But Jackson didn’t smile.
I shifted, not quite wanting to believe what I thought I should probably start believing. “What do you mean?”
Was there some kind of dummy joke coming on here? Maybe it started with, “Why did the dummy cross the road?” Or maybe there was a judgment coming. Had calling a dummy a dummy suddenly become non-PC? I couldn’t keep up.
Jackson grimaced. “I mean, this is a real woman. And she’s dead. In your new home.”
Chapter Two
I waved my hand in front of my face trying to cool my skin, which was hot with emotion, as I paced the deck of my new place. My new place that had been tarnished with a dead body.
Why me? Why did these things always happen to me?
I didn’t want to be one of those people who thought the world was out to get them. I really didn’t. But couldn’t I just have one thing in my life go smoothly? Just one thing?
What did this mean for my house? Could I give it back? Unsign all those closing papers? A tiny little apartment away from all this was sounding better and better. Someone could have even died in it. As long as I didn’t know about it, I’d be fine.
“How are you doing?” Zane joined me by the railing.
He was a good friend. A good listener. And as long as he remembered that we were just friends, we’d be okay. And as long as he kept the demons from his past in his past.
Drug use was like the tide. Sometimes it ebbed farther out than it had before and the waves were peaceful and calm. But the pull of the water was always there, waiting to erode the shoreline when you weren’t on guard.
I stared out at the ocean, which was a beautiful green-blue today. Tourists in bathing suits played all along the shore and in the water, enjoying their vacation.
They were totally clueless as to what was happening just over this dune in the beautiful, old non-HGTV-worthy beach house.
“I’m doing about as well as you can imagine.” I shivered, even though it wasn’t cold outside. No, it was uncomfortably hot and as steamy as a naughty romance novel. “Can I undo all of this?”
He frowned. “Sorry. If this had happened a day earlier, we’d be golden. The deal would be off. But . . .”
“Yeah, I know.” I drew my hands closer, missing those days when I had someone to take care of me. When my dad would tell me everything would be okay. Basically, I missed the days when I didn’t have to adult. Why had I ever been in such a hurry to grow up?
“You can stay at my place.”
I snorted and waited for him to laugh. He didn’t. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You need a massage?” He wiggled his fingers—but still didn’t laugh. “Hashtag: available.”
“Also not a good idea.” Zane was also a massage therapist, so . . . yeah. But no. I sighed. “What do you think happened to that woman, Zane?”
He twisted his lips as he turned his gaze toward the beach. “I have no idea. There wasn’t any blood.”
“Rigor mortis had set in. Her limbs were so stiff that I thought . . .” I couldn’t finish. But I’d thought the woman was a wax figure or something equally as fake. That was the truth of the matter.
I mean, who finds a dead body in her house before the ink on the closing papers could even dry?
Me, that’s who.
Zane squeezed my shoulder. “I know, Joey. I know. This really stinks.”
I leaned on my elbows against the railing, suddenly finding it hard to stand. “What am I going to do?”
“You’ll think of something. You always bounce back, no matter what happens. You’re like the Comeback Kid.”
I hardly heard him. How would I ever get over knowing someone had died here? I didn’t know if I could. “There’s no way I can stay here and not remember finding that body.”
“It doesn’t look like this was the scene of the crime, if that makes it any better. I mean, there were no signs of struggle.” He shifted. “What can I do for you?”
I straightened, realizing I had to pull myself together right now. “There’s nothing you can do. But thanks.”
He glanced at his watch and sighed. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I’ve got another showing to do. I really need a few more sales under my belt if I’m going to get back on track. Do you mind?”
“No, go right ahead. I’m hoping Jackson and his crime-fighting posse will be done soon.” Also known as Jackson and two other NHPD officers. “Sorry you couldn’t get the painting.”
“Maybe once the scene is cleared. Anyway, call me if you need me.”
“Of course.”
No sooner had Zane left than another car pulled up to the scene. I recognized the vehicle right away, but I had no idea why the occupants were here. A moment later, my aunt Dizzy and her friends Geraldine, Maxine, and MaryAnn all scrambled out with balloons and flowers in their hands.
The group called themselves the Hot Chicks. Dizzy was my aunt by marriage, a hair “dresser,” and a hoot. She and her friends never failed to amuse me.
That said, I braced myself because I knew what was coming.
They scrambled up the steps—as fast as their aging bodies would allow—and greeted me with wide, excited smiles, as if I’d won an Oscar and three police cars now had to escort me everywhere.
I mean, really . . . had they not seen the police cars out front?
“Congratulations, Joey!” Dizzy’s big smile might scare young children, especially when coupled with her cartoon-like blue eye shadow. But her heart was good. “We’re just so happy for you! We wanted to give you a little housewarming surprise.”
“Now we’ll get to see you all the time since you’re staying in the area,” Maxine said. “And you can pick out anything free from my store—as long as it’s under twenty-five dollars.”
She owned a fabulous store called Utter Clutter that sold repurposed decorations. Twenty-five dollars there would get me a couple of new drawer pulls. Too bad I’d probably need twenty.
“That was our prayer—that you would stay in the Outer Banks,” MaryAnn added. She was the quiet, sweet one of the group, the person I gravitated toward when I needed normalcy.
I raised my hands in a ta-da! fashion, just deciding to humor them a moment. “And here I am! Answered prayers, right?”
“Can we see the place?” Dizzy glanced beyond me at the house.
“Not right now.” I followed her gaze to the window, where I spotted two officers still inside the house. “It’s a bad time.”
Dizzy’s smile disappeared. “Are you having a party you didn’t invite us to?”
“What? Why would you think that?” Confusion nipped at me.
“It’s plain to see that Jackson’s friends are here.” More hurt lined Dizzy’s voice.
I couldn’t help but laugh just a little as I realized why she’d misunderstood. “That’s why you think all the police cars are here?”
“Adding insult to injury by laughing at our rejection? Have you already forgotten the small people in your life?” Geraldine drew her head back in offense. “I didn’t think you were the type, Joey Darling.”
I shook my head quickly, knowing I needed to set them straight before this went any further. “No, no. I’m sorry. This is . . . I don’t even know how to say this. It’s not funny at all.”
“We don’t think so either.” MaryAnn frowned, looking like I’d just told her we couldn’t be friends anymore.
“Ladies, the police aren’t here because I’m having a party. The police are here because I found a dead body inside.”
They all gasped, almost like they’d practiced the act together in a theater class. I was impressed by their non-coordinated coordination.
“A. Dead. Body?” Dizzy’s eyes were as wide as my hips had been in that movie after the camera added ten pounds.
“I know. It sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” I still couldn’t believe it. Any of my earlier humor disappeared—coincidentally, that was also like my hips, only this
time after I’d seen them on the big screen. That had been the start of my string of crash diets. Seeing yourself onscreen could bring out the worst insecurities.
“I’m so sorry, Joey,” MaryAnn said. “Now you have to live with a ghost.”
“Ghosts aren’t real,” I said, trying to remind myself as well. “Besides, we don’t know that this woman died here. She . . . well, we don’t know yet.”
“I guess you’ll be finding out soon enough.” Dizzy made a ghostly sound and widened her eyes in mock horror.
I frowned. I guess I would be.
The Hot Chicks left five minutes later. I’d had to shoo them away because they were getting a little too curious and trying to peer in the windows. They’d left just in the nick of time because Jackson stepped out onto the deck. Of course his eagle-eyed gaze went right to Dizzy’s car as she backed from the driveway.
“Dizzy was here?” He still stared at her car as stray beams of sunlight filtered from between the slats of the deck above us and hit his handsome features.
“Yep. Came to see the house. With all her friends.” The breeze, thick with humidity, hit me just then. I had to admit that I wasn’t crazy about the humidity. Especially since it was July. The air just felt like Jell-O. Hot Jell-O.
Jackson turned back to me, his eyelids lowered with dread. “Please tell me you didn’t mention the body.”
My stomach clenched as I mentally reviewed exactly what I’d said. “What do you mean?”
I had to buy myself some time.
“I mean, we decided not to leak this news yet. We want to keep it quiet until we can find out more details about who this woman is and how she died.”
I could explain this. It wasn’t like I’d called them over and announced the news. “Well . . . the Hot Chicks thought I was having a party with your police officer friends and that I hadn’t invited them. I had to set them straight. I mean, you should have seen the rejected look in their eyes. I felt like I was Kristen Bell leaving Jason Segel on the side of the road in Forgetting Sarah Marshall.
Jackson leveled his gaze, unaffected by my histrionics. “So you told them?”
“I had no choice.”
“This will be all over town in thirty minutes or less.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Just when I’d thought I was doing better learning the realities of police investigations . . . I learned that I wasn’t. Beauty wasn’t the only unreachable standard Hollywood set for the masses.
Yay for me.
“It’s okay, Joey.” Jackson touched my wrist.
“A dead body was found in my house. It doesn’t really feel okay.”
He pulled me into his embrace, and I melted there. Nothing felt better than feeling those muscular arms around me and smelling his spicy aftershave.
“I know it doesn’t. I know.” His voice had a soothing tone that I’d only ever heard him use with me. And I liked that. I liked feeling I brought out a softer side of him. Someone needed to.
“I’m at a loss, Jackson. I mean, I don’t even know what to do. I was going to go shopping for some furniture. And we’re supposed to go out to eat and celebrate—”
He nudged me closer. “We can still go out to eat. Just later. Tonight.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“But, unfortunately, I have to work this case right now. I wish I could stay with you. I really do, but . . .”
“I know. This is part of your job.” I couldn’t even hide my disappointment. I didn’t want to face the next few hours alone. No, I wanted to pretend like none of this had ever happened and continue on my merry way.
Jackson pulled away until our gazes connected. He rested his hand on my neck, his fingers gently intertwining with my hair. “Why don’t you see if Phoebe is available? Do you want me to call her for you?”
“No, I can do it. Or maybe I’ll go inside and look for some garlic.”
“What?”
I shrugged. “To ward off the spirits.”
“You mean vampires? Garlic is for vampires.”
“Potato, potato.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t go back inside now. The crime scene guys are still working the place.”
My beautiful, unblemished home was now going to be blemished with fingerprint dust and crime-scene tape. Maybe a body outline? Sometimes they even had to take out pieces of walls or floors or rugs.
Yet I hadn’t seen blood, so . . . “How did she die, Jackson?”
He pressed his lips together and tilted his head. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Who is she?”
“Nope, couldn’t tell you that either—if we knew. I can see that look in your eyes. That drive to find answers. But just let me handle this, okay? You have only one more week here before you leave for filming. Just enjoy yourself. Work on memorizing your script. Don’t concern yourself with this investigation.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t want to. Concerning myself with investigations had become my schtick. It was what I did.
Instead, I said, “Okay.”
But this would be like a chronic dieter staring at a piece of chocolate cake and trying not to eat it. I was that dieter, and I usually ended up eating the cake.
He kissed my forehead, seeming appeased by my answer. “I’ll call you in a few hours, okay? Dinner is still on.”
“Dinner’s still on . . .”
I should be excited. And I was. Jackson could easily blow off our date, and he wasn’t doing that. It was just that . . . after everything that happened . . . I had no idea what to do with myself right now.
Again, I pulled myself together—because that’s what strong, capable women did. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Jackson paused before heading back inside and studied my expression for a split second. “Just to clarify, this has nothing to do with you, right? You’ve never seen that woman.”
“Of course I haven’t. Why would you ask?”
“Because you have a knack for being connected with some of the crimes in this area. I just wanted to check.”
“I’ve definitely never seen the woman before. Maybe she’s connected with the previous owner. But not me.”
Nope, not me. And, as Jackson had reminded me, I was leaving in one week. I had a script to memorize. Five pounds to lose. The start of a zit that I needed to zap.
There was no way I was getting involved with this investigation.
Not this time.
The only problem was that I couldn’t be sure I’d be able to sleep in my own house until this crime was solved. And no sleep wouldn’t bode well for my on-camera comeback.
Chapter Three
After Jackson had departed, I remained outside, unsure what to do with myself now that my house was a crime scene. So I sat there—on the deck boards since there was no furniture—with my back against the cedar siding. At least it was covered and shaded. Despite that, sweat still trickled down my back.
Two officers remained, wrapping things up. The medical examiner had carried the body away. People on the beach and then on the sidewalk had stopped to stare, most likely wondering what bad thing could have possibly happened here in paradise.
Knowing my luck, the tabloids would get hold of this news, and I again would make the front page. And even though I hadn’t heard from my Super Stalker Fan Club in nearly a month, I had a feeling they’d be making another appearance soon. How could they resist this?
Except for the fact that I had no connection to this crime. Nope. It was either random or maybe linked with the previous owner. But not me.
Thank goodness.
That was what I’d keep telling myself, at least.
I’d had my fill of real crime lately, and now I was ready to dive into the scripted variety.
I opened my eyes, glanced at my phone, and saw it was only noon. I’d planned on spending the day moving in and shopping. Granted, moving in for me meant unpacking six suitcases and unloading two bags of leftover groceries from the condo I’d been stayin
g in.
The suitcases were sitting in the living room—Jackson had brought them in earlier. The rest of my belongings were enroute from California, where I’d put them in storage until I figured out my life.
Guess what? I figured out my life . . . and now this.
I let my head fall back against the house and closed my eyes.
In had been four weeks since the huge fiasco involving my mother and father. My mother, who just might be an international terrorist, was now missing. My father was in witness protection. At least I knew he was okay—which had been my whole reason for coming to this area. He’d disappeared, and I’d been fearful that something had happened to him.
It was now mid-July. Life had been a whirlwind since the showdown on Lantern Beach. I’d found out my TV series was being revived. I’d flown out to California to meet with my producer there. I’d come back and looked at houses, knowing I wanted to set up residence in this area. Then I’d had to fly back to LA for some early publicity. Then Jackson had gone to Raleigh to do some bomb tech training.
Things had been incredibly hectic.
And they still were.
As my hands ran across the wood beneath me, I paused. Something didn’t feel right. I glanced down and saw something carved into the boards there.
I squinted. What did that say? The words were crude and hard to read. But it almost looked like it said, “I will be somebody.”
What?
Who in the world would have carved those words? And why? Was this in some way related to the case? I had no idea, but I’d mention it to Jackson.
I replayed the moment I’d found the body inside. The woman had been on the younger side. Probably my age. She’d had brown hair that was cut to her shoulders.
To the best of my recollection, I’d never seen her before. I couldn’t think of a single reason why she might be in my house. And I still had no idea if she’d been killed here or simply placed in my spare bedroom after she was already dead.
I mean, normally, I’d think the crime happened on scene. But nothing else here was torn up or gave any indication of a struggle. There was no blood. No pills. No rope. No nothing.
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