Page 45 of Wild Wolf
"We’re the hardest working men in show business," JD said.
"This isn’t show business. This is law enforcement, or have you guys gotten confused?”
I laughed.
"Work hard, play harder,” Jack said with a mischievous grin.
"Well, I have another class in 45 minutes. You're more than welcome to sit in if you'd like, but I will not tolerate any distractions.”
I asked, "Can we ask questions?”
"As long as they aren’t disrupting.”
My phone buzzed with a call from the sheriff. I pulled the device from my pocket and swiped the screen. "What is it now?”
"Possibly a break in that pumpkin murder.”
“I'm all ears.”
"Apparently, one of the kids found a bloody sneaker in their father's closet. DNA results haven't come back yet, but preliminary blood tests reveal it's the same type as the victim. Echols signed off on a warrant. Find that son-of-a-bitch and bring him in.”
"Where’s he at?"
"Not at home. But I'm sure you can find him."
"I'm on it," I said before ending the call. I gave an apologetic shrug to Taryn, not that she cared. "Duty calls. Looks like we'll have to catch your class another time.”
"I'm heartbroken," she replied, thick with sarcasm.
I gave her another card and told her to get in touch if anything came up.
We said our goodbyes, hustled up the stairs, and stepped into the hallway. I filled JD in on the situation.
My next call was to Isabella. "I need another favor. See if you can locate Grant Peterson.”
Her fingers tapped the keys. After a moment, she said, “Looks like he's on the golf course. He's on 16 right now. You could probably catch him as he comes off the 18th if you hurry.”
"You're a doll," I said.
JD and I jogged across campus to the Founders’ Court, hopped into the Porsche, and sped over to the Coconut KeyCountry Club. We pulled into the parking lot that was full of luxury vehicles and found a place to park by the 18th green. Jack made sure not to park too close. A wayward golf ball wouldn’t be good for the body panels of the classic car.
23
Erickson and Faulkner joined us at the country club. They parked the cruiser beside us, and we shot the breeze through open windows.
When Grant and his foursome approached the green, we hopped out of the car and walked toward the suspect. Grant was sitting pretty about a foot from the pin. But he wouldn’t be sitting pretty for long.
The four of us waited on the cart path.
Grant’s concerned eyes narrowed, and his face tightened.
JD and I smiled and waved.
Grant hopped out of the cart and approached with a concerned face. Uniformed deputies standing around with purposeful looks on their faces was never a good thing. "Is there some kind of problem?"
"You could say that. You're under arrest for the murder of your ex-wife,” I said. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
"What!?"
