Purrfect Peril

Chapter 22

Alec Lip sat nursing his beer while gazing out the window at one of the most interesting sights in the world: the people who inhabited Hampton Cove. They were his fellow citizens, the people he was being paid to protect and serve, but also his friends, co-workers, family members and former fellow schoolmates. Above all, though, they were people, and people watching was one of Alec’s favorite pastimes. Better than a movie at the local cineplex. Better than a show on Netflix or one of the networks. And definitely better than sitting at home and wondering if Chase would stay over at Odelia’s tonight or not.

Last night he’d hoped to catch a game with the guy, but as usual he’d been a no-show. Not that he minded all that much. Most nights they both ate dinner at the Pooles anyway, and often hung out at Marge and Tex’s while Chase snuck over next door to canoodle with Alec’s niece. Was it still canoodling when you were past the legal drinking age? He wasn’t sure. At any rate, there would be many more ball games, and if Chase was serious about Odelia—and it looked that way to Alec—the guy would become family, which was all for the good, cause he liked Chase. Liked him like a brother. Or the son he never had.

And he was just putting the beer bottle to his lips again when a tall and striking redhead loomed up in his field of vision and jutted out a shapely hip. Shapely was the word that described the rest of her as well. From her well-pronounced chest to a pair of legs that seemed to stretch on for miles, a face that could have launched a thousand ships, and luxuriant curly hair the color of burnished copper. The woman was all woman, top to toe, and dressed the way he liked, too: checkered shirt, tight jeans, cowboys boots. Howdy, sister!

“Is this seat taken, sheriff?” she asked in a sexily hoarse voice.

“No, ma’am, it sure ain’t,” he heard himself reply.

She drew out a chair and sat down across from him, fixing him with the greenest pair of eyes he’d ever seen. A tickle ran up his spine, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

“Sheriff Alec Lip, right?”

He was nodding before he realized that he wasn’t a sheriff at all. “Chief Lip,” he managed, and noticed he was holding onto that bottle of beer as if it were a lifeline. She was that kind of woman.

“Chief Lip,” she amended.

“Though folks around here just call me Chief Alec.”

She smiled, and the sun suddenly seemed to shine just that little bit brighter. “My name is Tracy Sting, Chief. I heard you were looking for me?”

He controlled himself with a powerful effort. “As a matter of fact I was, Miss Sting.”

She threw out her hands and settled in. “Well, here I am. Ask away, Chief Alec.”

Her voice had that Demi Moore grit, as if she’d been smoking a pack a day since the cradle. Hard to imagine a woman like this ever having been in the cradle, though. More likely she’d been born fully formed. He cleared his foggy mind and his throat. “You were Burt Goldsmith’s go-to-person for everything Dos Siglas, is that correct?”

“That is correct. I work for the company, and was assigned to Burt as his personal assistant and executive contact. Whatever Burt needed, I got him.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Everything?”

She glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Everything.”

He decided to ignore the innuendo. “And is it also correct that Dos Siglas were aiming to get rid of Burt but his contract wouldn’t allow them?”

She smiled a tight smile. “Who told you that?”

“I’m a cop, Miss Sting. It’s my job to know these things.” That and the message Chase had just sent him. Apparently his and Odelia’s interview had pointed to Tracy as the killer.

She shrugged. “I guess it’s not a big secret. It’s true that Burt signed an ironclad contract that allowed him to stay on long after what most people would consider the age of retirement. And it’s also true that Dos Siglas had naturally assumed that Burt would call it quits once he reached the mid-seventies. He didn’t, however, and felt that as long as his health allowed, he would keep going. The man was having too much fun, Chief. He wasn’t going to quit the best job in the world just because some company figurehead said so.”

He played with his bottle for a moment. “Did you try to persuade him to quit?”

There was some fire in those eyes now. “No, I did not. I thought he was doing a damn good job. The man might have been older than my father but he was fitter than most men his age and in better shape than a lot of men a lot younger than him. Plus, the public loved him.” She leaned in and tapped the table between them. “Burt Goldsmith sold more beer than anyone that’s ever lived, just by being himself: a funny, charming, sweet old guy.” She leaned back. “If he wanted to go on until he dropped dead, who was I to stop him?”

“Someone stopped him. Permanently,” he pointed out.

“Well, it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t anyone at Dos Siglas. The bosses wanted out of the contract, sure, but that doesn’t mean they were going to blow up their best investment. Can you imagine the shitstorm that would come down on us if it turns out we blew up our most popular pitchman? Burt was Dos Siglas. He was the face of the company.” She shook her head, her red mane provocatively dangling around those slender shoulders. “No, Chief. Someone fed you some wrong information. Someone else killed Burt and I, for one, want to see this person punished to the full extent of the law. Maybe even more than you do.”

“I very much doubt that,” he said, and was rewarded with an icy look. Ouch.

“You think I did this? Blow up my charge and risk my reputation and freedom?”

“I’m sure your company will reward you handsomely for your work—and provide you with future opportunities even more lucrative than babysitting Burt Goldsmith.”

She smoldered for a moment, then laughed, a throaty sound that was very pleasant. “I like you, Chief Alec Lip. You’re direct. You say it like it is. And I can see that you’ve already made up your mind about me.” She rose from her chair in one fluid motion. “You think I’m a killer. A stone-cold murderess.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as that,” he protested. “I merely wanted to point out that—”

“No, you’re absolutely right,” she said. “I am the perfect suspect. Which means I’ll have to convince you that you’re wrong about me. What about dinner and a movie?”

Alec’s brows shot up. Now this was a first. First time a woman asked him out on a date. And first time since his Ginny died that he was actually considering saying yes. Before he could think things through, Tracy Sting gave him a knowing nod. “Pick me up at eight. Room 433. And don’t be late, Chief. If there’s anything that turns me off it’s tardiness.” And then she was off, swinging those hips and turning the head of every guy in the establishment.

Alec shook his own head, feeling dizzy and dazed. What had just happened? And then he was getting up from his chair and moving after her. “Wait up, Miss Sting—Tracy!”