I felt guilty for disclosing Darcy’s part in making sure Jane and Charles’s relationship never really took off, yet it was probably better for Elizabeth to know. When Darcy had told me he’d prevented his friend from making a terrible mistake, I’d trusted that he’d done what was best. But hearing Elizabeth’s perspective… I wasn’t so sure my cousin had done the right thing.
Would he advise me to stay away from Neto? I shoved the question away as we reached his car. He kissed me again, slowly and thoroughly, like we had all the time in the world. As I watched him drive away, I wondered how much time we would have. And for the first time, I let myself hope it would last.
Chapter 11
Thenextmorning,Imet Neto at the concert hall a few minutes before the time DeShawn had agreed to meet us. I’d cut my morning practice short by forty-five minutes so I could look extra cute when I saw Neto again, and his grin when he saw me suggested that he’d noticed. Maybe he didn’t specifically notice my freshly painted nails or my new mascara or just how much softer and silkier my hair was after the hair mask I’d applied, but his pupils definitely dilated when our eyes met.
And I’m sure my pupils were dilating, too. He looked way too hot to be investigating a murder in a tan coat with a black T-shirt underneath and jeans that looked like he’d done actual work in them but could still turn heads at the VMAs. And his cheeks were scruffier, as though he had noticed how my fingers had lingered on his stubble and taken note.
Neto sauntered over and took me in his arms, kissing my forehead in greeting. “Hey.”
“Hey.” My cheeks heated as the memory of our kisses flashed before my eyes for the hundredth time. I may have turnedfrom reliving the memories to creating new ones, but just then, DeShawn pulled up in a red pickup.
“Nice truck,” Neto said as DeShawn walked over to us.
“Thanks. Nice car,” he said, gesturing to where Neto’s black car was parked.
I felt around in my pockets, pretending to search for the key to the concert hall that I had deliberately left at home.
“I’ve got it,” DeShawn said. He pulled out his own keys, confirming to me that he did, in fact, have access to the building.
We walked inside and I tried to hone in on DeShawn rather than the echo of our shoes on the marble floor or the hum of the heater. His posture was relaxed as he shrugged out of his navy-blue coat and draped it over a chair in the sound booth. He was comfortable here, and he was comfortable around us. I watched him closely as he and Neto geeked out about the state-of-the-art sound equipment to establish a baseline before I started questioning him. I picked up his heartbeat, eighty beats per minute, and made a note that he occasionally ran a hand through his short black hair. When I felt I had a good handle on his body language, I inserted myself into the conversation.
“Thank you for helping us today, DeShawn, I said.
“No problem. I’m happy to help and I’m glad that the concert is moving forward.”
I didn’t tell him that unless we were able to find the killer soon, my mother was going to shut it down.
“Me too. But I feel terrible about Paolo.”
He nodded. “He was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to die.”
I watched his neck for his pulse as he spoke. No change so far. “I heard you two fighting that day. Was that your last interaction with him?”
He cast his eyes down to the ground. “It was. Things got kind of heated and I feel bad that we never got a chance to resolve ourdifferences.” He looked back up and met my eyes, his expression open, honest.
His expressive eyebrows, his wide open and relaxed body language, and the steady rhythm of his heart—everything about him made me believe that he was telling the truth.
“Where did you go after you stormed out?” I asked.
“The Enchanted Teapot. I was mad enough to be tempted to head to the bar, but I wasn’t going to let a jerk like Paolo set back four years of sobriety.”
“Good for you. And thanks again for helping us.”
I exchanged a look with Neto and he shook his head slightly. He didn’t think DeShawn was guilty, either.
DeShawn left after setting up the equipment for us, and I texted Mrs. Ravenswood, the owner of The Enchanted Teapot, who confirmed that DeShawn really was there during the window when Paolo was killed.
We spent the next hour rehearsing. Even though we’d sung together before and I knew what to expect, I was still amazed at how good it felt to sing with him.
When we finished, we sat on the edge of the stage, feet dangling and our thighs touching.
“What’s our next step?” Neto asked.
“I need to confront Walter. He lied about being in the practice room and I need to know why.”
“Good idea. Let me know when and I’ll come with you.”
