When the Bough Breaks (Rose Gardner Investigations #6) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,84
relaxed and reached for the cookie box. “You know, cosplay. When people dress up as their favorite characters.”
Huh. “Yeah, just like that. So what color was her hair?”
“A dingy brown and kind of stringy.” He winced. “Sorry. That sounds mean.”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” I said. “She was wearin’ a disguise.”
“Whew!” he said, sinking back into his chair. “I’d hate for anyone to look that beat-down in real life.”
That gave me pause. “She looked beat-down? How so?”
“You know,” he said excitedly. “Dark circles. Pale skin. She even had bruises on her wrist that she tried to cover up with this chunky sweater she was wearing.”
It was Vera. I was sure of it. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been pale, even for fall, and had the look of a woman who was used to being squashed under the boot of a man. Or his fist.
“Was she alone?” I asked.
“I didn’t see anyone with her,” Preston said. Then his face brightened. “But I saw a kid in a car seat in the back.”
“Oh!” I said in fake glee. Vera had been carrying a little boy on her hip. “That’s good! Anything else?”
“Um…” He rested his chin on his hand. “Her eyes were a kind of gray, and she had a bit of bruising around one of them.” Turning to me, he said, “Whoever did her makeup was really good.”
“That Trixie’s something else,” I said. “Did you happen to see her license plate?”
“Her license plate? Why are you askin’ that?”
“Because sometimes she switches out her license plate as a clue.” He started to protest, and I held up my hand. “I know. But you saw her makeup. She takes things a little too far.”
“I think it was a Louisiana plate,” he said with a frown. “Yeah, it was.”
Louisiana? No wonder Joe hadn’t gotten very far in his search. “Do you remember any of the numbers?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“That’s okay,” I said, pulling out two business cards from my desk drawer and handing them to him. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call if you remember anything else, and would you mind leavin’ your name and number with me in case I think of another question? You can write the information down on the back of the other card.”
“I guess,” he said, taking a pen out of the coffee cup that held an array of pens, pencils, and markers. “You sure do take your pranks seriously.”
“You have no idea.”
He wrote his name—Preston Calhoun—on the card along with his number. “I’ve gotta get goin’,” he said, lifting to his feet. “I was supposed to meet my friends at the coffee shop. I would have let you buy me that coffee you offered, but I wouldn’t hear the end of it. My friends would be ribbing me about the hot pregnant lady tryin’ to pick me up.”
I wasn’t sure which part of that statement to react to—the fact he’d called me hot or that his friends would think I was trying to pick him up. The smoldering look he was giving me suggested he was having second thoughts about turning me down.
I stood and walked him to the door.
He paused at the opening. “Would it be okay if I got a raincheck for that coffee when my friends aren’t around?”
My mouth dropped open. “Uh…”
His glance dipped to my left hand and back up to my face. “I noticed you weren’t wearing a ring.”
I lifted a brow and grinned. “I think I’m a little old for you…and encumbered.”
He shrugged. “I figured it was worth a shot.”
Watching him walk away, I released a wry laugh. “I guess it’s nice to know I have options.”
The baby gave me a sharp kick, and I rubbed the spot. “I was joking, baby. You’ve already got the best daddy in the world.”
And he or she did, so why was James Malcolm on my mind?
Because he’d all but guaranteed it by offering me impossible conditions in return for his cooperation.
I decided to call James first. I wasn’t sure he’d answer, but it was a good place to start.
Taking a deep breath, I got out the burner phone I kept in a zippered compartment in my purse and entered the number Carter had given me. To my surprise, James answered on the second ring.
“Lady, I’ve been expectin’ your call.”
I frowned. How had he known it was me? But then I realized Carter had put on a bit too much of a production handing me that number. This had been their plan all along.