Untitled (14 page)

   I saw the way Kegan's ears pricked, so before he could ask, I explained about WOW and Valerie and how she'd given us a whole list of women who might have had it in for Brad.

   "That's a perfect suggestion." Kegan's eyes were bright with excitement. "Talk to the WOW women and see what they have to say. One of them probably offed Brad."

   "Offed him?" I didn't want to offend Kegan, but I had to laugh. "You're talking like you're on
CSI
."

   He had the good sense to blush. Eve, though, had no such qualms. "You have to admit," she said, "it's a fascinating mystery. I've been reading the papers. I know that Brad was killed in front of a whole train station full of people. And every one of them swears they didn't see a thing."

   "Except for the person in the hooded sweatshirt," Kegan added.

   "That's right." Eve nodded. "And no one knows who it could have been or why the person wanted Brad dead. Of course, first I heard about it, I thought of that list Valerie gave us. I mean, really, Annie, how many detectives are lucky enough to have the list of suspects even before the crime is committed?" Her golden brows dropped over her eyes, and Eve's expression grew serious.

   "Not that I think any of my WOW sisters could have done it. You understand that, don't you? But I read over that list. There are some names on it that I don't recognize. It could be one of them. Even so . . ." She paused, thinking. "I can't imagine planning a murder like that. I mean, really, if you're going to kill a man, there are cleaner ways of doing it. And easier ways of not being detected. I mean, really, a disguise? How silly is that!"

   She did not notice my razor-sharp look. Or maybe she did, and she chose to ignore it. Either way, I didn't have a chance to point out that just a couple weeks before, she'd thought disguises were the best things in the world. Before I could, Kegan spoke up.

   "Disguises, yeah, that was one of the first things that detective asked about yesterday," he told Eve. "He asked each one of us if Brad ever said anything about being followed."

   Eve's eyes got wide. She looked at me. "A detective was here? Yesterday? He asked about stuff like that?"

   It was my duty as official best friend to break the news. "Not just a detective," I said. "Tyler."

   "Oh." Eve sank into the chair I'd just gotten out of. "Nobody told him about what I said, did they? I mean the whole thing about wanting to kill Brad. Nobody told Tyler—"

   "It may have come up." This seemed a kinder way of explaining than telling Eve that Margaret and some of the other students had practically tried and condemned her. "Tyler also questioned me. He asked if I knew where you were yesterday. I couldn't tell him. You never returned my calls."

   "Oh."

   This
oh
was different from the first one. That was a sinking-feeling kind of
oh
. This one, accompanied as it was by Eve looking at the floor and biting her lower lip, packed a whole different meaning. One I didn't like at all.

   "Oh? What do you mean, oh?" Because Eve refused to look at me, I crouched down on the floor in front of my desk chair to catch her gaze. "Why did you say it that way? That wasn't an
oh
like oh boy, am I glad. Or oh, I can't wait to tell you. That was a guilty sort of
oh
. What were you up to, yesterday, Eve?"

   "Oh, you know . . ." When Eve stood, I had no choice but to get out of the way. I pulled myself to my feet, and I just about got beaned when she waved a hand in the air. "This and that."

   "This and that isn't going to satisfy Tyler. It isn't an alibi."

   "Do you think she needs one?" This question came from Kegan, who was suddenly on his feet, too. Two people in my office is a crowd. With three of us standing there toe-to-toe and eye to eye, it bordered on claustrophobic. Kegan rubbed his hands together. "I mean, gee, Eve, I don't want you to worry, but we were talking about it. Me and Annie. Before you came in. You told me what a great detective she is, so I figured I'd get her input. I asked her what she'd do if the cops really were looking at you as a suspect, but I never thought . . . I mean, it was sort of a game, wasn't it, Annie? Just sort of a hypothetical situation. I wondered how she'd handle it . . . you know, being a detective and all. I mean, I wondered what she'd do if it turned out that the cops really believed what everyone in class said about how you threatened Brad. I never thought we were really talking about you actually being a suspect. About . . . about how you might need a really strong alibi."

   I shut him up with a look and concentrated on Eve, who was suddenly as green as the blouse she was wearing with a black thigh-high skirt and a nipped-at-the-waist jacket.

   She ran her tongue over her lips. "You don't think . . ." She couldn't bring herself to finish.

   I put a hand on her arm. "Of course not. But what I think and what Tyler thinks are two different things."

   "Doesn't it figure he'd be the one investigating this case." Eve had a way of snorting that was ladylike and dismissive all at the same time. "If he shows up here, I'll just give that boy a piece of my mind, that's what I'll do."

   "You'd be better off telling him where you were yesterday." I pointed this out even though she already knew it. When Eve was overwrought (and I could see from the slightly dazed look on her face that we were definitely skirting the edges), it was wise to try and keep her on track. "I called you a dozen times, and you never answered. You didn't return my messages, either. I'm curious, Eve, but Tyler's going to be more than that. He's trying to establish a timeline for everybody involved with this murder, and right about now, he's thinking you might be involved. He's going to need to know where you were, and you'd better have somebody to back you up. Come on, Eve, just tell me. Where were you yesterday? Shopping? Then it's no big deal; you'll have receipts to prove it. Your salon? Your masseuse will vouch for you. The hairdresser's? I know Paulette, the woman who does your hair. She'll speak up for you, too. Don't tell me you don't remember where you were yesterday, Eve. Come on, time to come clean."

   Only she didn't. In fact, all Eve did was stand there and chew off her lipstick.

   Let it be known that I have a lot more patience than Eve ever will. I was ready to prove it by standing there until closing time and beyond, waiting for her answer. I would have done it, too, if Jim hadn't rapped on the door. When he saw that we were packed into my office like sardines in a can, he didn't bother to step inside.

   "Tyler Cooper's here again," he said. His gaze settled on Eve. "He wants to talk to you."

   I have seen Eve as cool and as calm as the proverbial cucumber in front of hundreds of people in a beauty pageant audience. I've watched her maintain her composure when pageant judges questioned her about things like world peace, her vision for a new tomorrow, and why she thinks it's important for a woman to always look her best. Heck, I was sitting in the front row the time she did her talent competition with flaming batons, started the stage on fire, and made it look like part of the act by stamping out the flames to the beat of the music.

   I have never, ever seen her look so nervous.

   Before she could step into the restaurant, I reached for her arm. "Are you sure there isn't something you want to tell me? I mean, before you go out there and have to tell Tyler?"

   "Whatever are you talking about, Annie? Tell Tyler what?" There was a sheen of tears in Eve's eyes. She sniffled, grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk, and dabbed her nose. When she was done, she pulled back her shoulders. The attitude would have been more convincing if her chin didn't quiver. "I don't have a thing to worry about," she said right before she headed out the door.

   Someone at the bar called for a drink, and Jim had to hurry over. That left Kegan and me.

   I didn't have to turn around; I could feel him behind me, and I knew he was looking right where I was looking. Together, we watched Eve stroll over to the table where Tyler was waiting. She dropped into the seat across from his. "Think she's right?" Kegan asked. "You know, about having nothing to worry about?"

   I shook my head. After all, I could see exactly what Kegan could see: though Eve claimed she didn't have a thing to worry about, she didn't look like she believed it. In fact, as I watched, Eve clutched her hands in her lap and shredded the tissues into tiny pieces.

   "Just like he's going to rip her flimsy excuses about yesterday to shreds."

   Luckily, Kegan knew exactly what I was talking about. "What are you doing to do, Annie?" he asked me.

   I didn't have to answer. Kegan knew my answer as well as I did.

   There was no way on earth I was going to allow Tyler to consider Eve a suspect, and that meant I had to find him some real suspects.

   It was time to start investigating.

       roster that included phone numbers and places of employment, just in case they needed to contact each other for an anti-Weasel shoulder to cry on. I stopped at Eve's that night, looked through the list, and found out that Valerie Conover worked at a gym in Falls Church.

   Abs of Iron, Buns That R Fun wasn't exactly the Department of Labor, but as I approached it the next day on my lunch hour, I saw that the building was new and impressive. It featured lots of gleaming glass and metal, sleek lines, and a photo of a man and woman that hung above the front doors, as big as a billboard. They were linked arm in arm, the better to show off bodies that were fit, trim, and so well-proportioned, one look at them was enough to convince any normal person who was not so fit, not so trim, and nowhere near as well-proportioned that this was not a place he (or she) would be caught dead in workout clothes.

   With a glance at the sensible shoes I was wearing with sensible khakis, a sensible cotton blouse, and the navy blue cardigan I'd bought specifically because it was long enough to hide my hips, I stepped inside. The door hadn't even closed behind me when a stick-thin girl in a burgundy-colored velour warm-up suit stepped out from behind the front reception desk and chirped a greeting. She wore a name tag that identified her as Cindie. "Welcome! I'll bet you're here for buns that are fun!"

   "Actually—"

   "I know. I was nervous my first time, too. But that was only three months ago. Look at me now!" To make sure I did, she twirled around. When she was done, Cindie looked me up and down. "Might take a little longer for you, of course, but we guarantee results! Just step into one of our assessment rooms." She waved me toward a long hallway where I saw a row of offices, each staffed with an eager membership consultant dressed in a warm-up suit identical to Cindie's. "We'll give you a personal evaluation and a training plan designed just for you. We'll have you working out in no time at all."

   "That's great, but I'm not here to work out."

   "You're not?" Cindie wrinkled her nose and gave me another quick once-over. "Are you sure?"

   I was before I walked in there.

   I told myself I'd have the luxury of feeling unattractive later. Right now, I only had my lunch hour, and time was ticking away. "I'm here to see Valerie Conover," I told the girl.

   "Valerie . . ." Cindie hurried around to the other side of the desk and consulted her computer screen. "She's just finishing up a tennis class." She pointed toward a glass wall. Beyond it was a maze of machines that looked like they came straight out of a medieval torture chamber. "You can go over to the courts and meet her. That way, you'll get to see a little of our facility. I'll bet when you do, you'll change your mind about joining."

   I, on the other hand, bet I wouldn't.

   I thanked Cindie and pushed through the door that led into the workout area, my steps punctuated by the sounds of metal chunking against metal. I excused my way around two sweaty guys who were talking to each other and got outside to the tennis courts just as Valerie was telling a group of middle-aged women to practice, and that she'd see them next week.

   When she went over to a bench for a towel and a bottle of water, I stepped into Valerie's path.

   I reminded her who I was and made sure I mentioned that I was a friend of Eve's, and of WOW. "I was hoping you'd have a few minutes to talk."

   Valerie was dressed in a blindingly white tennis skirt that skimmed her thighs and a sleeveless white shirt that showed off perfectly muscled arms. Because of the sunshade she was wearing over her golden hair, her face was shaded, but even so, I saw her blush.

   "Not exactly the Department of Labor, is it?"

   Her question was so close to what I'd been thinking on my way in, I blushed, too. Being the perpetual fixer-upper that I am, I did my best to lessen her embarrassment. "You must be a great tennis player. I mean, you'd have to be to teach."

   "Good thing." Valerie's smile was tight. "If I didn't have this, I'd be sleeping in a box under a bridge somewhere. Thanks to Brad Peterson, it's the only damn job I can get."

   I whispered a silent prayer of thanks. Since she'd already brought up the subject of Brad, I wouldn't have to try to ease my way into it. "Funny you should mention him," I said. "That's what I stopped to talk to you about."

   Valerie's eyes lit. "You found out something. Something about Brad. Eve said you'd come through for us! Whatever it is, I hope we can use it to nail that bastard to the wall. Then maybe when I apply for a real job and employers call him, he'll stop giving me a lousy reference."

   "Oh, I don't think he'll be giving you any more bad references." I managed to keep my words casual, but I was careful to watch her as I spoke. Her expression was blank. She didn't have a clue what I meant.