Murder by the Seaside (10 page)

Chapter Ten

“Jerk!” I turned off the water and held back tears. One heart could only take so much. Mine heaved and flopped in my chest.

He turned on the water in the sink and ran a cloth under the water, then held it in my direction.

I swatted it from his hand and shoved my head into the bowl instead, splashing cool water over my face.

The water ran over my cheeks, masking a few escaped tears. I never had emotional outbursts in Norfolk. With as little attitude as I could muster, I patted my face dry. It hurt. A few patches on my face matched a ripe tomato.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I called your name.”

“You whispered my name like a serial killer. What are you doing here? My parents will be back soon.”

“Yeah. In half an hour. I heard.”

Exasperated, I twisted the towel in my grip. “You didn’t answer my question. Why do you keep attacking me?”

Adrian lazed against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not attacking you. I’m hiding from my mother. I don’t want her in trouble for knowing where I am. Plus, I’m watching you until your parents come back.”

My eye twitched. Yes. He wouldn’t want to get his mother in trouble. I pressed a fingertip to the corner of my eye. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

A tuft of dark hair fell over his forehead. He shoved it aside. His hideout lacked hair products. “You kind of do.”

I kind of did.

“No. I don’t.” I matched his body language, crossing my arms and staring across the narrow room at him. “My parents will be back any minute. Sebastian will be here all week. You can go.”

“Where’s your secret agent man, anyway? He picked a fine time to leave you, Lucille.”

“Listen. Don’t quote stupid song titles at me. We aren’t doing that.” I hated the history we shared. Eighteen years on an island with a limited number of kids made the friend pool pretty small and the dating pool exclusive. We grew up on
Scooby
Doo together, guessing who those meddling kids would foil each day after elementary school. Adrian was as much a part of me as the island, or my parents, or myself. “He went to look into something. Obviously, there’s something bigger going on here than an ex-college football star killing a fisherman. Even if he was stewing over the humiliation of being beat up in public.”

“I wouldn’t say I was a star.” His smirk melted before the last word concluded. “He didn’t beat me up. I had him. Someone has to have it on video.”

“His wife told me everything. Don’t worry about it—you’re older now, probably out of shape.”

His jaw worked, and his lips rolled in over his teeth.

I moved on. “Everyone I talk to seems guilty. They all have motive, and means is easy enough at the harbor. Although I keep forgetting to ask the sheriff what the murder weapon was.” I settled back against the sink. “He’s always yelling at me.”

Lightning flashed outside the small bathroom window. Heat lightning. I wished the storm would arrive already. The air grew thicker every day, and winds and temperatures climbed, too. Mother Nature had a show of her own brewing. I could use the release. She probably could, too.

“What’s your deal with that guy, anyway?” Adrian’s shoulder flinched. Not much, but I noticed. “He’s all glares and attitude. Doesn’t seem like much fun.”

I lifted my chin in Sebastian’s defense. “Well, we can’t all be wanted for murder. Besides, he can be fun. Sometimes.” Maybe.

“Yeah. He looks like a real down-to-earth guy.”

“We’re trying to help y-o-u.”

“Thank you for that.” He squirmed a little, readjusting his nonchalant stance. “Are you guys...?” He let the inference hang between us.

“That’s none of your business.”

He smiled. His ridiculous dimple mocked me. “You’re not. I see it in your eyes. You’re not, but you don’t want me to know that. Why? You want to make me jealous?” He rubbed his chin and guessed again. “No—you want to be with him, but you haven’t told him.”

“If you’re so intuitive, I don’t see what you need me for.”

“We used to be good together.”

I guffawed. All the wrong things came to mind.

My screen shuttered lightly against the front door. Adrian tensed to spring.

“Settle down, hero. It’s Freud.”

“How many men do you have guarding you?” His voice hitched and fell.

“Not as many as are trying to kill me. Freud’s a kitten. He wants in.” I nodded toward the window over my shower. “Storm’s coming.”

“Not yet. He’ll be dry another night.” Adrian relaxed and looked me over. “So, who’s doing all this? What are they afraid of? What do you know?”

I slid my backside up onto the counter beside the sink. “I don’t know anything, but I guess I’m looking in the right places. Someone’s worried enough to try to kill me twice in broad daylight. On Chincoteague.”

“I bet they aren’t from the island. Islanders know this place has eyes.”

Adrian straightened and anchored his palms to the back of his head. “What do we do now?”

For the first time, I felt bad for him. He was at the center of something he couldn’t get involved in. Hiding out when there was so much to do sounded like torture.

“You do nothing. Keep hiding out wherever you’ve been. Where have you been?”

“Downstairs.”

I mulled that over. “Fine. It’s good to know my neighbors. Now, get out. I want to take a bath. If I don’t get in soon, my parents will show up before I have a chance to get out of the tub.”

“I’ll watch.”

The towel I kneaded between my fingers landed in his face. “Get out!”

“I meant I’ll watch the door for your parents. Not you in the tub.” He snickered and slid out into the hall.

I yanked the door wide. “Where did you get a key to this door? I locked the door and you waltzed right in.”

“No key. The lock’s broken. I could fix it for you.”

“Gah.” I shut the door. “Don’t fix it. Don’t touch it. Don’t touch anything. Call me when you spot my parents.”

I waited to see if he’d open the door again. He didn’t. After a few minutes, whistling began. I worked up the courage to wrap up in a bath towel, undress beneath it, climb into the tub, pull the curtain and toss out the towel. The skin on my forearms screamed at the touch of the water. I laid my arms on the tub’s edges and blew cool air over them.

With much trepidation, I risked a dunk ear-deep to wet my hair. When I came up, the Pantene-scented air reeked of ash. One little car bombing and a lifetime spent using products seemed a waste. My blow-dryer had nothing on a good car bomb for drying and damaging hair. I peeked through the space between the shower curtain and wall. Still alone. Door secure.

No whistling.

“Hello?” I cleared my sore throat. This couldn’t be happening. My protection was abducted while I had a soak. “Hello?” The second time I tried, my throat wimped out.

Why didn’t I have a bay window over my tub instead of a tiny rectangle six feet up?

Whoever blew up my Prius could’ve hurt Adrian and planned to take me, too.

The crazy person who failed to kill me twice might believe the third time was the charm.

Fear launched me from the tub. I yanked my terry-cloth robe from the wall hook and crept to the door. The lock was broken. Was there no justice in the world? Tiny windows. Busted locks. Men. Fail. Fail. Fail.

Smoke drifted up from under the door. Anger boiled in my blood. Why was this happening? I imagined physically attacking the person out there trying to burn my apartment down. I couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. No weapons in the bathroom.

But I did have the element of surprise.

Tying the belts on my robe in a knot at my waist, I swallowed my pride and closed my eyes. I only had to make it to the front door. Thirty feet tops. A finger of smoke curled up from beneath the door. Flat on my tummy, I pressed my cheek to the linoleum. There were no feet or shadows on the other side of the door. Pulling in a deep breath, I gave myself a tiny pep talk. If I made it out the front door, the entire island population would materialize and save me. Thirty feet. I stood up and swallowed. Then I prayed for my aching throat. I needed to scream like a banshee in 5...4...3...2...

The door ripped open in my grasp. I ninja-jumped into the hallway, feet wide, chin up. “Ahhh!” I screamed and ran until two other screams answered me. Halfway across the living room, my parents clutched one another around a tiny bowl. Mom held a candle under a miniature roll of hay.

For a long awkward beat we all stared at one another.

“It’s PTSD,” Dad whispered to Mom. She nodded infinitesimally and waved the hay around over the bowl.

“I do not have post-traumatic stress disorder. I thought someone was trying to burn down my house.”

They exchanged a glance.

“It’s sage, sweetie. You know.”

“Oof.” I slumped onto my couch, tucking the robe ends over my knees. “Sage. Yes, of course.” Mom burned sage to rid rooms of negative energy. My room reeked of it for three years in high school. What she called hostility, I called puberty.

“How’d you get in?”

Dad’s brows climbed his forehead. “You left the door unlocked.”

“Right.” I let my gaze drag over the room, half-expecting to see Adrian pressed inside a cabinet, holding a finger to his lips.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” My face hurt. So did my pride. I didn’t appreciate needing to be looked after like a child. “My head’s still kind of woozy.”

“The doctor gave you a little something in the IV for pain. She said you needed to rest.” Mom looked more concerned than I knew what to do with. “Why don’t you finish your bath? We’ll set up for dinner. Maybe you’ll feel more like eating then.” She circled the room, waving her smoking sage.

A little added smoke wasn’t what I needed.

“Has your FBI friend called? Where’d he go?”

I went for my phone and checked the messages. Two from my old office. An insurance adjuster rescheduling his visit in light of my new claim. One from Sebastian.

On my way.
Sit tight
,
boss.
—
S

“He’s coming,” I said.

Mom smiled.

* * *

I fell asleep on the couch after my second bath and woke in my bed to the smell of coffee. My head felt like someone had wrapped it in a blanket. Sunlight streamed in through my locked window and a little fan in the corner blew strands of hair over my cheeks. Someone had bought me a fan. I squinted at my nightstand. Seven o’clock. I hadn’t slept ten straight hours since infancy. The sweaty glass of water on my nightstand looked like heaven. I levered my tongue off the roof of my mouth and sipped with care.

“Hey.” Sebastian leaned against the door frame, mug in hand. His faded U.S. Navy tee clung in all the right places. So did his dark-washed jeans. What a way to wake up.

“I’ve been checking on you.”

I discreetly checked my face for drool or eye gunk and shoved a finger full of hair behind one ear.

“Thanks.” I scooted up and took the coffee. Securing the sheet over my torso, I winced.

“It’s the smoke inhalation. You need rest and hydration. Does your head hurt?”

I nodded. The motion made my eyes bulge.

Sebastian disappeared. He returned with a pair of extra-strength Tylenol. “I don’t suppose you intend to rest today.”

“Nope.” I tossed back the Tylenol and chased them with coffee. In fact, the more alert I became, the more I wanted answers.

“I looked into out suspects yesterday. The girlfriend’s had a rough life. Looks like she’s trying to straighten out but struggling. Tara’s had her share of misdemeanors, including a drunk-and-disorderly last year. I don’t see the motivation for her to kill him. She didn’t stand to gain any money from it. Jealousy, maybe, because he hadn’t left his wife? I don’t know. She feels like a long shot. The wife has enough credit card debt to surpass as a third world country. She’s in the red on a dozen cards. Her joint bank accounts with the victim don’t reflect the debt. They have nice nest eggs growing. Makes me wonder if Brady knew about her debt.”

“How about life insurance?”

“Couple hundred grand on each of them.”

I let out a low whistle. “There’s her motive. If she doesn’t care about the girlfriend, I know she cares about the money.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “I looked up those shoes.”

“The Louboutins?”

“Yeah. A couple hundred grand wouldn’t last her long. Like putting a Band-Aid on a leaky dam.”

“Would it last long enough for her to find a new honey pot?”

“Maybe. You rest. I’ll keep digging.” He took my empty cup and left the room.

I slid out of bed and into my favorite white terry-cloth robe. Heading for the bathroom, I called over one shoulder, “Want to come with me to talk to her?”

“The little missus?” he answered through paper-thin walls.

“Yeah, I don’t like her. You know she’s a marine biologist? She has a degree, and my mom said she’s been protesting local fishermen getting too close to shore.”

A few minutes later I looked as good as a tomato could. I eased into the living room. Sebastian sat in front of my laptop eating cereal. He spoke before he saw me. “I sent her address to my phone,” he said. “Sea-life lover married to a fisherman sounds like a problem to me. Let’s go. We can be there and back in time for lunch.”

“She lives on the island. No GPS necessary. How’d you know I was in the room? I tried to be quiet.” I stuffed my bare feet into old Chucks and searched for my purse.

“You always smell like peaches.”

My already-red cheeks burned hotter. “It’s my conditioner. Whoa.” I glanced at my phone. “Claire texted about seven hundred times.”

He sent me a sheepish look. “I might have called her after you called me.”

“Uh-huh.” I began deleting her messages without reading them. Then I sent her a text, took a picture of my face and sent that, too. “Wherever she is, she’ll like the last one. I look like I forgot to wear sunscreen for a year.”

“She’s coming for lunch.”

“When? Today? No. She shouldn’t make the trip again already. She just left here. She does too much for me.” Emotion crushed my chest. She was the best friend I’d ever had. My heart tugged.