I relaxed, but my words came out grumbly when I said, “Well, good.”
“But it’s true?”
“No! Absolutely not.” The memory of kissing Wyatt flashed in my mind. I did my best to kick it to the curb.
“Glad to hear it.”
I glanced his way. “Yeah?”
He smiled, flicking his eyes to meet mine before turning them back to the road.
A hint of warmth touched my cheeks, unrelated to the heated seat.
“I’m glad you’re helping Mr. Nagy,” Bodie said.
“Well, I’mtryingto help him.” I thought of my failed attempt to get information out of Minnie. “But I’m not really detective material.”
Bodie rubbed at the scruff on his jaw before settling his hand back on the steering wheel. “I have some suspicions.”
“Really?” I perked up, my curiosity awakened.
“First of all, I suspect that you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”
I sank deeper into the seat. “Thanks, but I haven’t even been able to figure out if Minnie has an alibi.”
“Minnie Yang?” His incredulity was understandable. “You think she might have killed Freddie?”
“It’s possible. She hated the guy.”
His forehead scrunched up as he absorbed my words. “But she’s so…small. Her name suits her.”
“Have you seen her working out at the gym?”
“Okay, yeah, I have. You’re right. She’s a beast. But a murderous beast?”
“I hope not.” I stifled a yawn, tempted to close my eyes and sink even deeper into the deliciously warm seat. “I’d much rather the culprit be the mystery man.”
“What mystery man?”
“Apparently, Freddie met with an unidentified man at Shanahan’s Suds a few days before he died,” I explained. “The mystery man might not have anything to do with the murder, but it would be nice to know who he was.”
“I’m friends with Mike, the owner of the pub,” Bodie said, flicking on his turn signal. “He might still have security footage from that day. You could get a picture of the guy to show around. Maybe Mike even knows his name.”
“Do you think he’d talk to me?”
“Sure. Tell him I sent you. If he wants to confirm that, he can text me. Actually, you know what? I’ll text him to let him know you’re coming. I’d go with you, but I need a nap before tonight’s gig.”
“Gig?” I usually heard him describe an evening’s work of bartending as a shift.
“Sometimes on my nights off from the bar, I work for a catering company. There’s this fancy shindig in Manhattan tonight. A charity gala. Lots of rich folks.”
“Does that mean good tips?”
Bodie laughed. “In my experience, most rich people aren’t great tippers.”
“Maybe that’s how they get rich. By being stingy.”
“Could be. I wouldn’t really know. Serving drinks is the closest I get to any rich people.”
