He frowned and settled back a bit, his body relaxing into the couch, one arm out across the back of it, the other with his hand loose at the side of his leg. People who wore guns tended to do that: keep their hands clear so they could get to weapons in short order. Maybe the city boy did it to keep his cell phone hand free.
“I saw him. He came in right after me. Yelled at Chris for a while.”
“Did you hear what they were talking about?”
“The same thing everyone is talking about—the Rhubarb Rally. You are starting to freak me out, Delaney. What happened?”
“Let me finish and I’ll tell you.”
“Is everyone okay?” Gone was the easy smile and easy body language, though he hadn’t moved. He was taut, alert, coiled to spring into action and fix whatever was wrong. I didn’t know how he did it. He hadn’t moved, and yet in the span of a breath he’d gone from easygoing to dangerous.
It was sexy as hell.
“Everyone’s okay,” I assured him. “No one’s hurt. Can you tell me anything specific you heard Dan and Chris say?”
He ran one hand over his tousled hair and tipped his head to one side, finally bending his elbow and resting his head on his fingertips. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I tend to tune Dan out. He was angry. Demanded to see Chris. Chris didn’t seem upset—you know how he is.”
I nodded.
“He offered Dan a free beer. That made Dan angrier. I think Dan told Chris he was a liar, a cheater, and was trying to put him out of the running in the drink category by bribing judges.” He shook his head. “Why did they add so many new categories to the rhubarb contests?”
“To spark more community involvement. Which appears to have been wildly successful,” I said dryly.
“I hate rhubarb,” he muttered.
“So do I. But it draws people together to argue over family recipes and triples the business in town. That’s the foundation of a civilized world. Was that all you heard?”
“There was some sort of dramatic accusation at the end of it all. Dan yelling that as God is his witness he would do whatever it took to keep Chris from winning the prize.”
“And how did Chris handle that?”
“He smiled and told him something like ‘good luck with that.’ No—he told him, ‘Bring it on.’”
“Anything else?”
“Like what? It would help if I had an idea what you think I might have heard.”
I didn’t answer yet. “One last thing: did you see a woman having drinks with Chris?”
“Blonde, mid-twenties, French accent? Wore a silk western shirt mostly unbuttoned and a lacy sort of thing under it. Um…wet designer jeans?”
It was always interesting to see what details a person noticed. Apparently Ryder noticed underwear and designer labels.
“Wet? Is that a brand?”
“Wet as in water. I think I heard her say she got caught by a sneak wave along the jetty.”
Well, that would explain why she was wearing Chris’s T-shirt on his boat.
“You are a very observant man, Ryder Bailey.”
“Habit of an artist. I like to people-watch. I saw her at the bar. I don’t know when she came in—eleven, maybe? But she was still there when I left. From the way she was flirting with Chris, I didn’t think she had plans to leave.”
Spud made a whining sound. He was headed my way, but a lot slower than before. That was because he was trying to carry a stuffed whale the size of a couch.
“And who’s a big ol’ show-off?” Ryder said to the dog.
“That’s a…uh…big whale. Is he supposed to have that thing?”
