Page 28 of Luck of the Devil
“Well, I hope it goes well with your grandparents. If you need to talk afterward, you know how to reach me.”
We hung up, and I couldn’t stop the flood of guilt. I was lying to her, and you didn’t lie to friends. Which meant I was a shitty friend to someone who’d been a great one.
Another sin to add to an already lengthy list, but I could pick it apart later. I needed to devote my time and attention to finding out who’d killed my mother.
Would my grandparents know anything that would help me solve the case? It seemed doubtful, but it was worth a try, not to mention, telling them in person about my mother’s death was the right thing to do.
I couldn’t imagine how they’d react—if they’d slam the door in my face or pull me into a hug. After Andi’s death, they’d retreated into silence. Maybe they’d buried me too. Had they realized that I was the Little Rock police officer accused of killing a supposedly unarmed boy? If they did, would they turn me away before I could tell them why I was there?
I was sure it wouldn’t help having James Malcolm in tow.
What would they think if they realized I’d brought a former crime boss to their doorstep?
I guessed I’d be finding out soon enough.
Chapter 9
After my call with Louise, I took a few more bites of my food, then pushed my plate aside. I needed to get more work done. Breaking into my mom’s pharmacy account had been a bust, and it would be next to impossible to look into my father’s finances on Malcolm’s computer. Perhaps some of his login information would be saved on my mother’s computer, but I needed to go to her house to find out. Which left only one task on my to-do-right-now list: finding my grandparents’ address.
I knew I could probably find the address in my mother’s address book at her house. But doing nothing would feel like giving in to what was going on in my body, and sitting here twiddling my thumbs was unacceptable.
The light was too much, my eyes were photosensitive, so I turned off all the lights except for a table lamp next to the desk. I moved to the sofa, setting the laptop on my legs. What should have taken only a few minutes to search on the internet, took more like ten. My vision was getting blurry as my other symptoms progressively worsened. I was feverish, my body running hot then cold, and drenched with sweat. The few bites of chicken I’d eaten weren’t sitting well in my stomach, and I found a trash can next to Malcolm’s desk that I kept next to me … just in case. I felt so weak I wasn’t sure I could make it to the bathroom if I succumbed to the nausea.
It took everything in me to find the address for Gary and Shirley Langford of Jonesboro, Arkansas, and plug it into the map app on my phone. The app showed the trip would take about three hours. If we left early enough, we could potentially be back in time for Malcolm to work the evening shift.
If I felt well enough to make the trip.
I had to feel better. I refused to let my own weakness halt finding justice for my mother.
I needed rest. I’d take a nap and then wake up feeling better. Maybe I’d even feel up to going to my mother’s house after Malcolm’s shift, although it seemed like a better idea to do it tomorrow before we left for Jonesboro.
I set the open laptop on the table next to the sofa, then laid down, closing my eyes against the pounding in my skull.
Even though I felt like I was dozing, I must have been out cold, because the next thing I heard was Malcolm softly swearing next to me. I hadn’t heard him open the door.
I cracked open an eye, my head throbbing at the light. He stood on the other side of the coffee table. “Good thing your sofa is leather,” I said through my chattering teeth. “Otherwise, I’d have to pay to have it dry cleaned.”
He headed for his crystal decanter on the bar cart against the wall across from the door and picked it up. I’d had that whiskey. It was the best I’d ever tasted, and my mouth watered for another taste. “You need to take a drink, Harper,”
I wanted a drink more than I wanted my next breath, but I wasn’t giving in. I was scared I wouldn’t stop. “No.”
“Goddammit,” he muttered as he poured a finger of whiskey into a glass. He set the decanter down without replacing the stopper, then moved back over to me. He sat on the coffee table, his jaw set as he said in an icy tone, “You’ve got two choices: take a few sips or I’m taking you to the ER.”
I glared up at him, but my hair was plastered to the side of my head and my shirt was sticking to my chest, so I wasn't sure I looked as threatening as I’d hoped. “If I go to the ER, there’s a good chance my father will put me in rehab up in Little Rock.”
He rocked the crystal whiskey, holding it between his fingers. “Your choice.”
My gaze followed the swirl of the amber liquid, every nerve in my body begging me to reach for it. “If I go to rehab, then I won’t be able to investigate my mother’s murder, and we both know you want me to investigate it. That’s why I’m here, ruining your sofa.”
His face remained impassive. “You can’t investigate if you’re dead.”
“This won’t kill me.” Then my body betrayed me, and my stomach rebelled. I leaned over and threw up what little I’d eaten a couple hours earlier.
Thankfully, Malcolm had quick reflexes and had the trash can in place. As I leaned over the can, I felt something lightly brush my cheeks. It took me a second to register that he had swept my hair back, holding it out of my face.
I started to glance up, wanting to see his reaction, but another wave hit me and I doubled over again, dry heaving.
When the nausea finally passed, my head felt like it was about to split in two. I collapsed on the sofa, but closing my eyes didn’t make the room stop spinning.
