He seemed startled, then broke into a big smile. “No, I’m not, actually. I like you. You speak your mind.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“So when do you want to go out?”
I shrugged. “How about now?”
Chapter 6
Seth Davis (I finally asked him his last name) took me to a trendy new club downtown, Mixology. To my delight, it was not a country bar, because even though Nashville is my home away from home, I’ve never been much of a country music fan. Choosing a cozy circular booth, we ordered some food and drinks and made a little small talk. I found out that he was a professor at Vanderbilt in the film studies department.
“Film studies. You can major in watching movies?” I asked, puzzled.
He laughed easily. “No, film studies is much like any fine arts major. You study the history of the craft. You study the differences between genres. You study how to create the art yourself. Just like majoring in music doesn’t mean all you do is sit around and listen to music all day.”
Seth had said before that Gertie had told him all about me, so I didn’t feel the need to talk about myself too much. “Some days it felt like that’s all we did. So, being a film studies professor, do you only like artsy-fartsy movies or will you watch movies that regular people actually like?”
“Artsy-fartsy? Is that a technical term?” He smiled again. I loved making him smile, because his already handsome face absolutely lit up.
“Yeah, for sucky movies.”
“Are you asking if I’m a film snob?”
“I guess.” Hot as he was, I could not handle dating someone who would only watch boring, artistic films.
“I like movies that are well written, well acted, and well executed. They don’t have to be Oscar flicks, as long as I don’t feel like I’ve wasted two hours of my life afterward.”
“So what’s your favorite movie?”
He grinned. “My answer should probably be something like Citizen Kane or a Fellini film, but my favorite movie has always been Die Hard.”
“Really?” Extra points for the film professor who could admit that his favorite movie was Die Hard.
“All guys like action movies.” Leaning closer, he added, “And speaking of action, I hear that some major action happened at Java Jive after I left last night.”
I sighed. I really didn’t want to talk about Dave’s murder with anyone—well, except for Pete. Plus, I didn’t even know if I was supposed to talk about it, since I was a “person of interest” or whatever.
“I wouldn’t call it action. One of the staff passed away. It was sad, really.”
Seth frowned. “Right, of course. Very sad. How did the rest of the staff take it? Was he close with anyone?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to any of the staff yet.”
“How about Pete? How is he doing with all of this?”
He sure did ask a lot of questions. “Pete’s known the guy for years, so he’s understandably upset.”
“Understandably. Is Pete particularly close with any of the rest of the staff?”
Shrugging, I replied, “I don’t know. I’m new.”
“Hopefully he has some kind of relationship built with them. In my experience, college kids can be tough to deal with under circumstances like this. Are you good with teenagers?”
I sighed. “Not at all. I wasn’t even good with teenagers when I was a teenager.”
He laughed. “You may have your work cut out for you, then. Hey, if you need anyone to help you talk with them, I’d be happy to. I can talk to college students like it’s my job.”
I hesitated for a moment while that sank in. Oh, it was a joke. “Ha, ha. It is your job.”
“I’m also very witty.” He winked at me. “So did you get the okay to open tomorrow?”
“Yeah, we’ll be open tomorrow.”
Seth motioned for the waitress and ordered another round of drinks. I really didn’t want another, but after the craziness of the past twenty-four hours, I needed something to take the edge off.
“I’m glad. I didn’t know where to go to eat today, plus I didn’t get to see my girlfriend.”
Smiling, I agreed, “I missed Gertie today, too. She’s like a grandmother to me. When I was in college, I probably ate dinner at her house three nights a week. That woman can cook.”
“She baked me some cookies last week. Best I ever had.”
“I’m so jealous. Wait. Were they…”
We both said at the same time, “Pineapple chocolate chip!”
“My favorite. Weird combo, but it works,” I said.
He nodded. “I was shocked when she handed them to me. She talks tough, but deep down she’s nothing but a sweet old lady.”
“I won’t tell her you said that. She’d slap you into next week.”
Our second round of drinks arrived. Seth took a long pull from his beer and said, “Gertie said that Java Jive hasn’t been doing too well business-wise. And that you’re supposed to be their savior.”
Grimacing, I replied, “Something like that. There’s a lot of pressure on my shoulders, but I think it shouldn’t be too difficult to make a few changes and become profitable again.”
“Please don’t change the Reuben sandwich. It’s my favorite.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. It’s my favorite, too.”
“Do you have a handle on why business has declined? Do you think it’s the staff or simply a shift of customers to a competitor?”
“I thought you were a film professor, not an economics professor.” Enough with the questions!
Seth laughed easily. “Sorry. The economy plays a role in both film production and profit, so I have an interest in economics as well. I wonder if being the scene of a murder will be good or bad for business.”
“Nobody said anything about murder,” I said uneasily, gulping my drink.
He gave me a weird look. “Yeah, they did. It’s all over the news. Do you live under a rock or something?”
I said quietly, “No, I just don’t feel like reliving it.” I had been very careful today to avoid media of any kind, and sticking my head in the sand was keeping me sane.
Taking my hand, he said kindly, “I wondered if you were the one who found the body. Do you want to talk about it? It’s okay if you don’t.”
His concern for me was sweet, and his touch shot a tingle up my arm. “Thanks, but I’m kind of freaked out by it. I’d rather not talk about it too much.” The image of Dave lying in the dumpster popped into my head again, and I felt ill. Worrying that it was a good possibility I’d lose my dinner, I excused myself and fled the table.
Once inside the ladies’ room, I splashed some water on my face and looked in the mirror. Not cute. I was paler than usual, which was hardly possible with my already glow-in-the-dark-hued skin tone. The only color I had to my face was the big, purple circles under my green eyes. I quickly swiped some concealer over them, and was halfway through applying blush to my cheeks when the bathroom door opened and a man walked in. Horrified, I looked around, hoping in my haste that I hadn’t chosen the wrong restroom. Nope. The tampon dispenser and lack of urinals were a sure sign that I was in the right place. Not wanting to get involved with a perv, I packed up my makeup and headed for the door.
The man blocked my exit. He was scrawny, only a little taller than me, so he wasn’t particularly intimidating, but his eyes were hard. He asked, “Are you Juliet Langley?”
Gasping, I whispered, “Yes.”
He broke into a smile, shoving the end of his phone in my face. “I’m Don Wolfe from the Nashville Gazette. We spoke earlier, but somehow we got cut off. Care to give me an exclusive on the death of David Hill? I’ll get it all here on a recording, so you can be sure I quote you right,” he drawled. Normally, I associated a Southern drawl with nice Southern folk, but there was something about this guy that was distinctly vile.
Taken aback, I cried, “In a ladies’ restroom? That’s disgusting. And I thought I made it
clear before that I have no comment.”
Undaunted, he continued, “You found the body. Can you describe it for me? What were you thinking when you saw the dead man?”
Stepping away from him, I warned, “Stop! I don’t want to talk to you!”
He pressed, “I heard through the grapevine that you’re a person of interest. Why is that?”
I tried going around him, but he got in my way again. “Let me by,” I cried.
“Not until you give me something.”
Anger quickly replaced my fear. “Oh, I’ll give you something.” I raised my knee and planted it between his legs.
Wolfe cried out like a little girl and slid down the wall. “My nuts! Ohhhh…son of a bitch, that hurts! I’ll get you for assault!”
Remembering that he was recording our conversation, I asked, “Did I bump into you, Mr. Wolfe? I’m so clumsy sometimes. My apologies.” I stepped over him and hurried back to the table.
Seth took one look at my face and hopped up, taking my hands. “Are you feeling okay? I was worried about you.”
I felt pretty badass until I had to talk about it, and then I started shaking. “Um…well, a reporter accosted me in the ladies’ room. It was a man, by the way, and he…started trying to interview me.”
Seth’s face immediately grew dark as he peered around the room. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” I brightened a little, thinking back to the pained look on Wolfe’s face. “Hopefully he’s still on the bathroom floor, clutching his balls.”
He regarded me quizzically. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
Feeling better by the second, I admitted, “My knee may have made contact.”
Seth grinned at me, impressed. “I guess you don’t need me to beat him up for you, then. Need another drink?”
“Please.”
Seth didn’t ask any more questions on the subject, so we sat in silence for a while, listening to the musician onstage. His style was much like mine had been—acoustic, singer songwriter–type music. He was quite good, although I didn’t recognize his name. There was a small dance floor in front of the stage, and a few couples were dancing.
“Gertie tells me you used to be a singer,” Seth said, startling me.
“Um, right. Used to be.”
“Were you good?”
I hesitated. I had thought I was pretty good, and my small-venue concert tours had done well. However, my career had still gone down in flames. “I was okay.”
“So why are you working at a coffeehouse instead of being up on a stage somewhere?”
“Long story.” It was also a story I didn’t care to tell.
He slid over until he was sitting next to me and draped his arm around the back of the booth. “I’ve got time.”
Even though I liked being so close to him, I still wasn’t ready to open up. My stage-fright issues were some heavy shit. “I meant I don’t like to talk about it.”
His mouth pulled up in the corner. His lips looked awfully kissable. Yep, Seth was going to be the perfect distraction for all of my troubles. “You don’t want to talk about much, do you?”
I looked at him. “I don’t want to talk at all.”
Picking up on my cue, he leaned toward me, taking my face in his hands and gently brushing my lips with his. I melted into him, pressing my lips to his. He responded by putting his arms around me and pulling me closer, his kiss becoming deeper and more urgent. Seth certainly knew what he was doing, and I got caught up in the moment.
He pulled back and looked at me, smiling. “Dance with me.”
I agreed, and he led me out to the dance floor, where we did a lot more kissing than dancing. Seth was a fantastic kisser, he was interesting and funny, and he was incredibly handsome. So why in the hell were my thoughts suddenly straying to Pete?
—
Seth drove me back to Java Jive, where I picked up my car. He kissed me good night (a lot) and said he’d see me tomorrow. I went to my apartment and did what any woman who was interested in a new man would do: I cyberstalked him.
The problem was, although “Seth Davis, professor of film studies” got several Google hits, none of them showed that he had anything to do with Vanderbilt. I searched around on Vanderbilt’s website and came up empty-handed. He had told me that he just started working there at the beginning of the semester, but seriously, why wouldn’t their website have been updated? It didn’t seem very Vandy-ish of them to not provide up-to-the-minute information. Oh, well. I was sure there was a reasonable explanation for it.
It wasn’t terribly late, so I shifted the focus of my cyberstalking to Charlene’s three suspects. The bar fight guy would be impossible to find until I went back to The Dirty Duck and found out his name. Dave’s sister Gina’s baby daddy, Billy McClintock, was simple to find mainly because he had a very open Facebook page, not surprisingly filled with a lot of public Facebook fights and rants. Dumbass even had his address listed for all the world to see. After some more searching, I realized that it was the address of the house he shared with Gina, which he had just gotten kicked out of. Oh, well, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Gina, too, and maybe I could get his new address from her. There were several Ron Hatchers in Nashville, which wasn’t too surprising. He was a bookie, so it wasn’t like he advertised on social media, but the right Ron couldn’t be terribly hard to find by asking around. My problem was that I didn’t know who to ask. Maybe Pete would.
I called Pete. “Hey, if I were looking for a bookie, where would I start?”
Pete answered groggily, “Huh? Jules, what in the hell do you want with a bookie?”
“Are you asleep already? It’s only nine!”
“I had a rough day,” he whined.
I chuckled. He sounded so sad. “I want to find Ron Hatcher and talk to him.”
“What? I thought you were taking your info to the police!”
“Well…I thought it would be better to have some facts to back it up.”
“You’re not a detective, Jules. Leave it to the professionals.”
“The professionals suck. I’m tired of being treated like a criminal. We’re going to find Ron Hatcher.”
“Now? Tonight?”
“Yeah. I’ve got time, and you’re obviously not doing anything important. Besides, don’t bookies come out at night?”
“I think that’s vampires, but close enough.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Jules…”
“Oh, come on, old man. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
“Fine, but let the record show that I am against this.”
“Duly noted.”
Chapter 7
I drove the few blocks to Pete’s house, and he came to the curb to meet me. It was obvious that he was still grumpy, because he wasn’t his usual happy Pete self.
“Where did you get all of this energy?” he complained.
I’d had a really fun evening, but suddenly felt weird about telling Pete I’d been on a date. “I can’t just sit on all of these leads that Charlene gave us. I have to do something or I’ll go nuts.”
“Do you know where you’re going first?”
“That’s where you come in. You’re a guy. Don’t you know any seedy dudes with access to the underground?”
“Who are you? You’ve gone all thug on me.” He frowned. “You know I don’t hang around with seedy dudes. Dave was the only person I’ve ever known who’d be able to get me in touch with a bookie.”
“You are quite the Boy Scout.”
Pete had always been a “do the right thing” kind of guy, never wanting to get mixed up in any questionable activities. I remember when we were back in college, a group of our fellow music students had decided to mess with one of the professors, who none of us liked. We had planned to toilet-paper her trees and fork her yard, but Pete hadn’t wanted any part of it.
—
“Come on, Pete, don’t be such a Boy Scout,” I had said to him back then, trying to ta
lk him into the prank. “You can’t stand her, either. Come with us. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Sure, she’s a sucky teacher, but I don’t think she deserves a mess in her yard,” he said.
“She’s made a mess of my GPA. She deserves it.”
He shook his head. “Your GPA was already a mess, Jules. You can’t blame her for that.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?” I huffed.
“Yours. I’m trying to keep you out of trouble. You guys are going to get caught.”
“Nah, it’s late. I’m sure she’s in bed. Besides, you don’t want to miss out on the fun. You’ve pranked people before, right?”
He ignored me. “I don’t know, Jules. I don’t think it’s worth it.”
I could tell from the way he reacted that Pete hadn’t pranked anyone’s house before. I didn’t want to be the one to talk him into something that he clearly didn’t want to do. He was such a sweetheart.
I sighed. “Okay, I won’t push you. See you later.”
It turned out Pete was exactly right. We totally got caught. Not only that, but our professor insisted we pick up every piece of toilet paper and every plastic fork we had put in her yard, plus rake her leaves, clean her gutters, and pull every last weed out of her flower beds. She said that if we didn’t do it, she’d go to the dean, so we all caved. We were there all night long. I remember having to go straight to my first class the next morning with dirt and leaves still clinging to my clothes. Pete took one look at me and laughed until he cried. I never pranked another professor again.
—
Present-day Pete frowned at me. “You don’t have to bust my balls for being an upstanding member of the community.”
I couldn’t resist trying to break him out of his funk. “You said ‘upstanding member’ and ‘balls’ in the same sentence.”
He tried to look at me disdainfully, but he couldn’t pull it off. He burst out laughing. “We’ve established that I’m no help. So how do we find this guy?”
“I have a few addresses. We could drive around and peep in people’s windows,” I suggested.
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