The Sweetheart Mystery

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  The crowd went wild.

  There wasn’t much costume left, and there was nothing obvious about the dancer that a guy might miss, Harper thought. But this twist might be a game changer.

  “Can you be more specific?” he said.

  An untrained eyed might miss what Harper saw. She leaned toward him to be heard over the music. “Noah. She’s pregnant.”

  The news sunk in. His eyes narrowed as he peered at the dancer. “Are you sure?”

  Angel’s stomach pooch might be considered the by-product of a big lunch, had Harper not spent a lot of her teen years around Marty and his wife. The pair procreated like rabbits and Harper knew the signs. She wasn’t wrong.

  “I’m positive.” She watched the show for a minute longer. “She has fullness on her face not common to someone so thin. She also hasn’t done any acrobatic moves that might harm her baby, like hanging upside down. For a popular dancer, I’d assume she’d do more pole work.”

  Angel sent her bikini top flying. All that remained were a garter belt and stockings.

  As she’d worked with many women with breasts both real and enhanced, Harper was confident Angel’s breasts were real. The beautiful woman, though clearly lacking good taste in men, would be right up Gerald’s alley.

  “Do you think it might be Gerald’s baby?” Noah said, climbing on board with her theory.

  “That’s the question.” The dance wound down. Cash flew onto the stage. A guy with a wedding ring and a paunch tried to claw his way onstage, sobbing his love for her, and was dragged off by two large bouncers.

  “I can’t guess. It’s been months since she was at the arena.” Harper stood and Noah put some bills on the table for the waitress in their section. “I guess we should ask her.”

  The bartender nodded to the bouncer waiting by the stage and the large man let them go backstage. Angel tottered down the steps off the stage, groaned, and pulled off her heels.

  Her feet appeared swollen.

  Clutching her costume and shoes over her naked top half, her hand slapped the next dancer up as they passed each other in the narrow passageway. The second dancer was dressed as a librarian, wearing glasses and carrying a book.

  Harper stepped into their target’s path. “Angel?”

  Suspicion immediately set up a wall and her face closed up. In her profession, Angel had to be street smart. Not all the people she’d come in contact with had her best interests at heart. In fact, some might be outright dangerous.

  Wary hazel eyes went from Harper to Noah. “Who wants to know?”

  Harper took the lead. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I’m Harper Evans. I was a cheerleader for the Lansing Mighty Muskrats.”

  Suspicion turned to outright hostility. “Right. You’re the one who killed Gerald.”

  This was getting old. “I’m innocent.”

  “Sure. That’s what they all say.” Angel stepped around her. She headed toward the back of the club.

  Not to be put off, Harper and Noah hurried after her. Angel entered a changing room. A pair of women put on makeup at a long mirrored table. They didn’t seem all upset with Noah’s arrival and their levels of undress.

  Angel was the unhappy one. She dropped her shoes and costume on the table. In the bright light, fatigue edged her face and eyes. “What do you want, Harper?”

  Harper noticed for the first time that Angel wasn’t as young as she’d first thought, though still under thirty. Angel was road weary, as if carrying a heavy burden. For a woman who made her living with her body, being pregnant had to toss a wrench into her career.

  “We’d like to talk to you privately,” Noah said and introduced himself. “It’s about your former lover.”

  A protective hand went to her belly, both confirming that she was expecting, and also the possibility Gerald was the father. Harper’s connection to the team left Angel little reason to ask who they were discussing.

  “Give me a minute.” She left through a side door.

  “Do you think she’ll run?” Harper asked.

  “We’ll find out.” Noah glanced at the other two women. They appeared fascinated by him. He grinned. They swooned.

  At least that was Harper’s take. His eyes assured her he wasn’t interested in the dancers.

  Point in his favor.

  Angel returned in a thick white robe. “Follow me.”

  They went to an office near the back of the club. Pictures hung on the walls of what appeared to be the club owner with some B-list celebrities and local athletes. Clutter covered the desk and on one corner sat a computer. The rest of the modest room looked like a storage closet with a couple of chairs.

  Angel closed the door behind them, took a chair, and rubbed her feet. “Get to it. I’m exhausted and want to go home.”

  Harper leveled her with the knockout verbal punch. “That’s expected in your condition.”

  The woman startled. Her gaze darted toward the door like a trapped bunny. Noah blocked her escape.

  Recovering quickly, she slumped back and looked down at her fingernails. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do.” Harper wasn’t playing games. Time wasn’t in her favor. “You’re pregnant with Gerald’s baby.”

  The last was a guess. Angel could have dozens of lovers for all she knew.

  For a woman living a hard life where she had to think quickly and adjust accordingly to each challenge, it took Angel a few extra beats to pull herself together.

  Clearly, news of the baby wasn’t common knowledge. And now two strangers had ripped her secret wide open.

  Desperate, she begged, “Please don’t tell anyone about this. I can’t lose this job. Yet.”

  What a strange reaction. If she was carrying an heir to the Covington fortune, then her stripping days were over.

  Her hands shook and her eyes showed distress.

  Harper feared for the baby. She said what she hoped would calm her. “If that’s Gerald’s kid, a good lawyer could get a big settlement. You won’t need to work here anymore.”

  The comment had the opposite effect.

  Angel put her hands over her belly. “You don’t get it, do you? The reason I didn’t tell Gerald about the baby was because of his family and wealth. They would have taken her from me. I don’t have the money and connections to fight them.”

  This all made sense now. Still. “Gerald is dead,” Harper said. “He isn’t a threat.”

  “But his uncle is.” Angel rubbed her bump. “There is no way he’ll let a Covington heir be raised by a stripper.”

  Noah and Harper exchanged glances. Angel was correct. Even if the family wasn’t interested in the baby, and farmed her out to nannies for raising, her own mother would be shut out. That was the kind of people they were.

  What a mess.

  “There has to be a way around this,” Harper said. “With conclusive DNA, your baby will be entitled to a share of Gerald’s inheritance money. If nothing else, it will give her a college education and a chance at a good life.”

  Tears welled in Angel’s eyes. “I’d love her to have a better shot than I had.”

  Without giving out false hope, Harper said, “I know some people who can take a look at Gerald’s finances. And they’ll probably know a family law lawyer to recommend. If nothing else, you’ll know where you stand before you confront the family.”

  The wall around Angel cracked. The woman reached out and took Harper’s hand. “Thank you so much. For both of us.”

  Angel had lost her open hostility. She seemed at peace. Hopefully that would last.

  Noah brought them back to the reason they’d come to the Prancing Pony in the first place. “We need to ask you some questions about Gerald and your relationship.”

  Angel straightened. “Go.”

  “Did you kill Gerald?”
he said and stared into her face.

  “No.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “No again.”

  “Who do you think had the most to gain by his murder?”

  The dancer struggled with the question. “The obvious suspect is Betty Anne. He was a cheating psycho. If he were my husband, I’d take him out. However, I don’t think she had it in her. She’s a victim, not a perpetrator.”

  Harper jumped in. “Do you think he was abusive?”

  “Not in a physical way.” Angel nibbled a long, painted nail. “But mental abuse, definitely. He never hid what he was doing from her. The guy was an ass.”

  “And yet you dated him,” Noah said. His tone lacked judgement. He needed her talking.

  Athletic shoulders shrugged. Working the pole was an excellent way to keep fit, Harper mused.

  “I consider myself pretty smart, but when it came to Gerald, I jumped in without thinking,” Angel admitted. “I grew up with an absent mother and my dad didn’t know jack about raising a teenage girl. I left home at eighteen thinking I’d be a model. When that didn’t work, I used what nature gave me, came here, and I’ve been too lazy to try anything else.”

  “And Gerald?”

  Angel sighed. “He wined and dined me and showed me a lot of attention. I was hooked before I knew he was still living with his wife.” Sadness touched her expression. “I was on the pill and the condom broke. Somehow, Gerald’s swimmer hit fertile ground anyway. So here I am.”

  “There’s no possibility of another father?” Noah pressed.

  “Nope. He was the only man around that time. When I found out I was pregnant, I cut Gerald out of my life.”

  This meant that she hadn’t been around for months. Anything she could contribute was old. Still, Harper had to try. “Do you remember if Gerald connected with any shady business associates, or did you hear any threats against him?”

  Her eyes lit up. “There was this one guy. I think he was a sports agent. Yes. He represented one of the guys on the team.” She scrunched her nose. “I think it was one of the tight ends, Dyshawn something. I believe that he and Gerald were locked in a contract dispute. The agent thought Dyshawn got shafted. He’d signed with the team without representation.”

  “That’s kind of thin,” Noah said.

  “Maybe,” Angel admitted. “But Dyshawn is worth ten times what he’s getting from the Muskrats. The agent will make a killing if he can break the contract. Or if Gerald is dead.”

  Chapter 29

  Noah got out of Angel that she thought there was some sort of clause that might help Dyshawn in the event of Gerald’s death. Since he was not very familiar with contract law, and Angel didn’t know more, they finished up and left.

  “That was interesting,” Harper said on the way home. “We have a new long-shot suspect. A killer sports agent. It sounds like a crappy TV movie.”

  “And Gerald is having a kid posthumously.” The randy bastard was probably spinning in his coffin. “The daughter of a stripper could carry the Covington name.”

  “As if that’s a good thing. The rest of the family is a group of lunatics and weirdos. I wouldn’t be surprised if the family tree is a straight stick with few branches.”

  “Agreed,” Noah said and turned up the air conditioning. “Angel is carrying a bomb in her belly that might blow up the entire family.”

  “No truer words have ever been uttered,” she said. “Willard will have a stroke if he finds out. They may play outside the lines, but they’d never ‘taint’ their bloodlines. Even Betty Anne is connected to a Rockefeller or something.”

  Noah thought the widow leaned closer to mountain hermit than New York elite.

  “From what I’ve learned so far,” he said. “It’s hard to believe they have any standards of moral conduct.”

  “I know, right? They’re a bunch of hypocrites.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’ll call Taryn tomorrow and find out if she knows a family law lawyer. If Angel decides to go ahead with a case against the estate, she’ll need a shark.”

  Later, when Noah was in bed, and between thoughts of seducing Harper, he sent off a text to a lawyer he knew from working a case in Detroit. Tom texted right back.

  Tom: What’s up, Slade?

  As a criminal law attorney, Tom Lansky was ruthless and never stopped working. He texted Tom a couple lines about the case and within a few minutes had a name and number.

  Tom: If anyone can kick Covington ass, Grady Faulkner is your man.

  Noah: Next time I get to Motown, beers are on me. Thx.

  He forwarded the name to Harper, not expecting to hear back from her so late. She sent him a smiley face emoji and a second with a kissy face. It took very little to make her happy.

  He texted her back a “wink.”

  Four minutes passed, then another text:

  Harper: Do you want to come over and make out?

  Noah was on his way next door in an instant. Harper waited on her porch, dressed in flannel pants and a blue T-shirt. On her feet were slippers that looked like Yeti claw feet. Odd choice for seduction but he didn’t care.

  “Nice,” he said. She looked good enough to eat.

  She twirled a wild curl and jutted out a hip. Had she been any other woman, he’d have expected silk and lace. Harper never was a seasoned seductress. And yet, he couldn’t imagine her sexier than he did right now.

  “Stop talking and kiss me.”

  Somehow she ended up with her legs around his waist with him carrying her across the foyer and into the living room, their mouths locked together. He half dropped, half fell with her onto the couch. Their tongues teased and his hands went all the places available while she was fully dressed.

  There was heavy breathing and moans and groans—his with frustration that she wasn’t naked, hers likely because he didn’t try clothing removal. He didn’t want to scare her off.

  When they came up for air, her hair all but obscured her face and she was smiling. “That was yummy.”

  He brushed the tangle back from her face. “And unexpected.”

  Her smile wavered. “I know I’m giving you mixed signals and I’m sorry for that. It’s just that I’m having a hard time finding happiness these days and for some reason, kissing you makes me very happy.”

  Finally, a damn breakthrough. He pulled back, sat on the couch, and dragged her into his lap. “I’m all for being used for my lips.” He pressed a kiss at the corner of her eye and inhaled the scent of mango shampoo. “Yes, you are blowing hot and cold. And no, I’m not complaining.”

  She kissed him again. It had been years since he’d made out with a woman just for kissing’s sake. When he lifted his head, her eyes were soft.

  His heart tugged. “Remember how we used to sneak into the Cheevy’s barn and make out in the loft?”

  “Then Old Man Cheevy caught us and we had to run through the corn field to get away from him.” Harper’s laughter brought tears to her eyes. “I thought we were done.”

  “Me, too. But we got away.” He ran a hand up her arm to cup her face. “I lost my new boot in the mud. My mom was so mad.” Her soft skin drew him in. He pressed a kiss on her chin. “I miss those days, HJ.”

  She tangled her fingers in his hair. “Me, too.” They kissed for a while, tenderly touching and reminiscing. “Do you ever think it’s possible to go back?”

  “You mean to where we were?” He hid his surprise.

  Her hand dropped away and she pushed off his lap. “Forget it. I’m feeling nostalgic, that’s all.”

  Taking her arm lest she put distance between them, he locked on to her eyes. “We can’t go back, but maybe we can make new memories? There has to be a barn somewhere.”

  A few heartbeats passed and a slow sweet smile crossed her lips. “I can’t make promises because my life is really messed up r
ight now, but maybe we can keep things open. If you promise not to get all sappy on me, I might let you have a peek at what’s under my PJ’s.” She stood, reached for his hand, and tugged him off the couch. “Just this one time.”

  * * * *

  Noah wanted more than anything to strip her out of her clothes and show her the experience he’d gained since his fumbling in the backseat of cars years ago.

  Sadly, it was not to be. The doorbell rang. Standing outside was a pair of officers and Detective Mignon.

  Noah reluctantly opened the door.

  Noah shook his head. “Are you kidding me? Twice in the same week, Detective?” Harper made a small sound behind him that only he and dogs could hear, the whimper of the innocently condemned. He wanted to hold her, lie, and tell her she’d be okay.

  The detective’s expression told Noah that he was on a mission. Nothing would be okay if the cop had his way.

  “We have a warrant to search the premises,” Mignon said and held up the paperwork. “Please step aside.”

  Noah stayed put. “Can I ask what you’re looking for?”

  Mignon smirked. “We’ll know it when we see it.”

  Not wanting to back down, Noah crossed his arms. “That seems vague. There has to be something you expect to find.”

  His bushy brows drew down on Noah. “We got a tip. Now, do you plan to step aside or should I have you arrested?”

  Knowing he’d be of no use to Harper sitting in jail, Noah stepped out of the way. The trio walked past him. Mignon frowned at Harper. Obviously, he’d gotten over his skepticism about the knife and was back to hanging the crime on Harper.

  “Did an anonymous caller tell you where you can find the rest of the knife set?” Pissed off, Noah barely concealed his outrage with a bland expression. He knew what line not to cross, but had his toes right up to the edge.

  Mignon ignored him and poked around the old bookshelf. Noah loitered nearby. “I’m starting to think Harper needs a lawyer.”

  Eyes turned his way. “That might be a good idea.”

  An officer came into the room a few minutes later. “Look what I found under the mattress.” He held up a laptop. It looked kind of old. “There might be incriminating clues in here.”