Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
I decided the next day to focus my investigation on someone other than Minnie for a while. Hopefully I’d have a chance to talk with her soon so I could find out if she had an alibi, but after my previous attempt to question her, I didn’t feel ready to try to track her down again.
Hopefully, the police were taking a good look at Hoffman as a suspect.
Thor, aka Callahan, might think I was trying to throw my ex under the bus, but I wanted to believe that he’d at least look into the claims I’d made.
After all, Hoffman was caught on the Mirage’s security camera, so I had that to back me up.
With Minnie and Hoffman on the back burner of my investigation, that left the mystery man.
I’d received word that the job I’d interviewed for the day before had been given to another candidate, so I spent an hour or so looking at more online job postings, until I felt like my soul was bleeding out through my eyes.
At that point, I gave up for the day. Much of the morning had passed, and I decided it was the perfect time to stop by the pub.
Not that I could afford to be eating out, but maybe a soft drink and an appetizer wouldn’t break my bank account.
As I walked to Shanahan’s Suds, I pulled out my phone and checked my messages.
Everything OK? Can we meet?
Wyatt had sent the message while I was immersed in my job search.
I’d respond later, I decided, when I’d hopefully have something to show for my investigative efforts.
I’d never replied to his previous message, and that set off little flickers of guilt inside of me, but I wasn’t sure that I was ready to talk to him.
Maybe it was petty, but I was ticked off at him for keeping his identity a secret.
Did he think I was untrustworthy? Did he think I’d fangirl all over him if I knew he was related to someone famous?
If so, he really didn’t know me at all. I’d only fangirl over someone crazy-awesome famous, like Taylor Swift.
Rosangela Quintal might have been a supermodel back in the day, but Tay Tay she was not.
By the time I reached Shanahan’s, the damp breeze had me wishing I’d worn a coat over my pale pink sweater.
I was on the brink of shivering when I entered the pub, where deliciously warm, food-scented air greeted me.
The place was fairly quiet, probably because it wasn’t yet noon, but a man and woman sat eating at the bar together, half watching the football game playing on three different television screens, and a handful of other diners sat scattered around the restaurant.
Nobody was at the hostess station, which had a sign asking customers to Please Wait to be Seated, so I took a few steps farther into the pub, glancing around.
Hopefully Mike would be willing to share the security footage with me, but I figured I should probably establish myself as a paying customer before asking for any favors.
I turned in a slow circle, hoping to spot someone who could direct me to a table. I’d only made it forty-five degrees when I came to a halt, my eyes narrowing.
Wyatt spotted me at the same time. He raised a hand in greeting and then pointed to the empty bench across the table from him.
I took him up on the offer, marching over and sliding into the booth. He had a soft drink in front of him but no food.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
Unfazed, he took a sip of his drink before setting it down again. “Hello to you too. I’m doing great, thanks. How about you?”
I ignored the fact that he was pointing out my rudeness. “What you’re doing is investigating without me, right?”
He regarded me with those entrancing eyes of his. “I didn’t realize being partners meant we had to be joined at the hip.”
“We aren’t partners,” I reminded him, my voice terse. “We’re just working together. Temporarily. Under the banner of my agency.”
“Okay.” He sat back, resting one arm along the top of the booth. “I didn’t know that working together meant I had to report my every move to you. Besides, I did try to involve you, but you’ve been ghosting me.”
My gaze drifted to the arm he had draped over the back of the booth. I absolutely did not wonder what it would feel like to be sitting snuggly next to him and have that arm settle around my shoulders.
“I’m not ghosting you,” I grumbled. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Investigating without me?”
I clamped my mouth shut.
He flashed me a triumphant smile. “And why are you here?”
I wanted to kiss that smile right off his face. Wipe it off! Wipe, not kiss!
Focus, Emersyn!
“For your information, I’ve got a good lead.” I let a hint of smugness creep into my voice. “I’ve got a connection to the owner of this pub, which means there’s a good chance I’ll get to look at the security footage and maybe even get a photo of our mystery man.”
Wyatt nodded, as if seriously pondering my words. “By the owner of this pub, you mean Mike?”
I gaped at him. “How do you know his name?”
“We had a chat a few minutes ago. And we took a look at the footage. He emailed me the relevant clips, and he’s printing out a few stills for me as we speak.”
A waitress appeared at our table, bearing a plate of food, which she set in front of Wyatt with a smile. The delicious aromas wafted across the table to me, and my stomach growled like an angry crocodile.
“Oh,” the waitress said, only then noticing me. “Can I get you anything?”
I looked at the menu and had to bite back a groan of disappointment when I saw the prices listed next to the appetizers. I dug deep into my reservoir of willpower and set the menu aside.
“Just ice water, please.” I eyed Wyatt’s clubhouse sandwich and fries and nearly whimpered.
The waitress frowned with disapproval. “Nothing to eat?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
She shot daggers at me with her eyes before turning a beaming smile on Wyatt. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She winked—seriously winked!—at him before flouncing off, her ponytail swinging behind her.
I felt a flicker of satisfaction when Wyatt didn’t watch her walk away, despite the way she was swinging her hips in her tight black skirt.
“So, what other leads have you got?” he asked as he picked up half of his sandwich.
I glared at him, irrationally annoyed that he’d asked me that question since, of course, I had zero other leads.
I grabbed a fry off his plate and chomped on it.
Wyatt stopped eating to take a sip of his drink. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
I made short work of the fry and then sat back, crossing my arms. “I’m not.”
My stomach chose that moment to let out a thunderous growl.
From the amusement on Wyatt’s face, I could tell he’d heard it.
My cheeks flushed.
“Why don’t you order some food?” he suggested.
“I’m fine,” I grumbled.
As the son of a supermodel, he’d most likely never had to worry about the price of anything. I wasn’t about to share my financial difficulties with him. He wouldn’t understand and would probably judge me. I was doing enough of that on my own and really didn’t need any assistance.
“Are you annoyed with me?” Wyatt asked before finishing off the first half of his clubhouse sandwich.
That was probably sourdough bread. My favorite.
My fingers twitched, longing to reach across the table and grab the remaining half of the sandwich.
“Emersyn?” Wyatt prodded, and I realized I’d been staring at his food.
“Why would I be annoyed?” I wasn’t about to answer his question. Not truthfully, anyway. I didn’t yet want to show my cards by letting him know I was irked by the fact that he’d kept me in the dark about his identity.
I wanted to know if he would voluntarily share his full name with me in time.
“So, you weren’t ghosting me, and yet you didn’t invite me along on your investigative mission today,” he said before starting in on the second half of his sandwich.
“I could handle it on my own. Besides, I’m sure you have a hundred better things to do than investigate a murder with someone like me.”
He quirked an eyebrow in a totally unsexy way.
(Okay, so it was super sexy, but I needed to pretend it wasn’t.)
“Someone like you?” He sounded confused.
“Let’s face it,” I said, deciding to dish out a slice of honesty. “I’m a hot mess.”
He set his sandwich down. “That’s not what I see. I see a beautiful, intelligent, kindhearted, and capable woman.”
His words warmed me, even though I knew I shouldn’t let them.
“You only say that because you hardly know me.”
One corner of his mouth curved upward. “I know more than you might think.”
“Such as?” I asked, equal parts curious and apprehensive.
He leaned back in his seat. “Let’s see…You spend a lot of time with your niece, you like bright colors, and you have an affinity for apple Bubly.”
I tried to mask my surprise. “You can’t possibly know about the Bubly.”
“And yet I do.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Someone must have told you. Jemma?”
“Nope.”
“Theo?”
He shook his head.
“Livy?”
“Nobody.”
I scrutinized him from across the table, radiating suspicion. He held my gaze for a good three seconds before a grin crept onto his face.
“There were several empty cans in the recycling bin by your door,” he said.
“Hmm,” I conceded. At least he hadn’t been snooping around my apartment without my knowledge. I glanced down at my pale pink sweater. “Bright colors?”
That darned twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Maybe not always on the outside.”
The memory of him draped in my colorful underwear came rushing back.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” I admonished.
The twinkle was full-on dancing now. “Don’t what?”
I leaned forward and practically hissed my next words. “Refer to that…incident. It never happened and will never be mentioned again.”
He grinned, slow and sexy. “You don’t want me to mention your unmentionables?”
“Yes! No! Argh!” I took a deep breath in an attempt to get myself unflustered. “That’s correct,” I said more calmly, and maybe a little primly. “Never again. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear.” He picked up a fry from his plate. “In fact, as transparent as that sheer fuchsia number that—”
I lunged across the table to cover his mouth with my hand, nearly knocking over his drink. “Shush!”
My eyes locked with his, and my heart thumped. I was close enough to breathe in his enticing, outdoorsy scent. The temperature of my blood immediately shot up a degree or two. I finally realized that I had my fingertips pressed to his lips and snatched my hand away as if I’d been shocked.
I sank back down into my seat and adjusted my sweater as I tried to recover a shred of dignity. “And it’s translucent, not transparent.”
“I stand corrected.”
I glared at him.
He remained unfazed.
My stomach gave another loud growl, and I grabbed three more of his fries.
“Why don’t you order something?” he asked.
I tucked my hands into the sleeves of my sweater and shrank into my seat. “Because I just needed a few fries.”
He studied me for a moment, a little too perceptibly for my comfort. “I can get you—”
“No!” I realized I’d spoken a lot louder than I’d meant to. “No, thank you,” I amended at a lower volume. “I’m fine.”
I didn’t need to accept charity from him. It wasn’t like I was going to starve. As soon as I got home, I could make myself a meal of…crackers and peanut butter. And chocolate cake.
To my relief, a man came up to our table, holding papers in his hand and diverting Wyatt’s attention away from me.
“Hey, Wyatt,” the man said in greeting. Then he nodded at me before handing the papers to my companion. “I got those stills you asked for.”
“These are great,” Wyatt said, taking a quick look at the two sheets. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you with the guy’s name, but if he shows up here again, I’ll text you.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Enjoy your meal,” he said with a nod at both of us.
As Mike walked away, I realized that the waitress had never brought my ice water. I sighed and averted my gaze from Wyatt’s glass, which was still half full of soda.
Wyatt set the papers on the table and slid them toward me. “Our mystery man.”
I picked up the two sheets. Each one showed a grainy photo of a white man with brown hair who appeared to be in his thirties. Although the pictures weren’t sharp, they were clear enough.
“I’ve seen this guy before,” I said. “At the Mirage.”
Wyatt was about to take a drink but now set down his glass. “Does he live there?”
“Nope, but he visits someone who does.” I tapped the photo that showed the closest view of the man’s face. “This is Bitty Dover’s godson.”