Tide and Punishment

by Bree Baker

  I cleared my throat as a residual pang of panic surfaced. “I thought I’d see if you have any viable leads on what really happened to Mayor Dunfree.”

  He exhaled long and slow, but didn’t answer. “Anything else?”

  “Someone stole all the gnomes outside Blessed Bee,” I said, saving the worst for last.

  His gaze shot in the direction of my aunts’ store. “When?”

  I lifted a shoulder, unsure. “They were gone when my aunts arrived this morning. Apparently, my aunts didn’t call it in because they didn’t want to bother you while you’re tending to the murder investigation.”

  He turned a bemused expression on me. “Didn’t stop you.”

  “That’s because I think the crimes might be related.” I marched back to Blue.

  Grady followed me to her passenger door. “You should get a car. Better yet, get a truck. Something sturdy and substantial. Golf carts are cute rolling around here all summer, but they’re meant for a golf course, not driving in the snow.”

  “They’re cheap, energy efficient, and low emissions,” I said, retrieving the gnome and suppressing memories of a recent accident that had nearly reduced Blue and I both to scrap. “Look. I found this in the snow outside my driver’s side door when I left Blessed Bee this morning.”

  I handed Grady the broken gnome, and he swore under his breath.

  “That’s what I thought too,” I admitted. “Have you checked the gnome from last night for fingerprints?”

  Grady walked away, heading for his truck in a silent fury. I followed.

  He pulled a black duffel bag from behind the passenger seat and dug inside until he found an evidence bag to stuff the gnome into. “There was only one set of prints on the murder weapon,” he said, pushing the bagged gnome into the duffel and turning steady gray eyes on me. “Fran’s.”

  “Circumstantial,” I said, channeling every television judge I’d ever seen. “It’s cold. Everyone else was wearing gloves. Fran went out without hers because she wanted to cool off.”

  “After a fight with the victim,” he said.

  I let my eyelids close briefly. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been counting on the lab to recover new evidence from the murder-gnome. I needed something to point the blame away from Aunt Fran.

  Grady’s truck door thumped shut, and I reopened my eyes.

  He’d braced his hands over his hips and locked a regretful look on me. He clenched and released his jaw as if whatever he was about to say wouldn’t be easy and he knew I wouldn’t like it. I tensed in anticipation.

  “Look,” he began softly. His phone buzzed in his coat pocket, interrupting him.

  I released a nervous breath and craned my neck to look at his phone screen. I hated to be nosy, but I wanted to know if it was about the murder, and Grady was especially stingy with facts about his cases.

  Senator Olivia Denver. I rocked back onto my heels. That call was personal, not business, and definitely none of mine. Senator Denver was Grady’s former mother-in-law. Grandma to his son, who’d been named after her. It wasn’t an uncommon practice in the South, using a mother’s maiden name for a child or grandchild’s first name. Senator Denver missed her grandson so much, she planned to leave the senate and move to Charm where she could see him as often as she liked. So far, Grady had seemed less than enthusiastic about the whole plan.

  He rejected the call with the swipe of his thumb, then gripped his forehead a moment before refocusing on me. “What was I saying?”

  “You okay?” I asked stepping a bit closer. “Do you want to come over? Have some tea?”

  He shook his head. Negative. “I’m fine. Just a little worried about Denver. It’s his first Christmas in a new place. He’s been through a lot of change these last couple years, and I’m afraid I’m screwing him up.”

  I could tell it cost him to tell me that, so I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze with my glove. To my utter surprise, Grady squeezed back. Before he let go and the rush of warm fuzzy feelings ended, I added the thing I’d meant to say before I’d reached for him. “Denver is amazing. He’s happy and healthy, well cared for, and full of joy despite all the changes and an unthinkable loss.” My throat tightened with sadness at the thought of any child losing a parent. I knew firsthand the hole that absence left, even with the best of substitutes in place. “All that good stuff? That’s all you, Hays,” I said. “You’ve got this. You’re doing an A-plus job, and the fact you’re still worried about him just proves what a lucky little guy he is.”

  A look of genuine pleasure spread over Grady’s face until his perfect dimple sunk in. There might’ve even been a bit of a flush to his cheeks, but the biting wind made it hard to tell. “Thanks,” he said, his voice lower and more gravelly than it had been a moment before. “I appreciate that. More than you know.”

  I smiled. Grady needed to find at least one good friend in Charm. Someone he could confide in on a regular basis or he was going to have an early stroke from all the pressure he put himself under. I was hoping to get the job, but didn’t want to push. “You know what Denver might like?” I asked, hit with a sudden gem of an idea.

  Grady raised his brows and released my hand slowly. “What’s that?”

  “The Giving Tree,” I said, stuffing my hand into my pocket to savor the hum of electricity still clinging to it beneath the glove. “Have you seen it?” I asked. The Giving Tree was a towering evergreen growing outside the nature center and hard to miss. The ancient pine was estimated to be at least two hundred years old, and it was part of another long-running tradition on our island. People hung cards with their needs listed inside or the names of those they thought could use some holiday help or cheer. “Maybe Denver would like to take a name from the tree and be a Santa for them,” I suggested. “When I was his age, I started asking a lot of questions about where the gifts really came from, so my grandma set me down with a proper lady’s tea and told me she had a secret. Grandma told me that there wasn’t a Santa. She said there were lots of Santas, and that it was every Santa’s job to make another person’s life special. She explained that most parents chose to be Santas for their kids because they love them so much, but that we could be Santas for strangers or neighbors or friends. That was the year she started taking me to the Giving Tree.”

  My heart grew a little heavier as I repeated the story, an ever-present itch of grief scratching my eyes and nose. I longed to see and hold my grandma so much sometimes that I was sure the pain would stop my heart. Instead, I sent up a silent note of thanks for all the years I’d had with her and all the memories I could now share with others. I brushed my gloved fingertips against the corners of my eyes.

  “Holidays are hard,” Grady said, emotion carved deep in his brow.

  “Yeah.” I knocked away a bead of guilt for my own pain when he’d lost a wife to cancer. I hoped to never know the kind of loss he and his son had experienced. I was sure my weakling heart couldn’t take it. “You can bring him by my place after the tree for hot cocoa and cookies,” I added. “I’m open until seven tonight.”

  “Another day,” Grady said. “Amy’s mom arrives today.”

  “Ah.” Senator Denver. “Is she staying with you?”

  He sucked his teeth and looked into the distance. “No. She bought the Northrop Manor a few weeks ago and sent a crew to prepare it for her.”

  I blinked. The Northrop Manor made my cavernous old Victorian look like a tiny hut. “There must be thirty rooms in that place, and two guest homes on the property. I thought the historical society planned to buy it and turn it into a museum of island history.”

  “They did,” he said. “She outbid them. Now, the guest homes will house her staff and security.”

  I guffawed. “She knows this is present-day Charm, North Carolina, and not Victorian England, right? No one has a house staff or personal security.”

  “She
likes to make a statement,” he said. “She tried to assign a man to our home after the wedding, but I drew a line.”

  “You said your mother-in-law hired Denise,” I said, watching his expression for signs I’d overstepped. “Maybe she’s your protective detail.”

  He pursed his lips, but didn’t answer.

  I was being nosy again.

  I stepped back casually, pretending to enjoy the sights around us instead of dying to know if he thought Denise was a trained spy for his mother-in-law or a hired assassin body guard.

  “Have you told Fran about Olivia yet?” Grady asked. “Does she know Olivia plans to run for mayor?”

  I wrinkled my nose. Grady had told me as much months ago, but I’d chosen to ignore the uncomfortable truth and hope it would go away. “Leaving D.C. for Charm is a big decision. I thought she might reevaluate and change her mind.”

  “Right,” he said.

  “Hey, what were you going to tell me earlier?” I asked, recalling the solemn expression he’d worn before his mother-in-law had called.

  The expression returned before I finished speaking. The hands-on-hips, no-nonsense pose wasn’t far behind.

  “Go on,” I pushed.

  “I’m getting a lot of pressure from Mayor Dunfree’s family to make an arrest.”

  My jaw went slack. “Pressure to arrest Aunt Fran?”

  “She had means and motive,” he said. “And I don’t have any other suspects or evidence that leads me anywhere but back to Fran. The mayor’s family knows it, and they’re demanding action.”

  I scoffed. “You haven’t had time to investigate. It’s too soon to demand action. He just died last night!”

  Grady lifted his palms to slow my rant. “I’m sure they just want closure,” he said. “Justice.”

  I frowned. “Have you spoken to Mary Grace Chatsworth? Maybe she knows someone who had a reason to want Mayor Dunfree dead, or maybe she didn’t want to be deputy mayor. Maybe she decided to take him out of the equation and run for mayor like she’d originally planned.”

  My internal temperature rose. I could understand the Dunfrees wanting closure, but not at the expense of a thorough investigation. “He was a cranky small-town mayor, for goodness sake,” I continued. “I’m sure lots of people had a beef with him.” I snapped my fingers. “We should talk to the council and see who’s taken issue with him lately. Better yet, I’ll ask Fran. She’s on the council. She’ll know if there’s anything to know. You should talk to Mary Grace.”

  Grady’s stare grew cold. “You’re not investigating this,” he ordered.

  I put up three fingers like a Girl Scout. “It’s not investigating. It’s a conversation with my beloved aunt. Nothing more.” Unless Fran knew something worth looking into.

  “I mean it,” he pressed. “You’re too close to it this time. Save yourself, your aunts, and everyone who cares about you a lot of worry and butt out.”

  I jerked my chin back. “Rude.”

  His lips twitched, fighting a small, reluctant smile.

  “By the time you finish talking with Mary Grace, the lab should have news about the new gnome,” I said. “Maybe this one will have prints.”

  “The last one had prints,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Prints that aren’t Aunt Fran’s,” I clarified. “And don’t forget about all those missing gnomes from outside Blessed Bee.” I thought about that for a moment. “If you count the broken-headed guy you zipped into your duffel bag, that’s three gnome-related crimes in twenty-four hours. That has to be significant. At least promise you’ll look into Mary Grace and the gnomes.”

  Grady pressed a fingertip to the pulsing vein in his temple. “Mary Grace is already on my list of folks to meet with today,” he said. “Why don’t you open the tea shop and let me know what Fran says? Don’t talk to anyone else about this. I’ll handle it.”

  I nodded without giving a verbal agreement. I wanted to make him happy and leave things alone, but I couldn’t allow my innocent great-aunt to go to jail for murder. “I can’t let you arrest Fran,” I said, “and I won’t let her spend a minute of the holidays behind bars just because the pushy dead mayor has a pushy, still-kicking family who’d rather see you do something than do the right thing.”

  “Everly,” Grady breathed my name long and slow, accentuating each syllable. “I know you want to help, but you’re going to have to let this play out. I have to follow procedures and protocols on this the same way I would with any other case, and you’re going to have to let me. People are already talking, and I can’t let my professionalism come into question. The islanders have to know I’ll always do the right thing, no matter what.”

  “What are people saying?” I asked.

  “That I should’ve brought Fran in last night, for starters,” he answered. “That there’s something between you and me that’s causing me to turn a blind eye.”

  I bristled. “That’s ridiculous. I would never try to influence you against doing the right thing. And I really hate that people think you would go along with such nonsense. For any reason.”

  Grady’s lips quirked at one side, and he relaxed his stance.

  I felt my temper cool. “What?”

  Sunlight reflected off the clear gray of his eyes. “You don’t seem too upset about the town’s other implication.”

  I wrinkled my brow and feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”

  “Folks seem to think there’s something going on between you and me,” he clarified.

  “Isn’t there?” I asked, feeling suddenly, inexplicably light. I turned away to hide my wide smile and headed for Blue. I cast a teasing look over my shoulder as I went.

  Grady smiled after me, making no move to follow. “You’re just going to leave right now?”

  “I’ve got to open for lunch,” I said. “You’ve got to talk to Mary Grace and check on the new gnome.”

  Grady dragged a heavy hand through his hair and headed for his truck. “Watch your step, Swan.” There was a real warning in his tone, despite the teasing gleam in his eye.

  I pulled onto the street, smile widening, and noticed a number of folks staring openly. I wasn’t sure how much of my exchange with Grady they’d seen or heard, but I flattened my expression anyway. Clearly the town didn’t need any more fodder for gossip.

  Chapter Five

  I took it easy along the slush-covered streets, avoiding jaywalkers and icy puddles. When I reached the broad earthen pathway linking Ocean Drive to the boardwalk, I hung a right, then slid a little on the frosty wooden planks before settling into a steady thump-thump rhythm over the weathered boards.

  A familiar red bundle with blond hair and a wagon of books caught my eye up ahead. I smiled and waved. When Amelia didn’t notice me, I honked.

  She wrenched upright, eyes wide as I slowed to a stop a few feet away. A broad smile broke over her pretty face as she took in me and Blue. “Hey!”

  “Good morning!” I called, popping open the door and levering myself out from behind the wheel. “Look at you,” I said. “Braving the cold in your quest to keep Charm reading regardless of weather.”

  She stacked a pile of books from her wagon onto the shelf of her Little Library and arranged the titles alphabetically. “What can I say? It’s my passion.”

  Amelia had set up a number of Little Libraries throughout the island. Some looked like giant birdhouses or massive tomes, but most were created from repurposed furniture pieces like curio cabinets and stout chests of drawers. She’d gutted the interiors, replaced the wooden doors and drawers with clear plexiglass fronts, and painted each unit in a different theme. My favorite was the one before us. Not only was it closest to my house, Amelia had painted a seas`cape on it, complete with sun, sand, and surf, a variety of colorful fishes, sand pails, and flip-flops.

  “Anything good today?” I asked, teasing j
ust a little. Of course everything she stocked was good.

  Amelia waved a palm in front of the books like a game show hostess. “Absolutely. I’ve restocked all the favorite feel-good holiday classics.”

  “Excellent.” I steepled my gloved fingers and scanned the newly added titles. I already had three of her books on my nightstand in need of returning. The Little Libraries worked on a take one/leave one honor system, and I frequently both took and left. “Do you have Wuthering Heights?” I asked, not seeing it among my choices.

  Amelia wrinkled her nose at me. “That is not a feel-good holiday classic.”

  “Sure it is,” I said. “I read it every Christmas.” And it was inarguably a classic.

  Amelia let her head fall back. She stared at the sky a long beat before returning her attention to me. “You realize that book is awful.”

  “What are you talking about?” I laughed. “It’s a love story.”

  “No. It’s about a selfish girl and her stalker who are awful to one another until she dies and haunts him, and he likes it.” She reached into the Little Library and pulled out a small red book. “Here. Try this instead.”

  I read the title. “The Greatest Gift.” I scanned my mental catalog of holiday reads but couldn’t place this one.

  “It’s the short story that the movie It’s a Wonderful Life was based on. Try it. You’ll like it.”

  I gave the thin hardcover a skeptical look, my thoughts already on the moors with Catherine and Heathcliff. “Wuthering Heights is a powerful story,” I said, circling back to defend my favorite star-crossed couple. “I think the idea of a love that endures all, one that is all consuming and eternal is”—fantastic, swoon-worthy, inconceivable—“interesting. You’d understand if you were cursed in love.”

  Amelia drew her lips to one side. “All right. I’ll give you that, but I still think it’s creepy.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about her letting the cursed in love bit slide.

  She straightened the remaining books, then closed the Little Library door and adjusted the tiny wreath she’d hung over the front window. “You should come to Charming Reads tomorrow night. We’re doing a holiday party for the book club. We each read our favorite Christmas title, and we’re going to share what we love most about our selected stories, open-mic style. Maybe you’ll find a few fellow Heathcliff fans.”