8
“Look, I don’t need to get caught up in this shit,” Blake said.
“I’ll keep your name out of it,” I assured.
After a little hemming and hawing, Blake said, “Isaac George. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“You have contact information for him?”
“No.”
I dug into my pocket and gave Blake a card. “Get in touch if you think of anything else.”
I offered my condolences, then flagged down a few waitresses until I found one who confirmed Blake was behind the bar all night last night.
We left Tidal, and I called Elizabeth Stockton. She’d all but admitted to having an affair with Liam during our last investigation. I doubted she had anything to do with the tennis pro’s demise, but her husband was a prime suspect.
Elizabeth answered after a few rings. “Deputy Wild, why am I not surprised?”
“You heard the news.”
“How could I not? It’s the talk of the town.”
“Where are you?”
“Why? Am I a suspect?”
“I don’t know. Should you be? You don’t seem too upset.”
“We all grieve in different ways.”
“I’d like to speak face to face.”
“Easier to judge someone’s truthfulness in person.”
“Indeed.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll be at Cut for another half hour. Then there’s no telling.”
I told her we were on the way.
JD and I hopped into the Porsche and headed up to the mall. We found a place to park, then weaved through the upscale crowd, looking for the high-end hair salon.
Leggy beauties pranced from store to store, clutching bags from expensive boutiques. There were plenty of designer dresses, high heels, oversized sunglasses, and wide-brimmed hats. Highland Village was the place for Coconut Key's elite to burn obscene amounts of money on bespoke luxury items.
The snip of scissors filled the air, along with the sound of blow-dryers and gossip. The aroma of fruity shampoo, conditioner, and hair products filled my nostrils.
I scanned the stations, looking for Liz. She was hard to miss. In her mid-30s, the socialite could turn heads. With a figure honed by the courts and Pilates, she held her own against the 20-year-olds.
Raul worked his magic, styling her blonde hair to perfection.
We approached the chair, and she glanced at us in the vanity mirror, decked out with flattering light.
“There are going to be a lot of heartbroken women in Stingray Bay tonight,” Elizabeth said.
“Anyone in particular?”
“I can think of a few.”
