“Where’d you get the cocaine?”
“I swear, that wasn’t mine. She had that.”
My eyes stared into his, looking for signs of deception. It was hard to say. I regarded everything with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Do you know how much medication she was on?”
He shook his head. “She had a glass of wine while I was there and did a few bumps.” Then he added, “I don’t do that shit.”
Again, I looked at him with doubtful eyes. "Do you know where she got the cocaine from?"
He shook his head. "I really don't know."
"It's not like these women are going down to Dowling Street and buying it off the corner," I said.
"I'm sure she's got a safe connection.”
After I stared him down for another long moment, I dug into my pocket and handed him a card.
“Am I some kind of suspect or something?”
I shrugged.
We left and walked back down the driveway to the Porsche.
"Think he's full of it?" JD asked.
"I think we're getting about half the story.”
We hopped into the car and headed back to Diver Down to grab something to eat. We sat at the bar and chowed down on pulled pork sandwiches.
We caught a replay of Paris Delaney’s segment from the scene in front of Whitney's house. The segment cut back to the news desk, and the anchor said, "In other news, massive floodingcontinues in Texas. So far, the death toll has risen to 27. Our very own Emilia Everett is live at the scene.”
They cut to the reporter in the field, standing in waist-deep water as the rain poured down and the wind howled. “As you can see behind me, the area is completely underwater, and the devastation is worse in the valley at lower elevations. The rain continues to come down at an unprecedented level. Rescue crews are working tirelessly around the clock, and the death toll is expected to rise. We’ll have more on this story as it develops.”
"Tragic news," the desk anchor commented.
Jack got a call from a stylist he knew who owned a costume shop. They had a brief exchange, and JD said, "Fantastic! We'll head your way now."
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, then looked at me with a grin. "Nicolette has a line on some costumes. I gave her your sizes, and she was able to put something together."
I regarded him with some trepidation about what this costume was actually going to look like.
We hopped off the barstools, hustled across the parking lot, and climbed into the Porsche. We sped across the island to the costume shop and met Nicolette.
The place was filled with rows and rows of high-quality costumes. These weren’t cheap Halloween get-ups. They were high-end theatrical props—pirate outfits, law enforcement uniforms, prisoners’ jumpsuits, medical scrubs, period costumes, you name it.
Nicolette was a spicy little redhead with fair skin, freckles, and tawny eyes. She looked me up and down, squinting. “I'm pretty sure this will fit. Right this way.” She led us through the shop to the back, where she had pulled some costumes.
Hanging on a rack were a Santa suit and an elf costume.
I took one look at it. "You've got to be kidding me.”
"What? I think it's going to look great," Nicolette said. Then she looked at JD. "And I've got a belly pad for you to make you look more rotund."
Jack had been keeping himself in pretty good shape, and I didn't think he wanted to gain a few pounds for the role. He wasn't exactly a method actor.
“The dressing room is right over there," Nicolette said. "Try them on. See if they fit."
9
