a warning beep. “I know,” I said under my breath, “just one more call.”
Brad came around to face me. He tipped his hat very far back to look me straight in the eye. I got a much better look at him. Dark blond hair. Thinning. Tiny ears, small eyes spaced far apart, and a pudginess around his features that let me know his excess bulkiness couldn’t all be blamed on the coat. “I knew you looked familiar. You’re the chef.”
My stomach lurched. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The one who was on TV today.”
“What?” My attention no longer on the phone display, I stared up at Brad’s wide-set eyes.
“Got your interest now, huh?” he said. “You’re the onewho found the White House chief of staff dead. Murdered, right? It’s all over the news.”
I felt all the blood drain from my face.
“Who’s dead?” Bettencourt asked.
“Not you, Gramps. Not yet, at least.” A corner of Brad’s mouth curled up. “What was that like—finding the body? Two of them, right? That girl got murdered, too.” He went on before I could say a word, “Did you see who killed them?”
Who was this guy? Every single hair on my body stood on end. My voice croaked, “No idea what you’re talking about.” Still scrolling even with trembling fingers, I finally found the taxi number. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
I hit the call button just as headlights swung past, making me blink in their brightness. At first I thought it was Bettencourt’s daughter, but the car was moving too fast. As it approached, I took a closer look and nearly jumped straight up. Waving my hands, I called, “Hey, over here.”
The squad car slowed, coming to a stop across the street. The cop rolled down his window. “Is there a problem?”
From my handset, I heard the taxi dispatcher answer. I hung up.
“No,” Brad said, waving the officer away. “We’re cool.”
“Yes,” I said.
With a resigned look, the officer pulled his car to the curb and got out, flashlight beaming right at us. Fifty-something, he was of average height, a bit wide around the waist, and had deep-set eyes. The weariness in his demeanor made me believe we’d interrupted a long-overdue break. “What seems to be the problem?”
Brad lowered the brim of his hat against the flashlight’s brightness. I tried to speak, but he talked over me. “Nothing at all, Officer. I was just giving this young lady directions. I think she’s lost.”
The cop scratched the back of his neck. “Where are you looking to go, miss?”
“I am not lost.” I was about to add that I lived nearby,but didn’t want to share that information in front of Brad. I took hold of Mr. Bettencourt’s arm. “But this gentleman may be.”
“Who are you?” he asked me.
“I’m just trying to help out here.”
To Brad: “What about you?”
“Just walking by and giving directions, Officer.”
“That’s a lie,” I said. “He followed us off the Metro. He says he knows me.”
Brad laughed. “Delusions of grandeur, lady.”
“All right, there seems to be more going on here than either of you care to admit. Show me some ID.”
Brad nodded. “No problem, Officer.”
I started to dig in my purse.
Brad made a show of searching through his wallet. “I’ve got ID in here somewhere,” he said. “Maybe I need more light.” Pointing to the nearby streetlamp, he said, “Hang on a minute,” and walked a few feet away.
The cop grunted, then flashed his light directly into Bettencourt’s face. “You, too.” A couple of seconds later, his head jerked back in surprise. “Hey! Aren’t you—” His hand reached back, hovering over his holster. All politeness disappeared in a flash. “Put your hands up,” he growled at me.
“What?”
When the cop turned to face Brad, I turned, too. “Hands up. Both of y—”
Brad was gone.
CHAPTER 6
WHEN I FINISHED GOING THROUGH MUG shots at one of the detective’s desks,
Brad came around to face me. He tipped his hat very far back to look me straight in the eye. I got a much better look at him. Dark blond hair. Thinning. Tiny ears, small eyes spaced far apart, and a pudginess around his features that let me know his excess bulkiness couldn’t all be blamed on the coat. “I knew you looked familiar. You’re the chef.”
My stomach lurched. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The one who was on TV today.”
“What?” My attention no longer on the phone display, I stared up at Brad’s wide-set eyes.
“Got your interest now, huh?” he said. “You’re the onewho found the White House chief of staff dead. Murdered, right? It’s all over the news.”
I felt all the blood drain from my face.
“Who’s dead?” Bettencourt asked.
“Not you, Gramps. Not yet, at least.” A corner of Brad’s mouth curled up. “What was that like—finding the body? Two of them, right? That girl got murdered, too.” He went on before I could say a word, “Did you see who killed them?”
Who was this guy? Every single hair on my body stood on end. My voice croaked, “No idea what you’re talking about.” Still scrolling even with trembling fingers, I finally found the taxi number. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
I hit the call button just as headlights swung past, making me blink in their brightness. At first I thought it was Bettencourt’s daughter, but the car was moving too fast. As it approached, I took a closer look and nearly jumped straight up. Waving my hands, I called, “Hey, over here.”
The squad car slowed, coming to a stop across the street. The cop rolled down his window. “Is there a problem?”
From my handset, I heard the taxi dispatcher answer. I hung up.
“No,” Brad said, waving the officer away. “We’re cool.”
“Yes,” I said.
With a resigned look, the officer pulled his car to the curb and got out, flashlight beaming right at us. Fifty-something, he was of average height, a bit wide around the waist, and had deep-set eyes. The weariness in his demeanor made me believe we’d interrupted a long-overdue break. “What seems to be the problem?”
Brad lowered the brim of his hat against the flashlight’s brightness. I tried to speak, but he talked over me. “Nothing at all, Officer. I was just giving this young lady directions. I think she’s lost.”
The cop scratched the back of his neck. “Where are you looking to go, miss?”
“I am not lost.” I was about to add that I lived nearby,but didn’t want to share that information in front of Brad. I took hold of Mr. Bettencourt’s arm. “But this gentleman may be.”
“Who are you?” he asked me.
“I’m just trying to help out here.”
To Brad: “What about you?”
“Just walking by and giving directions, Officer.”
“That’s a lie,” I said. “He followed us off the Metro. He says he knows me.”
Brad laughed. “Delusions of grandeur, lady.”
“All right, there seems to be more going on here than either of you care to admit. Show me some ID.”
Brad nodded. “No problem, Officer.”
I started to dig in my purse.
Brad made a show of searching through his wallet. “I’ve got ID in here somewhere,” he said. “Maybe I need more light.” Pointing to the nearby streetlamp, he said, “Hang on a minute,” and walked a few feet away.
The cop grunted, then flashed his light directly into Bettencourt’s face. “You, too.” A couple of seconds later, his head jerked back in surprise. “Hey! Aren’t you—” His hand reached back, hovering over his holster. All politeness disappeared in a flash. “Put your hands up,” he growled at me.
“What?”
When the cop turned to face Brad, I turned, too. “Hands up. Both of y—”
Brad was gone.
CHAPTER 6
WHEN I FINISHED GOING THROUGH MUG shots at one of the detective’s desks,
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