took a seat in one of the chairs. “Love what you’ve done with the place. If I move back to town permanently, you’ll have to give me the name of your decorator.”
Summer gave him a withering glance. “It’s Sally Bite Me.”
He chuckled and propped an ankle on his opposite knee as he watched her opening file folders and paging through the notebook he’d seen her scribbling in at the crime scene. “So where are you in your investigation? Lay it out for me.”
She clicked open her pen and leaned back in her chair. “All right. So the victim is twenty-year-old Patrice Eccleston. Her family hired me first thing this morning, because they weren’t getting answers from the cops.”
“Not uncommon. The police often can’t share details of an open investigation. What if it turns out a family member was responsible for the murder?”
She arched one blond eyebrow. “Preaching to the choir, Nolan.”
He held up a hand. “Of course. Sorry.”
“The autopsy shows she was strangled. Her hands were bound by the time she was buried. No sign of sexual assault. Thank God. Broken fingernails indicate she struggled, but they found no traces of skin cells.”
“Whoever strangled her was covered up, then? Long sleeves, gloves…and she didn’t get his face, so maybe a mask. Or she was attacked from behind?”
She nodded and consulted her notes again. “She was last seen leaving Bailey’s Bar and Grill the night she disappeared. She was alone at the time, according to surveillance camera footage.” She tapped her pen against the notepad and looked up at Nolan. “I had her father and brother give me a list of her friends and hobbies, favorite hangouts and so forth—” She paused when Yossi jumped into Nolan’s lap, curled up and lay down. She covered a smile with her hand. “I hope you like cats. Yossi is not much for personal boundaries.”
He slanted a look at her gray feline, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He scratched Yossi’s cheek and nodded to her. “You were saying?”
“Right.” She pulled out the forms that the Ecclestons had filled out and slid them across her desk to him. “Here’s what they’ve given me so far. I went out to the crime scene this morning, as you know, to see if anything unusual or telling jumped out at me.”
“And did anything?”
She twisted her mouth. “No.”
Nolan leaned forward to take the papers from her desk, and Yossi dug his claws in to hold on as his lap bed shifted. Leaning back, Nolan began scanning the information and asked, “Who found the body?”
“Construction workers dug her up while renovating the parking lot. The storm that blew through here this summer caused a good bit of flooding, and the parking lot buckled and part of it washed out. It had to be completely redone. Originally they thought Patrice was another victim of a guy named Corgan, a serial killer who confessed on his deathbed to murdering several other women in the area. But Patrice wasn’t mummified, and Corgan denied killing her, so…”
“So her killer is still out there. Thus the family’s hiring you.”
“Exactly.”
He returned the pages of notes to her desk. “I think I mentioned that my cousins were talking a bit about the case at dinner. They’ve been pretty deeply involved with solving the Mummy Killer case and some other goings-on around town lately. I’ll talk to them this afternoon and see what insights they might have that would help us. Things the police may not have shared with the family yet.”
Summer perked up. “That’d be great! I’d planned to start interviewing some of Patrice’s friends today. Want to divide the list?”
Nolan stroked Yossi’s fur and shook his head. “Let’s go together. Two sets of ears are better than one. I might pick up on something you miss—” her frown returned, and he added quickly, “—or vice versa.”
Summer was certainly touchy about anyone denigrating her work or her abilities. What was that about? She’d always been such a confident and carefree kid when they’d hung out together those summers twenty years ago. Granted, a lot could happen, a lot could change in that many years. Not the least of which were her physical changes. The spindly-legged, flat-chested tomboy was gone, replaced by a beautiful, curvy woman with bedroom eyes that could seduce you in a heartbeat. Also the same were her expressive face and tendency to use big gestures as she talked. Summer had always been animated, full of life, with a magnetic personality. As a kid she’d played counterpoint to his quieter nature and penchant for observing rather than diving in and damning the torpedoes. Apparently that synergy still existed, still dovetailed with something in his soul, because he felt an old familiar warmth and tenderness toward her expanding in his chest.
He’d spelled out the need for the two of them to keep their working relationship platonic as much as a warning and reminder for himself as a guide for her. He’d sat across from her in the diner and been swamped with all kinds of nonplatonic urges. He’d had to remind himself about every five minutes that it was Summer sitting there looking like forbidden fruit. Every teasing twitch of her bow-shaped lips and disapproving wrinkle of her pixie-like nose spiked his pulse. Her thick golden hair and bedroom brown eyes had—Damn it! He was waxing poetic about her again. He pinched his nose and battled away the tug of lust.
“…her first. Sound good?” Summer was saying when he refocused his attention.
He cleared his throat, digging his fingers into her cat’s fur and nodding stupidly. “Um, sure.”
What had he just agreed to?
Chapter 4 (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
“Maybe we should take your car,” Summer said, suppressing a giggle as she watched Nolan fold his long legs and linebacker shoulders into the front passenger seat of her Beetle.
“No, I’m in now. Let’s go.”
Even before you considered his remarkable size, Nolan had a way of filling up a space with the magnitude of his presence. He commanded a room with his confidence and good looks, and now, in the tiny confines of her car, he seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air. Or maybe that was just her reaction to his nearness. She’d been feeling a bit winded and dizzy ever since she’d hugged him at the Lone Star Pharma parking lot this morning. Jumped him was more like it. But dang it, she’d been happy to see him. She was impulsive that way. Was her overly enthusiastic greeting the reason he’d felt the need to put out his platonic-only condition for working together? Probably.
Okay, so she needed to try to check her impulses around Nolan. He may have grown up to be a walking dream, but theirs had always been simply a friendship. Clearly he wanted no more than that, which was why he had been quick to put the kibosh on anything more.
He buckled his seat belt and slanted a wry glance at her. “Stop laughing, or I’ll think this was a setup.”
“I’m not laughing,” she said, her lighthearted tone belying her assertion. “I Googled the directions on my phone.” She handed him her cell. “Will you navigate?”
He swiped to open the proper screen and aimed a thumb down Main Street. “Sure. Head east toward Caldwell Street.”
“Remember, I only moved back here a couple months ago. I’m still relearning street names and landmarks.”
“Roger that.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at the apartment complex where their first interviewee lived. Their knock on the door of 4-B was answered by a petite young woman with frizzy auburn hair and freckles. Her gaze locked on Nolan, the twinkle of interest in her eyes clearly saying she’d noticed how handsome the man on her doorstep was.
“Amanda Cole?” Summer asked, drawing the young woman’s attention away from Nolan.
“Yes?” Amanda’s expression modulated, as if disappointed to realize her hunky visitor had a female companion.
“I’m Summer Davies, a local private investigator, and this is my associate, Nolan Colton.” They each offered their hand for Amanda to shake. “Do you have a few minutes to talk with us, please?”
Her green eyes darkened with doubt. “About what?”
“Patrice Eccleston. We understand you were roommates?”
“Well, yeah.” Grief washed over Amanda’s expressive countenance. Interviewing her would be all the easier, since her thoughts and emotions were written on her face.
“May we come in?” Nolan asked, and Amanda swallowed hard before nodding and opening the door farther to allow them inside.
The apartment was decorated in a style Summer would call Early College. Mismatched, inexpensive furniture mixed with older, worn pieces that screamed “castoffs from a parent’s house,” and the detritus of pizza dinners, studying and gossip magazines littered the living room. The scent of burned microwave popcorn hung in the air.
Nolan eyed a bright pink folding butterfly chair skeptically before seating himself on the garage sale–reject couch. Amanda perched on a red director’s chair and chewed her bottom lip. Knowing she couldn’t maintain an erect, businesslike posture in the butterfly chair, Summer joined Nolan on the sofa. A broken spring poked her butt, so she shifted closer to Nolan to find a more comfortable spot.
“What do you want to know about Patrice?” their hostess asked, a quiver of nerves in her voice.
“Basic information. Anything that might give us a picture of her life in the weeks before she was killed.”
“Amanda? Who was—?” A second young woman with a long, lean frame, a mocha complexion and black hair pulled up in a ponytail sauntered in from the back of the apartment and stopped short when she spotted the strangers on the couch. “Oh. Hi.”
Nolan stood and offered his hand as Amanda said, “Maria, these folks are private investigators wanting to talk about Patrice. This is my roommate, Maria.”
Summer smiled at Maria, who wore running shoes, yoga shorts and a T-shirt, then flipped to the front of her notepad asking, “Would you be Maria Hernandez, by any chance?”
Maria sent her roommate a worried frown before returning her gaze to Summer. “How did you know?”
“We got your name from Patrice’s brother. You are actually on our list of people we wanted to interview. Ian and his father have hired me to look into Patrice’s death.”
“You?” Her tone echoed the dubious look she wore. “Why?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“What about him?” Maria asked, waving a hand toward Nolan.
“He’s helping me with the case.”
Maria shifted her weight uneasily. “We already told the police all we know.”
Summer nodded. “That’s good. I’m sure your information will be helpful to them. But we are working independently from the police department and want to explore…other options that the police might not.”
“Do you have a minute?” Nolan motioned toward the empty butterfly chair.
Maria looked irritated. “I was just leaving for a run.”
Nolan flashed a beatific grin that sent Summer’s pulse scampering. “We promise not to keep you long.”
Maria sighed and dragged a wooden chair in from the breakfast nook. “Before we start, can I see some ID?”
Summer dug out her wallet to show the girls her PI license. When Maria’s expectant gaze swung toward Nolan, he dragged a hand down his face. “I can show you my driver’s license if you want, but my badge is in Illinois at the moment.”
“Badge?” Amanda asked. “You’re a cop?”
He hesitated before offering, “FBI. But I’m not here in an official capacity. Just backup for Summer.”
Amanda and Maria exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“Anyway,” Summer said brightly, “as Patrice’s friends, we figured you two could tell us where she liked to hang out, if she had a boyfriend or a recent ex-boyfriend, her social media habits…that sort of thing. Let’s start with the boyfriend question.”
The both shook their heads, and Amanda added, “She had a lot of male friends, but none that were ‘boyfriends.’” She drew air quotes with her fingers.
Summer glanced at the list Patrice’s family had given her. No male names were among those provided. “Can you give us names of her male friends? How did she know these guys?”
“Classes, mainly. She was going to the vocational school in Hargrove to become a mechanic.”
Nolan’s chin jerked up. “A mechanic? Like to fix cars?”
Maria gave him a well, duh look. “What? Like a woman can’t be a mechanic?”
Summer angled her body toward Nolan, narrowing a wry gaze on him. “Yes, Nolan. Is there a reason why a woman can’t be a mechanic or whatever else she wants to be?”
He raised his palms. “Whoa. Easy, ladies. Just surprised me. It’s not a common career path for a female. But I have no beef with a woman being whatever she wants to be.”
Summer flashed a satisfied grin. “Good. Now that we have that settled—” she faced Amanda “—those names?”
“I only know first names. She met most of the guys in class and only referred to them as Barry, Charlie, Tyler and so forth,” Amanda said.
