Page 7 of Bobbing for Bodies

Noah wraps his arm around me. “I’ll try to jog her memory. If anything new crops up, I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

Detective Fairbanks straightens a moment, looking at him as if he were a vagrant who wandered onto the scene. “Have the Fishers hired you for your services?” There’s a mocking undertone in her voice, and instantly I don’t appreciate it or her.

A breath expires from him as he relaxes against me with an air of defeat. “No, they haven’t.”

“Then stay out of my investigation.” She stalks off, and my jaw roots to the ground.

“How dare she speak to you that way,” I say as I give his chest a light scratch. “I’m going to have her fired.”

A deep rumble of laugh lives and dies in his throat as his eyes sparkle my way.

“Don’t worry about her. She doesn’t have the power to slow me down.” He glances to our left a moment. “Hang tight. I’m going to talk to Bear and see what I can glean.”

Everett pops up just as Noah takes off. “Now that we’re alone, I think you owe me an explanation regarding that squirrel you claim to be chasing.”

An incredulous laugh strums from me. “I owe you no such thing, Judge Baxter. Like I said, it was nothing.”

Everett folds his arms across his enormous chest, his suit drawing tight around his elbows. “It was something, Lemon. And if you don’t tell me, you’ll have to tell Noah or Detective Fairbanks. Like it or not, whatever you saw led you straight to the scene of a homicide. You don’t want to be guilty of withholding evidence, do you?” His tone drops several octaves when he says that last part, and you would think he were fifty years older than me rather than simply half a decade.

“Withholding evidence?” I practically mouth the words.

“That’s right. People get sent to prison for it all the time.”

A dull laugh expels from me in a powder white plume. But Everett isn’t laughing. He’s dead serious.

“Prison.” I gulp at the thought of being forced to wear orange for years at a time. That alone sounds like a punishment. “Everett”—I plead with him—“I can’t—”

“You can and you will,” he says it stern, and a moment of thick silence bounces between us. “Fine. If you don’t tell Noah or Detective Fairbanks by the time the night is through, I’m afraid I’ll have to bring this information to light. I hope you don’t take offense to it. It’s simply my civic duty. My duty for justice doesn’t end when I leave the bench.”

My heart strums wildly in my chest. My entire body slaps with heat from embarrassment. I can’t imagine me ever telling Everett something that sounds so insane. Something thatisso insane.

My mouth opens and not a sound comes out. I glance over to Noah as he’s comforting Bear, and my heart aches for the both of them. For Bear because he lost someone he loved like a brother. And for Noah because he’s about to wish he never met someone as certifiable as myself.

“Hey”—Everett leans in with heavy concern in his eyes—“I don’t want to upset you any more than you already are. I can see this is hard for you.”

“Oh? Because you’re good atreadingpeople?” I can’t help but smear it with sarcasm.

“Yes.” He frowns. “Okay, here’s the deal. You don’t have to tell Noah or Detective Fairbanks for now. I’ll come by the bakery some time this week, and you can fill me in once you’ve had a moment to relax. I wouldn’t pry so hard unless I thought it was important. A man died, Lemon. Believe me when I say even the smallest shred of evidence can help put away whoever did this.”

“Fine.” I swallow hard, trying to push the next words out. “I’ll tell you. Sometime this week.” Maybe.

“You will.” Everett looks every bit as intimidating if not more than Detective Fairbanks could ever hope to be. “And, Lemon?” he says as Noah heads back in this direction. “I’ll know if you’re not telling the truth.”

“Yes, sir, Judge Baxter.” I look up at him sternly from underneath my lashes. “I promise to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.” I’m not crossing my fingers. I’m crossing mysoul. I hope to God I don’t accidentally spew the truth his way at any point during this next week or ever.

“Good. I’m counting on it.”

We look back at the crime scene just as the area is cordoned off with caution tape, a blinding shade of yellow in this dim light. A photographer circles poor Hunter as men with plastic gloves begin to comb every inch of the alleyway.

I will tell Everett the truth.

Just as soon as I come up with some other truth to tell.

Poor Hunter is dead. And I’m more than positive that feral, long-dead creature won’t add anything worthwhile to the investigation.

There’s not a ghost of a chance.

Chapter 4