Page 66 of Sinful Memory

“We’re…” She thinks for a moment. “Friendly. We don’t hang out outside of team events. We don’t text or chitchat. But if we’re at the same place at the same time, then we’re each pleasant and semi-interested in the other’s life.”

“Semi?” I question. “So, not really?”

She shrugs. “I get the feeling she doesn’t actually care about my life. She only wants to make sure Vance’s world is smooth, and as his wife, I guess I have the power to get noisy and make things messy. Honestly, I don’t really care about hers, either. She and I are different… breeds,” she ponders. “If you get what I mean? She’s big-city social elite, and I’m a small-town country girl. She likes brand name gowns, I like homemade lemonade. She likes to be in the media as much as possible, and I can’t say I’ve ever given an interview or spoken to the press, despite them asking about my marriage. I always thought she was pretty cozy with the players. Flirty, I mean. And you already know my thoughts on girl code and the sanctity of marriage.”

At a knock on the door, I glance over my shoulder and meet Officer Clay’s youthful face.

“Your witness is here,” he murmurs. “Would you like me to place her at your desk, or in interview room two?”

“Interview. Thanks.” I bring my gaze back around to a shaking Misty and allow a small smile when Clay shuts the door with a snick. “I need you to get me that mechanic’s name, Mrs. Perry. And the officer’s name who took your statement after the convenience store incident.”

“Um…” Hesitantly, she leans forward in her seat and nods. “Okay. Sure.”

“Right now.”

“Oh!” She jerks, and nods again. “Okay.”

“And one more thing.” Fletch pushes up to stand, but he sets his hands on his hips and holds Misty’s reddened eyes. “Were you aware your husband had a sexual relationship with Gina Waters?”

Like he’d shoved a firecracker down her throat, Misty jolts in her seat and burns with anger. “What?!”

* * *

“What are you playing at?” As we stride out of the interview room and toward our war room in a hurry, Fletch follows, finally closing the door with a crash as soon as we’re in. “Misty’s not your perp?”

“No.”

“But you said you know who killed Anna, and that she’s a woman.”

“I do. She is.”

I walk to our board filled with timelines and reports that support or refute my theories. I glance at the lineup of photographs: Anna, Vance, Richard Whittaker, the entire Condors basketball team. Ever Mathers. Gina Waters. Michel Heenan. Walter James.

Our board is set up in four sections: victim, associates, suspectsmaybe, and suspectscleared. So I grab one of the associates and slap her face under themaybe. Then I take out my phone and dial the first number on my list.

Fletch studies Gina Waters’ face with new eyes and tilts his head to the side. “Really?”

“Markson Mechanical. This is Garry,” the guy on the phone answers. “How can I help you?”

“Garry.” I take out my notebook and a pen, and lean over the table to write. “My name is Detective Archer Malone. I’m with the Copeland PD’s homicide division. Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Homicide?” His voice lifts an octave or two in surprise. “I mean, homicide means dead. And I’m not dead. So, yeah, I suppose I’ve got a minute.”

I shake my head and smile. “You had a young woman roll up to your shop a little over a week ago. She was driving an almost brand-new VW Atlas. Silver. The woman is in her early twenties, and—”

“I know who you mean,” he cuts in before I finish. “Misty Perry. She’s married to that famous basketball player. Though, I gotta say, I worried about her after she left. Now homicide is calling me? Whoever was trying to hurt her must have finally succeeded.”

I drop into my chair and clutch the phone between my ear and shoulder. “What do you mean by that? ‘Whoever was trying to hurt her’?”

“Yeah.” I don’t have to see him, nor have to have met him, to know he frowns and furrows his brows. “Poor girl’s brake lines had been messed with.”

“Cut?” I demand. “Someone had cut them?”

“Well…” he hedges. “They tried to mess with them is all. It was a bad job, so I can’t say for sure the person wanting to hurt her even had a blade. But that’s a new car, Detective. There’s no reason those brakes should have been so shoddy. So I fixed her up and sent her on her way, and then I talked to my buddy about it. I was worried, like I said. But he said to mind my business, so…”

Then his breath comes to a sharp stop. “Am I in trouble? If I knew for sure she was in danger, I’d have called the cops. But suspicion isn’t fact, and there was all that hullabaloo across the street with the convenience store, so I figured the cops were busy anyway.”

“You saw the robbery? What’s your version of events?”

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