Beth Cornelison – Colton 911: Deadly Texas Reunion (страница 8)
“And the case you have now? It’s the real thing?”
“I’ll say. A twenty-year-old woman was strangled and buried in the parking lot where you saw me earlier. Her family isn’t happy with the way the police are handling the case, the slow trickle of information from the Whisperwood PD, so they’ve hired me to find the person responsible for killing her.”
With his gaze fixed on her, Nolan set his cornbread down so hard, it broke in half. “You’re investigating a murder? An open case with the local PD?”
She wiped condensation from her water glass with her thumb. Did she detect a note of disbelief or judgment in his tone? She prayed not. She’d come to expect a bit of sexism from the population as a whole, but she wanted to believe Nolan was above it. She bobbed a nod. “I am.”
He said nothing as he popped another bite of cornbread in his mouth and chewed, watching her. She held his stare, wondering what was going on behind his mercurial hazel eyes. Where moments ago they’d been the gray-green color of a Texas river, now flecks of gold sparked in their depths, a sure sign his mind was churning. Once he’d swallowed the bite of cornbread, he said, “You’re talking about Patrice Eccleston?”
“Yeah. You heard about her?”
“My family was discussing the case last night at dinner.” He paused briefly before adding, “I’m staying on my cousins’ ranch. Same room I used all those summers as a kid.”
She smiled. “I’m guessing Josephine hasn’t changed a thing in that room since the last time you stayed there.”
“You’d be right.” He stirred his chili, blew on a spoonful and said, “I want in.”
She paused with a French fry halfway to her mouth. “Pardon?”
“Your murder investigation. I’m sitting on my butt out at the ranch doing nothing except mucking stalls in the morning and watching
Summer dropped her French fry in a puddle of ketchup and frowned at him. “Who said I need help? I can handle the case by myself.”
He raised a palm. “I’m sure you can, but I have time on my hands and investigative experience. Why not use me?”
Why not, indeed? She wiped her fingers on her napkin and considered his offer. “I can’t pay you. I’m barely making my office rent each month as it is.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I’m volunteering.” He crumbled a bit of his cornbread into his chili and stirred it up. “Come on, Summer. Think how great it would be for us to team up. Bullfrog and Tadpole, together again.”
She sputtered a laugh. “Oh my goodness! We haven’t used those nicknames in years!”
Teaming up with him, spending time with him would be great, if…
Dear God,
But she wouldn’t get the measure of him without spending time with him. A tingle of anticipation spun through her at the idea of having a legitimate reason to spend time with her old best friend. “I have conditions.”
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
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
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
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…”