Missing in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law #5)(60)

“I understand. My deputy is locating a secure facility to store the car as we speak. As soon as I know the location, I’ll give you a call and we can work something out with your insurance agent to get him access.”

“Sometime this afternoon?”

“I doubt I’ll have time to make arrangements for this afternoon. My entire department is busy on a couple of investigations. It might take a couple of days before we can work something out.”

Pickett glared at him a bit. “If that’s the best you can do.”

“It is.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to Pickett. “Give me a call if you have any more questions. Thank you for your time.”

“Sure,” Pickett said and let them out, slamming the door behind them.

Jadyn glanced back. “I think you pissed him off.”

Colt nodded as they climbed into his truck. “I meant to.”

“Why?”

Colt stared at the house and frowned. “Something about him seemed off.”

“The man did just have a heart attack, or something to that effect.”

“Maybe.” He pulled out his cell phone and called Shirley.

“I need you to run a check on someone for me,” he said. “Name’s Gordon Pickett. If your cousin’s still volunteering at the hospital, ask her if she knows anything about him being brought in last week with heart problems. Then run a general check on the name, and get back to me when you have both. Thanks.”

Jadyn raised her eyebrows. “You think Pickett’s lying about the heart attack?”

“He’s hiding something. He was too nervous…too agitated…but working hard to control both. They just finally got the better of him the more I stalled on the car issue.” He sighed. “Maybe I’m reaching. Maybe this thing with Bart is making me think everyone is a suspect.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

He put the truck in gear and pulled away, unable to shake the feeling that everything was coming to a head. He just hoped when the dust cleared, that the casualties were something everyone could live with.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving, now that you mention it.”

“Then let’s make a deal. We’ll stop for lunch and we’re not allowed to say a single word about this case.”

“No argument here. My mind’s on overload.”

“There’s a hole-in-the-wall seafood place close by. How does a shrimp po’boy sound?”

She grinned. “Better than ravioli.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated at a corner table and working their way through a basket of hush puppies.

“These are incredible,” Jadyn said, then popped another hush puppy in her mouth.

Colt nodded. “Just the right amount of jalape?o.”

“And not gummy. If the po’boy is half as good, I may move in here.”

Colt watched her as she dipped another hush puppy in ketchup and smiled. Other women he’d spent time around wouldn’t have set foot in the dilapidated shack, much less complimented the food. Jadyn was different from any woman he’d ever known. She was easy to be around—competent but not demanding—and when they worked together, she was perfectly content to hang back and let him take the lead when it made sense for him to. By the same token, she had no problem stepping up and asserting her authority when it was needed.

Intelligent, hardworking, no outrageous ego, easygoing personality, and drop-dead gorgeous. Jadyn St. James might be the most perfect woman in the world.

What are you waiting for?

He took a drink of his soda. The last time he’d asked himself that question, he had all kinds of valid reasons to hold position, but damn if he couldn’t recall a single one of them now.

“So,” she said, “tell me something about Colt Bertrand that no one in Mudbug knows.”

“Me? I’m an open book.”

She shook her head. “No one is an open book.”

He hesitated, trying to come up with a good response. People in Mudbug definitely didn’t know his thoughts about Jadyn, but no way was he bringing that up. He had to stretch his mind a bit, but finally he thought of something he didn’t think any of the locals knew.

“I like to bowl,” he said.

“Bowl? As in lanes and pins and funky shoes?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why bowling?”

He shrugged. “I sorta fell into it. I lived in a condominium when I worked in New Orleans and a group of widowers also lived in the building. They were big bowlers and were always asking me to join them. One night I did, and I decided I liked it.”

She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “What do you like about it?”

“I don’t know. I think because it requires enough concentration that you can’t let your mind wander or you don’t do well, but at the same time, it’s great for decompression.”

“I can see that.”

“So what about you? What’s your guilty sport addiction?—and no saying yoga.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yoga is cliché although I have taken classes. My favorite thing, although I don’t compete, is horseback riding.”