Noah knew from FBI interrogations that it was best to let suspects lead the conversation. They almost always overshared, which led to slipups and confessions.
Betty Anne was no different. “He tried to talk me into leaving Gerald and running away with him. I couldn’t. Despite Gerald being a terrible husband, he loved our kids. I thought that if I waited until they graduated and moved out, then they wouldn’t be around when things got ugly.”
From all he’d heard about the Covington family, an ugly divorce was a given. “Your lover had other ideas?”
She nodded. “Every time he heard something nasty or saw Gerald mistreat me, he got angrier. Then the day Gerald died, we met at our spot and he told me that I was free.”
“He could have heard the news about the murder on the radio or TV,” Harper countered. “That doesn’t make him a killer.”
“Nor did he confess exactly.” Betty Anne’s gaze met Harper’s eyes. “After the murder, I had a lawyer friend check the time the 911 call come in. My lover told me I was ‘free’ an hour before the police knew Gerald was dead.”
* * * *
Stunned was the word Harper would use to describe herself at that moment. There was no way that anyone knew Gerald was dead besides her and the killer before the police burst in.
She couldn’t imagine a housekeeper or other hotel employee keeping a dead body to themselves, and the video had not shown any visitors that morning prior to her arrival. From what she learned from internet newsfeeds, he been dead for several hours by the time she stumbled into the crime scene.
“Who is your lover?” she asked in a thin voice and braced herself. They’d already narrowed the likely suspect pool to employees. Still, Betty Anne’s lover could be anyone.
Dear lord. Don’t let it be Willard.
Betty Anne’s lip trembled. Whoever the man was, she meant every word when she said she loved him. “Deke Trotter.”
Harper’s heart stopped. “What?”
“Deke is my lover.”
Noah let out a low whistle. “You’re kidding?”
The widow did not appear insulted at their disbelieving faces. After all, Deke was the golden boy, the man that sold millions of calendars with him in various degrees of undress. To picture him romping between the sheets with Betty Anne was up there with finding Martians building space stations on the moon or the world suddenly spinning in the other direction.
“Impossible,” Harper blurted out. She didn’t want to believe her friend could set her up for the crime and gaslight her afterward.
“It’s true.” Betty Anne retrieved her phone from beside her on the couch. She scrolled, then held the screen up for Harper and Noah to see.
The image was a pool shot with palm trees in the background. Seated on Deke’s lap and leaning against his perfectly ripple chest, with his hand on her stomach and thigh, was a tankini-clad and smiling Betty Anne.
The intimacy of the photo couldn’t be mistaken.
“We took a weekend in Florida.” Her voice held a wistful tone. It had to be breaking her heart to give him up.
What was the creaking sound, Harper thought bitterly? Yep, the world was spinning in the other direction.
“I can’t believe this,” she mumbled. “No offense, Betty Anne, but you are not his usual sex kitten girlfriend.”
“None taken,” the woman said. “What’s that saying? You can’t judge a book by its cover?”
So true. She’d seen Betty Anne unwrapped. And therapy couldn’t erase that image.
Noah glanced at Harper. “We have to find Trotter.” He returned his attention to the widow. “Do you know where he is?”
“I think he’s at the stadium.” She looked at her watch. “Today is fan day.”
Great. The stadium would be packed.
“I’ll text Mignon,” Harper said. She pulled out her phone and sent a long paragraph to the detective, then muted the ringtone. He wouldn’t be able to tell her to stand down.
Betty Anne jumped to her feet. “I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not,” Noah said. “He might turn violent.”
“My cuddle bear wouldn’t hurt me,” Betty Anne assured him. A wistful smile etched her mouth.
Cuddle bear? Harper rolled her eyes. They were living in a strange new world. First Betty Anne had married Gerald, and now she’s sleeping with his killer. The woman had terrible taste in men.
“We can’t risk your safety.” Noah was adamant. “He’s already killed one person. Anyone could be next.
Shy and retiring Betty Anne vanished. Cold and calculating took her place. “If you don’t let me go with you, you won’t make it back to your car in one piece.”
“I’ll get the dogs,” Berit piped up from the doorway.
In that moment, Harper had to wonder if Deke had been the seduced and not the seducer. For all that Betty Anne appeared on the surface, she had a mean streak under her dumpy clothes and simpering demeanor.
Was it possible that she’d wound up an angry Deke, armed him, and pointed him at her husband? Was she the mastermind of the murder? For now, Harper wouldn’t rule it out.
She’d express that thought to Mignon and let him run with it. Once Deke was interrogated, and if he confessed, she’d be off the hook and her part in the case, over.
Betty Anne knew she’d won. “I’ll get my purse.”
Harper, Noah, and the widow Covington trumped out to the car. Betty Anne made a face. “Do we have to take that junk heap? I have a brand new Lexus in the garage.”
“Get in if you want to go,” Harper said in an authoritative tone. “Back seat.”
Once loaded up, Betty Anne wasn’t finished grousing. She picked at her pant legs. “Do you have a dog? I have hair all over my slacks.”
Waiting until they were on the road at a speed where Betty Anne couldn’t safely jump out without injury, Harper said, “It’s goat hair.”
“Yuck.” Betty Anne furiously brushed her hands over her legs. She lifted her hands and goat hair covered them, too. “Take me back. I want my car.”
Choking back diabolical laughter, Harper hit the gas and the car chugged up over fifty mph. “Too late.” She saw Noah grin. “It’s from Harriet, Estelle’s goat.”
A frown crinkled her brow as she rubbed her palms on the driver’s side headrest. “Gerald’s grandmother, Estelle?”
Harper nodded. “The same.”
Plucking and wiping went nowhere. With the windows open, the hair just blew around the car and landed back on the static she’d kicked up with all her leg rubbing.
“That crazy old woman hates me.”
That was two of them. Any sympathy she’d felt vanished. Betty Anne was not the mousy kicked-around wife they’d thought. Yes, her husband was a scum bag. But Betty Anne’s wiring was misfiring.
The stadium lot was full when they arrived. Kiddies and their parents stood in a long line to get inside.
“So much for an interrogation on the down low,” Noah said. “We won’t get anywhere near him.” He glanced at Harper when she pulled the car into a spot and turned off the engine. “What do you want to do?”
When Betty Anne dropped the bomb about Deke, Harper went numb. If Betty Anne was right, and he was their killer, then Deke had betrayed her in the worst way. The only retribution she’d accept was to get justice.
She had to see this done. “Let’s go take him down.”
Chapter 42
Excitement took the sound level up to ear-aching level as kids and parents wandered the field looking for autographs from their favorite players.
Deke had a line, dozens of fans deep, as he smiled and signed footballs and shirts, and even an occasional patch of bare cleavage. For those ladies, he offered up his high wattage grin that made the female fans swoon.
The trio had taken the stairs up so that
they could look down on the field without being observed.
“How do we do this?” Betty Anne asked with her hungry eyes locked on the quarterback.
Again, weird, Noah thought. With half the women in the universe slobbering over Trotter, he’d chosen the nearly invisible wife of his boss to sleep with. There was something off its axis about the whole situation.
Following a discussion on the way into the stadium, Noah, with his FBI experience, had been designated to take the lead.
He looked around the enormous space. “First, we need to remember that he’s only a suspect and we have no authority to arrest him. We’re here to talk.”
“Got it,” Harper said and nudged Betty Anne. The widow nodded absently.
“We don’t want to spook him either,” he added. “If we go in throwing accusations around, he might bolt. With his money, he could go anywhere in the world.”
“Yes, but his face is harder to hide,” Harper said. “He has fans worldwide.”
The curse of fame.
“Then let’s attempt to get close before he sees us. We’ll have Betty Anne hold back. He’ll get suspicious if she’s with us. I’m sure he knows the widow is no fan of yours, HJ.”
“I hold back,” Betty Anne repeated, as if in a trance. She was back to staring at Trotter.
Harper stared at the widow. “This is going to be fun.”
“Come on.” Noah led the way down the cement steps with Harper behind him and Betty Anne a couple of yards back. They got to the bottom level just above the field when Trotter looked up and spotted them. He appeared curious but not alarmed. Until he moved his gaze up and saw Betty Anne.
She lifted a one-finger wave.
Almost simultaneously, a murmur arose in the crowd and brought Noah’s attention to the far side of the field. A dozen police officers from the Lansing PD were coming down the ramp and into the end zone.
“Shit.” Mignon had called the local cops to send in the troops. So much for a surprise confrontation.
“What can we do?” Harper asked.
Noah formed a quick plan. “We have to get to him before he realizes the police are here for him.”
Too late.
Trotter followed Noah’s gaze and tensed. Then he looked up at Betty Anne with an expression that showed that he knew she’d betrayed him. He shoved his magic marker into the hands of his agent, and took off, knocking over the Muskrat mascot.
“Oh, hell.” Noah jumped the waist-high locked gate and took the stairs down to the field. Harper kept right behind him. They ran across the field, dodging fans, while keeping his eyes on the fleeing quarterback.
Instead of heading out of the building, Trotter went up the stairway opposite the one they just took down. He leaped over the gate and was gone.
“Where is he going?” Harper said, her breathing labored as they followed his trail to the upper floor. Dressed in jeans and boots, they weren’t dressed for a foot chase.
Noah stopped at the top of the stairs, trying to gauge where Trotter went. That stop allowed the police to catch up. He and Harper were jostled aside as the officer at the front pointed and called out. “There!”
Trotter was running up another floor, taking the cement steps two at a time. The police ran after him.
“The only things up there are the nose bleed seats, the VIP boxes, and Willard’s box,” Harper said, distracted. “He likes to sit up there sometimes and think of himself as the Muskrat King.”
A short pause, then, “Shoot, he’s going after Willard!” Her gaze darted around. “Follow me. Hurry!”
Harper took off. Noah ran after her. They’d lost Betty Anne somewhere in the fan crush. Finally, Harper pushed through a door marked “janitor.” The door led to a hallway that led to an elevator. “As the most hated man in the city, Willard is rightfully paranoid about security. This elevator is hidden in case he needs to make an escape. Or he wants to sneak up hookers for his friends.”
She went in and punched a code. As his brows lifted, she said, “Kimmie gave me the code. We snuck up there once and drank his precious cognac. The stuff costs a fortune.”
“Who knew you were a bad girl, HJ?” Noah said with admiration. He liked that she had a “bad” side. “It’s hot.”
“Down boy,” she said without bite. “Deke first. Then we’ll go home and celebrate my freedom.”
The opening doors stopped the conversation. Cautiously, Harper stepped out. The second narrow hallway had no warmth. No signage, nothing to distinguish where they were. The floor was concrete and the walls, gray.
“Where are we?” he whispered.
“Behind the boxes. Another hallway parallels this one for guests. I told you Willard was paranoid.”
She continued to an unmarked door. She put a finger to her lips and opened the panel. Inside was what looked like a waiting room with a cut-glass wall overlooking a second room. Noah saw movement on the other side.
“No one can see us unless they’re right up next to the glass,” Harper whispered as she walked to the wall. “Willard likes to spy on his guests to hear what they say about him. He’s a psycho.”
They looked through clear places in the glass. Willard sat on a leather couch in front of a large screen TV, sucking on a cigar through pursed lips. Gross.
There was no sign of the quarterback.
“Huh,” Harper said. “I was sure Deke was coming here.” She held her hands to the side of her head. “Think. Think. Damn, I forgot about the freight elevator. He’d have had to go up to go down to the ground floor.”
She took off again and darted into the still open elevator. She jabbed the G and they were on the move.
“We’ll never catch him,” Noah said as they shot down to the ground level. The elevator pinged.
“The freight elevator is notoriously slow.” She dashed out the door. “Since Willard doesn’t use it, he doesn’t care if it gets stuck between floors or falls to the bottom in an explosion of metal and glass. He knows he won’t be inside when it does.”
They ran out into the covered VIP lot. No Deke. They headed up the ramp and into the sunshine. The sound of an engine bore down on them. Noah jerked Harper back as Deke, sans helmet, buzzed past them on a motorcycle. The quarterback didn’t appear to notice them. He was making a getaway.
“Get the car!” Noah yelled.
He took off on foot after Deke, trying to see which way he turned out of the parking lot.
Right.
Harper sped up behind and almost hit him as he jumped out of the way. “Sorry,” she said as he dove inside.
“Go right!”
Harvey shrieked like a college girl in a horror flick and bottomed out as Harper hit the exit driveway of the lot at a high rate. The side road behind the stadium appeared almost empty as they weaved around the one car in their lane.
“That way!” Noah pointed left.
They caught up with Deke easily as he tried to lose them in a quiet neighborhood, a quarter mile from the stadium.
“That’s the slowest motorcycle I’ve ever seen,” Harper said with distaste. “Even Harvey is faster.”
“It’s electric, and probably goes about twenty mph.” Noah was happy Deke wasn’t driving the hot rod he was often photographed with. He would’ve lost them without trying. “Can you get closer?”
The car protested the attempt to pick up speed but eventually kicked into a higher gear and closed the gap.
“What should I do?” she said. “Are you going to jump out the window and knock him over like they do in the movies?”
It took a second to realize she was kidding. Sort of.
“Not today. This is a new shirt.” He ran through his options. Trotter might know he was followed, and if he did, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The electric charge would only last so long and he couldn’t outrun them.
Trotter lost control and bounced against the curb. The bike pitched sideways and he flew ass over end and landed in a wildflower garden disguised as a weed patch.
Harper slammed on the brakes and Noah was out before the car stopped rolling. Deke pushed to his feet and Noah caught him around the waist at a run. They hobbled together but Deke stayed upright. Noah was about 100 pounds lighter than the guys who normally took him down on the field.
The fight was on.
Harper tried to get into the melee of flying fists and shots to the face and chest. Noah yelled at her twice to stay back. Deke was all muscle, but he himself was no lightweight. Between the two of them, Noah worried that she would get hurt.
Somehow during the fight, Deke’s shirt came off, causing a fender bender in the street when two women temporarily forgot how to drive. They leaped from their vehicles and raced over with their cell phones. One almost got taken out by a mail truck.
“Is that Deke Trotter?” A woman cried out in wonderment and somehow managed to click off a selfie near the quarterback.
“Stop hitting him, you big meanie,” yelled the other and tried to hit Noah with her purse. “Hey, Dekeie!”
Unable to help himself, Deke turned to the women and flexed a bicep. Noah hit him in the gut. The fight was back on.
Harper refused to stay out of it. Yelling encouragement to Noah, she danced around the perimeter waving something that looked like a stick in her hand. When Deke punched him in the eye and Noah cuffed him in the jaw, the quarterback stumbled backward against a fire hydrant.
Taking the opportunity to get in a lick, Harper swung her arm wide and hit Deke in the side of his thigh with her weapon.
He howled like a wounded coyote in a steel leg trap and went down hard. Clutching his leg, he swore and writhed amongst a bed of poppies.
“What in the hell did you hit him with?” Noah asked while trying to get sight back in his injured eye.
The Sweetheart Mystery Page 23