Chapter 23
Nora
ANDERSON, MONTGOMERY, AND Stafford arrive on the scene fifteen minutes later. I’m still in Jack’s arms when they walk up to us. I haven’t been able to let go of him.
“Odd choice of location for a honeymoon,” Stafford comments wryly as they approach us, his eyes traveling from Cleo's body then up to the sign reading Polter Plastic Surgery Clinic. “Then again if I were you,” he nods in my direction, “I’d want to see if I could fix this guy's bullheadedness right away too. Just put him under the knife and have them chop his imaginary horns right off.”
“Funny,” Jack replies with zero inflection.
“Hey, just calling it like I see it. You’re too stubborn for your own good, my friend.” Stafford claps him on the back, then eyes me again as he adds, “Thankfully, after three long years, you seem to have loosened up some on your own. No plastic surgery required.”
“How about we just talk about what exactly happened here?” Montgomery suggests diplomatically.
“An excellent plan,” Jack growls, obviously irritated with his friend for the insinuation that he’s given up his stubborn ways in order to marry me. I wish I could tell him not to worry—I’m very aware that he married me as a favor. Although favor really isn’t the right word…but I’m not sure the English language has a word to describe what Jack is doing for me. Actually: sacrifice. Yeah, that’s a good word. I’m very aware that Jack married me as a sacrifice.
A sobering thought indeed. Especially when I pair it with my own growing feelings for him.
Jack continues on, summarizing why we came (he fibs a little bit here, making it seem like we came solely to confront Cleo about stealing the promotion she and I were both vying for rather than telling them we came to see if she’d helped move Ian’s body to my front lawn) and then how, as we were talking to her, shots suddenly started going off from a car on its way out of the parking lot.
“Did you see who was inside or get a license plate?” Anderson asks.
“No,” Jack admits regretfully. I look up at him, annoyed to see that he’s shaking his head, as if he can’t believe he didn’t manage to get the license plate of the vehicle.
“Only because he was too busy getting me safely to cover,” I interject a bit hotly. This man. He just thinks he has to do everything.
Stafford grins at me, shooting me a thumbs up. “Gosh, I’ve missed you, Nora. No one calls Reynolds out on his hero complex better than you.”
“I do not have a hero complex,” Jack protests grouchily.
“Whatever you say,” Stafford smirks, staring pointedly at Jack’s arm around my waist.
“Some people bring it out in him more than others,” Anderson comments wryly. The three of them exchange amused glances that I’m pretty sure are totally at our expense.
Upset that Jack is getting flack because of me I start to pull away, but his grip on my waist only tightens in response.
“Some people are always worth rescuing,” he states calmly, and my stomach does a little flip even as the logical part of my brain rudely tries to butt in by pointing out that he could just be saying this to support our marriage ruse.
He gives my waist a little squeeze, and I lose my breath from the force of the desire for his words to be true.
“She’s your Lois Lane, eh, Superman?” Anderson teases, which is no surprise. Anderson loves superheroes. Pretty sure every superhero movie I’ve ever seen has been in his company. Hence the Spider-Man kiss that he and Mel shared. She told me all about it.
“I don’t know,” Montgomery says thoughtfully, “Sometimes I wonder if, in the end, Lois Lane ended up saving Superman.”
There’s a beat of silence as they all seem to consider this.
“Okay, things are getting way too philosophical for my liking,” Stafford declares. “If only I had a glass and a fork, then we could get this wedding party started.”
As previously stated, I am no fan of PDA, but if I had a glass and fork right now I’d be passing it over to Stafford to do with it what he would.
I’d love to blame the fact that we just got shot at for my nearly irrepressible desire to kiss my husband, but it’s been a near-constant lip-pulsing ache since the last kiss we shared.
“Yes, why do we always forget to bring silverware to crime scenes?” Anderson deadpans.
“Speaking of crime scenes,” Montgomery says as he takes a step toward Cleo’s lifeless form, “should we get this investigation started? Seems like the employees of Fraser Pharmaceutical are dropping like flies. I’m not saying the same person committed both murders, but if they did, it would be nice to stop them before they strike again.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Stafford agrees, stepping over to join him. I shiver as I look Cleo’s way again, the memory of Ian collapsing on top of me, dead, rushing back to me. The vacant expression on his face right before he breathed his last will probably haunt me for years, if not a lifetime.
“So Cleo claimed she had nothing to do with giving Ian that Minoxidil sample the coroner found in his pockets?” Anderson asks us.
Jack nods. “Said someone was trying to use photos to make it look like she did, though.”
Photos! The envelope! I glance down at Jack’s hands, but they’re empty. What did he do with the photo of Cleo and Ian? And, more importantly, what about the photo of him driving Ian’s car? It’s just sitting on Jack’s front seat for anyone meandering by to see. Why didn’t we hide it under a seat or something?
Anxiety churns around in my stomach. What if one of them decides to take a walk around the parking lot to look for clues and spots it? Jack appears unconcerned about this, but perhaps he hasn’t thought of it. No, Jack almost always thinks of everything. The more likely scenario is that he’s got his poker face in place so as not to arouse suspicion.
He has an excellent poker face.
Really messes with anyone who may be trying to figure if he’s really in love with them.
Just saying.
“Well the drug stuff really isn’t in our jurisdiction anyway,” Anderson comments, “unless it turns out to be related to his murder.” He looks at me. “Is there anything else you can tell us about the drug itself, Nora? Anything that might give us a clue as to why Ian Wharfman was finding a way to get it illegally?”
“Oh.” I think. “I mean, it really doesn’t make sense. It’s an affordable drug that’s fairly easy to get a prescription for. It’s used to treat both hair loss and high blood pressure. It should always be taken under a doctor’s supervision because of the risk of fluid retention. They typically pair it with a diuretic to combat this. Honestly, the only real reason I can think that he wouldn’t have gotten a prescription was pure vanity. He was kind of obsessed with his hair and his ego was big enough that he wouldn’t have wanted anyone, even a doctor, to know he needed a drug to grow hair.”
“Wait,” Anderson steps toward me, his expression giving away his intrigue, “what did you just say?”
“Um,” I backtrack, “that he was obsessed with his hair?”
“No, before that.” Anderson shakes his head. “The thing about fluid retention.”
“Oh. I said that Minoxidil is often associated with fluid retention. So prescribing doctors almost always pair it with a diuretic.”
“Right, and fluid retention is a problem because?” he asks expectantly.
“Well because it can lead to congestive heart failure.”
“Is that so?” Anderson looks as if I’ve just told him he’s won the lottery.
“Um, yes,” I say. I take a peek at Jack to see if he knows what Anderson is so excited about. He looks as confused as I feel.
“And you didn’t give Ian the Minoxidil, right?” Anderson asks.
“No, of course not. I would never do that.” In my book no promotion or monetary gain is worth going to prison. And I know that’s a little ironic for me to say given the fact that I murdered someone last night, but whatever, not like I ever expected my life to take a murderous turn.
“Well that’s it then!” Anderson crows, striding over and slapping Jack on the back. “Reynolds, can I borrow you for a quick second. There’s something I need to talk to you about. Don’t worry,” he adds when Jack opens his mouth as if to protest, “Stafford and Montgomery will watch Nora, while we’re gone. They won’t let anything happen to her.”
Stafford and Montgomery nod and hop up to stand next to me, flanking me like I’m the Queen and they’re my royal guards. I have zero idea what’s going on, but Anderson is not going to take no for an answer. He grabs Jack’s elbow and tugs him hard. Jack’s grip on me slips a little but remains intact.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”
Jack searches my eyes for a second, though I’m not sure what he’s looking for, then nods. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”