Page 18 of Bobbing for Bodies

“Yes.” I take a deep breath, looking to Wallace. “It was quite a trauma. Did you know him very well?” I ask at the precise moment he indulges in a mouthful of chicken. He didn’t even wait for my mother to place her napkin on her lap. I’m guessing his table etiquette is indicative of every other aspect of his life. He will always come first. And anyone who won’t put my mother first is last in my book. She might as well give him his walking papers tonight, because judging by the way he’s plowing through his meal—

Noah leans over, his mouth set directly over my ear, and my insides melt like butter on a griddle. “You’re glaring.”

I look up at him wild-eyed before bouncing in my seat and composing myself once again. “Your food looks wonderful, Wallace.” Take two. “I came this close to ordering the chicken myself.” Lies, all lies.

“Mmm.” He lifts his fork as he swallows down a mouthful.

“Did you know Hunter Fisher?” I look right into his eyes, and my mother gasps, waving her hand at me as if she were gunning to swat me.

“Lottie Kenzie Lemon. You do not speak of the deceased while others are trying to enjoy their meal. It’s bad enough you brought it up at dinner.” She shudders, her narrowed beams of disapproval still set my way. “Noah, I promise you that I brought her up better than that. Lottie is always so rife with sparkling conversation. I don’t know what’s happened to her tonight.”

Noah’s chest bounces with a quiet laugh. “It’s quite all right. I’ve already been treated to Lottie’s sparkling conversation. And I rather enjoy her natural curiosity.” He tilts his head while giving me the side eye, and I’m betting he’s onto me. Crap. This was going to be my great find. My very own sparkly new suspect.

Noah reverts his gaze to Wallace. “So answer the question,” he spits it out with a friendly grin. “Did you know Hunter Fisher?”

Wallace gives an eager nod while washing down his food.

Figures. I pry and nothing happens. Noah asserts his male prowess, and suddenly Wallace is so eager to speak he’s practically choking on his food.

“I tried to work with the kid.” His eyes flit to the depths of the room, and something about that ocular move raises my suspicions. He’s thinking about something, and I want to know what. “The kid didn’t have two dimes to rub together. It’s a little tough to put a portfolio together when you’re broke.” He barks out a laugh while toasting us with his wine, and my mouth falls open, incredulous.

Anger is usually not my friend, but in this instance, it might be all I need.

“Hey”—I play up the affronted angle—“Hunter was a great person. Sure, he wasn’t as financially savvy as yourself—” A good ego stroke always works with narcissistic men like Wallace. “But you could have helped him out, you know. Maybe got him started by giving him a loan?”

“Lottie!” Mom’s fire engine red lips round out in a perfect O.

“It’s fine.” Wallace lifts a finger. “I actually looked into a loan for the kid.” There’s a bleak look in his eyes as if it didn’t go so well. “Sometimes these things don’t pan out.”

Ha! Knew it. There is a connection between Wallace and Hunter’s incessant need for green.

“So, how does that work? I mean, the loan process. If I needed a loan for the bakery, would I just go to you?”

Noah cuts me a quick look and gives a slight nod as if to say good work, and I can’t say I’m not gloating a bit at the moment.

Wallace blows out a breath as if considering this. “It’s not an easy process, but since I know you”—he leans in toward Mom—“and Iknowyour mother…” Eww. “I can see about pulling a few strings.”

Mom coos and chortles as if those strings were directly connected to her body. Doubleeww.

Noah clears his throat. “What’s the name of the financial institution?” There’s a hardness in his voice that has Wallace stiffening, so I give his knee a knock with mine, hoping he’ll take a hint. “I mean, I’m looking for office space, and I can certainly use a leg up.”

“Martinelle Finance,” Wallace is quick to answer. “I’ve used them for several projects.” His demeanor darkens.

We finish up with our meals, and soon Wallace and my mother are off to the late showing of some action adventure film at the Cineplex. I’m guessing that was not my mother’s pick. He is so into pleasing himself it sickens me to think what goes on behind closed doors.

Noah and I take an inadvertent casual stroll down Main Street and end up at the huge fountain in the middle of Founders Square. He’s held my hand every step of the way, and it’s all I can do not to pull him into some dark alcove and have my way with him. To say Noah gets my heart pitter-pattering wouldn’t be skimming the surface of what this man does to me. Parts of my body are quivering that haven’t quivered in a good long while, and if I pant any faster, he’s going think I need a medic.

Noah pulls me in, and my fingers glide down his tie as the moonlight washes him silver. The air is icy, and the wind blows the oak leaves around us like glittering confetti.

“Lottie Lemon.” He doesn’t smile when he says my name. In fact, there’s a note of suspicion buried there somewhere. “You’re investigating Wallace, aren’t you?”

“Aren’tyou?” I tease. “I mean, professionals like Detective Fairbanks and yourself certainly must already have a bead on Wallace Chad by now.” I can’t help but flutter my lashes up at him. I might as well soften the blow to his ego with a little flirtation, and I do plan to spend the rest of the evening indulging in every flirtation possible with this shining moon god. The fountain rushes behind us, and the scent of night jasmine still clings to the air despite the fact autumn is well underway.

His affect darkens as his expression turns serious on a dime. “We do,” he deadpans. “We also know that Martinelle Finance has a reputation, and they may be dealing in dicey waters. We found that out two days ago.” He brushes a stray hair from my cheek tenderly with his thumb. “I know this is going to be hard for you to hear, and just because you hear it doesn’t mean you’ll listen—but we don’t need you in this investigation, Lottie. You’re right. We are professionals,” he says it sweetly enough, but it puts a pin in an ego I didn’t even know I had. “You keep baking pies, and brownies, and every cookie under the sun. You’re good at it. That’s what you do. This homicide investigation is what I do. And I’m good at it. So please, trust me to catch the bad guys and don’t go looking for them yourself. And I know you don’t care to hear that, but I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

Every last ounce of me sighs with defeat. A part of me wants to push aside the investigation for the night, push aside our differences in how that investigation should be run, and by who, and just take in the splendor of this god before me. I want to do a million carnal things with this beautiful man, but I can’t run away from this. Hunter meant something to me, and just because I’ve been bested doesn’t mean I’m going to let it go.

“Okay, you are a professional, and my time and talents are better served mixing up cake batter and putting your favorite chocolate chip cookies in the oven.” I give a cheeky smile, and it’s genuine. “And thank you for sharing that tidbit with me. I know it’s not easy for you to share information, especially now that Detective Fairbanks has taken a blood oath from you.” I glower at the mention of her name.