“Cooper, I’m going to confer with my client,” he said.
Stan threw up his hands as if he had reached the end of his patience. “Sure, go ahead. Why don’t you take her out for ice cream while I just sit here and think up new and different ways to ticket you in your shiny BMW?”
“Please, BMWs are for peasants,” Steve said. “I drive a Porsche.”
“Oh, you must be very good at what you do,” Cassie said.
“I’m the best.”
“And yet, you still don’t have the girl,” Joe said.
He looped an arm around Mel and pulled her close. She knew she should go all liberated woman on him and protest but her inner girly-girl was giddy at Joe’s possessive streak. Such was the inner battle of the modern woman.
Nine
“Okay, that’s enough. I’m choking on the testosterone in the air. Take your client to that booth and talk,” Stan said. “You have fifteen minutes and not one second longer.”
“They don’t call me ‘Steve Fifteen Minutes Wolfmeier’ for nothing,” Steve quipped.
Joe snorted.
“Wait, that came out wrong,” Steve said.
Joe doubled up, laughing. Steve looked like he wanted to punch him, so Stan gave him a hearty shove to the back towards the nearby booth and then turned back to Joe. With his back to Steve, Stan’s grin about split his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just need a minute.”
Mel frowned at the pair of them.
“Really, you two?” she asked. “Three people have been killed and another stabbed and you’re getting your yucks by mocking a defense attorney, who is at least helping his client.”
Both men looked duly chastened.
“Sorry, cupcake,” Joe said.
“Yeah, sorry,” Stan said. “Very unprofessional of me. It won’t happen again.”
“For at least fifteen minutes,” Joe said. Stan snorted.
Mel elbowed Joe hard in the side and he made an oomph! noise.
“Sorry,” he said. He clutched his side and gave Uncle Stan a look.
“You don’t need to do that to me,” Uncle Stan said to Mel. He raised his hands in the air. “Message received.”
“Good,” Mel said.
Uncle Stan gestured for her to take a seat at a nearby table and asked, “While we’re waiting, how about you tell me everything that happened here tonight?”
Mel recounted everything she could remember. She tried to be as specific as she could about Todd, Elise’s ex; and his second wife, Mallory; and about the woman, Shanna, who had appeared to be a friend, but maybe it had just been an act. In the retelling, it occurred to her that the most likely candidates were the ex and his new wife. Certainly, they had been the angriest, but would Mallory have made such a scene and brought so much attention to herself if she was planning to murder Elise later?
Equally puzzling was why Mallory, or whoever went after Elise, had felt compelled to kill the people associated with the book signing. What did the driver, the caterer, and the photographer have to do with her anger about her appearance in the book? It didn’t make any sense. Unless Elise had been right when she said the murders were all coincidence. Mel was betting she didn’t believe that anymore.
“Enough!” Detective Martinez shouted.
Mel, Joe, and Uncle Stan turned to see what the commotion was. Tara was standing beside the table where Ray, Angie, and Tate sat and she looked flushed and flustered. Ray was smiling at her as if enjoying her obvious upset.
“Detective Cooper,” Tara called across the bar. “A little backup here.”
“What is Ray up to now?” Joe asked.
“No idea, but you stay here and keep an eye on that situation,” Uncle Stan said. He gestured at Steve and Cassie. “I don’t trust him not to break her out of here if he thinks it’s warranted.”
“It isn’t,” Mel said. “She’s innocent.”
“I would agree with you except for one thing,” Uncle Stan said. “When you were recounting the timeline for us, you admitted that she was on her own, searching the booths while you were checking outside.”
“So?” Mel protested. “There was a bar full of people—”
“There were four guys near the bar, drinking beer, watching a game,” Stan said. “I already got that intel from the security personnel when I arrived.”
Mel snapped her fingers. “That’s it. A place like this, they have to have a security camera system. I’ll bet the bar is under surveillance and we’ll be able to see Elise’s attacker.”
“No, we won’t,” Stan said. He ran a hand over his eyes.
“Why not?” Mel persisted. “It’s a good idea.” She glanced at Joe. “Isn’t it?”
He scanned the bar. When he turned back to look at her, it was with regret. “There are no security cameras in here.”
“What? Why not?” she asked.
“Because hotel bars are notorious places for people to hook up on the sly and no hotel wants to invade its guests’ privacy by providing the damaging footage that swings their divorce towards a poor financial outcome,” Joe said, exchanging a look of frustration with Uncle Stan.
“Meaning they’re protecting the cheaters,” Mel said.
“Yep,” Joe agreed.
“Damn,” Mel said.
“Indeed,” Uncle Stan said. He rose from his seat. “I’m going to join my partner. You keep an eye on Wolfmeier and his client. I know you don’t like it, Mel, but unless she has an alibi, I’m going to have to bring her in.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t like it.”
“Consider this, then,” Uncle Stan said. “Someone went to great lengths to kill off the people working on Elise Penworthy’s book signing. Don’t you think it might be likely that her bookseller is in their sights, too?”
Mel gasped. She hadn’t thought of that.
“Before you get your back up about me bringing her in, remember that jail might be the safest place for her.”
• • •
Stan didn’t bring Cassie in. Mel wasn’t sure if it was because she had argued so hard on Cassie’s behalf or because
