Murder by the Seaside (7 page)

Sebastian sat on my couch smiling out the window. “You know there’s a lady with woodpecker hair watching your place from across the street?”

“It’s Adrian’s mom. She says she’s making sure I’m working on his case.” I climbed on the couch beside him and looked. “Where is she?”

“Behind the white bread truck.” Sure enough, her red-sprouted hair popped into view. She was on the sidewalk staring at my window through the windows of a bread truck across the street.

“She’s in serious stealth mode. Even brought her own binoculars.”

Now that I had Sebastian in tow, I could almost guarantee she’d stay close. Her and every other woman in town.

“How’d you spot her?” I threw a beach bag on my shoulder and headed for the door.

“It’s my job.”

Sebastian ran into me when I stopped short at the top of the stairs. Sheriff Murray’s cruiser angled in at the curb in front of Sebastian’s silver Range Rover. Men and their SUVs. Freud would have a field day. The sheriff tore out of his car and stormed toward the steps. He slowed at the sight of Sebastian.

“Are you aware your new rental was shot up today? There’s a crowd over there with conflicting stories, there’s extensive property damage and your car has a flat.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at my arms and face.

“I know. I was there.” The words caught in my throat. A long arm looped over my shoulders. Sebastian tugged me closer, leaning my weight into him protectively. His cologne fought Sheriff Murray’s rant for my attention. The perfect mix of sweet and spicy. Like Sebastian.

“I know you were there,” the sheriff snarled, bringing me back into focus. “It’s like you attract trouble. Were you planning to inform local law enforcement of the crime?” He scrubbed his face with both hands. “This is a lot of paperwork. Your parents are a wreck.” He was losing steam. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I planned to call, but I wanted to install some added door locks at the apartment first.” I tossed a thumb over my shoulder at the house behind me. “Then I crashed.”

“Then I showed up. Hi.” Sebastian extended his free hand to Sheriff Murray. “I’m Special Agent Sebastian Clark.”

The two of them couldn’t have appeared more different. Sheriff Murray looked exactly like the sheriff of a tiny, zero-crime town, which was to say more like a Boy Scout than anyone who’d ever dealt with real criminals.

The sheriff took his hand without enthusiasm. I could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head. I called in the FBI to do his job when I hadn’t bothered to so much as report it to him.

“I have no choice but to assume that hit was meant for you. You’re going to need to be careful. Maybe stay at your folks’ house for a few days.”

“I’ve got it covered, sir. I’m staying with her.”

“How long?” He raised a graying brow at Sebastian.

“A while.”

The men exchanged silent appraisals.

I prayed the whole town wasn’t hiding behind the bread truck.

When the cruiser’s taillights disappeared, Sebastian slid his arm off my shoulders. “He’s intense.”

“It’s not his fault. Next week is the pony swim. Tourists are pouring in and they’re short-staffed with everything going on. Deputy Doofus isn’t any help. Everyone’s gearing up for the added headcount and now there’s a murder. No one gets murdered here.”

“Don’t forget the drive-by.” He opened his door for me to climb inside. “Point the way. And what is a pony swim?”

“Believe it or not, it’s exactly what it sounds like.”

We drove three blocks before we caught the only red light on the island. Sebastian turned the radio down while we waited. His eyes ran over my face and neck.

I pretended not to notice. Probably, he was judging my injuries from the drive-by. “Does it always smell like buttered seafood and fresh waffle cones on this island?”

“Only between noon and nine, then everything closes. During pony week it smells like fair food twenty-four/seven.”

He pulled in a deep breath and exhaled. “Nice.”

I chuckled. “Nice? This place is addictive.”

“In more ways than one.”

I turned my face away and smiled. A commotion inside the Dress Barn ruined my moment. The island wasn’t exactly putting its best foot forward to welcome my friends these days. First the sheriff nearly flattens Claire, now people were shouting like heathens for no apparent reason with Sebastian in earshot.

“Stay the hell off this island!” A woman’s livid voice shot through an open shop front.

Sebastian frowned and reached for his phone.

I stared wide-eyed as a big-busted brunette barreled out the door and climbed into a pickup truck. She sobbed loudly, all dressed in black. An arm reached into the sunlight and pulled the door to the shop closed. The Dress Barn was having a day like mine from the looks of it.

Honk!

Sebastian put his phone in his lap and rolled through the newly green light. “Something in the sea water or is this just your homecoming?”

“I’m starting to wonder about both.”

We rode in silence to the guard gate at the national park. I showed my lifetime pass and the candy-cane-striped barrier rose, allowing us to pass. When the ocean came into view at the end of the tree-lined road, it hit me.

“Perkins told me Brady argued with a brunette the night he was killed. That lady was dressed in black. What if she was in mourning?” My palms itched to slap the dash. I missed a golden opportunity. Was it Mrs. McGee in the dress shop? “Shoot. I should’ve gotten her name.”

Sebastian pulled his Range Rover into a space near the sand. He held up his phone to show a clear picture of her license plate. A sneaky grin curled up one side of his face. “I got you one better.”

Nice.

Chapter Seven

I woke before sunrise. The sound of my shower set me into a panic. Through the width of one wall, Sebastian was wet and naked. In my bed, I was sweaty and gross. My bedroom window had stayed shut tight since Adrian’s last visit. His parting words after his last visit weren’t forgotten. Anyone with the smallest amount of motivation could get me. Until this mess was sorted out, I needed to invest in an air-conditioner or at least an oscillating fan because that window was staying shut and locked.

Hair stuck to my face and neck, and my mouth tasted like an armpit. I slipped out of my pajamas and yanked a cotton sundress over my head. Thankful for the stash of travel toothbrushes with paste included, I jammed my finger through the foil and shoved one into my mouth for a good scrub. All those HR recruiting trips left me prepared for life without a bathroom.

Tiptoeing past the bathroom door, I stopped to listen. Puffs of shampoo and men’s body wash-scented air crept under the door, enticing me. Whatever he put on his body did things to mine. His cologne could be sold for hundreds an ounce. I’d pay.

The water shut off. I bolted out the door and down the steps, resisting the urge to twirl for joy. Sebastian was staying with me for a week. Un-freaking-believable. The tiny gray kitty ran after me. He weaved between my feet, mewing and purring. Early morning traffic dotted the empty streets. Fishermen, teachers and forest rangers made their way toward coffee. I joined them.

The cat followed me to the Tasty Cream door.

“I’ll be right back.” He tilted his head and crooned.

I floated inside, Fred Flintstone-style, on a tendril of cappuccino-scented air. Pure heaven. Standing at the counter, I couldn’t work up hunger. My tummy bubbled over with butterflies. When a woman walked out of the restroom, I ducked in. Raking a brush through my hair, I jammed a clip in place and called it done. A little lip gloss and mascara later, I grabbed a bucket-sized cup of coffee instead and headed off to check out the damage at my office. New day, new problem. I’d get a good inventory of the damage to take back to Sebastian. He stayed to keep an eye on me, but I didn’t love the reasoning. His time on the island shouldn’t be more work for him. I’d only intended to pick his brain and see what we came up with for Adrian’s defense. If I wasn’t careful, the whole invitation would seem like a ploy to get Sebastian out here. Needy wasn’t sexy. I could handle reconnaissance, and if Sebastian insisted on working, I’d suggest he drive me to the hardware store. I needed supplies too heavy for me to carry. I sent him a text to avoid a lecture about new island safety protocols. I was independent, tough and mostly fearless. He was on vacation, not assignment.

During my walk, the day bumped into full swing. Traffic picked up. Shop owners flipped signs in their windows. Breakfast scented the air. I tossed my emptied coffee container into a pretty iron trash bin and jogged across the street.

Sunlight filtered through the trees around the park beside the boathouse. A sprinkle of glass lay around the perimeter of my office. I lingered at the door, unsure if it was legal to cross the crime-scene tape. Sheriff Murray had already marked me as trouble. Ducking under the flimsy yellow barrier felt like a solid compromise. Behind me and there was a steady beeping. A bomb? My poor office wouldn’t survive a bomb. With imprisoned breath, I struggled to clear my head. A truck groaned and rattled outside.

Not a bomb.

“Mrs. Davis?” A man with a clipboard approached quickly.

“Nope.” I peeked out the empty holes where windows once stood. I didn’t see Adrian’s mom for a change. She probably decided to stake out the hunk at my apartment.

“Mrs. Patience Davis?” The man in navy Dickies and a work shirt kept up his brisk pace.

When I didn’t respond, he shoved his clipboard through the giant window hole. “Sign at the
X
. We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Unable to get past the fact someone had tacked Adrian’s last name onto mine, I turned to the paperwork. New windows. I scratched my fake name on the line and smiled at the man. He waved an arm at the truck, and it settled into the spot where my car had come under fire. Having the Prius towed to the shop for a new two-hundred-dollar tire killed me. My dwindling savings account couldn’t handle many more accidents.

“Who ordered the windows?” I stepped aside as two men hauled a giant pane of glass covered in blue tape through my door. Clipboard guy snapped the caution tape with an X-Acto knife faster than I could protest.

The clipboard guy glanced at his record. “Your husband.” Then he gave me a look. I guess I was supposed to know what my husband was up to. He produced a whisk broom from his back pocket and cleared the frame of loose glass. The men carrying the new window grunted and shifted the glass into position.

How a fugitive could go about normal business like ordering windows and renting boathouses was beyond me.

The voice of reason told me to run far away from Adrian’s case, but someone had tried to kill me. I couldn’t let that go. I shuffled through debris from the shooting. Behind the office portion of the building, a fiberglass door provided access to the docks and boat parking. Or as the exterminator called it, the rat invitation.

“Miss Price?”

I jumped, clutching my chest and wheezing. “Are you trying to kill me?” I scolded.

“No.” The middle-aged man in coveralls and a tool belt looked as frightened as I felt.

“Can I help you?”

“I heard about what happened. I’m a handyman.”

“Right.” I took a few quiet breaths. “I left my name at the hardware store.”

He frowned and then turned back toward the front door. “This is a good door. The frame’s loose, though.” He squatted to evaluate the frame. He looked like a handyman. I had witnesses if he tried anything funny...although the glass guys bantered and worked as if we weren’t sharing the room with them.

“My name’s Henry Franks.” He pulled a hammer and a few long nails from his belt. “You can call me Hank. I like working on things I can fix.” He whacked the nail once and it shot into place. Hank lined up another. I leaned on the wall near him.

“You don’t have to do that.” Normally workmen offered a quote or bid or something, didn’t they?

“I don’t mind. Like I said, it’s nice to know how to fix things.” Another whack. Another perfectly placed nail. He stood and lined up another. “Not like a marriage. People are harder to figure out.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Ever been married, Miss Price?”

“Please, call me Patience. No, never married.”

He sighed and drove another nail home. “I’ve been married fifteen years to a woman who floats my boat. You know what I mean?”

“Sure.”

“She’s jealous, though. Worries every time I leave the house. I know she’s been hurt before, but there comes a time you have to move on, right? It’s hard loving someone like that. I’m too old to have a babysitter. Women are half the population. How can I avoid them all?”

“You can’t.”

“But I can’t live without her. What can I do?”

“Broken hearts and grudges are my specialty.” I didn’t mean to say it. No, bitterness solved nothing. I still planned to pepper-spray the snot out of Adrian, new office windows or not.

Hank looked at me and nodded.

“Be patient, I guess. You can’t force her to come around. She’ll have to do that on her own.”

He finished with the door frame and gave it a sturdy shake. Then he opened and shut the door a few times. He looked around the shambled room. I grabbed a broom and dustpan, embarrassed he fixed the door to such a disaster. I had plenty of cleanup ahead of me.

Hank pulled a toolbox off the floor near the window. “Excuse me.” The glass guys all bobbed their heads and kept working. I could barely smell the cleansers or paint over the gallon of Old Spice these men wore between them. My nose twitched in protest.

Hank stopped at the closed door and tightened the screws on the locks and doorknob. “I know you’re right, but it’s hard. I want her to trust me. I thought moving would help. Maybe getting away from the city to someplace like this would put her mind at ease. It didn’t. She yells or gives me the silent treatment all the time. She’s an extremist, that one. Thinks every woman I meet wants to run off with me.”

I stopped my broom and stared. He and the pie lady should get together. Then she could keep herself busy instead of worrying about her husband.

A few pushes of my broom and I sucked air. All the hoopla with the murder and Adrian and Sebastian moving in. I was losing my touch. Hank was Henry Franks, Mary’s husband. Oh, jeez.

“You know, I think your wife loves you so much she can’t imagine life without you. I know what she’s doing is rough on you, but maybe remembering it comes from fear and love will help. I bet she’s not mean and controlling, just a little insecure. If I was you, I’d ditch this mess—” I motioned around us, “—head home and woo your wife. Make her believe there’s no one else in the world but her.”

Hank stood and looked me over. A proud smile improved his weary face. He shook my hand rapidly. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m going home right now.” He pulled a phone and business card from his pocket.

He put the card on the counter, collected his toolbox and tipped his hat to me. On his way out the door he pressed the phone to his cheek. “Honey, are you free for lunch?”

Why wasn’t I that good with my relationships? I’d run away from Sebastian this morning, and every time I thought of Adrian, I made plans to hurt him.

“All right, Mrs. Davis. You can pull off the tape and give them a good scrub tomorrow.” Clipboard saluted me.

“Thanks.”

The truck rumbled to life at the curb. Time to clean up. Again. Behind me, James Bond theme music played in my purse. Sebastian. I dug through the giant bag, promising myself to downsize to a purse I could find things in.

“Hey.” I leaned on the counter to catch my breath. I’d nearly missed his call.

“Hey. You feel like shopping? I thought we might take a trip to the mall.”

He didn’t strike me as a mall person. Also, my funds were nonexistent. “We don’t have a mall.”

“On the mainland. I could use some new sunglasses. What if I buy you coffee?”

“Coffee?” I liked coffee. I lifted Hank’s card with my fingertips. It was nice he went home to make up with his wife, but I needed massive amounts of help here. I hated that he left in such a hurry. What about the rat door? We hadn’t even talked about my to-do list. “Oh my word.”

“You don’t want coffee?”

“What? No.” Under the business card was a neatly folded set of twenties. Four, to be exact. Hank had answered my request for a handyman, fixed my door frame and given me eighty dollars. “This guy came to work on my frame and paid me eighty bucks.”

“I’d pay a hundred.”

I laughed. “Shut up and come get me.”

“Boathouse?”

“My office.” I let the words envelop me. Tragedies aside, hope lifted in my chest.

“Come on.” A horn beeped out front. I tossed my phone in my purse and locked up on my way out. He was already here. I could get used to that.

He looked past me to the windows when I got to the truck. “You’ve been busy today.”

“Busy, busy, busy.”

The Range Rover pulled a U-turn and headed over the bridge. An hour later Sebastian pulled across three parking spaces at the rear of the mall parking lot. He stepped out and rounded the hood of his truck while I watched shamelessly. Watching Sebastian was a guilty pleasure I’d taken full advantage of whenever he was in the office. I had to make up for lost time before he was gone again. He tugged my door open and reached for me. I looked him over. He wore giant mirrored aviators, a Hollister T-shirt, and jeans with flip-flops.

“What?” He towed me from the seat and beeped the doors locked.

“You look like my kid brother.”

“I thought you were an only child.”

It bothered me he didn’t argue the brother part. “I am. I meant you look young.”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing.” He peeked at me over the top of his glasses.

“But you’re older than I am.”

He wrenched the glass door to the mall open and stepped aside. “I blend. How do you think I got my nickname?”

His file called him a chameleon, but I assumed it was more about sneak attacks or sniper shooting than wardrobe. Disappointing.

Seeing Sebastian outside the office gave me all sorts of concentration problems. At least back at the FBI I had some idea of my purpose. In a mall with a grown man wearing flip-flops, my role blurred. One friend helping another? Two buddies buying new sunglasses?

“Which way to Starbucks?” Sebastian anchored his glasses in his shirt collar.

I lifted a finger in the general direction. “What do you order? I have a theory about how our coffee order gives an implication of personality. The fact we drink coffee is factor one. Tea drinkers would frown at the entire concept of Starbucks. They drink tea to relax and unwind. I drink it to soothe a sore throat.”

His pace slowed as I rambled. A crooked smile climbed up one cheek. “Sounds like you have a doctorate thesis going.”

“Dr. Price. Never say never, I guess.”

We got onto the escalator and I nodded toward the coffee shop. The mall brimmed with kids out of school for the summer and tourists catching a movie or getting in a little shopping. The aroma of Cinnabon rose up to meet us. The food court was my territory. I caught a spot in line for coffee and waited. I scoped out the level above us. If he wasn’t with me, I’d make a trip to my favorite lingerie store, Sugar and Spice. Mom put an emphasis on nice underwear. One never knew when one might wind up in an emergency room. No one wanted to be there wearing tatty underpants.

“What can I get started for you today?” A perky blonde tipped her head from side to side. Her ponytail swung over her shoulders.

Sebastian bumped me with his elbow.

“I’d like a grande, non-fat, no whip, five pump, upside-down, soy, caramel macchiato.”

She scribbled on the side of a green and white cup.

“For you?” The girl prompted Sebastian. He let his eyes run to the tiny blackboard propped on the countertop. She beamed, awaiting the masterpiece she could create for him.