Witness to Murder

“Haven’t even been home yet.” He fingered his chin and grimaced. “I suppose you can tell I haven’t shaved, either.”

“I wasn’t going to mention it, though 8:00 a.m. shadow doesn’t look half bad on you.”

He grinned, and Hallie glanced away, sobering. She didn’t need to get carried away with the be-nice-to-Brody project. Comments on his personal appeal might give him the wrong idea.

She cleared her throat. “You haven’t answered my original question.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “What am I doing here? Waiting for you. I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” Uh-oh. This didn’t sound good. Not when she and Brody were on opposite sides of the Damon issue. She wrapped a hand around the shoulder strap of her purse and narrowed her eyes.

“Please don’t look at me in that tone of voice.” A thready chuckle punctuated his lame attempt at humor. “You and I both want the same thing—the truth. Wayne tells me you’re going to interview Alicia’s modeling agent this morning. I’d like to tag along.”

The purse strap dug into Hallie’s tightened fist. “So you’ve been to the station manager about this, and I’m being ordered to cooperate in your quest to clear a killer.” Why had she ever for one second entertained the notion that she should warm up to Brody Jordan? He was just as arrogant and manipulative as she’d always thought.

He lifted placating hands. “There’s no mandate here. I went to see Wayne at his house early this morning to arrange for the next couple of days off. As a side note, he said it would be okay for me to ask you for permission to go with this morning, but it was up to you if you wanted me underfoot.”

Hallie let out a soft huff, and her shoulder tension eased. “Not looking like yesterday’s leftovers, you’re not.”

The dimple ghosted across Brody’s cheek. “I’ll clean up at the station. Be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Give it half an hour. I need to check my e-mail and organize my notes before we leave. We’re not due at the agency until nine-thirty.” She led the way down the steps and to the intersection, Brody trailing.

“I really appreciate this,” he said as he came up beside her in the crosswalk.

Hallie focused her gaze straight ahead. “Don’t thank me too soon. I suspect you’re headed for a world of hurt when your protégé gets convicted.”

“I’m willing to take that chance, if you’re willing to hear evidence that suggests he’s innocent.”

Hallie humphed. “That’ll be quite a trick to come up with evidence that convinces the witness not to believe her own eyes.”

“I’m a man of faith, not sight. I hear tell you’re of the same persuasion. A miracle could still happen.”

“Isn’t that just like you to play the faith card like some quarterback sneak.”

Brody chuckled. “You never fail to surprise me. Quarterback sneak? You know more about sports than I would have guessed.”

Hallie gritted her teeth. Maddening jock!

Brody hustled through his shower and shave in the men’s room set up for busy reporters needing to get presentable at a moment’s notice. Then he changed into the suit he kept at the station for emergencies.

Gazing into the bathroom mirror, he rubbed his smooth chin. So Hallie didn’t find him utterly unattractive after all. What a surprise! A pleasant one. He grinned at himself, then sobered, thick brows drawn together. Watch it, buster. No way could he allow himself to enjoy that woman too much.

“She’s poison to you, man, and don’t you forget it.” He spoke aloud and then left the men’s room in search of Arsenic Hallie. Too bad he was looking forward to his next dose.

He rounded a corner then did a two-step dodge. “Oops! Didn’t mean to almost bowl you over.”

Vince stopped and laughed. “We need traffic lights around here.”

Brody scowled and poked the man’s thick chest. “I’ve got a major bone to pick with you. You told Hallie how to get to Damon’s mom’s house.”

“So?” Vince shrugged. “She’d have found out some other way if I didn’t cough up. Besides, her return favor got me to the police station in time to catch you escorting the prize of the day into the slammer. You know how these favor things work in this business.”

“Yes, I know how things work, and yes, she would have found the address on her own eventually, but not in time to drive into that neighborhood after me in the dead of night. Do you have any idea how badly that could have turned out for her?”

“She didn’t!”

“Next time you carelessly give her the means to put herself in danger, I will personally wring your neck.”

Vince leveled an assessing gaze on Brody. A sly grin crept over his rugged mug.

“What?” Brody crossed his arms.

“You got it bad for our lovely feature reporter. Can’t say I blame you. If I wasn’t happily married—”

Brody stalked off, trailed by a spurt of hyena laughter from that off-base crime reporter.

He didn’t find Hallie in her cubicle and wandered the halls until he came upon her in the lobby, talking to Daria, the receptionist. As he approached the tall reception counter, Rick, the security guard, looked up from his kiosk opposite the front desk and nodded. Brody returned the gesture and kept going. The hushed conversation between Hallie and Daria seemed animated, with the receptionist gesturing so that the many bangles on her wrist flashed under the fluorescent lights. Other than the raised hand, the flame-topped head was the only part of the woman visible behind the high counter with the huge letters WDJN embossed across the outside. Hallie leaned toward her, elbows on the desktop, as if hanging on every word. Brody came within hearing range and caught a few words from Daria.

“We’re already getting phone calls from irate basketball fans.” The woman looked up, spotted him, and shrank back against her seat.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Brody said. “I want to hear whatever you know.”

Hallie glanced over her shoulder, and her darkened gaze speared through him. “People don’t want to admit that their sports idols could be lousy human beings.”

He pressed his lips together against a sharp retort. Hallie was doing him a favor today. He didn’t need to screw it up with his big mouth.

“Oh, most of them aren’t defending Lange.” Daria fluttered red-painted fingernails. “They feel betrayed by him. Folks do care about their Golden Gophers. Hits ’em hard when one of their heroes goes down.” She pursed a rouged mouth in Brody’s direction. “I’m not too surprised tragedy happened between Damon Lange and Alicia Drayton, considering what I saw.”

Hallie leaned closer. “You knew them?”

“No, not personally. Lange brought her with him when he came in to tape a segment a while back. The lovebirds were going at it tooth and nail when they left here.”

Brody groaned. “They were so good together during the session. Must not have lasted much past the studio door.”

“They were fighting?” Hallie asked.

“Raised voices, nasty words, threatening gestures. My heart galloped sixty miles an hour.” Daria pressed a hand against her chest. “I thought things might get physical. Rick started coming toward them, but they charged right through and took it outside. Isn’t that right, Rick?”

The security guard looked up from his screen. “Just about got me my first collar in this tame joint.” He grinned and went back to his monitor.

Hallie frowned toward Brody. He kept his expression noncommittal, but on the inside, his heart sank. Oh, Damon, when will you ever learn to rein in your temper? Of course, Alicia could be quite the piece of work, but neither of these ladies had any way to know that yet.

“What was the fight about?” Hallie nodded toward Daria.

“From what little I could make out,” she glanced from Hallie to Brody and back again, “Damon was steamed that Alicia was late for his championship game because she was ‘too busy batting her eyes at runway groupies.’”

“Runway groupies? Hmm.” Hallie tapped a manicured nail against the marble counter. “Jealousy. That’s a powerful motive for murder. Maybe this Minnesota model story has more to do with the killing than I expected.” Her glance grazed Brody and continued toward the wall clock. “We need to leave soon if we’re not going to be late for our appointment.” She returned her attention to the receptionist. “Has Stan come in?”