Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NOAH
I’m glad Von went upstairs to change.
I need a second alone. My arms are trembling, my head light. I swear, there was a flash of something like hunger in Von’s eyes when my towel fell.
I keep my hands busy, prepping the plates, adding spinach and lamb and rice to them in automatic fashion, as my mind churns and my groin aches. These past few weeks with Von have been…well, surprisingly enjoyable. The feelings that started beneath the boughs of the weeping willow on that lake in Central Park have stubbornly refused to fade. If anything, they’ve sunk their roots deep, sprouting tendrils that have taken hold inside me.
The more time I spend with Von, the more time I want to spend with her.
This is crazy. She’s my lawyer, for one. She’s Caden’s sister, for another. Not sure how he’d feel about me lusting after her. And she’s Von! I’m not even supposed to like her at all. She’s snobby and mean and out of touch .
But the woman I’ve seen glimpses of since moving to New York is different. And now she’s seen me naked. God, I hope I didn’t embarrass myself. I hope I didn’t make her uncomfortable in her own house.
But I also find myself hoping that was hunger in her eyes.
I hear the light patter of her footsteps on the stairs, which means she’s taken her heels off. When she comes around the corner, I’m struck dumb at the sight of her. Dainty bare feet with bright red toes, soft white top that reveals a tempting, sun-kissed shoulder. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail.
She smiles at me shyly. “It smells amazing. Sorry I didn’t say that before.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “Sorry my dick got in the way of dinner.”
Von lets out a high-pitched giggle as my ears go hot. What was that ? I file it away under the worst apology ever.
“Let’s eat,” I say, taking the plates over to the table, while she grabs a bottle of wine and two glasses. Thank god. I need a drink. We eat in silence for a moment, my brain frantically trying to come up with something normal to say.
Von speaks first and saves me from my myself. “Foghorn Leghorn sent over a ballistics report today,” she says. “Though without a bullet to compare it to, I doubt it will be of much evidentiary value. So not sure why he went through the trouble of ballistics. Feels like he’s trying to intimidate us.”
She snorts and cuts her lamb into tiny pieces. I’ve grown to love the way she does that, ensuring every bite of her meal is balanced and precise. She holds up a perfectly composed forkful like she’s going into battle. “We will not be intimidated by a cartoon rooster.”
I chortle and take a bite from my own plate. “Ballistics report on what?”
“Your gun. They confiscated it from your house during the search, remember?”
“That’s not the right gun,” I say, swallowing .
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“I didn’t have a duty weapon at the time of your mom’s death.”
Von instantly switches into lawyer mode. “What are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t a deputy five years ago,” I say. “I had just started firearms training that week. I was assigned a gun at the shooting range to use. But I had to leave it there. I didn’t take it home with me. It’s still at the range, as far as I know.”
Von is leaning forward now, her face alight. There’s this almost magical shift in her when she becomes ultra-focused—it sharpens the line of her cheekbones, brightens her gaze. Her slender frame seems to buzz with energy.
“Are you telling me,” she says slowly, “that anyone could have had access to your gun?”
I feel a prickle in my fingertips. This is something new—an avenue that’s never been explored. “I don’t know about anyone,” I say. “But certainly the other officers on the force.” I pause. “And maybe other civilians who use the shooting range.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I thought you knew,” I say.
“Who can we talk to about this?” Von asks.
“The guy who runs the range is this old curmudgeon, Stan Jefferson.”
“I’ll speak with him,” Von says.
“Stan won’t talk to you,” I warn her.
She raises an eyebrow and juts her chin, a classic Von “I dare anyone to defy me” expression. “And why not?”
I grimace. “He kind of hates your dad.”
“Why?”
“Stan’s a libertarian. He hates capitalists.”
Von ponders this information for a moment. She glances at me. I swear I see her eyes flit to my chest. The faintest trace of pink highlights her cheeks as she picks up her wineglass. “What do you suggest? ”
I stab a piece of lamb with my fork and chew. Normally, I’d ask the sheriff for help, but that’s obviously not an option here. Stan respects Magnolia Bay law enforcement. So maybe I could get a deputy on my side. Which begs the question, who at the department would be willing to help me?
I can only think of one option.
“I’ve got an idea,” I say.
I pick up my phone and call Derek.
“Noah?” he answers, sounding surprised
“Hey Derek. Sorry to call so late. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
I hold my breath as there’s a long pause on the other end of the line.
“What do you need?” Derek says at last.
“Von and I need to talk to Stan Jefferson. Think you could come with us? Help…facilitate the conversation?”
I’m not sure what Derek thought I’d ask for, but he sounds a little relieved by the request.
“Sure,” he says. “But…why?”
I hesitate. How much can I trust Derek? I decide I don’t have any other option. “We think he might be able to help with some information about the real killer.”
There’s another long pause.
“I don’t think the sheriff would approve of me getting involved with something like that.”
My stomach sinks. “No, probably not.” And Derek has never had the strongest backbone. Defying the sheriff isn’t in his wheelhouse.
I hear him take a deep breath. “My next day off is Sunday. Could you come out here then?”
My heart leaps. “Yes!” I cry. It’s Friday. We can wait a day. “No problem at all. Sunday is perfect.”
I give Von a thumbs up.
“It’s been calmer here since the press left, but man, Everly Harris really has it out for you,” Derek says. “There’ve been articles in the Bee every week. Mrs. Greerson is pissed. Alistair has been doing a good job refuting them, but it’s you the people want to hear from. It’ll be good to have you back in town. It’s like everyone forgot what a standup guy you are—that you’ve helped each of them in some way or another. They’re buying into what Everly is saying, how you’re acting suspiciously just because you won’t sit for an interview.”
I can’t believe Everly is trying to make a name for herself by disparaging me. But, I remind myself, I have an ironclad alibi. And maybe once the people of Magnolia Bay see me again, they’ll remember I’m not a stranger or a suspect but a neighbor and a friend.
“Gotta run,” Derek says. “See you Sunday.”
“See you then,” I say. “Thanks, Derek.”
I hang up and Von is looking at me expectantly.
“Well?” she says.