Page 7 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

I shot him a dark glare. “You plan to work this case with me?”

Disgust flashed across his face. “I thought that much was obvious by now.”

“Why?” I demanded. “Why are you so interested in this?”

He propped his hands on his hips and turned to look out at the water, the wind blowing pieces of his dark brown hair.

“Because despite your narcissistic tendencies, I highly doubt her death had anything to do with you. I’d bet money it’s tied to your father, and he’s likely the tip of the iceberg.

Your mother just got caught in the fallout. ”

Was he right? Malcolm wasn’t the sort to offer consoling lies.

He believed in facing the cold, hard truth, just like he’d made me do on this bridge.

If he’d thought it had something to do with me, he would have told me so.

I had to believe he was right, which also meant he was likely correct about my father.

As much as I hated to admit it.

“Do you think my father’s next?”

He turned to face me, watching me for several seconds. “I don’t know.”

“I have to warn him.” I lifted my chin, prepared to fight him on this.

“You don’t think he’s already on alert?” he asked dryly.

“Why would he be?”

“You said your mother never went out of town or on vacation, yet she’d packed a bag and was on her way out when she was killed. Your father knew that was unusual. Right? You called him the day we found Hugo after you noticed her suitcase was missing.”

“Yeah.”

“He knows, Harper. Has he been acting more paranoid lately?”

He’d been paranoid the day I’d cornered him at his law office and demanded answers about his connection to J.R.

Simmons. Had he been acting paranoid since her death?

I’d been too self-absorbed to notice. I’d learned about her death a full day after my father, so I had no idea what his reaction had been.

Had he been shocked or looked guilty? “I’m not sure.

I was kind of too busy drowning in my own misery to notice his. ”

I expected some smart-ass answer, but he simply nodded. “He’s a big boy, and he’s taking care of himself. Has he tried to take care of you ?”

“I can take care of myself too.”

“But at least he knows he’s in danger. Has he warned you ?” He held up a hand to stave off my imminent protest. “We both know the answer is no.”

I’d never felt more lost and alone. Everything Malcolm had said was true.

My father had grown more reserved since her accident.

More guarded. I’d thought he was simply upset about her death, especially since they weren’t on good terms, but what if it was because he suspected she’d run into foul play?

Why hadn’t he warned me? Did he think I’d call him crazy and declare it impossible, just like I had when Malcolm presented his case?

Or more likely, he’d hoped to hide his possible tie to her death.

He’d tried to downplay his connection to J.R.

Simmons when I’d quizzed him about it last week.

But there was no denying Simmons had been dead for four years. And dead men weren’t threats.

But their successors could be.

Wasn’t that Malcolm’s true motivation? To find Simmons’s successor? He’d pretty much admitted it while we were digging up Hugo Burton’s body.

Malcolm had hinted that Simmons’s successor might be worse than the original. I knew Simmons had ordered Malcolm to murder a child who could testify against Simmons. Malcolm had refused, so Simmons had done it himself. How much worse could the new man be?

“I don’t think you should stay at your house,” Malcolm said, catching me off guard. “Not until this is said and done.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

“I know you’re a little slow at the moment, given the fact you’re grieving and in detox, but if the person who killed your mother did this because they were afraid of what she might know, then it stands to reason they might think you have the information too and want to eliminate you .”

I hadn’t connected all the dots to get to that conclusion yet. I told myself he’d had multiple hours, possibly days to reason it out. I refused to believe my brain was sluggish because of withdrawal.

Still, I hated to admit he might be right. About any of it. “You think I should stay in my mother’s house?”

He grunted. “I don’t think you should be anywhere near that property.”

I heaved out a sigh. “While there’s a possibility I’ll inherit something from my mother’s estate, my parents weren’t divorced, which means everything will go to my father.

I have some money, but I’m trying to save it, so I don’t want to stay at a motel, and I don’t feel comfortable asking Louise if I can stay with her.

” Especially if I really was going to investigate my mother’s possible murder.

If the Lone County Sheriff’s Department had covered it up, I could be putting my friend in danger.

“You’re gonna stay with me.”

I blinked. For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. I’d expected him to suggest a cheap motel off the highway or guilt-trip me into calling Louise. But instead, he was offering to put me up—like it was nothing. Like it was the obvious choice.

I finally got my wits about me and said, “No offense, but I’m too damn old to be sleeping on the sofa in your office. No matter how comfortable it is.”

“You’ll be comin’ to my house.”

I stared at him in shock, then quickly recovered. “I’m not staying with you!”

“Why the hell not?”

I started to say because I didn’t trust him, but that wasn’t true. I wouldn’t be here on a bridge with him if I didn’t. He’d proven multiple times that I could, but the idea of staying at his house still felt weird. Wrong.

Or maybe too right.

“Okay, then,” he said with a small grin of triumph when I didn’t present a reason. “That’s settled.” He glanced down at his phone. “I’ve got to be getting to the tavern to work the evening shift.”

“Great. You can just drop me off at my apartment.”

He snorted. “What part of you not staying at your place do you not understand?” When I started to protest, he said, “I know your laptop was stolen, and I doubt you already bought a new one. You can work on my laptop in the tavern office while I’m workin’.”

When I didn’t respond, he gave a satisfied nod. “Good, it’s settled.”

“Fine,” I said in disgust, trying not to look too agreeable, otherwise he might get suspicious, but deep down, I was grateful to not have to stay at my place.

Besides, if I stayed with him, I could watch him like a hawk to make sure he wasn’t keeping things from me.

“But I need to get some things from my apartment.”

He started walking toward his car. “Once we get there, you have ten minutes to get some shit together.”

“Generous,” I muttered sarcastically as I followed him.

“More than you know.”

He actually gave me nine minutes because he counted the time it took me to climb up the stairs and unlock the door. Not that it mattered. I didn’t have much to pack other than some toiletries, a few days’ worth of clothes, and my phone charger.

I was dying for a drink, and it felt like Keebler Elves were building an industrial-sized cookie factory in my head, but I resisted the pull to my kitchen sink cabinet and instead grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge with shaky hands along with a couple of aspirin.

Malcolm noticed, because he seemed to notice everything, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

After I packed my bag, I slipped off Malcolm’s jacket.

Even though I threw on a pullover sweater, I was already feeling partially naked without the jacket.

I told myself it was because it had warmed to my body temperature, not because of who it belonged to.

I gave Malcolm a smug look and held out the jacket. “Six minutes.”

He took it and studied me for a moment before pivoting and heading wordlessly to the door.

We drove to the tavern in silence while I stared out the window, going over the last month with my mother. She’d started acting strangely after my dad moved out.

And then there was my father. He’d claimed he’d moved out because of how my mother was treating me. But what if there was some other reason?

I sat up and turned to Malcolm. “I need to speak to my dad.”

“We already decided he was safe. We don’t want to tip him off that you think she might have been murdered.”

“I don’t want to warn him,” I said in frustration. “I want to ask him more details about why he left her. I think she got scared after he moved out. What if she discovered something dangerous about my father and that’s why he moved out?”

He frowned. “You think she found out he was working for Simmons?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. But I do know my father’s desk in the home office is completely empty, so he took everything with him when he left.

” I shrugged. “What if she found something before he cleaned it out?” A slimy feeling coated my skin.

“This feels wrong. Sure, my father had a business dealing with Simmons, but that doesn’t mean he’s crooked. ”

He was my dad. The man who’d made pancakes every Saturday morning before Andi died. The man who’d taught me how to play basketball in the driveway and how to build a campfire. That man wouldn’t have murdered anyone. But what if I didn’t really know him at all?

The look Malcolm shot me suggested he thought my father was very crooked. “Frankly, I’m happy you’re lookin’ at all the options. I expected you to need more of a push.”

I could understand why he’d thought so, but at the moment, my father was the most obvious place to start.

“If I were with the LRPD, I wouldn’t interview him first. I’d probably start with searching her suitcase and house.”

He cocked a brow. “Well, you’re not with the Little Rock PD, are you? Good thing too since your mother died in Lone County.”

It took a couple of seconds to realize what he was insinuating—that the LRPD was out of Lone County’s jurisdiction. “Wow,” I said dryly. “That was sort of a joke.”