“You think this Jack McArthur has something to do with the counterfeiting? Or the murder?” Scott asked.
Since I was being honest, I had to shrug. “I can’t say for sure. I only know he lied about a whole bunch of stuff. He said he’s from Hammond, Indiana, and that he teaches at Lafayette High School, but there’s no school like that in Hammond, Indiana. He turned the sign around that one day, and he had a credit card with a dead man’s name on it.”
Scott consulted the notes he’d taken when we talked on the phone earlier. “And you saw the credit card with Ryan Kubilik’s name on it when this Jackson McArthur took you out to dinner.”
I wondered if it was some kind of federal crime to order a twelve-ounce filet and vanilla bean crème brûlée when it’s being paid for via a stolen credit card. I gulped and nodded.
When Scott hooked his arm through mine and turned me away so Ella and Jim couldn’t hear, I thought he was going to read me my rights. Instead, the smallest of smiles brightened his expression and he leaned close to say, “Which means you go out to dinner with guys who are visiting from out of town, right? Like me?”
Even before I had a chance to answer (and just for the record, I was all set to say
Scott and I were facing the door, standing next to each other with our arms entwined, and Quinn’s as-green-and-as-cold-as-emeralds gaze sized up the situation.
Scott’s teddy-bear-warm eyes scrutinized right back. How they both made up their minds about each other so quickly, I don’t know. Maybe it was a cop thing, like radar or mind reading or something. All I know is that when Scott disentangled himself from me so he could shake Quinn’s hand, the gesture was cold, formal, and just the slightest bit confrontational—on both their parts.
Scott swung around to include Ella and Jim when he explained, “I asked Detective Harrison from the Cleveland Homicide Unit to join us. I thought it would be best if we cooperated with the local police. Just in case there’s any connection between their murder case and our counterfeit credit cards.”
Even though Scott wasn’t holding on to me any longer, it didn’t keep Quinn from glancing over at the place where his hand had recently been on my arm. “Connections, sure. They’re important.” He breezed past us, but the office being as tiny as it is, he could only go as far as the desk.
Jim and Ella were sitting in the only two chairs in the room, and as if they’d choreographed the move, they stood at the same time. They sidled around us and out the door, and Jim mumbled something about how if Agent Baskins needed them, they’d be outside. It was a nice cover. I think that with both a hard-charging federal agent and a big-headed cop in the room, Jim and Ella figured it was going to be tough to get their share of the oxygen.
I wasn’t worried. A redhead always gets her share. Of everything. I was also so not in the mood for ego games. Scott and Quinn circled each other like cavemen trying to get the last juiciest bits of the saber-toothed tiger, and only too eager to escape the testosterone overdrive, I strolled behind the desk. “So what are your plans?” I asked.
“We’re going to—”
“We’ve already—”
They answered at the same time, and both shot looks at me like it was somehow my fault.
“We’re going to—” Scott said.
“We’ve already—” Quinn’s words overlapped his.
I rolled my eyes. It was the only appropriate response. While I was at it, I sat down. If they were going to keep this up, we might be locked together in the office for who knew how long, and I might as well be comfortable.
Obviously, a dose of common sense was in order, and no one could bring that to a situation like a woman.
I looked at Scott. “Will you take away the phony credit cards?”
It wasn’t my imagination. When he realized I’d picked him to speak first, his chin came up just a fraction of an inch and he slid Quinn a quick, sidelong look. “Too soon for that. The other agents are having a quick look around up in the ballroom right now. They’re going to leave things exactly the way they found them, and we’re going to stake out the memorial and wait to see who shows up for those credit cards. We’re going to need your help, Pepper. You said that while you were looking into Ms. Klinker’s murder—”
“You were looking into the murder? Oh, great!” Disgusted, Quinn threw his hands in the air, spun around, walked to the door, then rocketed back again. “How many times have I told you—”
“Pepper’s given us some useful information.” This was from Scott, and when he said it, I sat up and gave Quinn a look that clearly said,
