by Jody Holford
Molly’s brows scrunched. “You’ve spoken to Brad Templeton?” Sam’s arm tightened around her shoulder.
“No comment,” Chris said.
Molly looked up at Sam. “Are all of the drivers here today?”
He nodded, and she looked at Chris with a smile. “Guess I’d better do a few last-minute interviews.”
Chris’s lips tightened, and he seemed to be struggling with what to say. Finally, he bit out, “Let us do our jobs, Molly.”
“Back at you, Officer Beatty.”
Sam shook his head and dropped his hand. “Am I always going to be telling you two to knock it off?”
Both of them looked at Sam, and Molly felt a hard stab of guilt. “I’m just going to interview the drivers about the show. I won’t print anything about the murder that I don’t check with the department.” She turned to look at Chris. She didn’t mind going head to head with him. He pushed her, she pushed back. But she never wanted Sam to feel torn between them.
“I appreciate that. Stop by the station a little later, and I’ll update you with a formal statement,” he said.
Sam clapped Chris on the shoulder. “There. Was that so hard?”
The three of them laughed, but Sam sobered quickly. “I need to do the closing ceremony. Candice and Brian both want to speak.”
“I’m not going to stick around,” Chris said. “I need to run down some leads and touch base with my deputies. I’ll see you guys later.”
He wandered off, and Molly was about to do the same because she knew Sam had things to do. Things that had seemed so exciting only a few days earlier would now be tinged with a dark sadness no one could have predicted.
Sam turned Molly, pulling her up against him. There were people walking and chatting. They were nowhere near alone, but Molly felt like it was just the two of them in a private bubble.
Sam smoothed her hair back from her face with both hands and touched her lips with his in such a gentle kiss, her breath caught. When he pulled away, just enough to speak, she put her hands on his wrists and stared into his troubled eyes.
“We don’t know who the murderer is, babe. I know you have a job to do. I get that. I also know you’re…curious.” He paused.
Her stomach and heart took a tumble, slamming into each other. Molly tried to make light of it with one of her favorite Alice in Wonderland quotes. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
His smile was shadowed with concern. “I need you to be careful. More than your usual careful. I have things I have to do, and you’re wandering around with a camera and questions, and everyone is here today, which means, in all likelihood, whoever killed Jet is here. It would make my day easier if I knew you’d keep yourself safe.”
“I will,” she said. He didn’t need to be worried about her on top of everything else.
“I mean it, Molly. You…” He stopped, closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I what?” She wasn’t sure why she whispered.
Sam opened his eyes, looked into hers with such a concentrated focus, her heart beat more heavily. “You’re everything to me. I need you to be safe. To watch your back when I’m not there to do it.”
Her heart flatlined for a full two seconds, and then she sucked in a breath. “Back at you.” Going up on tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his, hard, hoping she could show what neither of them wanted to say at a crowded fairground.
He returned the kiss, his fingers sifting through her hair. When he pulled back, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and said he was going to double-check the microphones.
She said she’d see him shortly, but as she stood there, watching him weave his way through the crowd, she took a minute. Pressing a hand to her heart, she gave herself some time until it slowed its frenzied pace. Wants and needs tugged at her from all sides. She wanted to run to him, to stay by his side. She wanted them both to walk away from the fairgrounds and forget that, once again, someone had died in their town. She needed to do her job, and she needed to do it in a way that let her keep her promise to Sam.
Heading for the gallery, knowing many of the drivers would be chatting while they waited for the closing ceremony to begin, she wondered if she was, indeed, about to rub shoulders with Jet’s murderer. Would not knowing who it was help her keep her vow to Sam? She sure as heck hoped so.
Chapter Eleven
The drivers seemed to have broken off into groups. There were several women present. Whether they were wives, groupies, or children, Molly wasn’t sure. Sam had told her there were people who traveled from one event to another, even if they weren’t showing a car. It was a lifestyle.
Sam, Candice, and Brian chatted beside the podium. Brian’s eyes scanned the crowd, as though he also wondered who among them could be guilty. She took it all in—the crowd, the subtle pulse of grief, the barely there hum of excitement—because this was still an event they were happy to attend. Did Jet personally know every driver involved? Could some of them be unaffected by his death?
Over the last two days, Molly had said hello to each of the drivers and gotten their names and vehicles for the paper. She and Jill had chatted back and forth about putting a roster of sorts in the paper to share who was who with the town. At the moment, however, she felt like it was a suspects list.
A chill hovered over the somber tone in the outbuilding. Brad and Herman were talking, heads close, and neither of them looked particularly happy. Some of the drivers were staring down at their phones. Everyone’s attention was on other things, and that gave Molly a chance to keep looking around. No one looked twitchy or worried. There was no one glancing over their shoulder or trying to escape.
What did you think? That the killer would wear a shirt saying, “It was me”? That was as likely as her figuring out who it was just from their behavior in this room. She sidled closer to Brad and Herman, the only two she’d chatted with about anything beyond basic questions. Intending to ask their opinions, Molly stopped when she heard bits of their argument.
“Don’t lie to me. I saw that stupid stick you suck on. I accidentally kicked it under the car and knew you’d been there.” Herman was using a harsh whisper.
Brad glared at him. “Well, guess what? That means you were there after me. I saw you fighting with him. Want to explain that? I already spoke to the police.”
Molly inched closer. She immediately wondered if he meant physically fighting or just arguing.
“And they told you to stay in town,” Herman said.
“I’m pretty sure they told all of the drivers that,” Molly said. Both men turned and looked at her, their mouths closing as they visibly worked to rein in their tempers.
Neither of them looked willing to talk. Their anger—whether it was with each other, the situation, or something else—vibrated off of them.
“Both of you saw Jet before he died?” Molly glanced up at the stage, where Candy seemed to be comforting Brian. Sam looked down at his phone. She couldn’t catch his eye, but she knew they’d be starting soon.
“We did. But I didn’t kill him,” Brad snarled.
Herman bristled. “I didn’t kill him either, you sniveling—”
Molly held up a hand. “I didn’t suggest you did. Did the police?”
Brad crossed his arms over his chest, almost defiantly. “They questioned me. But they hear what they want to hear.”
“Did you argue?”
Brad’s jaw tightened. He shoved his hands in his pockets, making Molly wonder why he was so restless if he was innocent. “No. God, you sound like them. He wasn’t there to see me anyway.” He sent Herman a pointed look.
Before Molly could follow up on that, Sam got the crowd’s attention.
“Hi, everyone. Thanks for being here this morning. It’s with deep regret and sadness that I tell those of you who might not know that Jethro Harkaw passed away last night.” Sam paused, found
Molly’s gaze in the crowd. She tried to smile, but her throat went tight, making it difficult to swallow or offer reassurance.
With the murmur that moved through the crowd, Molly realized some people actually didn’t know what had been going on. Even if they’d been questioned by the police, they might not have been given any particulars.
Brad and Herman stared straight ahead, and Molly followed their gaze as Sam thanked the drivers and talked about Jethro’s impact on the car world.
Brian stood next to Candice, and she was whispering something in his ear. He was hunched over to accommodate her shorter frame. Even though she wore high heels, he had to come down a fair amount. His hand slipped around her waist, and she leaned into his side as Sam made the crowd laugh by sharing a Jethro story.
It said a lot about her boyfriend that he could remind the crowd about Jethro’s good qualities while still struggling with learning about the other side of his one-time idol.
“Before we assign the awards and prizes, Candice Harkaw and Brian Stoleman would like to say a few words,” Sam said.
Sam gestured to the two, who pulled apart. Candice walked up to the small podium and picked up the microphone.
“Hi, everyone. Thank you for being here. Jethro loved everything about cars. He loved being in them, driving them, taking them apart, and talking about them. His greatest source of pride was the Classic Car Crawl.”
Candice spoke eloquently, not a waver or break in her words. Molly was impressed with the way she held herself together and couldn’t help comparing Jethro’s ex-wife to his widow.
They were opposite ends of a spectrum, as different, from the outside, at least, as two women could be. Candice wore her long blond hair in a low ponytail which highlighted the fact that she wasn’t wearing makeup. She was natural. Soft. Classy. Molly knew from experience that those qualities didn’t rule her out as a killer. But she’d been with Brian. And Amber had been with Jet. Until he sent her home. Then it was Herman. She stared at Herman as Candy spoke.
“I was by Jethro’s side for most of this journey. Up until the last little bit, when he decided to trade me in for a newer model with a younger, trimmer package,” she smiled when she said it, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “But we stayed friends and business partners. There won’t be a day I don’t miss him.”
The crowd clapped. Looking around, Molly saw sadness on many faces. A couple of people still scrolled through their phones, seemingly bored. Brian stepped up to the podium.
Molly wrote down the words “business partner” on her notepad. Was Candice a big part of the event? Was that why she was here? Friends. They’d certainly seemed more than friendly last night. As Brian cleared his throat and stared out at everyone, Molly made a couple more notes. Herman said Brad had talked with Jet before him. That established a bit of a time line. Amber said Herman had texted him. The time line was tripping her up.
“There are no words to express the hollowness I feel knowing that I’ll never share another Classic Car Crawl with Jet. He was my best friend, the brother I never had, and we promised each other we’d do this to our dying day. I guess he kept his word.” Brian looked up, tilting his head back, and took a few breaths. When he spoke again, he didn’t do it into the microphone. “I’ll keep going, brother. You are gone, but you are not forgotten, and I’ll make sure your name lives on.”
Stepping back from the podium, he looked out at them, but Molly got the impression he wasn’t seeing anyone. Grief had a way of blinding a person. Remembering what he’d said the night before about this being his last event, Molly wondered if Brian now felt obligated to have this not be the last show.
Sam shook Brian’s hand when he went back to the podium and began sharing the various awards that would be handed out. Molly had what she needed for now, as far as the car show went. She had to get to the station and get another statement, though.
Herman caught her eye, and she moved closer to him. “Amber said you texted Jet last night,” she said as Sam spoke to the crowd.
“I did. What’s it to you?”
Molly flinched. He’d certainly lost the friendly persona he’d put on yesterday.
“I was just curious. I’m sure you want to find out who did this as much as everyone else. Did he say anything about meeting anyone else?”
Realizing that she wasn’t pointing a finger at him, he relaxed. The crowd clapped as one of the trophies was claimed.
“No. But we weren’t exactly having a friendly conversation.” He ran a hand over the top of his almost hairless head. Molly frowned and stepped closer. He had bruising under his eye and what looked like a cut lip. She hadn’t noticed before because his tea-colored skin hid it until she was really focused.
Molly stared at him, and he fidgeted, dropping his hand, which had three knuckles crusted with blood. “You fought physically?”
Herman’s gaze went dark. “He punched me first. I’ve put up with enough from him. Guy went crazy when I told him I was done waiting for him to pay me back. I told him I was going to expose him for the fraud he was. He sucker-punched me, we fought, I left. With him alive. But he gets the last laugh as usual.”
Herman clapped along with the crowd when the winner of the “Best Newcomer” trophy went to receive the award. It wasn’t Brad. Had he known?
Molly couldn’t figure out how Jethro had had the last laugh or how any of this could be seen as funny. Then the words settled in her brain. “Wait, he owed you money?”
Herman folded his arms across his chest. “Fifty thousand dollars. Don’t think I’ll be getting it back now.”
Chapter Twelve
Britton Bay Bulletin @TheBulletin ⃰ 2 hours
Amber Harkaw, Classic Car Crawl founder’s widow, offers reward for information leading to an arrest of her husband’s killer.
Other than Amber reaching out to PBN, the Portland Broadcasting Network, to announce that she’d offered a monetary reward for leads, Monday was relatively quiet in Britton Bay. Sam returned to work, and since he’d stayed at his own place Sunday evening, Molly missed him by mid-afternoon. When she stopped by Come ’n Get It to grab him some lunch, she realized she’d have a bit of a wait.
A good number of the people hanging around because they’d been instructed to by the Britton Bay Police Department were in the diner. Molly recognized several drivers and their partners. She still couldn’t figure out the dynamics of who was who, but wedding rings made a few of the relationships clear. Then she thought about Candy, Amber, and Jet and realized the wedding rings didn’t necessarily tell the whole story.
“Hey, Molly.” Calli greeted her, both hands grappling with delicious-looking sandwiches and fries. “Find a seat, hon.”
Two other waitresses worked the floor with Calliope, and there was a teen behind the counter who looked familiar but whom Molly couldn’t place. He was laughing at something Dean said from the kitchen.
“I’m just placing a to-go order,” she said to Calli, walking between the full tables and booths to get to the counter.
The counter guy turned when Molly approached. Hovering somewhere between boyhood and manhood, he had thick brown hair that fell across his forehead and a happy smile that brightened her otherwise dreary day.
“Hi. Welcome to Come ’n Get It. What can I get for you?” His grin made Molly smile.
“I’ll take a clubhouse sandwich on brown with fries.”
“You got it,” he said, then stared at the computer for a moment, his index finger hovering over the screen as his eyes scanned.
“I’m Molly. I work at the Britton Bay Bulletin. You’re new here?”
He looked up as he pressed in her order. Dean caught her eye from behind the silver pass and waved.
“Hey, Molly. This is my nephew, Greg.” Dean said.
Greg smiled at her, then turned to his uncle. “Order up. Less talking, more working.”
Dean laughed, and so did Molly. “Kid wants a car, so he begs for a job; now he thinks he owns the place.”
Molly paid for her order and slipped onto one of the retro, vinyl-covered spinning stools. “You look familiar.”
He smiled, glancing at her as he slipped the money into the register. “You’re working the Car Crawl, right?”
She nodded.
“I volunteered there Saturday night. We have to have a certain amount of volunteer hours to graduate.”
“Oh. That’s a great idea, though. Volunteering, I mean. Gives you a look at different job choices.”
He shrugged. “Those cars were sweet, but I don’t really want to work with vehicles. Doesn’t matter if the hours are in keeping with what you want to do with your life. Guess they realize maybe all of us don’t have it figured out.”
His laugh was sweet and happy. She certainly hadn’t known what she wanted to do when she graduated.
Molly wondered if the police had questioned the teens who helped out. There’d been several. “Did you work with a specific driver?”
He shook his head, looking back at the kitchen, then turning to Molly again when he saw he wasn’t needed. “Nah. Just floated around. Grabbed food and water for some of the drivers who were busy chatting with people. Walked a bunch of people to their pickup vehicles at the end.”
She smiled. “Guess if you’re not into cars, you didn’t meet any idols, huh?” Had it been Sam walking people to cars or floating around at Greg’s age, he’d have been in his element.
Greg’s laugh was cut short when he had to ring up several takeout orders in a row. A couple people slipped onto stools along the counter, but a few just waited by the register. Greg came back to Molly when he finished.
“I didn’t have any idols, but I got to meet one of the people who ran it. Not the guy who died. The other one. I walked his girlfriend or whatever to the car.”
Molly’s ears practically twitched at his words. “His girlfriend?”