Claws for Alarm

by Cate Conte

  JJ and I headed in the side door to the fish market area, which I figured would be quieter. Damian was actually in there filling up the case with fresh fish. He had a full staff manning the takeout area. He glanced up and smiled when he saw us.

  “Hey, you two. What brings you by?” He came out from behind the counter to scratch JJ’s head. “You looking for a snack?”

  “He’s always looking for a snack,” I said.

  “Well then let me get right on that.” He went back around the counter. “And what about you? You look like you could use a treat too.”

  “I could. Some French fries, preferably.”

  “Coming right up.” He pulled open the sliding window that separated the fish market area from the restaurant and called out for a double order of fries.

  “Looks like you’re busy,” I said, gazing out at the crowd assembled at the various picnic tables.

  He nodded, coming around to place a dish of what looked like assorted fish parts down on the floor. JJ attacked it, and Damian laughed. “It’s been steady the past few days. Season’s kicking into gear, right? And I feel like it could get really busy around here with all the … activity.”

  “What activity?”

  He gave me a look. “Your celebrity friends?”

  “Oh. That. Well, wait until you hear the rest.”

  “Uh-oh. Sounds juicy.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “The woman from the League? Remember the one you saw in my driveway the other day?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, she’s dead.”

  Damian’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “What do you mean, she’s dead?”

  “I mean, she’s no longer alive. As in dead. Someone killed her.”

  “Holy…” he leaned against the front of the fish counter, taking that in.

  “Yeah.” I filled him in on the events of the past day and a half, finishing with the will revelation. He listened without interrupting until I was done.

  “Wow,” he said finally. “Do they have any suspects?”

  “Well, there’s me and Val, Mish and Stevie, Jillian’s staff, her celebrity pals…” I ticked off the list on my fingers.

  He gave me a look. “Why would they suspect you and Val?”

  “We were supposed to meet her. We found her.”

  “Yeah, and she was also going to get you a ton of money. That would be stupid.”

  “True. I don’t really think they suspect us. I’m more worried about Mish and Stevie.” I lowered my voice as the door opened and a family came in, exclaiming about the freshly filled case. After an annoyingly long perusal of the case and a story about how they rented a place with a kitchen and were trying their hand at cooking “real” fish for the first time, they bought some cod fillets and left.

  “Because of the property stuff?” Damian asked, picking up our conversation.

  I nodded. “Mish hated her. You saw her screaming at Jillian.”

  “Yeah. She flipped me off too,” Damian recalled with a grin. “But don’t you know her really well? You think she would do that?”

  “I don’t want to think that. But who else would?”

  “You just listed a whole bunch of people. Including your celebrity pals. Which, by the way, I’m mad at you about.”

  “Mad at me for what?”

  “Why didn’t you invite me over to meet them?” He was half teasing, but I knew he would’ve loved it.

  “Because I didn’t know they were coming?” I said.

  “You had a whole photo shoot with them.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know about it before it happened.”

  “Still. You should’ve called the minute they showed up.” He grinned. “Actually, I think that’s why I’m so busy. People got wind that they were on the street and are eating here in hopes of catching a glimpse of them.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I couldn’t kid you about something like that. Look at this crowd.” He waved a hand at the full patio. “It’s awesome. Early in the season to be this full.” He paused. “What the heck is that about?”

  I swiveled my head around to see what he was looking at, just as I heard shouting from the outdoor dining area.

  “You have no right to do this. These are people’s lives!” A male voice. I craned my neck but couldn’t see the shouter. I heard another male voice respond, but couldn’t quite make out the words.

  I glanced at Damian. “You need to go see what that’s about?”

  “Yeah, probably should. I’ll be right back.” He headed outside, pulling his apron over his head as he went.

  Curious, I peered out the window. I wanted to see what was going on. But when I got there, my eyes widened. One of the shouters was Chad, Peyton’s agent. I didn’t recognize the person shouting back, but it was a younger guy. Handsome. And a lot bigger than Chad, which meant this could be a short fight.

  And Damian was now in the middle of it. I could see him trying to talk them down, while the guy I didn’t know leaned around him pointing a finger in Chad’s face. The rest of the diners watched in fascination, their lobster rolls forgotten.

  I snatched JJ up, earning a squeak of protest, and hurried outside, coming to a stop next to Damian. “Hey,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “These two aren’t getting along so well,” Damian said, waving his hand at Chad and his nemesis. Up close, the other guy was even more handsome than I’d thought at first. And even bigger. His enormous biceps were covered in tattoos. The one closest to me was a snake, coiled around his arm with its tongue lashed out at the very top near his shoulder. His boyish face contorted in anger that shifted a bit when he turned his attention to me. His spiky black hair was tipped blond at the top.

  “Chad,” I said cooly. “Still looking for salmon?”

  Chad had the grace to flush, but he still glared at me. He opened his mouth to retort but I held up a hand. “My friend doesn’t really need this kind of thing at his place of business,” I said. “Especially since this is the second time you’ve caused a scene here. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Hey. I was just getting food and this guy—”

  “Don’t even,” the other guy warned, his voice dangerously low.

  Chad’s lips pressed tight together. Beads of sweat had popped out on his forehead, even though he was in the shade and it wasn’t terribly hot. He finally looked away from the guy and back at Damian. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to cause a scene.” His apology sounded sarcastic at best. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and took out a hundred-dollar bill. He handed it to Damian. “For your inconvenience.”

  “That’s really not necessary,” Damian began, but Chad dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

  “I insist.” And he strode over to his car, got in, and peeled out.

  The other guy watched him go, then glanced back at me and Damian. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Your food is really good, man.”

  “Thanks,” Damian said. He looked down at the bill in his hand, jaw clenched.

  The guy walked over to a Harley parked in the lot, climbed on, and roared away. I watched him go. Along with musicians, I’d always had a soft spot for motorcycles.

  Once the dust had settled and everyone went back to their food, I looked at Damian. He shrugged and stuffed the bill in his pocket. “If he keeps coming in here and being rude, maybe I can retire early,” he said.

  “You know who that is?” I asked as we walked back inside so JJ could finish his food.

  “No. Do I want to?”

  “Peyton Chandler’s agent.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head. “Wish I was. Nice guy, right?”

  “So who’s the guy he was yelling at?”

  “Never seen him before,” I said. “But Chad’s only been on the island for”—I checked my watch to remind myself what day it was—“like two days. How does he have an enemy already?”

  “Well,” Damian said, “i
f he wasn’t such a nice guy, I’d wonder about that too.”

  Chapter 30

  The next morning I woke from another night of poor sleep. I’d spent most of it tossing and turning, disturbing poor Ollie and JJ—not Lucas, who could sleep through anything—and managed to stay in bed until six thirty, when I couldn’t be still any longer. I was feeling restless, uneasy, and really unhappy about Grandpa’s alleged role in this production that Stevie’s grandmother had instigated. I was also mad at Stevie and Mish for not filling me in from the get-go, once Jillian had made her appearance. I had as much of a right to know as anyone, since my grandfather and my cat café were now involved.

  Most of all, I was mad about Jillian taking me for a fool. She’d waltzed in with her money and celebrity endorsers and her charm and designer outfits and promised me the world. Or at least, a bucketload of money. And I’d gone right along with her, lapping it up like I’d just fallen off the turnip truck.

  Ethan had been right. We should’ve stayed away.

  I needed to get out of the house and I didn’t feel like taking a walk, so I went down to the basement where I’d stored the bike I’d bought last year upon my return to the island. I’d decided that I needed an alternate mode of transportation given the levels of traffic here in the summer. It was a sweet bike—a seafoam green Rove 3, suitable for both street and trails. I’d only used it once since then, but hey, better late than never. And an early bike ride to the beach had to improve my mood.

  I dragged the bike out through the bulkhead door and closed it behind me, hoping I’d remember to lock it when I got home later or else Grandpa would kill me. Safety first with Grandpa. He’d never dream of leaving his house unlocked, regardless of the low crime rate he was so proud of on the island.

  I hopped on, popped my AirPods into my ears, turned the music up high, and pedaled around the side of the house by the café. It looked great. There were twinkling lights outlining the garage, and the new sign had come in. Just in time for our big event. It was a spinoff of the JJ’s House of Purrs sign with just the word Café on it, but in the same cat shape. And orange, of course, because JJ was orange.

  I pulled out into the street and pedaled furiously, heading toward the beach, loving the feel of the breeze hitting my face. I’d forgotten my helmet. Lucas would scold me if he saw me, but I wasn’t going back. I headed toward Whistle Cove, one of the lesser-known beaches, because I wasn’t too excited about seeing people right now and wanted to avoid any chance of an early morning, stake-out-my-sand crowd. I’d had enough of crowds—both the happy kind and the gawking, there’s-a-dead-body-in-the-gazebo kind—and just wanted time to think.

  I got to Whistle Cove in about twenty minutes. It had always been one of my favorite beaches as a kid, because there were never as many people as on the main beaches. My grandmother and I had come here all the time when I was young and we wanted to sneak off for some time on the sand. It was off the beaten path and you had to either be an islander or know an islander to know about it. Plus it was small and not near any of the food places or souvenir shops, and that was usually something tourists wanted nearby when they went to the beach.

  I rode down the windy road leading to the parking lot, veered inside, and drove directly to the bike rack to park. I walked onto the sand, kicked my sneakers off, and strode down to the water. Even just letting it lap around my toes made me feel better. The ocean always restored my energy. The salt air cleared my head, even when the brain fog had built up to an insurmountable level, as it was right now.

  I was overwhelmed. I felt like I couldn’t handle any of this—from the party to the murder investigation. Val, on the other hand, had done quite well compartmentalizing the stress of Jillian’s dead body and was maniacally focused on getting this party done. She was meeting with Jo today to complete the transfer of the favors—the dreaded cat leashes—and close things out with them. I wasn’t sure how anyone could stand to look at the stupid things these days, although no one but us knew that a leash had been the weapon used against Jillian. The cops had kept that detail close to the vest. Then she and Peyton were meeting later to go through Peyton’s speech. Meanwhile, I felt like I was floundering around just trying to get my day-to-day work done, running through murder suspects in my mind.

  I was anxious for an update from the cops. I hadn’t heard a peep since Sunday. There was no word of an arrest being imminent. There had been a brief press conference about the murder, but they didn’t really say anything except that it was an ongoing investigation, blah blah blah. I walked slowly along the shore, digging my toes into the wet sand as I went, thinking about this whole mess. Finally I sank down where the water could still reach my toes and watched the sun come up over the horizon. Out here, my head felt clear. Like my mind could actually work again. I sat and thought for a long time about what I knew, and what I’d seen and heard. I still kept coming back to five people: Stevie, Mish, Peyton, Marco, and Chad. Since I was really hoping it wasn’t Stevie or Mish, I focused on the other three and what I knew about them.

  Peyton seemed like a lovely person. Soft-spoken, loved animals, generous, by all accounts. More money than she could ever spend, if the yacht was any indication. She’d known Jillian for a while. I thought about the interactions I’d seen. Jillian was bossy, but she was like that with everyone. Though I had seen Peyton and Jillian arguing on my back porch the day of the photo shoot, and Peyton had sounded dangerously angry with her.

  Marco Moore. Another seemingly great guy. Pleasant, down-to-earth, nice to my grandpa. Also loved animals. Very unassuming. He, however, had seemed to snub Jillian the other day. I remembered him getting on his bike and riding away while she was talking to them outside.

  And finally, Chad Novak. Of my whole list, if it had to be one of them, I wanted it to be him. Unlike the others, I didn’t think he was nice. I’d seen him screaming at a kid about salmon, for God’s sake, not to mention the altercation yesterday at the fish store. What was it about that place? And he and Jillian seemed tight when I’d seen them together. I’d thought it was about his agent duties, but maybe not.

  Were they seeing each other? Had something gone bad? I hadn’t seen any evidence of any of that, but I’d spent a few hours with them in a very public setting. I wasn’t going to be the best judge. Still, he’d been at the hotel when she died. Happenstance? I doubted it. So either he could have known she was there, or he was staying there too. Or they were staying there together, which brought me to my previous thought—a relationship gone bad.

  But out of this whole cast, the only one I had seen publicly angry at Jillian was Mish. What had brought them to that point? And Stevie clearly wasn’t happy with her either. I wondered if Stevie and Jillian had ever had a relationship, or had always lived separate lives. Either way, it seemed incredibly sad to think a piece of land could drive such hatred between two relatives, although I supposed it wasn’t uncommon. But I kept coming back to this question: Could Stevie or his wife actually kill her over it?

  Mish’s timeline the day of the murder was odd. Stevie had been at the hotel. She’d denied being with him, but she suddenly popped up at my café without being scheduled, right around the same time that someone she’d been seen publicly shouting at had been murdered.

  And no one was really at the café to note when she’d gotten there. Lucas had seen her, sure, but he wouldn’t have paid attention to when she arrived like Adele would have. There were times when Adele’s drill-sergeant nature did come in handy.

  “Aargh!” I dug my foot into the sand and kicked a wad of it toward the water. I still couldn’t make any of the pieces fit together in my brain. And I certainly wasn’t any closer to figuring out who the killer was. I got up, took one last look at the ocean, and turned to go home. I felt better just being here, but I hadn’t solved any of these problems.

  I hopped back on my bike and pedaled toward the exit. As I did, I caught sight of two guys sitting on a parked motorcycle, locked in a steamy embrace. That normally
wouldn’t have caused me to take a second glance—but one of them was Marco Moore. I’d recognize that sexy, messy hair and scruffy beard anywhere.

  Still, I had to do a double take, pedaling closer while attempting to not look like I was gawking. But that meant I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I swerved right into a parked car, flying over the handlebars. As I hit the ground face-first, instinctively trying to protect my head, my bike skidded to a stop and landed on top of me.

  Chapter 31

  Should’ve worn that helmet.

  The words, spoken in Lucas’s voice, floated through my brain as I tested my limbs to make sure they were all in working order. Shoving the bike off me, I heard shouts and then running feet—and saw Marco Moore and the guy he’d been kissing standing over me, looking concerned. Marco’s … fling (boyfriend? hookup?) hauled the bike off my leg and stood it up while Marco bent down next to me. My eyes lingered on the other guy for a minute. Even in my disoriented state, I had to note how hot he was. And young. Way younger than Peyton.

  He also looked really familiar. It took my rattled brain a minute for all the pieces to fall back into place, but then I realized. The giant tattooed snake bicep gave it away.

  He was the guy who had been yelling at Chad in the parking lot of Damian’s restaurant yesterday.

  Just as the thought registered, I had to push it aside when Marco leaned over, his face filling my view.

  “Are you…” he began, then his eyes widened when he realized it was me. “Maddie! Are you okay?”