Page 36 of Ravaged With You

“The distillery has been doing well,” Red said. “But at the same time, Mel was trying to expand. We know he’d been negotiating a supply contract with your hotel, and since he spent so much time in discussions with you, we thought he might have said something that can help us understand.”

Even before he finished speaking, Red knew that something was off. The man’s brow was furrowed, and he was slowly shaking his head. Now, he said, “I’m sorry. I enjoyed Mel’s company, but I didn’t know him that well. He approached me once about a supply contract, I told him I wasn’t interested, and that was that.”

Red glanced at Jo, who leaned forward. “You only saw him the one time? But he introduced you to the firm.”

“Oh, I saw him quite often. He and I met through a local business-owners’ association, and he often came here at lunch or in the evening for a drink.”

Red’s frown deepened. Mel had told Jo they’d met at a gym. “So you were never in negotiations?”

“Not at all.”

“Was there someone else he might have been negotiating with?” Jo asked.

“I handle those details myself. I’m not Conrad Hilton. This is the only hotel I own, and I bought it because I have a love of historic buildings and this one was horribly mistreated by its previous owner. It’s my home as well. I keep the penthouse suite, though I travel quite a bit.”

“So you’d chat with him if he was here for a drink?” Jo asked.

“Certainly. In passing at least. As I said, we were friendly acquaintances.”

“Did he say anything that might give us a clue as to the reason for his death?”

The man slowly shook his head. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Was he,” Jo began, then cleared her throat before starting over. “Could he have been having an affair?”

“Mrs. Swift,” Corveau said in a solemn voice, “I wouldn’t know. And even if I did, I would hesitate to sully the memory or the reputation of a friend.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Jo whispered, and Red couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.

To him, it sounded like one of the more elusive answers he’d ever heard, and he followed up with a question of his own. “Do you know if Mel held business meetings in the restaurant or bar?”

“Yes, I’m certain of it. I’d see him sometimes and drop by the table to say hello.”

“Did he ever introduce you? I’m talking to all of our current business contacts, but if he was negotiating with potential future suppliers, they may not be on my radar.”

“I’m afraid not. Or, at least, not that I remember. Honestly, I didn’t chat with him here that often. I assumed he’d prefer to be left alone to do his work.”

“There was a woman he told me he was negotiating with,” Jo adds. “He mentioned liking her enough to possibly invite her over for dinner. Did you happen to notice him with any women at these meetings?”

“One or two. There was a woman I saw him with at least twice, but I don’t know her name. She had dark hair that she wore in a twist. I only remember because it reminded me of my wife’s style.” He shifted to the edge of the seat. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss, and for not being more help. But please feel free to reach out again if you need anything.”

“Of course,” Red said. “Thank you so much for your time.” He waited until Corveau had walked away, then turned to Jo with a smile. “Well, that was productive. We have our first lead. Potentially, anyway.”

She made a whooshing motion over her head.

“Security footage. If we can identify the woman, we might be able to identify her.”

Jo nodded slowly. “Because if she was his mistress, she may know something. Something he never told me.”

“It’s possible,” Red said. “It’s also possible that whoever killed Mel knows about her. She might even have the package, or they might believe she does. Which means she may be in as much danger as we are.”

“Oh, hell.” Jo’s curse was soft, and she whacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I’m such a bitch. I was thinking only that she was screwing my husband—the husband I’d already asked to divorce me for more reasons than a possible affair. It never even occurred to me that she could be in danger, too.”

“Well, it’s not your job.”

“It’s not yours either,” she pointed out. “Not anymore.” She drew in a breath, then met his eyes. “I’m sorry to pull you into this. I know it’s not like we’re running around doing black ops, but I also know that there’s probably some crossover. And that you left that life for a reason.” She paused, then added, “And for a good reason, I think.”

“Jo, about this morning—”