Evening Bags and Executions(50)

“I didn’t know you were so good with Beatles history,” I said to Jack.

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

I don’t think he meant his trivia knowledge.

The sun was disappearing toward the Pacific, so why was it getting hotter?

“Maybe I’ll demonstrate the full range of my abilities someday,” Jack said.

The rooftop heated up further.

Jack gestured to my cell phone I’d laid on the table beside me and said, “What was that all about?”

“It’s complicated,” I said.

“I like complicated,” Jack said. His Barry White tone had slipped into his voice again.

Wasn’t there a breeze somewhere in this entire city?

“It’s for my job at L.A. Affairs,” I said.

I guess the affairs portion of my explanation got his attention. He did the chest-out-nose-flair move—which got my attention.

“It’s an event-planning company,” I said.

He nodded, like maybe he was a little disappointed or I had ruined some kind of fantasy he was having. I don’t know. Men can be so weird sometimes.

Then it hit me—Ty had known I had a new job, but Jack didn’t. Odd.

Somewhere in the midst of my frantic Q&A with Eleanor, the waiter had brought my wine. I took a sip—I needed it, which was a good indication that this was a great time to change the subject.

“So what’s up with the murder suspect you found for me?” I asked.

“Heather Gibson Pritchard, the runaway bride,” Jack said, and it sounded as if he was okay with the topic switch.

“I spoke with her husband, Andrew Pritchard,” Jack said. “I led him to believe I was following up on a matter involving illegal workers at Lacy Cakes. As a professional courtesy to him because he’s a client of Pike Warner, I told him I’d like to speak with his wife about their wedding cake.”

Jack’s really good at finessing a conversation.

I probably need to work on it.

“Heather hated the cake,” Jack said. “Claimed it ruined their big day.”

I could see that Jack wasn’t exactly onboard with the whole cake-as-a-wedding-destroyer thing, same as me, and I was pretty sure her husband felt the same way.

“I know that Heather complained to Lacy, but nothing came of it—other than that I suspect Heather might have murdered her,” I said.

“Things got worse after she complained,” Jack said.

“Heather started hearing rumors about her wedding preparations.”

“What kind of things?” I asked, leaning forward a bit.

“That she’d thrown temper tantrums, she’d cheaped out the flowers, she’d given knockoff gifts to her bridal party, her dress had to be let out two sizes at the final fitting,” Jack said. “Catty, gossipy stuff.”

“Heather must have been furious,” I said. I would have been.

“Heather’s mom asked around and was confident that Lacy Hobbs was the source of the rumors,” Jack said.

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard this sort of thing about Lacy—it was a wonder she hadn’t been murdered years ago.

I mean that in the nicest way, of course.

“Awful as they were, the rumors were out there. The damage had been done,” I said. “So why did Heather suddenly take off for South America?”

“Andrew was a little vague on that,” Jack said.

“He’s protecting her?”

“Could be,” Jack said. “I did some checking. Andrew Pritchard has several guns registered in his name.”

It sounded as if Heather had motive for being angry at Lacy, but I’m not sure it would have driven her to murder. But the fact that there were guns in the Pritchard house and that Andrew wasn’t offering up many details about Heather’s sudden departure made me doubt once again that the timing of her trip was simply coincidental.

“Sounds as if you found me a murder suspect, all right,” I said. “And don’t worry, I won’t go knocking on Andrew Pritchard’s door asking more questions, or anything crazy like that.”

Jack grinned. “Crazy is what you do best.”

“I am known for it,” I agreed.

Jack smiled.

Jack had a great smile.

I could get lost in that smile of his.

He seemed to realize it and shifted back into business mode, which I guess was for the best.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,” he said.

“Great. Thanks,” I said.

We just sat there for a minute looking at each other. I didn’t really want to leave, but I didn’t have a good reason to stay unless Jack asked me to—which he didn’t.

“Well, I guess I’d better go,” I said, and stood.