Hex on the Ex (23 page)

Jarret gave me a pleading look. I shook my head. “We’ll wait for a booth.”

“It’ll be about fifteen minutes,” she said. “If you want, you can wait in the bar. I’ll call you as soon as your table is ready and have the waiter bring in your drinks.”

“That’s okay. We’ll wait here.” Jarret edged me to the corner between the door and the dining room. He stared out the window, jangling keys in his pocket. I glanced aimlessly through the crowd, eager to sit down and get this over with.

Someone from behind jostled me roughly aside and I tripped into Jarret, circling my hands for balance. Forrest Huber, reeking of booze, thrust his chin in Jarret’s face.

“You son of a bitch.” Forrest’s voice carried over the clatter of plates, causing a hush at nearby tables. “What did you do to my wife, Jarret? What did you do to Laycee?”

Towering over Forrest in height and strength, Jarret put up a calming hand and said quietly, “I’m sorry, man. It wasn’t what you think.”

“How do you know what I think?” Forrest shoved at Jarret’s shoulder. “You don’t have the balls to return my messages. You used her and left her to die, you bastard.”

“Forrest, please.” I touched his arm, moving toward the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

“Get away from me.” He brushed me away. “You lied to me, too. You deserve each other.”

The hostess and two waiters rushed over, forming a shield around us.

“Sir,” the hostess said to Forrest, “I have to ask you to leave.”

He ignored her and pushed Jarret’s shoulder again, raising his voice. “Were you screwing her in Atlanta, too?”

The bartender broke in and seized Forrest’s arm. A waiter took his other arm and they hurried him, struggling, out the front door. Jarret and I followed them to the open walkway. Patrons dodged out of the way, stopping to watch the scuffle from a distance. A pudgy, middle-aged security guard hustled up the escalator in double steps and jogged toward us, panting.

“Let me go. That bastard is the reason my Laycee is dead.” Forrest tried to pull away from the bartender. He glared at the arriving guard with contempt. “What do you want? This is none of your damn business.”

“I’m calling the cops.” The guard pulled out his phone while the waiter and bartender cornered Forrest against a window.

A woman bystander snapped a picture of Forrest then another of Jarret and me.

“Damn it.” Jarret tugged my arm. “Come on, Liz. Security will deal with him. Let’s go inside.”

“Not yet.” I approached the guard. “There’s no reason to involve the police. No damage was done to the restaurant. We won’t file a complaint. Would you be open to escorting Mr. Huber downstairs and calling him a cab? He’s staying at the Sportsmen’s Lodge.”

“I’m not going anywhere until that bastard tells me the truth,” Forrest said.

“We can get him to the elevator,” the bartender said, boxing Forrest in.

Forrest pushed away, calling out to Jarret, “You’re a lowlife coward, Cooper.”

“You and your husband better go inside so we can calm him down,” the guard said to me.

As Jarret and I walked toward the revolving door, Forrest shouted from behind us, “Cooper.”

Jarret looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I’ll see you rot in hell.”

T
he waitstaff, diners, and two cooks behind the kitchen counter watched Jarret and me follow the hostess to a booth in the farthest corner of the Daily Grill. A lean blond waiter stopped at the table and, smiling tactfully, took our drink order—iced tea for me, a shot of scotch and a beer for Jarret.

“Great,” Jarret said after the waiter left. “Did you see the people taking pictures of us outside? I’m probably all over Twitter by now. I wanted this to be a quiet dinner so I can apologize.”

“Now’s your chance. This better be good.”

“Ira told me a scandal would trigger the morality clauses in my Dodger and endorsement contracts.” He leaned forward, brow wrinkled and voice pleading. “An arrest would cost me income and jeopardize future deals. When Thad heard how much you hated Laycee—”

I put out my palm to stop him. “‘Hate’ is a reckless and damaging word. You don’t—”

“Okay, okay. Let me finish. Thad used your
dislike
of her to steer the police away from me. Team management is letting me suit up tomorrow, but I won’t play until the police clear me. If I’m arrested, I face suspension without pay.”

“In other words, you let Thad sell me out for money. You call that an apology?”

He gaped at me, incredulous. “I tried to warn you to be careful.”

“Warn me?” I stared back, too angry to breathe. “How about telling the police you misled them? That you and your lawyer put me in the middle of this to take the spotlight off you?”

“I told Thad you’re innocent. I didn’t think a little misdirection would be a problem. After all, you did kind of put yourself in the middle, Lizzie. You knew Laycee was in town. You admit you were at the house that morning. Hell, the neighbors saw you there. Thad claimed the police would leave me alone while they check you out. I can’t afford a scandal. I’m innocent.”

I clenched my fists to keep from shouting. “Did you stop to think about
my
career and reputation? I had to hire a lawyer, Jarret. Pratt is questioning me again tomorrow. And by the way, you’re not above suspicion. Detectives investigate multiple suspects at the same time.”

The waiter appeared with our drinks and a bread basket. “Are you ready to order?”

“Not yet.” Jarret downed his scotch. I fumed. Maybe dumping my iced tea in his lap would cool me off. After the
waiter left, Jarret said, “Take it easy, Lizzie. I said I was sorry.”

“No, actually, you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. What do you want to eat?” He handed me a menu.

That was it? I got a bigger apology when my dry cleaner had trouble removing a stain from my white slacks. “Did you spot Forrest at the bar before I came in? Is that why you wanted to sit outside?”

“Yeah. The guy is crazy. Do you know he e-mailed messages to my website, threatening to go to Dodger management if I didn’t call him? Thad told me to keep away from him. Forrest is a jerk and he just proved how much of a nutjob he is.”

“Can you blame him? You cuckolded him.”

“I told you I didn’t have sex with Laycee that night.”

That night.
“And what about the night before?”

He glanced down at the table, red-faced.

“Don’t bother answering,” I said, weary and disgusted. “I know you were together. Someone saw you leave the hotel with her. You lied when I asked if you knew she was in town.”

“Why would I admit I was with her?” He twirled a pack of sugar. “Laycee wasn’t a great subject between us, okay? So I lied to spare your feelings. What’s the big deal?”

“What if Forrest found out she went out with you that first night? He may have tracked her cell phone to your house using GPS and flown to Los Angeles to confront her.”

Jarret smirked. “Good guess, but Laycee knew Forrest spied on her. She couldn’t figure out how he always knew
where she was. One of her friends showed her the GPS trick. Instead of changing her password, when she didn’t want to be found she turned off her phone to make Forrest think she fell out of signal range.”

I sat back, impressed. Laycee wasn’t the brightest in the bunch but the girl had improved her cheating skills.

“So no,” Jarret said, “Forrest had no way to find Laycee, and he sure didn’t know she was at my house. She turned off her phone both nights.” He opened his menu on the table, mindlessly twirling the sugar packet while he read.

So much for my theory. If Laycee’s phone was turned off, Forrest had no fast means to find her. He assumed she was with me. I understood his fury toward Jarret after he learned the truth. Forrest was hurt, jealous, cuckolded, and heartbroken. I pitied him for the pain he suffered.

That left me with Margaret Smith and the mysterious woman who gave Schelz’s pamphlet to Weisel. One and the same or two different people? I glanced across the table at Jarret—handsome, charming, with a strong instinct for self-preservation. If Jarret knew Margaret linked him to the symbol, he might lie to protect himself whether he was innocent or guilty. And worse, if I told him about her connection to Herrick Schelz, Jarret’s scum of a lawyer might find a way to twist the knowledge against me.

Exhausted from making assumptions, I leaned back against the wooden bench. Panicked and paranoid—not exactly the state of mind I was shooting for.

Across the aisle, a couple whispered and glanced in our direction. I opened a menu in front of my face.

“I got the autographed baseball for your dad,” Jarret said.
“It’s up at the house. Do you still want to give it to him for his birthday?”

If I said yes I’d have to meet Jarret again tomorrow. Saying no meant between now and the party I’d have to shop for a replacement gift for Dad—the man impossible to shop for—and who knew if I would end up spending the day at the station with Carla, or worse. I loved Dad too much to disappoint him.

“Thank you, Jarret. Dad will love the ball.”

“Good, because it was embarrassing to ask for autographs and then lose to the Cubs on the same night. The ball is on the table inside my front door. You can swing by anytime tomorrow to pick it up.”

“Give me a time and I’ll meet you there. I’m not going into your empty house alone again.”

“The first pitch is at twelve-thirty. I should be home by six unless we go into extra innings. I’ll text you after the game. We’ll set a time.” He glanced at the menu then closed it on the table. “I hear you’ve been working out at Game On.”

“Only for a few days until my bathrooms are finished.” I scanned the main courses. Chicken or fish? Fish or chicken?

“The gym is doing business. Kyle is turning a profit,” he said.

“For your partnership or himself?”

Jarret tipped down my menu, narrowing his eyes at me. “Why would you say that? Laycee made a snide remark about Kyle’s money that night at Fifth Base.”

Insecure Laycee made people squirm to feel superior but she jabbed with nasty or embarrassing truths, never fiction. Did provoking Kyle get her killed?

“How did Kyle respond?”

“He ignored her. So did I. You know Laycee—she teased people for a reaction.”

Our waiter appeared again. “How are you folks doing? Ready yet?”

I selected grilled salmon; Jarret ordered a New York steak, rare. Appetizers? No. Salad? No. The waiter collected our menus and left us alone.

“I assume your accountant is watching the books at Game On,” I said.

“I told you, we’re turning a profit. Membership is up and costs are down. Besides, Kyle wouldn’t steal from me,” Jarret said. “I would know.”

“I noticed Kyle holds a lot of closed-door meetings with an odd cast of characters.”

“That’s how guys are. We like to hang out in private. You wouldn’t understand.” He looked down then back up at me again. “Odd in what way?”

I described Kyle’s visitors and the meeting I had interrupted. “I heard Kyle was arrested for dealing drugs in Atlanta after we moved.”

“Those charges were dropped.” Jarret rubbed his forehead. “I’ll ask Kyle about his meetings.”

Hungry, and assured Jarret would be curious enough to follow through on Kyle, I buttered a slice of warm sourdough bread and popped a piece in my mouth, crunching on the savory combination. “Did the police let you go back home yet?”

“Tomorrow. I don’t plan on living there much longer. That house has been bad luck for me ever since you moved out. I met with a real estate agent today. I’m going to sell it,” he said. “Now I have to decide where I want to live.”

“Were you with a Realtor when I called this afternoon?” I said.

“No. I spent a few hours with a friend.”

“I thought you said business associate.”

He took a drink of his beer. “Do we have to talk about this? You haven’t been interested in my social life lately.”

“Friend.” No gender, just “friend.” What was he holding back? “You rarely talk about your friends. Were you with one of your teammates?”

“I hung out with someone I don’t see very often. No one special. There’s nothing between us.”

“An old friend? Like an old, old friend? From your hometown?”

He rolled his eyes. “God. You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Nope.” I ripped off another piece of bread and took a bite.

“She’s a girl I dated in high school, Liz. She moved out here recently and called me before I left for spring training. I took her out to dinner, curious to see how she held up. She was my first…” He wagged his eyebrows. “You know.”

I gulped my bread.
Moved here recently?
Margaret Smith left the Bull Valley house in December. Dodger spring training began in March. His “hometown friend” fit right into the schedule. “First girl you had sex with?”

“Uh-huh.” He winked. “My taste has improved since high school.”

“What’s her name? Janie? Mary? Margaret?” I watched his face for a flicker of recognition.

He grinned at me. “Are you jealous, Lizzie-Bear?”

“Not even close.”

“Then what’s the big deal?” he said. “Trust me, I’m not interested in her. She’s not my type. Forget about her. Let’s talk about something else.”

Our waiter came down the aisle, balancing a loaded tray and placed it on a stand. “Hot plates,” he said, handling each dish with a napkin as he set our dinners in front of us. “Can I get you anything else? Refills?”

We said no and thanked him. Jarret sliced into his steak and took a bite with relish. I picked at my fish, more interested in the woman from McHenry than in eating.

“How nice of her to contact you after all these years,” I said. “It must be fun to reconnect with someone from the old hometown. Do you see her often?”

“Nope. I’m on the road half the time and at the stadium almost every night when I’m here. Hell, you probably see her more than I do. She works out at Game On in the morning. A short brunette. Plain. On the chubby side.”

Jarret dated models. His idea of chubby was any woman with hips.

“What’s her name?”

“Gretchen. Gretchen Kressler,” he said.