Colton 911: Deadly Texas Reunion (Book 4)

by Beth Cornelison

  Nolan shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “And the connection to Kain’s Auto Shop? You know anything about that?”

  “Nothing I can prove. But either Tom Kain is involved in something drug related or someone is real good at making it look like he is, spreading lots of suspicion around town. Way I see it, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s not a kitten.” She raised both hands and her eyebrows. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  The phone on her desk rang, and the receptionist answered the call, turning her back to them. Summer figured they’d gotten all they could from Genny and the receptionist, so she jerked her head toward the door, signaling as much to Nolan.

  He followed her out to the parking lot, where he opened the passenger door of his truck for her. His kind gesture flowed through her like warm honeyed tea on a cold day. She wasn’t surprised adult Nolan was thoughtful and chivalrous. Even as a kid, she’d known he had a good heart. But seeing all the ways the boy had become a man—beyond the obvious, GQ-worthy physical transformation—she loved discovering who Nolan had become, one hint at a time. She felt a bit like she was opening a delightful Christmas gift, finding another new shiny box inside each one she opened, until, at last, she reached the precious gem that was Nolan. Each hour she spent with him, every conversation, revealed a little more of who he’d become. She’d already seen his keen mind at work, his protectiveness of her and his kind heart when he helped Bellamy carry shower gifts. That his noble character had been called into question by his coworker’s charges against him infuriated her.

  He consulted the printout she’d made of the class times at the vocational college as he settled behind the steering wheel. “If we hurry, we can grab a bite of lunch and still get to the campus in time for class change to talk with the guys from Patrice’s auto mechanic class.”

  Summer fastened her seat belt. “You read my mind.”

  “Bluebell Diner again?”

  She slapped her hand on her leg, giving him a mock shocked grin. “Yes! Damn, that is downright spooky! Are you eavesdropping on my brain?”

  He chuckled. “No, I just remember how much you love their Thursday lunch special of fried chicken.”

  She caught her breath and grabbed his arm. “And homemade mac and cheese. Oh. My. Gawd. The best ever!” Then with a shake of her head, she said, “Unfortunately, I can’t eat like I could as a kid and still fit into my jeans. I have to reserve comfort foods for special occasions.”

  He dipped his head to look out the windshield at the sunshine. “Today seems pretty special to me.” He cut a glance to her. “I will if you will.”

  Summer barked a laugh. “Oh, Nolan. How many times did you use that line on me as kids?”

  He raised a finger. “The rope swing at the pond.” Another finger. “Okra stew at your grandmother’s.”

  “Ooh, bleck! That was nasty. Lighting firecrackers behind the barn,” she added and pulled a guilty face.

  He groaned at the memory. “We terrified the animals and got in so much trouble! That was Donovan’s idea, though.”

  “You still led me into temptation with your ‘I will if you will’ line.”

  He flashed an unrepentant grin. “So comfort food for lunch?”

  Her mouth watered as much from the chiseled cut of his cheeks and jaw as the thought of greasy, cheesy delights for lunch. “I’m in.”

  Nostalgia, as sweet and soft as a favorite blanket, wrapped around her. The most special part of her childhood memories of mischief and adventure had more to do with who’d been with her than what they’d done. Having Nolan back at her side did make today special. She wished she could bottle this day and save it for the coming weeks. After Nolan returned to Chicago. After life returned to quiet, lonely evenings with only Yossi for company. Not that Yossi wasn’t a great pal, but cuddling on her cot with her cat didn’t compare to the sense of completion, the feeling of security and warmth and soul-deep joy she knew when she was with Nolan. Soul-deep...

  Was Nolan her soul mate? The notion rattled her, and yet...damn, it made sense.

  But he didn’t want her that way. He’d insisted they keep things platonic. To protect the valuable bond of friendship? Probably. And that was smart. Losing his friendship would devastate her.

  At the diner, Summer savored every bite of her fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and homemade biscuits. She even added chocolate cobbler à la mode, vowing as they returned to his Jeep to add ten minutes to her elliptical workout in the morning.

  “As if that’ll be enough to counter the indulgences,” she muttered, and Nolan wisely said nothing. Guilt poked her, and she revised the vow. “Okay, ten extra minutes every day this week. This month.”

  A dimple appeared in Nolan’s cheek as he gave her a lopsided grin, and she sighed. “Aw, hell. You only live once, right?”

  He fastened his seat belt and nodded. “Absolutely. Don’t ruin the enjoyment the meal gave you with regrets, Tadpole.”

  “You’re right, of course.” She dug out her phone and looked up directions to the vocational college. “Head south down Main Street.”

  Once Nolan was on the highway headed toward their next interview, he shot a glance across the front seat to her. “So I’ve been thinking about what we learned this morning. That bit about Jane Oliver coming into a load of money. We need to be sure Forrest and Chief Thompson know about that.”

  “You’re thinking Nurse Jane might have been paid to kill Horace Corgan?”

  He lifted his palm from the steering wheel, gesturing agreement. “She had opportunity, and the promise of a big payout indicates motive. While it’s not proof—”

  “It quacks like a duck,” she finished for him.

  He tapped the tip of his nose.

  “If she killed Corgan, do you think she could’ve killed Patrice, too? A nurse who moonlights as a gun for hire? Or an asphyxiator for hire, as the case may be?”

  “Interesting theory. How does it match up with the autopsy report?”

  She flipped through her notebook to the early pages, where she’d jotted her thoughts after reviewing the autopsy report. “The killer had a moderately large hand, based on the damage done to Patrice’s throat during the strangulation. Can’t rule out a large woman’s hand, but more likely a man’s based on the data.”

  “Manual strangulation takes some strength.” He glanced at her. “Not that a woman couldn’t do it, but again, more likely a man. Especially if the victim is struggling.”

  When his attention returned to the road, Summer continued staring at his profile. She mentally rejected the images of a young woman’s last moments, preferring the view of the handsome man beside her. The manly changes weren’t so many that she couldn’t still see the boy she’d known, whose friendship she’d cherished. But she wanted to memorize the angular cut of his squared jaw, the dusting of short, dark whiskers on his chin for the day he left town again. She knew when the case against him was settled and his name was cleared—please, please let his name be cleared!—that he’d leave Whisperwood and go back to Chicago.

  The slight bump on his otherwise straight nose hinted he’d broken it at some point since she’d last seen him. When? On the job, during FBI training, in a bar fight? Okay, the last one didn’t fit Nolan. “Promise me something?”

  He glanced at her, his lips twitching up. “What’s that, Tadpole?”

  “That you won’t disappear from my life again when you go back to Chicago.” He must have heard the same pained note in her voice that she did, because the humored grin faded.

  “Of course not. I already promised I wouldn’t.” He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. “I missed you, Summer. More than you know. Finding you again is the one truly good thing that has come out of the mess Charlotte stirred up.”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “I believe, no matter how the case against you turn
s out, you will land on your feet. You’ll be fine, and you’ll move on to accomplish great things.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears.” He flipped on the turn signal and pulled into the drive of the vocational college.

  “I mean it, Nolan. You’re going to bounce back. That’s the Bullfrog I know and still see. Determined, astute, good to your core.”

  His mouth twitched in a brief smile. “Thanks,” he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and whipped the Cherokee into a parking space. “Way to get me choked up before I’m supposed to play the bad cop.”

  “You’re the bad cop?” she asked, chuckling as she climbed out of the Jeep and followed him to the main class building.

  “Have to be. No one would ever believe you in that role.”

  “Aw.” She bumped him with her hip and began scanning the students that streamed out of classrooms into the wide hall.

  When they reached the room where the automotive repair class was being offered, she picked a student at random and stopped him. “Hi. We’re looking for some guys we believe might be in this class named Barry, Charlie and Tyler. Can you point them out to us?”

  The rangy student looked up from his cell phone and turned. “Uh...” He scanned the crowded hall. “That’s Barry over there with the blue hoodie. The short guy he’s talking to is Charlie. Tyler’s been missing class a lot lately. Don’t think he was here today. Barry might know where he is. He’s tight with Tyler.”

  “Thanks. Would you know their last names, by any chance?”

  “Barry Grainger. Charlie’s last name is...” He shook his head and shrugged. “Some Louisiana name that’s hard to pronounce. The prof is always screwing it up.”

  They thanked the guy again and headed down the corridor to catch up with Barry and Charlie before they lost sight of them. When they got close enough, Summer tapped Charlie on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Is your name Charlie?”

  The short dark-haired student glanced back, then stopped and turned to give Summer a slow look up and down. He arched a thick black eyebrow. “Who wants to know?”

  Barry, who was taller, with a hefty build and dishwater-blond hair, stopped, too, when he realized his friend was no longer beside him. His expression puzzled, Barry wove back through the bustle of other students to join them.

  Nolan and Summer introduced themselves and explained they needed information for a case they were researching.

  “This about Patrice?” Barry asked, making his question sound more like a statement.

  “It is. You have a minute to talk? We’ll buy you a drink.” Summer pointed toward the lobby where a small concessions stand sold coffee, sodas and snacks.

  Barry and Charlie exchanged a look and shrugged.

  “Not the kind of drink I usually get after class, but, sure,” Barry said. “What the hell?”

  After Nolan had purchased them each a cup of coffee, they took a seat on the vinyl couches in a corner conversation area.

  Summer opened her notepad and wrote down Barry’s name. “So you’re Barry Grainger, right? And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your last name, Charlie.”

  “I didn’t give it. It’s Melançon.” He pronounced the name May-LAHN-sah, his Cajun French accent thick in his voice. When Summer asked, he reluctantly spelled it for her. “We don’t know nothin’ about Patrice’s death,” he added, ignoring the coffee Nolan had set in front of him and rubbing his hands on the legs of his oil-stained jeans.

  “You might be surprised,” Summer said. “Sometimes little things that you see as trivial are the piece that investigators need to work out the puzzle.”

  “What do you want to know?” Barry asked, clutching his coffee between his hands as he cast a wary look to Nolan.

  “How well did you know Patrice?” Nolan asked.

  “Some.” Charlie folded his arms over his chest, classic I’m-shutting-you-out body language. “Not real well. Just from class.”

  Barry shot his friend a dark look of disagreement.

  Interesting.

  “Patrice’s roommates tell us that you two and Tyler would often go out after class with Patrice for drinks or dinner. Is that right?”

  Charlie shifted on the couch and glared at Summer. “Yeah. So?”

  “Look, Charlie, I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I just need to know what you know about the days before Patrice’s death. Who she might have been involved with, what she might have done, where she might have gone.”

  Leaning forward, Barry said, “The thing is, we really only went out to blow off steam. We’d talk about classes and the professors and watch sports and have a good time. We really didn’t get into any kind of deep conversations with her. It was all really surface stuff, you know?”

  “Were any of you romantically involved with her?”

  Charlie scoffed. “Is that your polite way of asking if any of us hit that?”

  Beside her, Nolan bristled. His shoulders drew back, and his eyes narrowed on the dark-haired young man. “A little respect, please. That’s no way to talk about a woman you claim to have been friends with. Would you want someone talking that way about your sister or mother?”

  Summer cleared her throat and darted a glance to Nolan.

  He returned a subtle nod. Message received. He clamped his lips together, as if physically holding back his words, and his body relaxed a degree.

  “Okay—” Summer flipped up a hand in concession “—did any of you sleep with her?”

  “No,” Charlie intoned before finally picking up the coffee and taking a gulp.

  “Me neither. But Tyler wanted to. Tried to. He hit on her plenty of times, but she turned him down cold.”

  Summer made a note of this and asked, “How did he react to being turned down?”

  Barry and Charlie looked at each other as if sensing a trap and not wanting to get their friend in trouble. Finally Barry said, “He was pretty bummed.”

  “Bummed enough to hurt her?” Nolan asked.

  “My eye!” Charlie said darkly. Seeing their curious looks, he said, “No way.”

  “Tyler didn’t kill her,” Barry said flatly.

  “What makes you believe that?” Nolan asked.

  “Because he wouldna!” As his temper flared, Charlie’s Cajun accent deepened. “Tyler’s a lotta dings, but ee’s no murderer.”

  “Besides, he liked her. He really liked her. No way he’d hurt her,” Barry added. “He might’ve been ticked about getting the brush-off, but he didn’t kill her.”

  Summer wanted to say that a lot of abusive men claim to love the women they hurt, but she bit her tongue. She wouldn’t bias the interview by inserting her personal commentary.

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, nodding his agreement. “When she disappeared, ee was moitié fou. Missin’ class, rougarouin’, drinking. And when dey found her—” he shook his head, his expression grim “—it got worse.”

  Summer knew enough French to translate moitié fou as half-crazy, but had to ask, “Explain the ruga—whatever.”

  Charlie frowned impatiently. “Rougarouin’ means—” he waved a hand “—making trouble.”

  Barry flashed a lopsided grin. “You should hear him when he gets drunk. Can’t understand half of what this dang Cajun says.”

  Charlie poked his friend’s shoulder with a play punch and gave Barry a wry look. “Pshaw!”

  While the friends teased each other, Summer mulled the notion that Tyler had been romantically interested in Patrice and noticeably upset, his behavior changed for the worse after Patrice disappeared. Was Tyler’s troublemaking just acting out his grief, or was there more to it?

  Nolan cleared his throat and, as if reading her thoughts, asked, “In what way was he making trouble?”

  Drawn back to the matter at hand, Patrice’s classmates sobered. Nolan’s brow had beetled, and his jaw clenche
d as he shifted his stare from one young man to the other.

  Barry and Charlie exchanged a wary look, as if realizing their comments had cast suspicion on Tyler.

  “Please,” Summer said. “Your identity as our source will be kept in strictest confidence. Patrice was your friend. Don’t you want her killer found?”

  “Tyler is our friend, too. I won’t help you hang him for something he didn’t do,” Barry said, setting his coffee down and leaning back on the couch as if to signal he was finished with the conversation.

  “If he is, in fact, innocent, the facts, the evidence will bear that out.” Summer touched Barry’s knee, wanting to establish a physical connection to him to combat the emotional distance he was putting between them. A you-can-trust-me gesture. “We don’t want to see the wrong person accused of killing Patrice any more than you do. We want the truth. Justice for Patrice. But we need all the facts to sort that out.”

  Charlie heaved a heavy sigh. “Ee was pickin’ fights, mouthin’ off...ee failed last semester ’cause he didna bother to show up for finals.”

  “And have you talked with him about what’s going on in his head? Why he’s acting out?”

  Barry grunted. “It’s pretty obvious why.”

  “Just the same, spell it out.” Nolan arched one eyebrow. “Assumptions are bad practice for us.”

  The two were silent for a minute before Barry said, “Look. I’ll tell you, but you gotta promise not to blow it outta proportion.”

  Summer’s pulse spiked. That kind of preamble hinted they were finally getting down to the bare truth.

  Charlie’s head whipped toward his friend, his glare screaming a warning. “Dude!”

  “Go ahead,” Summer said, giving him a sympathetic look and specifically not making any promises about how she’d interpret the information Barry had.