Page 36 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

I was about to go back inside when my phone rang. I pulled it out of my jeans pocket and glanced at the screen, hoping that Malcolm had already calmed down and was calling me. That theory was shot to hell when I saw the number on the screen.

Mason Deveraux.

He’d already called me three times today, so it was apparent he was going to keep calling until I answered. His persistence was ringing alarm bells in my head. Deveraux had to be a busy man. Why was he putting so much energy into contacting me?

I wasn’t ready to go inside and come up with some lame explanation for running out of the house and coming back without Malcolm, so I decided to answer.

“Harper Adams,” I said as I answered gruffly, just like I had when I was a cop. I needed to be the professional PI who had called him last week.

“You’re a hard woman to get ahold of, Ms. Adams,” Deveraux said in a genteel drawl. I suspected his opening and closing statements in court charmed the juries.

“Yeah,” I said with a hint of attitude. “My apologies. I just buried my mother yesterday, so I’ve been a little busy.”

He paused and I was sure he was going to apologize, but he surprised me by saying, “I read about her accident online. I’m sorry for your loss.”

I doubted my mother’s accident had made it past local news, which meant Mason Deveraux had probably researched me.

Not that I was surprised. His assistant had warned me it might be over a week before I heard from him, but he’d returned my call right away, and on his personal cell at that.

I hadn’t called him back, even after I’d stressed how important it was I talked to him, so he must have wondered why.

But if he’d researched me, then he knew about the shooting last October—that is, if he hadn’t already known.

His department would have been paying attention to Pulaski County’s investigation and the indictment in the shooting.

Shit. I really should have thought through that initial call before placing it.

I should have been grateful he’d called me back, but I felt slimy, like I was laying a trap for Malcolm. I needed to end this call as quickly as possible without causing any more problems.

“Thank you for your condolences, Mr. Deveraux. And thank you for being so persistent in returning my call from last week, but thankfully, the case I was working on got wrapped up soon after I tried to contact you. Sorry to have bothered you for nothing.”

“Hold on,” he said, sensing I was about to hang up on him. “You said you were investigating the disappearance of a businessman named Hugo Burton?”

Any other prosecutor would have probably been thankful for the reprieve, but then again, most of them wouldn’t have been so persistent trying to reach me.

This was a very bad sign. Obviously he had a personal connection to the case I’d called about—hell, I’d pointed out the connection myself when I’d mentioned Rose Gardner had been his girlfriend at the time—so it wasn’t his persistence that made me wary, it was an undercurrent I couldn’t quite name.

I needed to give him enough information to satisfy him, then get off the call as quickly as possible.

“That’s correct. Mr. Burton’s body was found after a man came forward offering to take the police to his grave.

He said a man named Pinky confessed that he and their boss, Skip Martin, a local car dealership owner, killed Mr. Burton. ”

“Have Skip Martin and Pinky been arrested?”

I cringed. While the Lone County’s Sheriff Department had bought the story, I suspected Mason Deveraux was going to poke it full of so many holes you could see daylight through it. “No, Martin and Pinky are dead.”

“That’s convenient,” he said dryly.

I ignored his comment. “The sheriff’s working theory is that I made Martin nervous by asking so many questions about Burton. In fact, I’d questioned the man twice. Maybe it made Martin’s employee nervous. There was some kind of confrontation, and Pinky killed his boss, then himself.”

“And this all came from… what did you say the man’s name was?”

“I didn’t, and you do know that I’m not a detective with the sheriff’s department, right? My job was to find Hugo Burton, one way or the other, and I did.”

“I’m guessing a sharp detective like yourself would have dotted all the Is and crossed all the Ts.” He paused. “You have a reputation of being very, very good. Very thorough.”

“Past tense,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

I knew I’d been good. He wasn’t going to butter me up by telling me so.

“I’m no longer with the Little Rock police or any other law enforcement agency, Mr. Deveraux.

I’m a private detective, available for hire.

I was hired to find Hugo. My client was happy.

And…” I added, hoping my next statement would end this conversation.

“My mother’s car was pulled out of a river around the same time Hugo Burton’s body was found.

My job was done, and I moved on to mourning my mother. ”

“Yes, of course,” he said sympathetically.

“I’m very close to my own mother. I would be devastated if something like that happened to her, but it sounds like you and I are a lot alike, Detective Adams. We’re both workaholics.

So if my mother passed, I’d probably jump into work and bury my feelings. ”

“I’m sure I’ll find another case,” I said, my voice hard, “but the sheriff’s department is taking over Hugo Burton’s murder, and I doubt they’d appreciate my interference, even if I felt inclined to give it.”

“Sorry for all my questions,” he said good-naturedly. “I’m just trying to figure out if Simmons came into play in the case or not.”

“I never found any evidence to suggest he had any ties to Skip Martin.”

“When you called, you said you believed there might be a connection,” he said, “Even if Simmons had nothing to do with Mr. Burton’s murder, he still could have investments with Hugo Burton.”

“Whether Simmons invested or not is a moot point for me now that my investigation was closed.”

He paused a second before adding, “I’ve been looking into Burton’s missing person case file.”

Of course he was. I was a fucking idiot.

“Seeing how I never saw the actual sheriff’s file,” I said, “I have no idea what’s in it. The case was still considered open, so Detective Jones, one of the original detectives, only shared things he thought might be useful to my investigation.”

“You had his cooperation?”

“I did. I told him if I could find Mr. Burton it was a win for both of us.”

“I see.” He paused. “And what about James Malcolm?”

He’d sounded congenial up to this point, but Malcolm’s name sounded a little bitter on his tongue. Definitely bad feelings there. Did Deveraux still blame Malcolm for involving his girlfriend in taking down Simmons? “What about him?”

“When you called, you said J.R. Simmons might be involved and then you mentioned James Malcolm. Did you think Malcolm was tied to Burton’s disappearance-turned-murder?”

I needed to handle this with kid gloves. “No. I was merely turning over rocks, trying to see what crawled out.”

“So why mention him at all?”

“When I heard Simmons’s name mentioned, I put his name into Google, and Malcolm turned up in the search.

Malcolm was involved with Simmons’s arrest for the kidnapping of a Fenton County woman, and it seemed a coincidence that he was living here now.

But again, I found no evidence that either man had anything to do with Burton’s disappearance. ”

“You mentioned the Fenton County woman by name when you called, Detective,” Deveraux said, his voice like honey, but I heard the edge. “Why not say it now?”

I didn’t know much about Mason Deveraux, but I suspected he was a man I didn’t want as an enemy. “Obviously, I jumped the gun in calling you. Afterward, I learned she was your ex-girlfriend. I didn’t want to bring up any bad blood.”

“No bad blood on my end,” he said smoothly. “And from what I know about you, you’re not one to jump the gun.”

I really, really hated that he found me so predictable.

I’d really fucked up by calling him. How much had I had to drink before dialing his number?

But at the time, I’d jumped in deep with Malcolm, who was keeping more secrets than a priest in a confessional, and I’d needed to know if I could trust him.

“From what I’ve learned about you,” he continued, “you wouldn’t have called me if something hadn’t convinced you Simmons’s involvement was a strong possibility.”

I released a short laugh. “Shows what you know. I never hesitated to call my ADA contact at the Pulaski County prosecutor’s office if I was working a case and wanted information.”

“But you wouldn’t have called the Attorney General’s office.”

“Mr. Deveraux,” I said, not trying to hide my impatience. “You were the ADA on Simmons’s murder charges. You had more information than anyone. I’m terribly sorry I bothered you, and in hindsight, I obviously should have waited until I had something more concrete.”

“And you found absolutely no evidence tying Simmons to Lone County?”

I sure as hell wasn’t about to tell him my own father had worked for Simmons.

It wasn’t lost on me, that I would have told him everything six months ago.

Sure, I would have felt guilty turning on my father, but I would have done it because it would have been the “right thing to do.” I’d also trusted the people above me to have my back.

Look how that had turned out. Deveraux would be looking out for his best interest, just like I’d started looking out for mine.

And I didn’t see any scenario in which it served me to tell him anything about Simmons’s involvement in Lone County.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Deveraux, but my call was nothing more than a fishing expedition, hoping to get information that would point me down another avenue to investigate.”

“And you’re not looking into James Malcolm?”

“Why would I be looking into him?” I asked innocently. “I only mentioned him because of Simmons.”

“So why mention Rose Gardner?”

What was up with Rose Gardner?

It was obvious I found her connection to the whole thing strange, as anyone would.

Maybe their breakup had been amicable and he still felt protective of her, but Malcolm had said that working with him had cost Rose her relationship with Deveraux.

Had Deveraux been jealous? I’d seen a few photos of Rose, and she’d looked more wholesome than a corn-fed virgin at Bible camp.

There was no way Malcolm would get involved with someone like her, and even less of a chance that she’d go for him.

The break-up was likely due to the fact she’d worked with Malcolm behind Deveraux’s back.

It had probably cast a shadow over his integrity and left a grudge.

“Yeah,” I said, running a hand over my head as I swung my gaze toward the house.

No one was staring out the window watching me, which meant my grandparents had probably found a more secure stake-out spot.

We were family, after all. I suspected curiosity was embedded in our DNA.

“Her name was in the internet search. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I see.”

I was quickly learning that his I see meant a hell of a lot more than it sounded.

My head was throbbing, and my hands were beginning to shake again.

I wasn’t thinking clearly when I said, “It seems odd to me that you keep mentioning Rose Gardner’s name when I only mentioned her as the tie between Malcolm and Simmons.

Was there more to her involvement than that?

” I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth, but there was no reeling them back in.

He was quiet for several seconds, and my heart began to race. I really didn’t want to make an enemy of this man, and I suspected I’d just driven the wrong way down a one-way street straight onto his shit list.

“Of course not,” he said with a laugh. “Rose was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So her kidnapping didn’t have anything to with you?”

“No.”

He was lying. Of course he was probably doing it to protect her.

According to Malcolm, she’d joined forces with him to help Deveraux.

Sure, they’d broken up, but Deveraux probably felt like he owed it to her after she’d saved his life.

Only I wasn’t sure it was that simple. I didn’t have anything to base my theory on but a hunch, but my hunches had always served me well in the past.

The question was what did this mean? Did this change anything regarding Malcolm?

“Thank you for indulging my repetitive questions, Detective,” he said, his congenial tone back. “If there’s anything I can ever do for you—anything at all—don’t hesitate to get in contact.” Then he ended the call, and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d just made a friend or a powerful enemy.