Witness to Murder

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “I’m sorry that happened. I left Damon in the Impala to cool off. He wouldn’t have hurt anybody, just engaged in a shouting match. He’ll feel really bad about his reaction in a minute or so.”

  “Like how bad he felt after he killed Alicia? Sometimes it’s too late for sorry, Brody.” His sad gaze pierced her heart, but she turned away. “What is this?” Her fingers finally located her keys stabbed through a slit in the lining of her purse. She drew them out with a nest of little wires, bits of plastic, and electronic gadgetry dangling from the grooves.

  Brody’s eyes went big, the whites showing around the gray. “So that’s how he did it.”

  “How who did what?”

  “Your stalker. The guy planted that thing in your purse while you chased his pooch, and then he knew exactly where you were at all times. I had something like that on my old dog before he died. It’s a personal tracking device.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The Monday after the Arboretum disaster, Brody finally found Hallie at her workstation. She’d been out most of the day on assignments and interviews and hadn’t returned his phone calls over the weekend. He approached her desk with caution. “Are we still on for Friday night?”

  “Why wouldn’t we be?” Her dark-eyed stare was cool. “The Fashion for Fibromyalgia benefit is the finale for my modeling story, and I need an escort.”

  All business then. His heart sank.

  “You’re not backing out on me, are you?” She leaned back in her chair.

  “Nothing like that. I wasn’t sure you still wanted me in that function.”

  Amusement sparked her gaze but didn’t move her lips. “You’re nothing if not exciting to be around, Brody Jordan. Why would a little ruckus discourage a reporter from working with a colleague?”

  “Just checking.” He forced his face to smile. “I’m following up on the Washington Huskies lead. If Alicia attended college in Seattle, I should know soon.”

  “Good. I’m still tracking down relatives of my parents’ airplane pilot. My dad and uncle’s central church headquarters might still have some records on Mr. O’Halloran.”

  “Okay. We’ll touch base as new information surfaces.”

  “Check.”

  They waved at each other, and Brody went to his office. He closed the door, plunked into his chair and stared at his blank computer screen. He’d known that woman could turn him inside out if he gave her half a chance, but he’d plunged ahead in spending time with her anyway. Stupid! Because now all he wanted to do was get closer, and she was shoving him away.

  On Wednesday, Hallie showed up at his office door, a pucker between her brows. Brody waved her in and motioned toward a seat.

  She stood behind it, hands resting on the chair back. “I heard from Detective Millette. DNA results are a slow business, so nothing new on the trace found in the car, though they’re still hoping for something conclusive. However, the lab techs were intrigued by the tracking device, since it showed signs of modification, and they got right on it. Evidently, my stalker must be an electronics whiz. He took a store model and installed a specialty lithium-iodide battery that would last almost indefinitely instead of the standard day or two, plus he lengthened the range on the thing. This guy was very serious about watching my movements. Plus,” a little shudder rippled her shoulders, “he added a bugging device so he could overhear conversations.”

  Brody smacked his desktop. “No wonder he always knew what we were looking for!”

  “He had his dog steal my scarf to give him a chance to tuck the device underneath the stiff bottom lining of my purse, so it would be nearly undetectable. He’s clever, he’s cool, he’s determined, he’s ruthless, and he’s still out there.” She pressed two fingers to the crease between her eyes.

  Brody lunged from his chair and pulled her close. She didn’t resist, but rested her forehead against his shoulder. Her breath warmed his collarbone, and reached deep inside him to wrap longing around his heart.

  She released a hefty sigh then stepped away. “Thanks. I needed a hug, and your arms are strong enough to pack a little reassurance.”

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Hallie.”

  She shook her head. “Nobody can guarantee anyone else’s safety.”

  “We’ll keep praying and trusting God.”

  “Right.” A small smile bloomed. “I’m glad I can count on you for that, too.”

  Brody settled a hip on the edge of his desk. “You might be interested to know that Damon has consented to go on medication that will help calm his moods. He’s always refused before—afraid the meds would slow his reflexes on the court. But after the incident at the Arboretum, he sees he has no future in basketball or anything else if he can’t control himself.”

  Hallie responded with a frown and looked away.

  “Yes, I’m aware the outlook on his continued freedom is grim,” he said, “but we’re going to keep thinking positive.”

  “Fair enough. I hope Mr. Stalker gets caught and confesses to the murder. If not, I’ll have to take the stand at the trial next month and say what I saw. It won’t sound good to a jury.”

  “I understand. You’re doing your duty. Any word on that pilot?”

  Hallie shook her head. “Twenty-year-old records for a guy who served on the mission field less than two months may be hard to dig up.”

  “I hear you. Chances of getting a birth certificate for Alicia are slim to none if we don’t know what province she was born in. Ditto with a marriage certificate on Cheryl. But on a better note, I just got off the phone with the Dean of Admissions at the U of W. Alicia did attend there for about a semester and a half, but she dropped out abruptly.”

  She smacked her hands together. “Progress…finally.”

  “Hopefully, I’ll have more to report soon. The dean’s going to ask Alicia’s supervisory professor to give me a call and answer questions about the circumstances surrounding her leaving school.”

  “More progress. Maybe.” She walked to his door then turned. “Pick me up at 5:00 p.m. sharp on Friday. Seating starts at six. It’s a five hundred dollar a plate dinner, so have your taste buds revved up.”

  “No worries. I’ll be there, tux and all. But the cost of the meal at these benefit things doesn’t always guarantee the quality of the food.” He made a face. “I’ve learned that over the years at sports functions.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe jocks have no taste.” She winked and left chuckling.

  Grinning, he settled into his chair. That woman was for him whether she realized it or not yet. Since when did Brody Jordan call it quits over a setback? Friday night was coming, and he still had good plays in his book.

  Hallie stepped out of the elevator into her apartment building lobby. She stopped and looked around. There Brody stood, staring out the floor to ceiling windows onto the street outside. His tall, broad build filled out his tailored tux. A few minutes ago, he’d called, and she’d buzzed him into the building, but told him to wait downstairs rather than trekking all the way up to her apartment.

  She glanced down at herself. Swarovski crystals sewn into the form-fitting bronze fabric of the spaghetti-strap gown twinkled back at her. The neckline plunged, yet covered completely, and a subtle jungle pattern in copper threads peeped from the under-dress beneath the split skirt that rippled aside when she walked. Her African bracelet gleamed from the polish she’d given it.

  Would Brody like what he saw? Should she care? Her brain kept telling her to keep it professional between them, but her heart wanted to leap out of her chest into his hands.

  Hallie’s fingers tightened around the handbag she carried at her side. “Hello, there.”

  He turned and went still. A look washed over his face that compensated for every dime she’d spent on a new gown she really didn’t need…except for Brody.

  “Are you real?”

  The husky words from his lips sent a tingle across her skin. She held out her hand. “Come here and find out.”

>   Grinning, he stepped forward and curled his fingers around hers then brushed the back of her hand with his lips.

  “Oh, my!” She barely suppressed a shiver. This man got to her way too easily.

  He slipped her arm inside his and guided her out the door. “Our chariot awaits, but I see now I should have rented a limo. It’s the least you deserve.”

  His warm gaze held good humor and open admiration. She smiled. This could turn into one of the best nights of her life.

  Two hours later, Hallie hadn’t changed her opinion. The ballroom of the Minneapolis Grand Hotel was the stuff of dreams with its marble foyer, warm color scheme, and host of sparkling windows along two sides of the room. Soft music, played by a small, string orchestra, wooed the guests into a happy mood. And Brody had been wrong in his warning about the meal. She’d savored every bite, laughing and chatting with the others at their table, one a noted stage and screen celebrity. Handsome as the actor was, her favorite moment was looking into her escort’s storm-gray eyes as he dabbed a trace of house dressing from the side of her mouth with his linen napkin.

  But now that dessert was about to be served, followed by a speaker for the cause of finding a cure for fibromyalgia, it was time for her to take temporary leave of pleasant company and cover the backstage bustle of a fashion show getting ready to start. She excused herself and slipped out into the hallway and meeting rooms teeming with models, hairdressers, makeup artists and assistants. Ms. Monique acknowledged Hallie’s presence with a smile and a nod. Dressed in a long-sleeved, black dress belted at the waist, she directed the chaos with a master’s touch. Aspiring supermodel Jessica waggled her fingers as a dresser did up the buttons on a knockout, lavender party dress. Wearing jeans and a sport shirt, Stan was busy moving from one group to another, filming the proceedings.

  She joined him. “Looks like you’re getting wonderful footage.”

  “Ex-cel-lent!” He enunciated every syllable. “Even a little cat-spat between a couple of models over a hair clip. Madame Monique straightened them out in a hurry.”

  Hallie noted a rotund, little man working with scissors on the bottom of a pair of treacherously high-heeled, slingback pumps. “Did you get a shot of that? Must be that trick Ms. Monique told us about. They scrape the soles so the model doesn’t slip on the runway.”

  Stan obediently trained his camera in the direction she pointed. Then they moved away toward the next moment of interest, a model receiving a bouquet of mixed wild flowers from a smiling hotel bellboy.

  “Do you have a fan on the hotel staff?” Hallie asked the stunning redhead.

  The woman laughed. “No, this wasn’t from him.” She passed the bouquet off to an assistant. “Just one of the runway groupies paying his respects to his current favorite.”

  “Runway groupies? I’ve heard that term before. What does it mean?”

  “Oh, that’s what we call guys who are what you said…fans.” Another assistant moved up behind the model and fastened a pendant around her neck. She paid no attention. “You know, like rock bands have groupies. Models attract them, too.”

  “So you don’t know the person who sent you those flowers.”

  “No, and I don’t want to, either. Given a little encouragement, a groupie can become a stalker real fast.”

  Hallie’s heart stuttered, then kicked into overdrive. “Did Alicia Drayton have any runway groupies?”

  “A woman who looked like that? Are you kidding? She was bound to, but I didn’t know her well enough to say for sure.” Color crept into the model’s face. “I’m, uh, her replacement for this show.” She gestured around the area. “Maybe someone else can tell you if any of the fans were giving her particular trouble.”

  Ms. Monique came up beside Hallie. “We’re about to start the show. I have no problem with your cameraman continuing to film, as long as he stays out of the way, but I’ll have to ask you to hold further questions until afterward.”

  Hallie squashed a spike of disappointment. She wanted answers now, not later, but she turned a smile on the model trainer and agent. “No problem. I’ll have some specific questions for you then.”

  As she rustled toward her seat in the ballroom, Brody rose and pulled out her chair. She grabbed his arm as he took his place beside her. His eyes widened at her urgent whisper of information. Then the show started, and they politely ceased conversation, but Hallie couldn’t say which of them fidgeted more as the models paraded fashions that only the people who actually paid for their high-priced seats at the tables could afford.

  At last, the show concluded and someone got up to say a few parting words. Hallie grabbed Brody’s hand, and they left the ballroom for the post-show meltdown in the modeling area. They found Ms. Monique accepting congratulations from a designer for a successful show. The man hurried away as they approached.

  The agent turned toward them, glowing with a fresh triumph under her belt. “Ah, you’ve brought along the sportscaster as your escort. You two make a striking couple.”

  “Thank you,” Brody said. “I need to tell you that Hallie’s attracted the attention of a stalker, and we were wondering if it might be someone who was also stalking Alicia.”

  Ms. Monique grabbed one of Hallie’s hands, and she braced herself for squeezing, but the touch remained gentle. “I am so sorry to hear that you’re dealing with such a terrible thing, but I had no idea Alicia was being stalked.”

  “We don’t know that either, for sure,” Hallie said. “But—”

  “She might have been having problems along that line.”

  Everyone turned toward Jessica’s voice. The regal brunette stood with a pair of hot-pink pumps dangling from her fingers. “Alicia and I worked together a couple of days before she died. One evening a single white rose was brought in for her. No card. She jumped back and screamed when she saw the flower. Honestly, I’d never seen the ice queen so rattled. I rather enjoyed it.”

  “Jessica!”

  Ms. Monique’s rebuke drew color to the model’s face, and her gaze dropped.

  “What else can you tell us?” Brody prodded.

  The young woman shrugged.

  “Jessica Parsons, you will tell these people what you know,” Ms. Monique said.

  The model lifted her chin. “I don’t know anything. I just saw Alicia grab the flower and ram it into the trash, and then mutter something like, ‘That creep is not going to get back into my life.’ That’s it. Honest.” She directed a pair of big eyes toward her agent.

  “And you didn’t think to tell any of this to the police?” Brody shouted.

  Jessica paled before his red-faced fury. Hallie laid a hand on his arm. She’d touched softer cement blocks.

  The model’s lips trembled. “Why should I have said anything? I thought the killer was caught in the act.”

  Tension eased from the muscles under Hallie’s fingers.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Parsons. My apologies to everybody.” He nodded around the little circle. “I care about Damon Lange, and I don’t want to see him shafted for something he didn’t do.”

  Jessica brightened. “You think my statement might help? Just send the cops my way.”

  Hallie giggled. Must be nervous tension. She never made a sound that inane.

  She thanked the model and the agent, and then she and Brody split up to interview anybody else who might know more about the white rose. A half hour later, Stan found her and said he was going home. Most everyone had already left the hotel. Brody came up beside her, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped.

  Hallie shook her head. “Looks like you had about as much luck as I did.”

  One side of his mouth lifted, and the Brody dimple appeared. “Well, hey, we have a new lead to sniff at. Let me take you home.” He offered his arm.

  Outside the hotel, Brody presented his ticket, and the valet brought the Impala to the curb. Hallie let Brody open her door and hand her into the passenger seat. His manner was deft and gentle, but she could swear the press of his fin
gers left a brand where they touched. A few moments later, he settled into the driver’s seat, chuckling.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “This brand-new car I’m so proud of. I’ll bet the valet curled his lip all the way from the parking lot in this baby after having delivered dozens of BMWs, Mercedes and Lexuses.”

  Hallie laughed and patted the Impala’s dash. “I have no problem with American-made.”

  “Then I’d better not tell you about the foreign-manufactured parts.”

  They both laughed. Conversation remained light all the way back to Hallie’s apartment complex. Brody found a parking spot, and helped her out of the car.

  “I’m walking you to your door.” His tone left no room for argument.

  As if she wanted to offer any! Of course, that was only because of the stalker out there and had nothing to do with the pleasure she got from walking beside him in the warm night, arm-in-arm. Her gown swished soft as water around her ankles. His leather shoes patted the sidewalk in steady rhythm. Too soon they stood inside the deserted lobby of her building.

  Hallie turned to thank her escort and found his face inches from hers. The heels on her feet brought her nearly to his height. The corners of his mouth turned upward as his gray gaze lit. She licked her lips and sucked in a breath. His arms stole around her as easy as moonlight, and she let them. Her eyelids drifted shut, and she waited. A moment. Another.

  Then his mouth brushed hers, feather-soft. Then firmer. Then his touch disappeared.

  Hallie gasped and opened her eyes.

  Brody stood a foot away, gaze sober and steady. “Thank you for an incredible evening.” He turned and strode out the door.

  Openmouthed Hallie watched him fade into the night. At last, she wandered to the elevator and got on board. Inside, she leaned against the wall, closed her eyes and relived the most marvelous kiss of her life.

  When the door shushed open, she strolled up the hall toward her apartment, a silly smile on her face that she didn’t care to wipe off. Music drifted from beneath her neighbor’s door, but that didn’t mean he was awake, much less home.