Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
“SO I’VE GOT TO ASK,” Harper said, shifting to face Deckard better as they drove to Amber Gables Country Club, where Blake Brookes worked.
Curiosity danced in her gaze, and he loved it. So much better than the heartache that had been residing there. “Yes?”
“When you first found out about Greyson and Riley, did you deck him?”
He chuckled, banking right and heading southwest for Santa Fe. “Almost.”
“I figured from the grimace on your face this morning when you saw them kissing.” She paused a moment, then studied him. “Do you not like them together?”
“It’s not that.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s just . . .”
“Just?” The curiosity remained in her eyes, and he smiled, praying it remained not just during their conversation but throughout the case. The more he could keep her mind engaged, perhaps the quicker she’d heal.
Please, Lord, I know you have your timing, and I have no idea what all Harp went through, but please make her whole again.
“It’s just—she’s my baby sister.” He tapped the wheel. “If she’s going to be with anyone, I’m glad it’s Grey, but she’s still my baby sister.”
“I get that,” she said, shifting to face the road as he switched on the wipers—thick snowflakes falling.
The snow mixed with sleet before they arrived at Amber Gables.
The guard, in full winter gear, stepped out of the shack next to the gate with a clipboard. “Can I help you folks?” He narrowed his eyes, studying their faces. “Are you members here?”
Deck reached for his badge, hoping that would suffice.
“Yes, sir,” Harper said, surprising him.
She hadn’t mentioned it earlier, but she’d said she knew Brookes, so that made sense.
“It’s been a while,” Harper continued. “I’m Frank and Gladys Grace’s daughter.”
“Miss Harper. Good to see you,” the guard said.
“You too, Luke,” she greeted him back. “We’re here to see Brookes.”
“Everything okay, Miss Harper?” he asked, grasping the clipboard tighter in his gloved hands.
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes remained narrowed, concern fixed on his brow. “You’ll find Brookes on the inner courts.” He lifted the cuff of his jacket sleeve and checked his watch. “His lesson should be finished in five. He always ends on the hour.”
“Thank you.” She nodded as he opened the gate.
“So where are we headed?” Deck asked, shifting the truck back into drive.
“The courts are in a white rec building beyond those two brick ones.” She pointed at the meticulously snowplowed and de-iced hill.
“This place is huge.” He noted what had to be an immense, albeit snow-covered, golf course. Around the bend, two rows of golf carts sat parked under a covered shelter.
“That building,” Harper said, gesturing to an expansive, gym-like metal structure. But it held details he’d never seen on a gym—a wide front porch around the entirety of the massive building with a line of white rocking chairs across it.
“Park over there.” Harper indicated the side lot. “We can head in that door. It’ll take us straight to the courts.”
“Sounds good.” He pulled into a cleared parking spot and cut the ignition. “You said you know Brookes? Outside of Taylor, I mean?” That could be a big help—set the man at ease with familiarity before pummeling him with questions.
“I took lessons with him as a teen and occasionally played doubles with Taylor, Brookes, and one of his buddies.”
“Gotcha.” Could be helpful indeed.
They entered the building, and a tepid warmth greeted them.
“Tennis courts are on the end.” Harper led the way.
Deck checked out the racquetball and handball courts through the glass doors lining the long hall as they made their way toward Brookes.
Harper stopped at the end of the line.
Deckard took in the man in his late thirties—if he was guessing—chugging a bottle of water. “Brookes?” he asked.
Harper nodded, then knocked on the door before opening it.
Brookes turned, smiled, and started to wave. Then he lowered his hand, deep concern scrunching his brow. He strode to the door. “Harper, what on earth happened?” He inspected her face, then glared at Deck.
“It was from an incident overseas.” She shrugged.
“Oh.” He removed his death glare from Deck. “Tay worried about you on those trips. Now I see why. What happened?”
“It’s a long story.” She stuffed her hands into her cream corduroy pant pockets.
“Okay, I won’t push.” Brookes gave a soft smile. “But if you need anything, you let me know.”
“Thanks. We—”
“Aren’t here for a lesson in those clothes?”
“Correct.”
“So what’s up?” He took another sip of water, drinking slower rather than guzzling this time.
“Could we talk in your office?” Harper asked.
His gaze narrowed. “What’s this about?”
“Your office, please.” She inclined her head.
“All right.” He led the way.
Everyone they passed whispered or stared at Harper’s bruised face.
“Take a seat.” Brookes gestured to the navy love seat against the far wall of his expansive office. He rolled his desk chair over. “I’m guessing this is about Tay?”
“Yes.” Harper swallowed.
“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Moisture misted his eyes. “We’d just played tennis that morning, and she was perfectly fine. . . . I know athletes have died suddenly from heart attacks. I guess it was the same thing.”
“I’m not convinced.” Harper linked her arms across her chest, tight against her burgundy sweater.
Brookes cocked his head. “What do you mean, not convinced?”
Harper squared her shoulders. “I’m concerned foul play might be involved.”
“Foul play?” Brookes’s slack expression exuded bewilderment. “I don’t follow.”
“There are some . . .” Harper glanced at Deck, then focused her attention back on Brookes. “Some questions have arisen.”
Brookes’s body tensed—his shoulders growing taut, an edge setting his jaw. “From Nick?”
Deck studied the man. Interesting leap to Nick. And not a happy one. No love lost there.
Harper shook her head. “No. From me.”
“You?” Brookes shook his head. “Why?”
Harper kept the details vague and minimal but gave enough information to keep Brookes talking.
Brookes glanced at the clock on the wall at what Deck would guess was only partway through the conversation. A few kicker questions remained—at least two.
“What else do you want to ask me?” Brookes rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got a thirty-minute lesson starting in ten.”
“All right.” Harper crossed her legs. “I hate to ask, but I need the answer to two very personal questions.”
Deck sat back, enjoying the pleasure of watching her work.
“All right.” Brookes straightened. “Shoot.”
“One, I’m asking this because it’s important in the big scheme of things. I—”
“We were not having an affair,” he said, cutting her off. “If that was what you were about to ask. We were just friends. Albeit good friends.”
“How’d you know I’d ask—”
“Because she told me it’s what her jerk of a husband claimed again when he picked yet another fight with her a couple of weeks ago.”
“Another fight?” Harper prodded.
Brookes raked a hand through his hair. “I’m only telling you this stuff because you were Tay’s good friend and I appreciate you looking into things if you think something is off. You’re FBI, for goodness’ sake. Who am I to question?”
“The fights?” she nudged.
“Right. Taylor and Nick were fighting more and more over the last month.”
“You said he ‘claimed again.’ When did he first accuse her? Do you know?”
“About a month back, roundabout.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Did he come to see you? Confront you?” she asked.
“Nah. Tay just confided in me. She’d finally confronted him about having an affair. He, of course, denied it and then threw our relationship in her face—claiming we were having an affair.”
“Your relationship?” Deck asked. Relationship held a deeper connotation than just casual friends.
He shrugged a lanky shoulder. “Like I said, we were friends.”
“But Nick didn’t believe that?” he asked.
“Nah, but I think he was just deflecting the spotlight away from him and his affair.”
Harper scooched forward on the love seat. “As in you or Taylor knew he was having an affair?”
“Tay had no concrete proof, but her concerns added up to me.”
“Do you know who she believed he was having the affair with?”
Brookes cleared his throat, glanced around, then fixed his gaze back on them. “You can’t say this came from me. She’s a member, and I could lose my job.”
“I promise.”
“Her doubles teammate Morgan.”
Time to talk to Morgan.
“Okay. Just one last question.”
“Okay.” Brookes checked the clock again, then set his gaze back on her. “Shoot.”
“Why did Taylor leave her money to you in her will?”
Brookes’s expression blanked. “What?”
Deck crossed one boot over the opposite knee. “You didn’t know?” His facial expression and body language said he had zero clue, but Tay could have told him before she died—if so, it would give him a solid motive.
Brookes’s brow furrowed. “That can’t be right.”
“I assure you it is.” Harper rested her hands in her lap. “Any idea why she’d do that?”
“No, I’m at a total loss. Are you sure?” he asked again.
“Positive.”
He released a sad chuckle. “Leave it to Tay to do something like that.”
“Do you mind me asking why you?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “We weren’t having an affair if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No. I was just curious. It’s a lot money, and Tay always does things with meaning.”
“Yes, she did.” He shifted his stance. “I run a tennis clinic for kids that can’t afford lessons. I’m turning it into a foundation and expanding it, or at least I was planning to when I had the funds.”
“So Tay had a very good reason,” Harper said.
Brookes shook his head nice and slow. “I still can’t believe she did it.”