LITMIR.BIZ

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about her as she sat in the chair next to the table. No chance of him getting close from this position. “Sheila Geiger came to the hotel this morning. She had some interesting things to say.”

      Bax nodded as his gaze moved from her to the couch back to her then to the other single chair across from the table. That’s where he chose to sit. “You talked to her yourself?”

      “Yes. In the bar. She was early and I took her to get some tea.”

      “She didn’t seem like the tea type to me.”

      “Yes, well, sometimes our initial impressions aren’t all that accurate, are they.”

      “Point taken.”

      She hadn’t meant to get snarky with him. Using her most practiced smile, she leaned in, making sure her body language was friendly, open. Not in the least sexual. “Anyway, she’s pretty sure that Danny Austen killed her husband.”

      Bax blinked at her as if something didn’t compute. He’d already said he thought Sheila wasn’t unhappy that her husband was dead, and Sheila had admitted she’d told him about her suspicions, so why was this revelation troubling him? Then it occurred to her. She was grinning at him as if she’d just told him he’d won a stuffed bunny. She ditched the big smile and eased back about ten degrees. “She also said that she thinks it’s because Gerry knew that Danny bats for both teams.”

      “Shit,” Bax said.

      “What?”

      “Nothing. Just that I think it’s true.”

      “That Danny killed Geiger?”

      “No. That Danny is bisexual.”

      “Well, I wouldn’t exactly take Sheila Geiger’s word as gospel.”

      He shook his head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure that Austen hit on me this morning.”

      “What?”

      “I was thinking maybe I got it wrong, but now that two sources have confirmed it—”

      “He hit on you? How?”

      “It’s not important. What else did—”

      “Oh, no. Come on. I’m not going to tell anyone. What did he say?”

      Bax looked flustered. He scratched his head, making little tufts of dark hair stand up, and he didn’t meet her eyes. “I had a headache. He offered to help me with it.”

      “Holy crap.”

      “I said no.”

      She laughed. “I wasn’t suggesting that you didn’t. I’ve just always thought, you know, Danny Austen. He’s legendary.”

      “But is he a killer?”

      “I haven’t finished about Sheila.”

      He leaned forward, looking pleased that they were talking once more about murder.

      “She said she had pictures.”

      “From that night?”

      “Don’t know. I asked, but then someone came in. She never answered me.”

      “Did she give you any specifics about the pictures?”

      “She implied they were of Danny and someone else. A man. She said they would prove that he was the killer.”

      “Unless they show him with the murder weapon, or actually killing Geiger, I doubt that. But they sure could point to motive.”

      “If she’s telling the truth.”

      “You didn’t believe her?”

      She hadn’t wanted to tell him this, not after being such a snot with that comment, but she had to. “She was drunk.”

      “When?”

      “This morning. When she got to the hotel. It’s crazy, too, because she was going to lunch with Piper and Trace.”

      “Trace is the attorney, right?”

      “Yes. Piper’s husband.”

      “Sheila knew that. Knew she was meeting with counsel.”

      “Maybe not. I don’t know. Even so, it seems like awfully poor judgment.”

      He leaned back again. “The alcohol must be a considerable problem, then. She has a lot on the line. A lot to lose.”

      “Or she’s really devastated by the loss of her husband.”

      Bax shook his head even as he said, “I suppose so.”

      “You don’t believe her?”

      “I’d have to see the evidence for myself.”

      “Can’t you get a search warrant? Get all the cameras from their house?”

      “I don’t know. We’ll have to see if a judge will get on board. But there’s no guarantee, even if we swept the house, that the pictures would be there.”

      Mia stood up, anxious now to leave this very private and inviting motor home. But she couldn’t go just yet. Not until she knew for sure.

      She remembered a lesson her mother had taught her long ago—don’t ask a question if you’re not prepared to hear the answer. But she was prepared. Better to get things out on the table. Deal with what was, not what she wished could be. “Bax?”

      “Yeah?”

      “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I got some pretty strong vibes before. About us.”

      He met her gaze. “You did, huh?”

      “Was I crazy?”

      Bax closed his eyes for a second, then shook his head slowly. “No, you weren’t.”

      “Ah.”

      He stood up. Came close. “But here’s the thing—”

      “You don’t have to explain,” she said. “I just—”

      “I do. There are some propriety issues as well as some legal issues.”

      “I’m twenty-eight, for heaven’s sake.”

      “Not that kind of legal,” he said, smiling at her. “We made an agreement last night. You’re an informant. You may have to testify, and if that came to pass, and then it came out that we—that I—”

      “Oh.”

      “So, it’s not that I don’t want to.”

      She stepped back, not sure if she needed to discuss this any further. “It’s for the best. You’re leaving. I have so much to do with the hotel and everything—”

      “Right, right. Those are all really good reasons.”

      She backed up some more, almost to the door. “I’d better—”

      “Sure. Yes. And thanks for that information. Helpful. Good.”

      “No problem. All part of the service. As informant, I mean.”

      He opened his mouth, then shut it again. His gaze went down to the notebook in his hand, and she slipped out the door.

      BOBBI TAMONY WAS in her motor home, and by this time, Bax was no longer impressed. It all felt foolish to him, a giant game that half the world had bought into, but that really meant nothing. All pretense, no substance.

      He’d seen a lot of Bobbi’s movies in his time and had enjoyed them for the most part, but she was just a suspect. A suspect with two very small, very yappy dogs that had the run of the trailer.

      “Can I get you something? A drink? A snack?”

      “No, thank you,” he said, sitting in the big chair by the door,

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