Banger's Ride: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 5) (30 page)

Throttle smiled broadly when he saw Belle, and Banger wanted to punch him in the face because he knew what that face meant; he’d seen it too many times when Throttle was on the prowl for a hoodrat or club whore. Belle laughed at his jokes and listened to his stories as he pulled up a chair to join them, but all the while her soft, warm foot kept teasing the shit out of Banger.

He noticed Emily kept sneaking peeks at him, and when he’d catch her eye, she’d avert her gaze. Later, as they walked through the lot to their car, Emily came up next to him and said in a low voice, “Thanks for taking care of that creep. It was cool that you’d do that for me.”

“No worries.” Banger held her gaze for a few seconds then turned away, knowing they’d reached an understanding. He grasped Belle’s hand, clutching it.

When they arrived home, Ethan and Emily went to their rooms, and Banger and Belle sat outside on the porch necking like a couple of teenagers for a long time. “Woman, I need to be with you.”

“I know. I’ll try to see if I can arrange for the kids to do sleepovers. I don’t trust leaving Emily alone. She needs supervision.”

“I get it, but we need to have some time too.”

“I’ll find the time, I promise.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her deep and wet before he climbed on his bike and went home.

*     *     *

The diner was
unusually slow, and Belle sat backward on one of the stools at the counter, facing the street. She relished the pocket of quiet, knowing it was only temporary until the lunch crowd filed in. Across the street, a bright bakery sign beckoned passersby, while a pet store’s front window displayed adorable puppies romping with each other, oblivious to the onlookers. A newspaper dispenser held the
Pinewood Springs Gazette
and
The Everything,
a free paper where people could place ads for anything from fishbowls to cars, and then there was the personal section where men and women looked for true love.

As Belle stared mindlessly, a glimpse of yellow caught her eye, jerking her out of her thoughts. She rose and went to the window. Standing in front of the bakery was Harold’s ex-mistress. She wore an expensive St. John’s knit dress in lavender, and yellow-toned high heels that hurt Belle’s feet just by looking at them. She appeared to be waiting for someone by the way she turned her head from side to side, staring down the street in each direction.
Why in the hell is she still in Pinewood? What’s her angle?

A loud rumble, like thunder, shook the windows of the diner, and Belle smiled, knowing the noise could only come from a Harley. Her pulse raced. Maybe Banger was coming in to see her and have a slice of her coconut cream pie. She knew he loved it, and she’d told him earlier that she was going to make it. She held her breath in anticipation as the rumble became louder and closer.

When she saw Scorpion’s Harley, her excitement shifted to dread.
He
was the last person she ever wanted to see. Expecting him to swing into the parking space in front of the diner, he surprised her when he parked across the street, in front of the bakery. Megan came over to the bike and gave him a hug. Belle almost fainted.
What the hell? Megan with Scorpion? They certainly don’t fit. Something isn’t right here.

He slithered off his bike and put his arm around her waist. They walked down the street, and Scorpion turned his head and stared at Belle. She quickly stepped to the side, trying to conceal herself behind a pillar, her hand on her mouth. She didn’t dare look, so she stayed stuffed behind the pillar for several minutes until she craned her neck around the column to see if she could spot Scorpion. He was nowhere to be seen, and she breathed a sigh of relief, praying he wouldn’t stop in at the diner.

A few people came in and business was slowly picking up, so she headed to the kitchen to brace herself for the lunch rush.

*     *     *

The knock on
her front door at nine o’clock in the morning made Belle’s brow wrinkle. No one came by in the morning except for Holly when they’d go on their morning walk, but she knew it wasn’t Holly. Belle had been miffed at Holly for letting Emily date Chad, who she’d found out was twenty-one years old. Holly kept calling, but she wanted to have a little distance from her friend until she cooled down.

Another knock.

Her stomach churned, imagining it was Megan, coming over to start something with her again. An icy shiver ran through her. What if Scorpion was with her, and they’d come over to do something to her? Seeing Harold’s ex-mistress with him startled and frightened her. She didn’t trust either of them.

She tiptoed to the front door, looking through the amber-colored glass triangle. It wasn’t Megan or Scorpion—it was Detective Sanders. Belle groaned, debating whether she should pretend she wasn’t home. Deciding that the persistent detective would only come back, she pulled the door open.

The portly man jerked his head toward her. “I have a few more questions I need to ask you, Mrs. Dermot. May I come in?”

Without answering, Belle held open the screen door, standing back when he slipped past her. She gestured toward the living room. “Have a seat.” Taking a seat on the couch, she looked at him and asked, “What more do you want from me?”

He sat across from her, his knees spread open, a notebook and pen in his hand. “I have a few things I need to clarify with you. You told me you had never seen the syringe that I showed you in the photo, is that correct?”

“Yes,” she snipped, irritated that her few hours before work had been ruined by his presence. “I hope you’re not going to rehash the same questions you’ve already asked me.”

“No. We got the results from the lab, and the substance inside the syringe tested positive for sux.”

She stared blankly at him. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s short for succinylcholine.”

Shaking her head, she ran her fingers down her neck. “Okay, I still have no idea what that is. I’m presuming it’s some kind of drug?”

Glaring at her, he leaned forward. “It’s the drug given to patients during surgery. It’s used as part of anesthesia ‘cause it paralyzes the muscles, but during surgery, the docs hook the patient up to a machine to do the breathing. If they didn’t do that, the patient would die because he wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

Belle crossed her legs, a feeling of dread crawling up her spine. “And what’s the significance of telling me this?”

“It means that if your husband had been injected with this, it would’ve paralyzed him, and he would have had four minutes max before he suffocated. He wouldn’t have been able to breathe. He would’ve been conscious, and seen who’d done it to him, but he wouldn’t have been able to move—not even yell out.” He settled back in the chair. “Did you hate your husband that much for screwing around behind your back?”

Belle’s throat was dry, like she’d swallowed a glassful of sawdust. Her insides were shaky and dread spread through her.
Someone
killed
Harold? Who? Why? I can’t believe he was murdered. I can’t believe the detective thinks
I
did it.
Wiping at the corners of her eyes, she fixed her gaze on his face. “I didn’t kill my husband. I can’t believe you’re accusing me. I cared for him, and I thought he’d died of a heart attack. I wouldn’t have a clue as to where I’d find this substance you said was in the syringe.”

“You were angry when you found out about Mr. Dermot’s affair.”

Her face flushed. “Of course I was. I think the majority of wives would be hurt, angry, untrusting, and bitter if they found out their husband had been banging another woman. It doesn’t mean I killed him. It doesn’t even mean I wanted him dead. This is crazy.”

“Did you ever hire any caregivers to stay with your husband when you weren’t at home?”

“No. Harold had bad diabetes, but he wasn’t bedridden or in need of a caregiver. If he was sick, I took care of him.”

Sander snorted. “Ironic, huh?”

Belle bristled. “Are you arresting me?”

“Not yet.”

She stood. “Then I’ll have to ask you to leave. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. If you have any further questions for me, you’ll have to call my attorney. Please go.” She went to the front door and opened it, her head turned away from him. He trudged past her, entered his vehicle, and drove away. She watched him until he turned the corner, her body trembling. She closed the door and quickly dialed Cara’s phone number.

“Law offices,” a cheerful voice sounded.

“Cara, the cops think I killed Harold.” Her voice broke—the words didn’t seem real to her.

“What? Tell me what happened.”

Belle sputtered out the details of her encounter with Detective Sanders. By the time she finished, she was a teary-eyed mess.

“Don’t worry, it’s a total long shot to place the syringe in your hands. Anyway, how do they know your husband died from it? Was there an autopsy?”

“No,” she whispered. “Jessica, my stepdaughter, wanted one, but Harold had always told me he never wanted an autopsy done on him. It creeped him out to think about his body being cut open, so I refused to do one after he died.” She sat on the stairs. “You don’t think they’ll exhume his body, do you?”

“Maybe, but they’re going to have to come up with something more concrete for a judge to sign an order to exhume. A syringe found in your storage unit which many people had access to over a year after your husband died is weak at best. Anyway, the enzymes in the body break down sux almost immediately, that’s why death is so quick. It’d be hard for a crime lab to find it in a person’s body. It’s not like arsenic, which stays in the tissues. There is a breakdown product that can be tested for, but after all this time, it would be extremely doubtful that it’d be in the body. They really don’t have a case.”

Belle’s head was reeling. “Whether they have a good case or not, someone killed Harold. I can’t believe he was murdered. What was the syringe doing in my purse in the storage unit?”

“I don’t know. Getting your hands on sux is not easy unless you’re a nurse or doctor, or someone who works in a medical or nursing facility where they have the drug. Why would someone want to kill your husband? Did he leave anyone a big life insurance payout?”

“No, but he stole a lot of money from his company, and it’s never been found. Maybe he was blackmailed into stealing it, then the person killed him? I don’t know. This is so disturbing. I don’t know if I should tell the kids or not.”

Belle then told Cara about spotting Megan with Scorpion, and the funny, scary feeling she had when she saw them together. After telling Cara everything, the heaviness lifted somewhat, and she wasn’t as scared about getting arrested as she was earlier in the morning. She decided she’d wait to tell her children and looking at the clock, she rushed around getting ready for work, the knot in her stomach slowly untangling.

A
few days
after the detective paid Belle a visit, she picked up the phone and called Holly. She’d missed talking to her best friend, and no matter what, Holly had a knack of turning the negative into something positive. She’d asked her to come and share a cup of coffee with her, and Holly readily agreed.

“Are you still upset with me?” Holly asked as she curled her fingers around the coffee mug.

“Not really, although I can’t understand why you’d ever think it was okay for a sixteen-year-old to date a twenty-one-year-old man. I sent Emily to you to watch her. I guess I was just disappointed.”

“If you’d ever given me a chance when we talked to explain, you’d know that wasn’t true. She lied to me. She said she was going with another guy, someone in her class at school. Hell, the guy even came over and picked her up. I didn’t know she was that cunning. How could you think I’d do that?”

“Emily said you
did
know.”

“She would say that. She didn’t want to get in trouble with you. Her track record on telling the truth isn’t very good.” Holly pushed back her chair, stretching her long legs in front of her. “Anyway, it’s all in the past. I’m glad you called me. I didn’t want to let our friendship go.”

Belle shook her head. “That won’t happen. I needed a little space, that’s all, especially with that damn detective coming around. He’s positive Harold was murdered.” She crossed her arms around her as she shuddered. “Isn’t that awful?”