Liver Let Die (18 page)

Who doesn’t keep bread and cheese around?

And who burns a simple grilled cheese sandwich? According to Rosie, her patient instructor who tried to make her feel less incompetent, it probably hadn’t been a good idea to cook it on high.

It was all too depressing, she thought, reaching into the desk drawer for her secret stash of Ho Hos. They never failed to lift her spirits. Savoring the gooey chocolate and white cream filling, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, repeating her new mantra to herself. “I can cook if I put my mind to it. I can. I know I can.”

“Jordan?”

Her eyes opened wide, and she nearly choked on the last bit of the chocolate treat. “Victor, what are you doing here at this time of day?”

“Hostess should pay you for advertising,” he said, pointing to the three empty wrappers in her trash can before looking around. “I can’t believe you don’t have your own office, girl. How can you think in here?”

“It’s not like I’m saving the world researching a cure for cancer.” She smiled. “I write personals, Victor. Remember? On my busiest day, it doesn’t take much concentration.”

“You have your own column, too. Which, by the way, has everybody in town talking. How much longer do you get to do this gig?”

“Loretta is scheduled back in four weeks. I can’t say I’ll be that upset when she returns,” Jordan said, remembering her no-recipe dilemma this week. But even as the words left her mouth, she knew it wasn’t entirely true.

Despite the constant stressing before deadline, having name recognition was addictive. Just the other day, the clerk in the grocery store had made a fuss when she saw her name on the debit card.

Okay, so the lady was in her seventies, but so what? Nobody said her fan base had to be teenyboppers. And how many people her own age picked up the newspaper and zoomed to the Food section?

“What brings you to the other side of town, Victor? You’ve never set foot in this place before.”

He scrunched his face. “And I probably won’t again. How can you stand all this”—he waved his hand around the room—“energy?”

“You get used to it. So, why aren’t you at the shop?”

He flopped down on the edge of her desk. “Michael’s filling in for one of the guys at the station tonight, and I’m starving since he does all the cooking. I know you’re not the kitchen goddess he made you out to be, so I thought we could hang out and grab a bite.” He giggled. “The kitchen goddess? What was he smoking?”

“Who’s covering Yesterday’s Treasures?”

“Not many people antiques-shop on a Thursday afternoon around here. And I’m the boss. I can close whenever I want.” He sighed. “So, are you game for chowing down with me tonight or what?”

Jordan pretended to think about it, loving the way her friend’s face turned into a pout. “Give me five minutes to close down here, and you’re on,” she said, figuring she’d teased him long enough.

She clicked off her computer and grabbed her purse. “Come on. Let’s blow this honky-tonk.”

“This really is a dungeon,” Victor commented, entwining his arm in hers. “Tell your boss to spring for fluorescent lighting to brighten things up. It’s a great stress reliever.”

“Why do I think you just made that up to impress me?”

“I did no such thing!” He stopped to face her. “You’ve seen the way my orchids thrive under it. It’s got to be good for humans, and admit it, weren’t you just a little impressed?”

“Sheesh! Call me gullible, but I’m impressed you’re such a talented liar and can come up with anything off the top of your head and make it seem believable.” She led him toward her car. “I’ll drive. We can pick up your car afterward.”

“That’s not gonna happen, my dear. I’ve seen you drive. You’re like Jeff Gordon on a Red Bull high.” He nudged her to the other end of the lot and opened the passenger door on his T-Bird for her. “I said I was starving, not crazy.”

“You got someplace in mind?” she asked, ignoring the slam on her driving skills. She did like to drive fast.

“Someplace yummy.”

“And cheap?” she asked. “I’m low on funds until payday tomorrow.”

“I heard that,” Victor said with a laugh. “There’s this hole-in-the-wall Italian joint off the beaten track in Connor that Michael and I go to every now and then. You can get really good spaghetti and meatballs with a salad and garlic bread for under eight dollars.”

“Sounds excellent,” she responded, thankful she’d been too busy for lunch and still had ten bucks in her wallet.

On the way to Connor, Jordan remembered she’d planned to drive to Grayson County College after work to apologize to Larry Trevelli and get her boss off her back. “What time does Michael get home tonight?”

“After ten. Why?”

Jordan hesitated. She definitely didn’t want Ray to know about her amateur attempt to find J. T.’s killer but decided Victor was a whole other story. Everything was an adventure to him. She could even bribe him into keeping her secret by volunteering to work in the antiques store for a few hours on Saturday. It wasn’t like her social calendar was crammed, and she loved all the old stuff there even if she couldn’t afford any of it.

“I need to run by the college to talk to the football coach for a few minutes before we eat. I can do it tomorrow after work if you don’t feel up to it.”

“Seriously, Jordan. Do you really think I would pass up an opportunity to check out fine young studs, all hot and sweaty in those skintight uniforms?” He glanced her way. “You couldn’t tell Michael, though.”

“I won’t tell him if you promise not to mention this to Ray.”

“Ray?”

“Don’t even ask. Do we have a deal?”

Victor lifted his fist and bumped her outstretched one. “Deal. Now tell me why you need to talk to the coach. Is it about last week’s game?”

Jordan straightened in her seat, her interest suddenly escalating. She could use any tidbit that might make eating crow and the fake mea culpa to Coach Trevelli a little more believable. “What about the game?”

“The Cougars played in Tyler last week against a team they were supposed to slaughter. Not only was there no bloodshed, but they were lucky to make it out of there with a win. The Dallas papers were all over it at the beginning of the week, some even saying it was doubtful the team would make the Division II championship game if they continued to play like that.” He stopped at the red light and faced her. “Heard the quarterback threw three interceptions and fumbled twice. It wasn’t pretty.”

He had her full attention now. If she thought the coach was grumpy the first time she talked to him, she was sure he would be a bear today after all that negative publicity. She would have to turn on the charm.

“It sure made the old guy upstairs in 3A happy, though.”

“What did?” Jordan asked.

“The game. Apparently he had a lot of money on the other team. I saw him Sunday morning, and he was still celebrating. Guess he made a killing when the Cougars didn’t cover.”

“What was the spread?” Jordan asked.

“Grayson County spotted the other team thirteen points, which was supposed to be a walk in the park for them. I guess the odds on the other team were off the charts because of it. The final score was twenty-four to twenty-one.”

“Sounds like a good game,” Jordan commented, wishing she could have been there to write about it and wondering if Brett had been. Was that why he’d called this week? Did he think she might have the inside scoop about what was going on at the college? It would be just like him, the lying jerk.

“Ramsey—he’s the guy upstairs—drove all the way down to Tyler to watch the game. Said the Cougars smelled up the place and only scored the winning field goal in the last few seconds.”

“Interesting,” Jordan mused, thinking Coach Trevelli was really going to be sensitive about it.

They pulled into the parking lot at the practice field and got out of the car. A sudden feeling of dread surged through Jordan’s body at the thought of facing Derrick Young again. She’d have to take extra precautions about ticking him off, after the game he’d just had. She knew what he was capable of. And if J. T. wasn’t strong enough to fight him off, Victor at five eight would be a pushover.

As soon as they were settled on the bleachers, Jordan scanned the field for Trevelli. Just when she decided he wasn’t there, she saw him move out of the center of the huddle, and she gasped. He was on crutches. Deciding to go easy on him since it looked like he’d given up and had that bum knee scoped, she would simply apologize and get out of his hair. When he looked her way, she waved. Much to her surprise, he started toward them instead of dispatching security to ask her to leave.

As he hobbled to the edge of the bleachers, Jordan stole a glance at the team. When her eyes connected with those of Derrick, who was facing them, she didn’t need to be any closer to feel his anger. Pasting a smile on her face, she shrugged. If she was going to play nice, she might as well go all the way. He turned back to the huddle.

“Egan mentioned you’d be stopping by,” Trevelli said.

“I owe you an apology.”

“Holy cow, man. What happened to you?” Victor exclaimed.

Up close, Jordan got a better look at Trevelli. This guy didn’t have surgery on his knee. It looked like he’d run into a brick wall at full speed. Both eyes were black and he had a cut above his left eye with Steri-Strips holding it together. It was obvious he had some kind of rib injury by the way he splinted his right side as he lowered his body to the bleachers.

“I got mugged a few days ago,” he replied, avoiding eye contact.

“Mugged?” Victor blurted. “You look like you went a few rounds with a heavyweight, bro.”

Jordan glanced toward the field, where Derrick Young was again standing away from the huddle, his hands on his hips as he glared at the bleachers. The tiny hairs on her arms stood at attention at the horrible probability she was staring at a cold-blooded murderer.

CHAPTER 14

Larry Trevelli followed Jordan’s eyes to the middle of the field. “Around midnight a few weeks ago I was walking to the car. I’d been studying film from our next opponent, and my mind was on the game this week. I didn’t notice the guys in the shadows until they jumped out and wrestled me to the ground. Between the two of them, they roughed me up pretty good.”

“You’re lucky you’re still around to talk about it,” Victor said. “Nowadays the thugs leave no witnesses.”

“My guess is they knew I wouldn’t recognize them. They probably blew into Ranchero for a couple of quick scores, then disappeared. Unfortunately, the only description I could give the cops was generic—medium build, dark hair—nothing specific.” He shifted his body as if sitting had suddenly become painful. Then he turned his attention to Jordan. “I take it you’ve thought a lot about how you disrupted my practice the other day, Ms. McAllister, and how you upset my quarterback.”

Jordan hoped her eyes didn’t give her away. “I have, Coach, and I’m sorry that happened. I only wanted to know if Derrick knew why his friend was coming to see me the night he was killed.”

“J. T. and Derrick weren’t friends. They didn’t even know each other.”

Jordan tried to hide the surprise she knew must be all over her face. “According to Derrick’s girlfriend, they’d talked a few times.”

“Are you referring to Brittney Prescott?” Trevelli snorted. “That little lady would say anything to get more of Derrick’s attention. He’s told me how manipulative she is.”

It’s hard to be manipulative when you’re being used as a punching bag!

Jordan bit her tongue to keep that thought from spilling out. Her goal today was not to rile this man up again. God only knew how her boss would react if she did. “I didn’t know that,” she said, swallowing down the sarcastic remark she wanted to spit at him. “Brittney showed me the bruises on her arm, and apparently J. T. saw them, too. It was my understanding that’s why there was a confrontation between J. T. and Derrick at the Longhorn Prime Rib the night he was killed.”

Trevelli’s eyes narrowed. “If there was a confrontation, Ms. McAllister, it was over and done with when Derrick explained his relationship with Brittney to J. T.”

“Thought you said Derrick didn’t know J. T.?” Victor chimed in.

Trevelli swung around to face him, his eyes flashing anger for a split second. “I meant the two weren’t good friends.”

“What happened to the team last week?”

Cringing at Victor’s sudden question, Jordan focused on Trevelli’s reaction. As red blotches of anger left over from the last remark crept back up his cheeks, the coach visibly struggled to maintain his cool. She’d bet those last ten bucks in her wallet his blood pressure was off the charts.

“That’s what happens to a team when everybody fills their heads with how good they are and how they’re gonna whup up on someone. They start believing their own rhetoric,” he said, recovering quickly from his initial shock. “That and the fact that our quarterback was still shook up over Ms. McAllister’s implications.” He shot Jordan a look that clearly said he had neither forgotten nor forgiven her last visit to the field.

“Again, I’m sorry about that. I’ve been so upset since the murder I’m not myself.” She realized she was laying it on pretty thick, but she was anxious to get the apology over with so they could leave. It was obvious she wasn’t going to get an opportunity to talk with Derrick this time around, and her stomach was growling like a mama bear protecting her cubs.