Part 7 (1/2)
He followed the news. Malone followed the evidence. I followed my gut.
”You said you had something I want. So far all you've done is ask questions.”
”In my line of business you don't give away information.”
Finally, the truth. I picked up the collapsible bowl I'd left in the gra.s.s and dumped the small amount of water Missy hadn't finished. ”Don't let Detective Malone hear you say that.”
”Why?”
I folded the bowl and dropped it on the closest storage container. ”I'm going to do you a huge favor and give you a heads up.” I pointed at his blazer pocket. ”Make sure your little voice recorder is on so you get every word.” His eyes widened, and I knew I'd been right. I continued, ”Malone hates it when people b.u.t.t into his investigation or withhold information. If you're going to follow the news on his turf, make sure you stay out if his way.”
”Sounds like you speak from experience.”
I shrugged, not willing to confirm or deny his a.s.sumption. ”Keep in mind, you may both have the same goal, but he has the badge.”
He was about to say something when Darby appeared. G.o.d bless her. She had perfect timing.
”Hey, Mel.” She strolled up to Mr. TV and me. Her gaze darted between us. She c.o.c.ked her head and asked, ”Am I interrupting?”
He jumped off the table and shot Darby a boyish grin. ”Not at all.”
If he thought I was going to introduce him to Darby, he was barking up the wrong tree. ”Actually, Mr. MacAvoy was just leaving.”
His green eyes flashed with a promise that he'd be back. ”I'm sure we'll see each other again.” I had to give him credit. He didn't attempt to outstay his welcome.
I refrained from rolling my eyes. ”No doubt.” My delivery was as dry as the dirty martini I'd downed last week at a charity event for pet health awareness.
As soon as he turned his back, Darby spoke, ”Mel-”
I cut her off with a look.
Once Mr. TV was out of earshot I said, ”He's as crooked as a dog's hind leg. Don't trust him.”
Her eyebrows shot up. ”Your Texas doesn't come out often, but when it does, it means you're mad. What happened?”
Darby knew me well. She was right about my Texas side.
”Mr. TV Reporter was clearly pumping me for info on Betty and Stephanie. He claimed he has something I want, but he made it crystal clear he wasn't willing to tell me anything without some type of deal.”
”Do you have any idea what he meant?” She pulled her electronic tablet from her messenger bag.
”None. He had a voice recorder in his pocket. I called him out on it. He wasn't expecting that.” I replayed the surprise on his handsome face in my head. ”Oh, he may show up around the store. He mentioned doing a segment on local businesses. I have no idea if that was a legitimate idea or a flimsy ploy.” I leaned toward a tactical move.
”If that's a sincere offer, that would be great exposure.”
I shook my head. Sweet Darby. Even after the dire circ.u.mstances she'd endured since she'd arrived in town, she was still a trusting soul. You can take the girl out of the Midwest, but you couldn't squash the natural instinct to believe the best in people.
I reached out and gave Darby a quick hug.
She laughed. ”What was that for?”
”I'm lucky to have you in my life.”
She squeezed my hand. ”I feel the same about you.”
I tugged the hem of my hoodie back into place at my waist. ”Enough of the sappy love fest. What's up?”
Darby's face lit up with excitement. ”I've been thinking about what Grey had said. You know, about my pictures. If they could be that important, I thought I should review them now. I'm only halfway through the five hundred photos, but when I saw this I couldn't wait. You'll never believe what I found. Look.” Darby shoved her tablet at me.
On the screen was a photo of Richard arguing with a female protester. The woman was at least six inches shorter than he was. Her long, brown hair flared around a beautiful heart-shaped face. Her mouth curled in anger. She looked primed to whack Richard over the head with her ”Save the Doxies” sign. The right corner of the photo was time-stamped-two thirty.
A smile as wide as the Pacific Ocean spread across my mouth. ”Looks like we've got a new suspect!”
Chapter Eight.
”DO YOU KNOW her,” I asked Darby, flipping through the other photos.
”No, but I asked around. Her name is Fallon Keller. She's the head of Rights for Doxies, an animal rights organization that's known to protest all the dachshund races in southern California.”
Darby had taken a handful of pictures of the protesters, but there was only one perfect shot capturing Fallon Keller, arms raised, poised to beat Richard with her peace-love-and-save-the-doggies sign.
”Is Malone still here?” she asked.
”I haven't seen him since his stock comment about throwing me in jail if I didn't stay out of his way. It takes a while to process the scene and talk to everyone. Certainly, he's around here somewhere.” I handed her the tablet. ”Will you email me a copy of that?”
”Sure.” After closing the cover, she tucked it safely in her bag. ”I saw Grey talking to Hagan Stone. I didn't realize they knew each other.”
That was news to me too. However, Grey had been looking for Betty's gun, so he would have talked to everyone. It was part of his training. You never knew what small detail could break a case wide open.
”He meets a lot of people through the gallery. Have you talked to Hagan since he decided to postpone the rest of the event?”
She nodded. ”He's worried people won't come back.”
That was a possibility. I pushed out a long breath. I couldn't believe what I was about to suggest, but I wasn't the type of person to hamper the success of the race because I didn't like or trust someone.
”If we see MacAvoy again, let's make sure he knows about tomorrow. He can at least get that on the evening news.”
Darby grinned. ”That hurt.”
”More than you know.”
She grabbed my arm and tugged. ”Hey, there's Hagan.” Darby waved him over with gusto.
Somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut and my expression neutral. This was my first face-to-face with Hagan Stone. Up until this moment, all of our interaction had been over the phone or by email.
He didn't look at all like I had imagined. He was fortyish, with thick dark hair in need of a trim, a high forehead, hawkish nose, and the voice of Cary Grant. I half expected him to air-kiss my cheeks or the back of my hand. He barreled over and introduced himself.