by B. T. Alive
She nodded.
“I was just there yesterday! There were tons… how is that even possible?” I said. “How could anyone do that? Why would anyone do that?”
Grandma cleared her throat, and again her gaze dropped to the folded sheet. “From what I hear, that Radcliff wedding may have to be… postponed. At a minimum.”
“No,” I said. “Grandma. You can’t think… Tina?”
She wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I came here to ask if you’d seen her,” she said. “When I walked in, someone had slipped this under your door.”
She handed me the note.
Summer,
I’m sorry I blew up at you! You’re my super sweet bestie and I know you meant the best.
But I think I need some alone time. Please don’t worry. I’ve just got to sit this one out. I’ll be back, okay? Please don’t try to find me.
Seriously. Don’t.
Tina
P.S. Please.
Chapter 5
“I’ve got to find her!” I cried. I hoisted Mr. Charm aside and scrambled up from the bed. “Where’s my skirt? Oh wait, I’m already dressed.”
In spite of her gravity, Grandma gave a genteel shiver. Now that I thought of it, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her wear the exact same outfit twice. I don’t know if she was always expecting to get whisked off to a cocktail party or accept a Nobel Prize or something, but she was definitely dressed for the occasion.
“Summer, wait,” she said. She frowned. “Last night, I may have had a… a dream.”
Dread prickled down the base of my neck. Grandma’s a Precog. Short for precognitive… she gets dreams that predict the future. Usually something nasty, that we have to try to prevent. Which raises the question… which future, exactly, is she seeing?
The problem is, her dreams can be maddeningly vague. Sometimes she can’t even tell if they really mean anything. Most nights, her dreams are ordinary and incoherent, just like the rest of us.
Most. Not all.
“What kind of dream?” I said. “Was it… this? The vineyard? Tina?”
“No, no. I’m not even sure…” Her voice trailed off. “Just… just stay away from the river. For today.”
“The river?” I said. “What’s going to happen in the river?”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sure you’re right; Tina’s off in a tree somewhere, or playing explorer in an old mining tunnel. For a so-called ‘woman’ her age…” A hint of a smile twitched her lips.
But then she looked stern. “I’m well aware that the ridiculous, uncouth return of that Radcliffe man has not been without its effect on her. If she truly is just seeking solitude, I’d prefer we respect her wishes.” She arched an eyebrow. “Unless you have reason to think otherwise?”
I hesitated.
Man, do I hate lying to Grandma.
But is it really lying to be… diplomatic? To just not say something? There’s some kind of name for that… I can’t remember… “mental preservation”? Not that. Something. Anyway…
“I definitely think she’s upset,” I said, with brilliant yet truthful misdirection. “I’d feel better knowing where she was.”
… and seeing if she TOTALLY lost it and hacked that vineyard to bits, I mentally added, as I casually strode for the door. My Victorian bedroom is gorgeous but tiny, so we’re talking two or three strides here, max, but time still seemed to slow as I struggled to escape the question in Grandma’s piercing gaze. My fingers touched the cool bronze doorknob, I twisted and pulled, I stepped through, out into the Inn hallway, with its ancient wainscotting breathing old wood and polish and the old bronze sconces flickering good cheer, and I was out, I’d made it—
“Summer,” said Grandma softly.
I halted. Turned back.
Grandma was still seated on the edge of my bed, her posture perfect, stroking my cat on her lap.
“Yes?” I said, totally innocent.
She squinted at me, then shrugged. “If anything’s really wrong…” She sighed. “I’d hate to think that after all this time, you and I would need… the parrot.”
I could tell she meant it. My heart tugged with guilt.
Oh, wait. It occurs to me, you might have zero idea what she’s talking about.
We have this parrot named Keegan and he’s a telepath. He can read your mind. Sort of.
It’s more like he can squawk these embarrassing, disjointed phrases that everyone else can then take out of context. Especially when it’s me. For some mysterious reason, Keegan is roughly four hundred percent better at reading my mind than with anyone else. He has this special relish…
Anyway, so she’d called my bluff.
But I just didn’t feel right tattling on Tina, not like that, right then, before I’d even had the chance to see what had happened for myself. Yes, she’d been angry (and hurtful), but I couldn’t quite believe she’d ever do this kind of massive theft… not even from Dante Radcliff.
But quite wasn’t certain. I had to see it for myself.
Grandma was still watching me, eyebrows raised in her silent query.
I took a deep breath, then let it seep out. “Grandma…” I said. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
She squinted, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. In a low voice, she said only, “Be careful.”
And then she bent to pet my cat.
I closed the door, trying to process what had just happened. That… that was a first.
I hurried across town toward Haven Island. It was still early, and the sun had barely dragged itself above the mountains. Cade wouldn’t expect me for awhile yet; I had plenty of time to inspect the scene of the crime.
I was totally unprepared for the shock.
At first, from a distance, as I glimpsed the vineyard across the water from the north side of town, it almost didn’t look so bad. The vines had been pruned awhile ago, but they still had enough leaves that they didn’t look totally bare. From a distance.
I hustled across the low, one-lane concrete bridge, eyeing the rushing river in spite of myself. Was it my imagination, or was it roiling darker and faster than yesterday? It hadn’t rained, had it? I could never figure out why the people who’d first decided to live on an island hadn’t invested in an extra six feet or so of height for this bridge. At least once or twice a year, a storm would engulf the bridge and strand the owners, sometimes for days. Even now, the water was lapping less than a foot below the level of the concrete. The whole “bridge” was more like a long, glorified driveway, with an inch-high ridge of concrete on either side in lieu of a railing… a deferential suggestion that you might not want to drive off.
Anyway, I was so distracted with all that, and relieved to get across, that I was halfway up the vineyard slope before it all hit.
The place was devastated.
Up close, the vines had clearly been attacked. Once or twice, I’d seen other vineyards after the cuts of a harvest, but this was different. These grapes had been slashed off with savage brutality. This wasn’t just a theft. It was an act of violence.
I felt sick. The wrath was palpable. And the sheer scale of it… not one vine, or even one row, but row after row of ravaged vines in a hideous relentless march.
Could Tina ever have done this?
Up until yesterday, I’d have thought even the question was crazy. I’d never seen Tina hurt anyone; she was an empath, remember? If she were here, she’d probably be getting waves of pain from these wounded plants. I almost was myself.
But the way she’d hissed at me about Cade… that final shriek…
I shook my head. “No,” I said, speaking out loud as I faced the wreckage. She might have lost her temper for once, but there was no way Tina Meredith could do this kind of harm.
Which meant I had to find out who had done it. These people would need someone to blame. And Tina would be right in the crosshairs.
Actually, finding Tina pronto would be an excellent idea. This was l
ike the Worst Time Ever she could be off alone somewhere.
“I just hope she has an alibi for last night,” I muttered.
“What’s that?” said a gruff voice at my side.
Crud. I knew that voice.
“Sheriff Jake!” I said, forcing a bright smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The sheriff frowned, his enormous gray bushy mustache bristling with a stern lack of amusement. “It’s a crime scene.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes it is.”
You might think I would feel nervous, with that middle-aged law enforcement dude scowling at me all red-faced with suspicion, arms crossed, muscles bulging where they weren’t obscured by his gut… but the fact was, Sheriff Jake Jackson and I had a history.
For one thing, he was Cade’s dad. For another, unlike his son, Sheriff Jake was a shifter; he seemed to spend most nights running around as a bloodhound. Finally, a few months back, the sheriff and I had confronted a murderer together, and we’d come to a certain… understanding.
As a side note, I was pretty sure there was something going on with him and Grandma. Or at least there was major potential… which, honestly, was pretty dang weird.
“Ms. Sassafras,” he snapped. (Yes, I was really a Meredith, but I’d grown up thinking Sassafras was my real last name, and I hadn’t quite broken the habit.) “What exactly are you doing here?”
“I just… heard…” I said, mentally flailing for a plausible cover story. Then I thought, You know what? Screw it. I crossed my arms and glared right back. “Is it true about the wedding?”
His eyes narrowed. “What precisely do you mean? And why do you ask?”
“You know exactly why I’d ask,” I said. “So has it been postponed?”
“Postponed?” cried a new voice, a woman’s voice that was somehow both faltering and yet with an edge of steel. I turned and saw her rushing down at us from higher on the slope. Lee Lannon, the would-be bride.
As she drew close, I realized with a mild shock that she was definitely forty, and probably well past. The distance had hidden how her pretty eyes had sunken into her lean skull, and the craquelure of wrinkles that vanished when she smiled. She was not smiling now.
“Postponed?” she snapped again, but she was lasering on the sheriff, and she actually reached out and clutched his arm. I’d never seen anyone take such a liberty with the man. (Unless you count that time I zapped him.)
“I told you,” she said, “he said he wanted to ‘postpone’. But I’m telling you, it’s a pretext. An excuse! He must have done this himself! He—” All at once, her face spasmed and crumpled; the cracks flashed into a grimace of emotional pain. But she mastered herself. “If he really wanted to get married, he wouldn’t postpone because of the damn venue. Would he? With all our guests flown in?”
“I will certainly be speaking with Mr. Radcliff,” said the sheriff, gently trying to nudge his arm out of her grip. He failed; her hold was like iron. “But frankly, it’s hard to see him vandalizing his own property. The damage here must run into the thousands.”
“What does he care? I bought it!” she cried. Her eyes kept getting wider; she seemed to be going wild with doubt and humiliation.
And yet, I suddenly realized with a fresh surprise, there was something familiar about her face. Really? Who on earth could this woman possibly remind me of?
“Ms. Lannon, please. I need you to stay calm,” the sheriff said. With a firm gesture, he openly pried her fingers off his arm. “Now, besides your fiance, can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to do either of you harm?”
“He’s not my fiance!” she shrieked. “Not after this!”
The sheriff sighed. “Ms. Lannon, what if the intent was to prevent your wedding? Can you recall anyone else who might have that motive?” He hesitated. “An old partner, perhaps?”
Lee Lannon’s mouth clamped tight; her eyes practically glittered with passion.
Then those eyes darted to me.
“You!” she snapped. She squinted, studying my face. “Who are you? You’re not on the guest list. But didn’t I see you here yesterday? Up on the hill, with some other woman and Tina Meredith?”
Sheriff Jake perked up, and his eyes narrowed. “Tina was here?”
Crud. “She was folding napkins,” I said hastily, trying to give this Lee woman a winning smile, and probably just looking like I had a stomachache. Once upon a time I’d been a top-tier sales professional, able to bull with the best of them. Turns out it’s harder to pull that off when people you care about are on the line. “Tina just wanted to help,” I added.
To my surprise, a little of Lee’s passion seemed to die down. At first I felt relieved, but now her face went impassive. Unreadable.
This was exactly why I worked best with Tina by my side. An empath would have known what this strange woman was really feeling. Now I was flying blind.
“You’re sure on that?” said Sheriff Jake. “You can assure Ms. Lannon here that Tina fully supported their wedding?”
I hesitated. What the heck was he up to? Did he know something I didn’t?
Relax, Summer, I thought. He’s known Tina since she was a kid, remember? He’s just trying to get this lady to chill.
“Absolutely,” I said, and I gave Lee Lannon a solid confident smile. “Tina was—is—super excited for you both.”
Lee mirrored my smile in her strange, old-young face. Whenever she smiled, she seriously lost ten or fifteen years. Was she reminding me of an older Julia Roberts? No, no, that wasn’t it…
“Tell her thank you,” Lee said. “I’m glad someone believed in us.”
But then, behind us, another voice, prim and British, said, “I’m afraid that assessment is rather generous.”
Oh, crud. Glynis Beverley.
“Hello, Summer,” she said, striding up and giving me a nod that was both cordial and frosty. She wore a dark, conservative skirt suit and had short, limp, blonded hair that was carefully styled to look natural. “I can’t say I blame you for trying to protect your friend.”
“Protect?” Lee said. Her smile soured to a scowl.
“Naturally. You were down the hill, Lee, but I was close by, just coming back from the old barn. I heard Tina quite clearly.”
I squirmed. Of course Glynis had been close by—why wouldn’t she be? The vineyard had an old barn not far from the pavilion with the table; if she’d been fiddling around with decorations or whatever in there, I wouldn’t even have seen her.
Now she eyed me. “What was the word she used, just before she ran off? Oh yes. Travesty.” She turned toward Lee, and also the sheriff. “She said, ‘This wedding is a travesty,’ quite loud and clear.”
And as Lee’s scowl deepened into fresh rage, and even the Sheriff looked grim, I caught Glynis looking at her client with an expression I couldn’t read. It was too British, too subtle and ambiguous. What was she thinking? That was going to bother me.
But as Lee Lannon turned on me with a ferocious glare, I had zero ambiguity about how she was feeling.
“What’s your name again? Summer?” she said, and her voice was soft. “I don’t appreciate being lied to.”
Chapter 6
“Cade?” I called, and I knocked on the apartment door for a third time. Hard. My hand was starting to hurt. I didn’t care. “Cade! You can not be asleep; it’s almost time for work!”
“Summer?” came Cade’s voice, muffled through the solid wood. He sounded strangely distant. “What are you doing here?”
“Is it a problem? I know your dad’s not in there; he just caught me lying at a crime scene.”
“What?!”
“Would you just open the door? Or is it going to collapse the entire time-space continuum if you’re ten minutes late to your orchard fans because you actually had to make time for your girlfriend?”
“Okay, okay, relax…” He clanked around on the far side of the door, twisting the modern lock and then fiddling with the old Victorian bolt. When he finally got it o
pen, he stood in the doorway, looking flushed.
“Can I… come in?” I said. “Or do I have to stand out here on this second-story landing like I’m a Jehovah’s Witness?”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, all rushed. “I just got my shoes on, I thought we could walk over—”
“Cade!” I snapped. I reached up to cradle his face with both hands, like an exasperated mom might do with a hyperactive son who just would not process what she was telling him unless their faces were inches apart. Then I remembered the whole Touch thing, and clenched my fists in frustration.
“Cade,” I repeated, with forced calm. “I need to talk to you. In a private space. Where no one will hear us. Because it’s private. Does that make sense?”
Cade just kind of stared. Like a deer caught in the headlights… if not of a truck, at least of an aggressive tractor.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, and I ducked under his arm into his apartment. Even just that near-brush with contact, the faux intimacy of the whiff of his underarm musk, was enough to get me tingling.
There were times when he could be so maddening, so clueless and gorgeous and just there, just real, that I’d feel inches from throwing myself at him, no matter what animal he might turn into. It seemed to get worse when I was stressed.
“Um,” he said, turning to watch as I flounced into the living room and flopped onto his dad’s ancient beige 1970s couch. The whole apartment was a kind of time capsule bachelor pad from the Nixon Administration. Sheriff Jake had been living here, in this upstairs apartment of the sprawling Victorian house that pretended to be the Wonder Springs police station, since before he’d met Cade’s mom. She must have had some civilizing effect on the place, but she’d died when Cade was only a kid, and everything had reverted to Feral Male for decades.
I kept hoping Cade would move back out and get his own place again, but the last time he’d tried that, it had ended… badly.
“Um,” he said again, still standing by the open door, irresolute. His eyes darted somewhere, anxious–was it the kitchen counter, teetering with dishes? Maybe down the hall? “We really do have to get to work.”