Chapter 18 Jagg
JAGG
“Where’s my daughter?”
I was so close to being home.
So damn close.
I looked back at the station doors, willing them to slide open and someone—any-freaking-one else—to walk out the door and deal with this guy.
“You.” He jabbed a finger at me.
I cocked a brow. I was not in the mood. Especially for a rich, pompous Porsche-driving jerk.
“Where’s my daughter?” He demanded.
Daughter, Porsche, money…
Arlo Harper? Sunny’s millionaire real estate mogul father.
I turned fully as he stomped his stubby legs across the parking lot.
My first thought was how this man’s DNA could make someone who looked like Sunny.
There was hardly a resemblance, and based on the six-figure sports car, Rolex around his wrist, black wingtips —at four in the morning—looks weren’t the only thing they didn’t have in common.
As if the woman didn’t intrigue me enough.
He lifted his double chin. “I won’t ask again, Mr.—”
“Detective. I just escorted your daughter to her truck, where she just left the park.”
“What? I thought she was here.” Arlo said, a line of confusion running down his forehead.
“No. She just left.”
He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “That girl.”
I blinked, surprised that his first comment wasn’t asking if she was okay. I was also surprised at the whiff of soap coming off his skin. He’d taken time to shower before coming to the station to check on his beloved daughter.
“Where was she going?” He asked.
“Can’t tell you that, sir.”
“What the hell do you mean you can’t tell me that?”
“Because I don’t know where she was going.”
“Well,” he grumbled. “I want to talk to whoever’s in charge of the case.”
I took an inward deep breath. I wanted home.
“You’re looking at him,” I said.
“Oh. You’re…” The man scanned me from head to toe like I was a college dropout applying for a loan.
“Detective Max Jagger.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’m Arlo Harper. Harper Construction.”
Okay. That did it. The man attached his company to his introduction and I officially couldn’t stand him.
“Sunny Harper’s father.” He continued, ‘father’ being the lesser of the two titles. “I want to know what happened tonight.”
“I’m sure Sunny gave you all the details when she called you.”
“I haven’t talked to her.”
“How did you hear about the incident, then?” I asked.
“Hazel De Ville called me.”
“Hazel De Ville, the owner of Mystic Maven’s?” The same art shop where Seagrave had been found with six bullets in the chest?
“Yes. She called, saying Erickson called her looking for my contact info.”
“How do you know Erickson?”
“Bought some land from me years ago. Good man.”
“How do you know Hazel?”
“We’ve been friends for decades. She supplies the art for a few local apartment complexes I own.”
“Sunny didn’t call you from the station? I assumed she contacted you with the call she was offered.”
“You assumed wrong.”
Mental note: Sunny had daddy issues.
“I thought you lived in Dallas?” I asked.
“I do. I’m here on business. Got a project going on south of town. A new resort going up. Is this a game of twenty questions, Detective?”
Just then—
“Mr. Harper.”
I turned to see Chief McCord’s puffed chest striding out the front door.
The last person I wanted to see.
The chief breezed past me. The two men, friendly apparently, shook hands and I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance.
Two gruff men pushing sixty, desperately clinging onto their thinning hair while replacing dreams of six-pack abs with Budweiser and Netflix.
Both single, a while based on the lack of tan lines on Harper’s left finger.
One, plenty in the bank, the other, plenty in his ex-wife’s banks. Yep. Two peas in a mid-life-crisis pod.
Arlo addressed the chief. “I want to know everything that happened here tonight, and then I want it cleared up immediately. I don’t need this nonsense tarnishing the Harper name.”
Nonsense?
“I understand, sir,” the chief replied.
Sir.
“Why wasn’t I called immediately, McCord?” Arlo asked.
This time, McCord graced me with a look—a disapproving sidelong glance before refocusing on Arlo.
“Come on in, Arlo. We just put some fresh coffee on.”
Fresh. Ha.
“Jagger.” It wasn’t lost on me that the chief left out my title. “You can head home for the night.”
Ignoring him, I turned to Arlo. “I’d like to speak with you sometime today, if you don’t mind, Mr. Harper of Harper’s Construction.”
“I’ll handle it, Jagger,” The chief growled.
“Mr. Harper,” I continued, “your daughter waived her right for an attorney this evening. Do you know why?”
“Not surprised. She’s had enough experience with those blood suckers, although I’m sure you know all about that by now.” His gaze narrowed. “And I’ve done a lot to keep the incident in Dallas under wraps and I expect the same discretion here.”
Incident.
“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt your daughter?”
“No, but I wouldn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“She and I aren’t close.”
“What about anyone who maybe wanted to get to you?”
“Are you saying my daughter was attacked because of me?”
“Detective—” McCord snapped.
“Ah, good morning boys…” In his ever-perfect timing, Colson rushed down the steps.
He focused on me, his eyes laced with warning.
“Detective, you’ve got a call. Tanya’s forwarding it to your cell phone. I’ll update Mr. Harper on the evening’s events. Feel free to head home.”
My ringing cell phone cut off the words on the tip of my tongue that surely would have gotten my badge pulled right then and there. Grinding my teeth, I handed my card to Mr. Harper of Harper Construction.
“Call me if you think of anything that could be helpful in understanding why your daughter was attacked tonight. I’ll be in touch with you later today.”
He slid the card into his pocket as the chief pulled him up the steps.
As I watched Colson, McCord and Arlo disappear into the station, I added another to-do to my morning. To learn more about the bad blood between Sunny and her dad.