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“You ought to see him when he’s cranky.”
“I’ll take him cranky, believe me.”
Michelle clicked off, downed a PowerBar and finished off her coffee. She checked her watch and then her navigation system. Ninety miles an hour and sixty minutes to go. Trusty old illegal radar detector.
CHAPTER
40
HAYES AND SEAN FOLLOWED the lady into the parking lot of a very popular bar located about three blocks off the William and Mary campus. As she went inside, Hayes and Sean held a quick consultation. It was decided that Sean would go in alone, leaving the uniformed Hayes in his police cruiser.
As Sean slid out of the car the sheriff held up a warning hand. “Look, I want to be on the record that you going within two miles of that woman is a really bad thing if she turns out to be married to Whitfield.”
“But on the other hand if Monk’s death is connected to Camp Peary and Ian Whitfield, then the lady might provide us with a shortcut. And as an added bonus, maybe I can find out who tried to kill me.”
The inside of the bar held an interesting mix of college kids and those who had to actually work for a living. Behind the old-fashioned bar, which looked straight out of the Cheers set, two young men and an older gent were filling drink orders as fast as their brains and hands would operate. Higher education was known to inspire great thirst, Sean thought.
There she was, at a high table in the back, near the pool tables. She already had her drink and was nimbly fighting off the advance of what looked to be a member of the William and Mary football team, a lineman judging by the young man’s heft. Not that Sean could blame the guy for trying. The lady’s skirt was short and the legs long, and the way the blond hair fell over the shoulders, spilling near the deep cleavage revealed by the plunge of her neckline, and the heat of those blue eyes bubbling just below the surface… Hell, if he’d been in college he could imagine moving heaven and earth to bed that prize. The bragging rights alone would’ve lasted the entire four years he’d be in school.
The guy wrote something down on a piece of napkin and handed it to her. She looked at the writing—no doubt a phone number or description of
a lewd sexual act he wanted to perform on her—shook her head and motioned him away.
Sean took the opening and sat down beside her. Whether it was because he was obviously old enough to drink legally or her energy had been sapped by fending off the lineman’s thrust, she smiled appreciatively at Sean.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” she said.
“That’s because I haven’t been in here before.” He caught a waitress’s eye. “What the lady’s having.”
She held up her drink. “You into Mojitos?”
“I am now.” He glanced at the wedding ring on her finger.
She saw this. “I don’t believe there’s a law against a married woman going out by herself.”
“None at all. Sorry. I’m Sean Carter.”
“Valerie Messaline.”
If she was married to old Ian, the lady hadn’t taken her husband’s surname.
They shook hands. Her grip was strong, confident. He thought of a similar grip he knew well: Michelle’s.
“So what brings you to our little hamlet?”
Sean replied, “Business. I take it you live around here?”
“No, but my husband keeps an office near here. I was actually planning on going out with him tonight.” She looked down into her glass. “Things didn’t work out.”
That explained the little scene outside the building.
“Should I ask what’s wrong with your husband that he doesn’t see how lucky he is, or would that be indiscreet?”
She laughed. “The question isn’t indiscreet, but my answer might be.”
Sean’s drink came and they both sipped while he shot glances around the bar. Sean was trying to spot anyone paying them more than cursory attention.
“So what is it that you do, Sean?”
