“No apologies necessary.” He stuck out his hand and it took me an instant to realize he meant me to shake it. “Jackson McArthur,” he said. “My friends call me Jack.”
When our fingers made contact, my heart thumped, and my words whooshed out of me. “Mr. McArthur, I—”
“Jack.”
“Jack.” It wasn’t intimate. It wasn’t anything but a name, an introduction. Which didn’t explain why my insides buzzed like a hive full of bees. “I’m Pepper. I work here. I guess you can see that. Who else but someone who works here would wear one of these polo shirts!”
“You wear it very well!” He held on to my hand just a nanosecond longer than was polite, but I was so busy staring up into those electric eyes, I didn’t have the sense to care. “You’re the one in charge, right?” he asked.
“I guess I’m supposed to be.” I figured I’d better start acting like it, so I stepped back and away from the magnetic pull of his personality. He was older than me, thirty-five, maybe even forty. I don’t usually cave in to the whole maturity thing, but on McArthur . . . er . . . Jack, those years were as attractive as the relaxed charm he wore like a second skin. “Can I help you with something?”
“Well, there’s a loaded question if I ever heard one.” One corner of his mouth lifted into a smile that was a little more personal than the one he’d given me a moment earlier. “Actually, I’m here because of—”
“Marjorie.” I figured I might as well beat him to the punch. “You want to know about the murder.”
He moved a couple steps farther into the office. “Well, I have read a thing or two about it. And I have to admit, it’s pretty bizarre. It’s not every day that a woman gets murdered in a presidential memorial. Your cemetery’s famous because of it.”
I made a face. “It’s not the kind of famous anyone around here ever wanted. Ella . . . she’s my boss . . . she’s pretty tired of fielding questions about what happened and when and—”
“Shouldn’t the media be asking you those questions?” I was baffled, and I guess he knew it, because he shrugged and added, “You’re the one who found the dead woman, right? You did say Pepper. And Pepper, that’s a hard name to forget.” He took his time looking me over, from the top of my head to the tips of the open-toed ballet flats I’d been smart enough to wear because I had a feeling I’d be running all over the memorial that day. When doughy Ball Cap Guy looked at me like that, I felt like I needed to shower. With Jack, it was a whole different feeling, and maybe he knew that a tingle raced up and down my spine, because his smile inched up a notch. “There’s no way I could ever forget you. I’m sure you were mentioned in the on-line article I read about the murder.”
I guess the fact that I hadn’t realized I was an Internet celebrity said something about how good Ella was at her job. She was deflecting the media and the questions. I was grateful. And suddenly a little suspicious, too. Tingling aside, I narrowed my eyes and looked Jack over. It was no hardship. “You’re a reporter, aren’t you?”
“Honest. Not.” He held up one hand, Boy Scout style as if that would prove it. “Though I have to admit, I’m just as curious as everyone else. You really are the one who found the body, right?”
It’s not like I could deny it or anything.
I braced myself for more questions, but Jack just shook his head. His eyes were troubled. “That must have been awful.”
Aside from Ella, he was the first who’d acknowledged that finding a body, especially one that had been smashed against a marble floor, isn’t anything near glamorous. Believe me, the fact that this complete stranger sympathized and Quinn never had was not lost on me.
He took another step closer and he was tall, so he had to cock his head to look into my eyes. “Are you OK? You know, there are counselors who specialize in this sort of thing. Trauma counseling, grief counseling. Have you talked to anyone? A professional?”
“No. I mean . . .” His gaze was so intense, so downright concerned, the only thing I could do was pretend I hadn’t spent the weekend not sleeping. It was either that or admit that every time I closed my eyes, I saw Marjorie’s brains and Marjorie’s blood and Marjorie’s broken limbs. “I’ll be fine,” I said.
His serious expression was relieved by the smallest of smiles. “I know that. But promise me you’ll talk to someone, anyway.”
I managed to smile back. “No. Really. I’m cool.”
“Well, obviously!” Jack laughed, and just that easily, all the tension drained out of me. I smiled, too, and realized that for the first time since I’d walked into the memorial the Friday before and found myself at the center of a murder investigation, I felt the knots in my shoulders loosen and the ice in my stomach melt. “So . . .” He took a quick look around the room and nodded, confirming something to himself. “This is it. The famous Garfield Memorial. It’s just as impressive as I thought it would be.”
