P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“Is Ted scheduled to play again this evening?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Darcy replied. “He came in earlier with his band members and Didi Wyeth.”

“Good.” Jordan had questions for Didi. She wanted to know whether the actress was the “witness” who had told Drake about Ryland’s attempts to reconcile. Didi would’ve known, because according to what Ryland had told Jordan the night he died, he’d used his desire to patch up his marriage as the reason to break off the affair with Didi.

Kathleen stopped on her way past the table, raising her eyebrows at Jordan in an unspoken question.

“Yes,” she said hastily.

Jase brought her a glass of red wine. “It’s an old-vine Zinfandel I’d like to start carrying. Let me know what you think.”

His manner was once again friendly, and Jordan was able to relax a bit. In truth, she was grateful for his help, but she still didn’t know how she felt about his past. What she knew for certain, though, was that a slight distance had been created between them, and she regretted it.

She held the wineglass up to breathe in its bouquet, then sipped. Her eyes drifted closed.

“I take it that’s a solid yes vote,” Jase said.

She nodded. She took another sip, savoring, then asked, “Did you get ahold of the private investigator?”

He gave the room an assessing glance, evidently deciding he had a few minutes to relax, and pulled up a chair. “JT’s already digging up information. He should have something by tomorrow.”

“That’s fast.” Jordan was surprised.

“He owed me.”

“Ah. Thanks for calling in favors. As soon as he has any information to report back, I’d like to set up a conference call with him.”

Jase nodded. “I’ll arrange it.”

Kathleen arrived with plates of food—tonight’s selection was grilled salmon, steamed local asparagus, and rice pilaf. She’d included a plate of home-baked treats for the dog.

“They probably don’t serve food like this in the California State Penitentiary System, huh?” Jordan asked as she put the dog’s plate on the floor.

“You’re not going to jail,” Jase and Darcy said simultaneously, glowering at her.

“No, I’m not,” Jordan said calmly. “Geez. Lighten up—it was a joke.”

Jase’s expression remained tense, and Darcy gave her a halfhearted smile.

Bad sign . Jordan swallowed nervously. “But maybe I should take my passport back, just in case.”

“Maybe,” Jase acknowledged, earning a glare from Darcy.

Jordan sighed and dug into her food. “Look, the PI will find something Drake overlooked, or I’ll dig up information on my own.” When they didn’t look reassured, she decided a change of subject was in order. “So how about I bring you up-to-date on what I’ve learned about Hattie’s murder?”

“Right, good,” Darcy said, looking relieved.

Jase took that as his cue to excuse himself to help out behind the bar.

While they ate, Jordan told Darcy about the attack on Frank, and Hattie’s coming to the conclusion that Clive Johnson was behind it, then about how Michael Seavey had thwarted Hattie’s attempt to fire Johnson. “The two were definitely in cahoots, but I still think Seavey was torn between his growing feelings for her and her jeopardizing his business with Longren Shipping. And I think part of his motivation for offering her his protection was that he was truly worried for her safety.”

“That’s plausible.” Darcy forked up a bite of salmon. “So now we know how Frank ended up in Hattie’s home around the time of the murder?”

“Yeah. And Greeley’s reaction was over the top, don’t you think? Why wouldn’t he have investigated the attack on Frank, as Hattie asked?”

“Actually, I can see his point. It doesn’t make sense to file an incident report based on third-party information.” Darcy hesitated. “Not that they probably had incident reports back then, but still. He would’ve needed to see and/or talk to Frank, and Hattie was denying him access.”

“But given her suspicion that the police might be corrupt, it made sense to withhold Frank’s location. Especially since Greeley had made it clear he thought Frank had the beating coming to him.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point.” Darcy chewed, her expression pensive. “You gotta wonder what else was driving Greeley.”

“And why he never considered Clive Johnson a suspect in Hattie’s murder,” Jordan added. “From everything I’m learning, Johnson had the strongest motive by far to get rid of Hattie. And yet, Greeley never even mentions him in his memoir.” Jordan shook her head. “No offense, and present company excluded, of course, but I’m dealing with a few too many cops right now who don’t seem interested in approaching their jobs in a fair and impartial manner.”

Darcy shrugged. “Cops are human, and they lead very stressful lives. They don’t always do a good job of separating the personal from the public.” Her expression was worried. “But yeah, I’m concerned about Drake. More than once, I watched detectives on the Minneapolis force be influenced by their personal baggage—the divorce they were going through, the child who’d just entered drug rehab—and watched how those problems drove them to inaccurate conclusions on their open cases.”

Jordan reached down to rub the dog’s stomach. “Well, I have to believe Jase’s buddy will come up with something we can use. Otherwise, I’ll go mad.” She glanced in the direction of the stage, spying Ted and Didi. “Then again,” she muttered, shoving back her chair, “maybe I can come up with something. Be right back.”

She intercepted Jase halfway across the room, commandeering a tray of drinks he had intended to deliver to the band.

“Jordan,” Ted greeted her, his expression lighting up. “How did the meeting go this morning? Everything okay?”

“Just fine,” she lied, handing out the drinks to the band members. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I came over to chat.” She turned to the actress, holding out her martini. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind, Didi.”

Didi was sitting in a chair just off the edge of the stage. Tonight’s outfit consisted of tight leather pants, a bustier, and knee-high black boots. She looked like she planned to visit a BDSM club later on, though Jordan doubted Port Chatham had one.

Eying Jordan with distaste, Didi said, “Why would I talk to you? You murdered the man I loved.”

“Because I didn’t murder him,” Jordan replied evenly, “and because you want his real murderer found just as badly as I do.”

Didi shrugged. “Ryland told me about the insurance policy you took out, you know. I figure you just never expected the cops to find those cut brake lines.”

Jordan tamped down her irritation. “Did Detective Drake interview you about your relationship with Ryland?”

“Sure. I told him Ryland and I were in love, that he was only trying to reconcile with you long enough to get his hands on your granny’s inheritance.” Didi paused to light an imported cigarette, blowing the smoke in Jordan’s face. “He wouldn’t have stayed with you.”

“I wasn’t interested in him staying with me,” Jordan said automatically, then realized Didi’s version of Ryland’s reasons for the reconciliation made as much sense as any she’d been able to come up with. “So you’re the one who told Drake about Ryland wanting to patch up the marriage.”

“Yeah. I figured anything I could say that got him looking in your direction was good. I knew you’d done it, and I wanted to make damn sure you didn’t get away with it.” Jordan started to protest, but Didi added, oblivious, “Drake also wanted to know where I was that night, and unlike you, I have an airtight alibi.”