Miranda met them at their tennis club. She couldn’t help admiring their tennis gear and knock-it-out-of-the-park bling. Naomi, she quickly noted, was the pack leader.
“The man was an absolute dog,” Naomi said. “Always sniffing around.”
Emma squealed and jumped in. “Didn’t matter if the woman was young or old—”
“Married or single—”
“He was interested.”
“So, he hit on all of you?”
“Of course,” Naomi said. “And more than once.”
“Did any of you bite?”
“Absolutely not,” Naomi answered for them all. “We take our marriage vows seriously.”
Miranda noticed that Caroline seemed the least animated of the group. She looked directly at her. “What about you? You ever take the bait?”
“No.” She shook her head and said it again, more firmly, “No.”
Miranda wasn’t convinced and made a note to catch up with the woman later, without her buddies riding shotgun.
“Do you have any idea who might have wanted him dead?”
“Honey,” Naomi drawled, “have you even been listening? Half the female population of Harmony, that’s all.”
“I need names.”
“Names?” she repeated, looking shocked.
“As much as I enjoy a girl-time gabfest, I’m looking for a killer. Someone hurt enough, angry enough, or just so damn jealous they wanted Richard Stark dead.”
That shut all three of them down, even Naomi. They only had suspicions, they said. They’d heard rumors and, of course, seen the handsome professor in operation. But specific names? They had to do some thinking about that.
Miranda left the three and called Jake from the car. “Yo,” she said. “Where’re you at?”
“Leaving HQ. I’ve got Jones with me.”
Another member of the investigative team. “Jones? What’s up?”
He didn’t answer that question, instead asking another of his own. “Did you get anything?”
He sounded off. “Pretty much a bust. Basically more of what we already knew. Stark was a player and the three ladies liked to talk. That’s about it.”
“Buddy wants me and Jones to question Jessie Lund’s mother again, this time without her daughter present.”
She frowned. “Without me?”
“Uh-huh. Got Stark’s cell records in. Guess whose number was on them?”
“Lund’s?”
“Yup. Calls in and out.”
“I’ll follow up a few leads here, run down some of the other phone numbers. Keep me posted.”
“You too.”
“And Jake? Tell Jones good luck filling my shoes.”
“Will do.”
Miranda hung up. She didn’t know what Buddy was up to, sending Jones in her place, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to let it fly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
8:40 A.M.
Miranda found Buddy in his office. He was leaning back in his chair, boots propped on his desk, reading the newspaper.
She tapped on the door. “Chief, you have a moment?”
He waved her in. “Does it look like I have a moment?” Grinning, he set aside the paper and brought his feet to the floor with a thud. “Just catching up on what’s happening in New Orleans and Baton Rouge. We are blessed to live in Harmony, that I know for sure.”
She closed the door behind her, took one of the chairs in front of his desk, and looked him in the eyes. “You sent Jones with Jake this morning. Why?”
“You were otherwise occupied. I thought Jones was a good call.”
“Am I lead on this case?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are you sure? No second thoughts? Because now’s the time to share them.”
He frowned. “You’re my most seasoned detective; this is a big case. No second thoughts, Miranda.”
“Then Jones should have been my call. Not yours.”
He narrowed his eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, Detective Rader, every call is my call.” He tapped his chest. “See that sign on the door? It reads Chief Cadwell.”
“With all due respect, Chief, I should have been alerted to phone records having been acquired. As lead I should be aware of every piece of evidence as it comes in. At the very least, you should have consulted with me. What’s going on with you?”
Red crept into his cheeks. “That’s quite enough, Detective.”
“I’ve worked under your command for ten years. I’ve worked hard to become a good cop. The kind of cop you are, Chief. You’ve been a mentor and a friend, a good one at that.”
He shifted slightly in his seat. “I appreciate that, Miranda.”
“In those ten years, have I ever let you down?”
“You have not.”
“Have I ever given you reason to doubt my integrity?”
“Of course not.”
She unclipped her shield and laid it on the desk. “You want my badge? Here it is.”
“Hell no, I don’t want your badge.” He pushed it back towards her. “What’s this about, Miranda?”
“The gloves,” she answered. “President Stark’s complaint about me. After ten years, you doubt me. After a decade working together, you believe I’d behave in an inappropriate manner with a witness. Flat out, I don’t get it.”
“It was a major slipup, Miranda. Your fingerprints at a murder scene? How could I not take that seriously?” He leaned forward. “Coupled then with a complaint from a witness that you were acting like you had an ax to grind with the victim? What should have I done? You tell me.”
“Given me the benefit of the doubt. Maybe questioned why President Stark would say such a thing about a trusted member of your team.”
Buddy let out a long breath. “Ian Stark’s a powerful man in this community.”
“So his word means more than mine?”
“Let me finish. He can make life … difficult. For me. And for you.”
“So I should bow down to him? What are you afraid of, Buddy?”
He went from flushed to furious. “That is enough. You have no clue the pressure on a man in my position. What it’s like to have everyone depending on you, expecting you to have all the answers. The responsibility of it can … consume you. It cost me my marriage and my family, you know that.”
“I do know that,” she shot back. “I was there to help you pick up the pieces. Remember?”
He didn’t reply and she stood, laid her palms on his desk and leaned forward, gaze fixed on his. “You say you don’t want my badge? Then let me do my damn job.”
He gazed at her for a long moment, an expression in his eyes she hadn’t seen since the morning he shared that his wife had left, taking the kids with her. Was it lost? she wondered. Or trapped?
He broke the contact, looked away a moment, then back at her. “Agreed, Miranda. Just—” He paused a moment before continuing. “For the love of God, try not to step on Stark’s toes.”
Miranda nodded and started toward the door. When she reached it she stopped, looked back. Stark was pulling Buddy’s strings, that much she was certain of. But why was Buddy letting him do it?
“Stark’s phone records,” she said. “Where are they?”
“There’s a copy in your inbox.”
She held his gaze a moment, then nodded again. “I’ll be in touch.”
As promised, the list was waiting for her: Numbers in and out and separately, recent text messages.
She downloaded the record of all Starks calls from seven days prior to his murder, then sent the document to the printer. Her desk phone rang as she stood to retrieve it.