Haunting Jordan (20 page)

“You know her?” Jase asked, noting the direction of Jordan’s gaze.

“Not personally, no, but I’m fairly certain her name is Didi Wyeth.”

“Your husband’s ex-girlfriend, the Hollywood actress?” Darcy’s gaze sharpened, and she turned in her chair to look. “What’s she doing with Ted Rawlins?”

Jordan wondered the same. “Oh, wait—Ted and Didi have the same talent agent, I think. Ted dropped his other one last year, according to what he told me. He and Didi must’ve met through the agent.”

“That still doesn’t explain what she’s doing up here, unless she hopped out of your hubby’s bed and right into Ted’s.”

“Maybe Ryland’s death hit her hard—maybe she’s on the rebound,” Jordan speculated. “He broke up with her a week or so before he died in the accident. It was all over the papers.”

Darcy frowned at that bit of information. “Interesting. That gives her motive, possibly. Did you mention her to Drake?”

“Of course.”

Jase was waiting, so after telling the dog to stay, Jordan walked over to the bar, hefting a tray of drinks that Bill had mixed. “Where do these go?”

Jase pointed out the tables, then asked her to check others nearby for orders. A few customers noted the efficiency with which she handled the drinks and asked whether she planned to hire on. She laughed, replying that the way her checking account was being depleted, she might have to, which drew a few pained chuckles from people who were also renovating their historic homes.

She walked to the section of the room next to the front
door to take orders. Some looked surprised, then smiled and told her they’d only come for the music, though a few others ordered drinks. She eventually made her way to where a man stood inside the front door, reading a newspaper. He hadn’t been there long—she’d noticed him when he walked in.

“What would you like?” she asked, pencil poised over the small order pad Jase had given her.

The man glanced up from the newspaper, his light-colored eyes sweeping over her without expression. She had only a brief moment to realize he made her uneasy before he replied. “Jack Daniel’s.”

“Neat?” she clarified, writing it down.

“Sure.”

“Be right back with that.” She turned to go, mentally shrugging. She could feel his eyes on her back, and it occurred to her as she crossed to the bar that the LAPD might have sent him to keep an eye on her.

Controlling a spurt of irritation at the thought, she gave her orders to Jase, made several more trips through the packed room, then returned to lean both elbows against the bar. If she was under surveillance, so be it—she was determined to enjoy herself. She purposefully ignored the stranger, listening to the musicians warm up while she waited for the next round to be mixed.

Ted raised his horn, working his way through a complicated riff, his fingers caressing the valves, and she was reminded once again of his tremendous talent—he truly
was
one of the greats. Or he would’ve been, if his career hadn’t been interrupted by a stint of drugs and alcohol.
He’d always claimed that he could be the next Miles Davis, and his band members had privately admitted to her that he wasn’t being arrogant. Perhaps now that his career was back on track, he’d get the recognition he deserved.

She jolted as an arm snaked around her waist. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the pretty lady who offed her old man for sleeping around,” a deep, gritty voice murmured in her ear.

She smelled the alcohol on his breath before she looked up into Holt Stilwell’s leer. Calmly, she stepped to one side, but his grip tightened, keeping her where she was. Rather than struggle with him, she looked him in the eye. “How convenient, Mr. Stilwell. I’ve been meaning to ask you about borrowing your family papers.”

It wasn’t the reaction he’d obviously hoped for. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m looking for any diaries you might have from the late 1800s.”

He dropped his hand to her hip. “Well, now, if I do have any, I wouldn’t let you see them.” He grinned, purposely crowding her. “That is, unless you want to drop by my place later tonight.”

“Holt.” Jase had approached without her knowledge. His eyes lacked their customary warmth, and his voice was deceptively quiet.

Stilwell stared at him for a long moment. “She yours?”

Jordan gaped at Stilwell, wondering whether she’d time-traveled back a century.

Jase shook his head. “Don’t.”

Darcy was out of her chair and looking determined, but Jordan shook her head at her. “Excuse me.” She took the tray of drinks Jase had set on the bar and moved away, effectively breaking the tension. From a safe distance, she turned back, her expression polite. “If you wouldn’t mind looking for those papers, Mr. Stilwell, I’d appreciate it.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

After delivering the drinks, she gave Stilwell time to focus his attention elsewhere by walking over to the stage. “You guys want any water to drink during your set?” she asked the band members.

Ted frowned, wiping down his horn with a soft cloth. “You’re working here?”

She shook her head. “Just helping out for the evening.”

“That’s not okay,” he protested. “You shouldn’t be hauling our drinks.”

He’d always voiced strong opinions about what she should be doing with her life, opinions she felt were inappropriate. She kept her tone light. “I’m just getting a little exercise and helping out a friend.”

“Let her bust her butt, hon.” Didi Wyeth’s clothes and makeup were stunning, her voice artificially sultry, her body slender to the point of emaciation. Her glance flicked over Jordan dismissively as she snuggled up to Ted’s side.

Jordan noted that the gesture seemed to annoy him, and given the brittleness of Didi’s expression, she suspected the actress had picked up on his reaction as well.

“I’m sure Jordan needs the money, since insurance
companies don’t pay out to murderesses,” Didi continued, smiling with false sympathy at Jordan.

“Didi,” Ted warned.

She shrugged. “Grey Goose martini, double, dirty,” she ordered.

“No problem.” Jordan smiled politely and wrote down the order, then returned to the bar.

“Is she bothering you?” Jase asked, evidently having observed the interchange.

“You mean, do I mind that she’s here?” Jordan shrugged. “Thanks for the thought, but, no, I’m fine. Ryland pretty much killed whatever feelings I had for him long before she arrived on the scene.”

“Good to know,” Jase said quietly.

Their gazes met and held. She moved to place two pitchers of ice water for the band onto her tray, silently willing her hands to remain steady.

“That should do it for the moment,” he said in a more businesslike tone. “Sit with Darcy and enjoy the music—I’ll let you know whether I need you again.”

“Deal.” She hesitated. “And thanks.”

He smiled, catching her reference to Stilwell. “Standard knight-in-shining-armor stuff, though my armor may be a bit tarnished here and there.”

Tarnished just enough, she suspected, to enhance his appeal.

* * *

D
ARCY
had somehow managed to save her chair from the boisterous crowd. The pub was now standing room only, the roar of laughter and clink of glasses loud enough that Jordan had to strain to hear Darcy. As many people were simply listening to the music as were purchasing drinks, though Jase didn’t seem to mind. Tom had decamped to stand with friends at the opposite end of the bar.

“So Ted Rawlins lives most of the year in L.A.?” Darcy asked.

Jordan gave her a questioning look. “As far as I know. Why?”

“Just curious how well you know him.”

The light dawned. “Ah, you think maybe I had a relationship with him, and that’s what I’m keeping quiet about? That Ryland and I were
both
into kink with our patients? No way.”

“Then why is the actress sending you death rays?”

“She probably still feels threatened by my presence, given that she dated Ryland before the divorce was finalized,” Jordan replied. She cocked her head. “You have an overly suspicious mind.”

“Comes with the territory. I spent five years in the Minneapolis PD as a homicide detective, so I’m more jaded than most.”

That certainly explained Darcy’s fair coloring—the upper Midwest was heavily populated with Scandinavians. Still, Jordan was surprised. “I thought you were a local.”

“Nope. I’ve been here eight years, which in the locals’ eyes still makes me a newcomer. You’d be amazed by the
number of folks in this town who have a past life.” Darcy cocked her head toward the bar. “Bill, for instance, used to be a Wall Street trader. And Tom was a tenured professor at the University of Washington; he taught chemistry.”

Jordan raised her eyebrows. “And he now paints for a living?”

Darcy shrugged. “People around here tend to value quality of life over money.”

Jordan wanted to ask whether Jase was one of them, but she didn’t want to reveal her curiosity.

“Lawyer.” Darcy read her mind with uncanny accuracy. “I’ll let him give you the lowdown, though.”

Jordan picked up a piece of bread and nibbled while she chewed on that new little tidbit of information. She never would’ve pegged Jase for a lawyer—he was far too laid back.

“Have you at least mentioned other possible suspects to Detective Drake?” Darcy asked, bringing the conversation back around.

“I gave him a few names.” Jordan had mentioned Didi’s, and she’d also supplied the names of ex-patients who had sued Ryland for sexual harassment.

“That so? I requested a copy of the case file, which arrived this afternoon, and from what I’ve read, Drake may not be investigating anyone else.”

Jordan refrained from comment, and Darcy shook her head, leaning over so that her voice wouldn’t carry. “Look, I know I’m just another cop in your eyes, but unless you really did kill the jerk, I’m not the enemy. Cutting the brake lines on a car takes knowledge and advance
planning—in other words, it’s a premeditated act. I’ve spent enough time on the force to know a murderer when I see one, and you aren’t the type. Hell, even if you
had
lost your temper and felt like killing the son of a bitch, I figure you would’ve simply yelled at him to get counseling.” Darcy paused. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jordan said faintly.

“So if you want my help with this, ask, dammit.”

“Thanks,” she said, surprised and touched, and also feeling more than a little guilty for continuing to withhold information from her.

Darcy nodded as if that settled it. “Now, are you gonna let me help solve Hattie’s murder or not?”

Jordan smiled. “How about nightly updates?”

* * *

F
OR
the next few hours, Jordan listened to music and helped Jase when needed. Twice, she asked the man up front whether he wanted a fresh drink, since he hadn’t touched his whiskey. Both times, he turned her down with only slightly more than a grunt. She’d been tempted to ask him to produce his badge, but in the end, she decided to leave him alone and ignore the itch he gave her between her shoulders.

By midnight, she was feeling the effects of the lack of sleep from the night before. She woke up the dog, collected the box of diaries, and headed out the door, yawning.

Half a block from the tavern, though, Stilwell suddenly materialized out of the shadows, blocking her path.
The dog leapt between them, growling. Setting the box on the pavement, Jordan placed a hand on his collar, surreptitiously glancing around to see whether she could count on help from any passersby.

Stilwell caught her action and grinned, obviously enjoying her discomfort. He tossed her a book with a cracked binding held together with string. She fumbled, almost dropping it, scrambling to protect the fragile pages.

“That’s all I got from the family,” he said with a shrug. “I figure you owe me one now. I’ll decide how and when to collect.”

“Thanks,” she said, ignoring his innuendo. “This will be a great help.” She stepped back, pulling the dog with her.

He shifted to block her escape. “What do you want it for, anyway?”

“Just some research I’m doing about the town back when my house was built,” she replied, leaving out any specifics. “I’ll make sure this gets back to you in a few days or so. All right?”

He shrugged and turned to go. “Makes no difference to me whether I ever get it back.” With that, he disappeared into the night as quickly as he’d appeared.

Jordan stood on the sidewalk, frowning after him, willing her pulse to return to normal. He’d just tossed a rare document at her that might well be worth a significant sum of money. In her experience, only the strongest of emotions overrode greed in a man like Stilwell. So why had he been so cavalier about parting with the book? And she had the oddest feeling that he was overplaying a part,
trying too hard to make everyone think he was the baddest of bad boys.

She shook her head. On the other hand, she was functioning on only a few hours of sleep, so she probably shouldn’t be willing to attribute altruistic motives to the man’s actions.

The small spurt of adrenaline caused by his appearance seeped away, leaving her even more exhausted. She took several deep breaths, then leaned down to place Stil-well’s packet on top of the box and pick both up. “Time to go home, boy.”

By the time she got the dog settled in the back of the car, her responses were so sluggish that she wondered whether she should drive the three blocks to her house. But even though every muscle in her body ached, the lingering uneasiness from the encounter with Stilwell had her eyes wide open.

Enough so that on the way home, she made a detour to an all-night grocery on the edge of downtown, to buy some groceries and the latest issue of
Vanity Fair
.

Chapter 9

BY seven the next morning, Jordan was wide awake and twitching inside her sleeping bag, her overactive brain no longer willing to let her linger in that pleasantly relaxed state between deep sleep and fully alert. She pushed her arms out of the sleeping bag—a feat, since the dog, who seemed to have gotten over his unwillingness to enter the bedroom, was plastered along her right side, pinning her. Luxuriating in a jaw-cracking yawn, she stretched to relieve the stiffness caused by two nights on a hard floor.