Sinister Sanctuary

by Colleen Gleason

  Plus…it really was too late in the day to actually set up her computer and start working. And there wasn’t anything to eat at the cottage, anyway. The food deliveries didn’t start until tomorrow. So she figured a good night’s sleep, acclimating her to her new, quiet, Wi-Fi-less surroundings, would put her in the right frame of mind to get to work first thing in the morning.

  She had to duck behind a thick clump of bushes to strip off her swimsuit from beneath her sundress and shimmy into her panties and bra, expertly preserving her modesty all the while.

  As she waited for her ride, standing on the road at the juncture of the lighthouse island’s bridge and the mainland, she wondered if she’d run into the microbiologist again. At least, she assumed he was a microbiologist, though she’d never gotten around to asking.

  Despite the fact that the guy didn’t say much and was bordering on Big Bang Theory nerdiness, he was pretty cute. His white button-down shirt had looked crisp and cool, contrasting with his freckled forearms and their rich, gold tan. And talk about a ginger—a real ginger! He had a head of close-cropped, fiery golden-red hair that curled up damply where it was longer on top, and large hands that should have been clumsy, but had handled his tools and accoutrements with ease. He’d been wearing zip-off cargo pants with lots of pockets, so she hadn’t been able to see his legs, but the bag he carried with ease appeared damn heavy. She suspected some decent musculature beneath the Dr. Science clothes.

  Maybe she’d see him in town tonight. Maybe Declan knew who he was.

  As she waited for her ride, Teddy realized she was in a good mood—feeling social and also very hungry. Tonight’ll be my last hurrah before it’s nose to grindstone, so I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.

  A few minutes later, she climbed into Leslie’s Mercedes—which was a blessing, because she remembered that Dec drove a pickup, and the three of them would have been squished into the front seat—and it would probably have been none too clean.

  She also smiled in private approval, too, that Leslie was driving her own car instead of letting her boyfriend take over the wheel. That had always been a sticking point with Teddy and Arthur—just one of those many subtle little things that had made it easy for her to break things off. Eventually.

  Not that Teddy was a procrastinator.

  “So, how’s the cottage up there? I’ve always been curious about Stony Cape,” Leslie asked, glancing at Teddy in the rearview mirror as she pulled out into the road. She was a petite woman, with the skin tone and straight black hair of her Japanese heritage. Today, she’d pinned her hair in a loose bun, with long strands falling over her neck. She looked nothing like the hotshot CEO she’d once been back in Philadelphia. “I almost wish we’d picked you up there so I could sneak a peek.”

  “It’s kind of cute—sort of what you’d expect for a lighthouse cottage. Quilts and pillow shams, eighties carpet and vertical blinds, and lots of seagull and lighthouse decor. Everything is clean and neat, though, and the bed looks very comfortable.” Maybe too comfortable.

  “You know I would have loved to have you at Shenstone House, Teddy.” Leslie had just opened a bed and breakfast in Wicks Hollow—right on a small hill just outside of town. She’d met Declan when he came to renovate some wrought iron stair railing, and there’d been some big episode involving a murder. Teddy didn’t know all the details, but she definitely was going to find out.

  “Thank you, Les, I really appreciate it. But I know it’s high season for you, and Declan said you’re completely booked anyway. Me coming to Wicks Hollow was a last-minute thing, and I let my agent handle the reservation after Declan gave me the suggestion. Besides, I need to be cloistered away so I can get my book done.” A waver of guilt threatened to ruin Teddy’s mood, but she firmly thrust it away.

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow, I’ll type my fingers off.

  “But once the book is turned in, I’ll come back when I can relax and enjoy—and I’ll stay in your best room.”

  “Are you sure you can spare the time for dinner tonight?” Declan asked, turning around from the passenger seat in the front and unwittingly piling on the guilt. “We understand if you need to work—we can just get a carry-out.”

  “Oh, no, don’t worry about me. I start bright and early tomorrow morning. So,” she said, quickly changing the subject, “where are we going for dinner? I haven’t been to Wicks Hollow in about twenty years, so I have no idea what to expect.”

  “We’re going to a place usually only the locals go because it’s high season and we can’t get a seat at Trib’s—the best place in town—without a reservation this late in the day,” he replied. “The Lakeside Grille is off the beaten path, and Reggie makes the best fried grouper sandwich you’ve ever had. Plus, there’s a good selection of beer from our local guy.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  The Lakeside was as promised: filled with locals—obvious because many of them greeted Declan, Leslie, and even Teddy as they came in—and the delicious smells made Teddy’s mouth water.

  A very busty woman in her late forties worked behind the long, diner-like counter. She wore a tight yellow dress splashed with plate-sized violets and more makeup than a high school freshman at her first dance. Her hair was done up in a B-52s beehive, and was an icy platinum with a lavender streak from the side-part to the twist. She was a mistress of the multitask, snatching up the cordless phone to take down a to-go order, snapping commands through the food window to the kitchen, filling draft beers from an array of seven levers, and slapping plates down on the counter in front of their owners.

  “Declan—there’s a table in the back,” she called. “I saved it for you so your cousin could be incognito. Can’t have a bestselling writer waiting for a table.” Her voice was loud, heedless of the fact that everyone in the restaurant could hear and there was no chance of Teddy remaining “incognito”—even if that had been necessary.

  Which it wasn’t, because authors—with the possible exception of J.K. Rowling and Stephen King—just weren’t recognized by the average person. And Teddy was in no way in the same league as either of them.

  “Thanks, Bella,” replied Dec, taking Leslie by the hand and navigating through a path of crowded tables. “Hey, Bax!” He paused to shake hands with a very good-looking black man who was sitting at the end of the counter.

  He slid off his stool and gave Leslie a hug, then turned to offer his hand to Teddy. “I’m Baxter James. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mack—I’m a huge fan of your books. I was so surprised to hear that you’re related to this guy.” He grinned, and Dec rolled his eyes.

  “Thank you,” Teddy replied, trying not to feel self-conscious as she felt more and more people looking in her direction. “And call me Teddy.”

  “Baxter’s a writer too,” Declan said, unaware that he was setting off tiny little alarm bells in Teddy’s head, “but more importantly, he’s the creator and brewmaster of B-Cubed Beer.”

  “B-Cubed?” Teddy replied politely.

  “Baxter’s Beatnik Brews,” replied Baxter. “And don’t worry, I’m a freelance journalist and have absolutely no desire to write a novel. So I’m not going to ask you to read my work or pitch it to your agent—nor am I going to offer to give you an idea to write.” His smile was fast and wicked, and Teddy immediately liked him.

  “Then in that case, why don’t you join us for dinner? I’d love to hear all about your beer. You never know when I’m going to write a craft brewer.” She loved getting to talk to someone with an interesting profession. Plus, then she could justify her dinner as “research”—therefore she was actually working.

  Baxter’s eyes lit up, and he said, “I’d like that. I’m just dying to know what’s going to happen to Sargent Blue in the next book. Maybe if I ply you with a few samples of my beer, you’ll give me a hint. Mirabella, darling, how about a round on me? I’m moving to their table.”

  Teddy thoroughly enjoyed herself, chatting with Baxter (who had several ideas for del
icious and malicious ways to kill someone in a brewery) and sampling a flight of B-Cubed beer.

  “So you’re staying up at Stony Cape Lighthouse?” asked Baxter as Bella put their food in front of them. “That’s kind of far away from civilization.”

  “Yes,” Teddy replied. “It’s a cozy little place, but with no Wi-Fi. Which is important. I’ve got it for a month.”

  “Wasn’t there something about someone dying out there a while back?” Declan asked, looking at his friend. He’d moved back to town only a year ago, but Baxter had been living there for much longer. “Is that why it’s been vacant for so long?”

  “Someone fell from the lighthouse,” Baxter replied.

  “Fell or jumped?” Teddy forked up a piece of rainbow trout that had probably been caught that day. “Or was pushed?”

  “Well…the official word is that he fell.” Baxter rubbed his trim goatee. “But who knows?”

  “How long has the lighthouse been non-operational?” Teddy said. “Did it close down because of the death?”

  Baxter shook his head. “No, though I do think that kept people from wanting to stay there for a while. The lighthouse hasn’t been used since the nineties, and Stuart Millore—that’s the guy who fell—died only about three years ago. Maybe four. I don’t really remember…” His attention strayed from the table. It seemed to settle somewhere across the room. And stay.

  Teddy glanced at Declan, who was fighting a grin. He elbowed Leslie, then jerked his head toward the other side of the room. She grinned too, and by then, Teddy had to turn around in her chair to see what was going on.

  But there was nothing obvious, and she couldn’t tell if Baxter was looking at the cute thirty-year-old mother and her teenage daughter who sat at a booth along the wall, or a group of three couples about the same age, toasting some exciting accomplishment. Or something else.

  “You were saying…?” Declan teased as Baxter dragged his attention back to their table. “Maybe it’s time for a haircut, hmm, Bax?” He looked at Teddy, still grinning. “Baxter likes to go to the expensive salon on the north side of town to get his ’fro trimmed because the owner is hot, single, and has a great ra—”

  “That’s enough.” Baxter quickly held up a hand. It was difficult to tell with his dark skin, but Teddy was certain he was blushing. “I was just…uh…” He lifted his beer to drink.

  Leslie leaned toward Teddy. “Bax’s got a thing for Emily Delton—that perky blond over there, with the teenage daughter. She used to have a thing for Declan, but, well…fortunately for both Baxter and Declan, the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.” Her eyes danced with laughter. “Steph and Emily’s daughter are friends.”

  Stephanie was Declan’s sixteen-year-old daughter. He’d moved back to Wicks Hollow so he could do some single parenting when Steph’s mother and stepfather moved out of state.

  “Don’t worry—Emily doesn’t have a date. And I haven’t heard anything about her seeing anyone, Bax. I’m sure I’d know if she was. Why don’t you just bite the bullet and ask her out?” Leslie said gently.

  “Maybe.” Bax turned his attention to the golden-brown beer he was sampling. “So, anyway, Teddy—or should I say T.J.?—can you give me anything about what’s going to happen in the next Sargent Blue book?”

  With that, Teddy’s easy mood deflated just a little. Because she didn’t bloody well know what was going to happen. “Well…” she said, drawing out the word and trying to look mysterious, “if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “It’d be worth it.” Baxter seemed more at ease now that he wasn’t the subject of their teasing.

  “Tell you what, Bax,” Declan said, hooking his finger in the air to call Bella over, “I’ll get Leslie to whisk Teddy up to Grand Rapids someday soon, and while they’re gone, we can break in—er, I mean, we can go check out Stony Cape Keeper’s Cottage and see if we happen to stumble on any manuscript pages lying around.” He lifted an eyebrow at Teddy.

  “Nice try,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “But I write on my laptop, and it goes everywhere with me.”

  Baxter made a show of looking at her very large leather tote. “You mean, the next Sargent Blue book is in that bag?”

  Teddy laughed and shook her head as Declan ordered another round of beer from Mirabella. “Well, not tonight. But you know, Baxter, I might just try your idea of having someone drown in a huge barrel of hops.”

  “Speaking of which, have you ever smelled the smoke that comes from the wort?” Declan asked. “It’s rank. That alone could kill a guy.”

  “It’s just yeasty— Oh crap. Look who all just walked in.” Baxter sighed.

  Declan turned, then spun back right away in an obvious effort to hide from being noticed. “I thought Maxine turned into a pumpkin at nine o’clock? What’s she doing here?”

  “Well, scout, it’s only eight thirty,” Leslie told him with a smile. “Gird your loins—Cherry’s bringing her on over.”

  “Who’s Maxine?” asked Teddy, once again craning in her seat.

  “Oh, you’ll find out,” Declan said grimly. “Thank God you got here after her birthday party last week.”

  Teddy looked at Leslie. “Did you just say ‘gird your loins’? That sounds so…old-fashioned. Like it belongs in a medieval novel.”

  Leslie grinned and spread her hands wide. “Yes, well, I happen to read a lot of historical romance.”

  “Yeah, particularly ones about sexy blacksmiths,” Declan said, then gave her a loud smooch on the lips. “Which is why you didn’t have a chance when you met me. You were already half in love with the idea of me.”

  Leslie rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were a little pink. “I like romance novels. They’re a great escape and are wonderfully entertaining.” She sounded mildly defensive, and Teddy thought she understood why—particularly since she currently wrote thrillers. Romance novels were big moneymakers, but they were also often denigrated as lesser forms of literature next to other genres like thrillers, mysteries, and women’s fiction.

  “I love all books,” Teddy replied. “Including romance. With this age of everyone streaming everything on any device imaginable, I’m just happy people still read. And I—”

  “Is this the writer?” screeched a voice just behind Teddy.

  Teddy turned to discover that a cluster of elderly ladies had basically ambushed her, forming a circle around her from behind.

  There were four of them, and the one who’d spoken appeared to be the oldest of the bunch. She had to be at least eighty, and she had very dark skin that was as smooth as ebony despite her age. Her hair was a thick mop of iron gray that was almost perfect enough to be a wig, and she brandished a walking stick that Teddy immediately decided was lethal—especially in the hands of a demanding elderly woman.

  “You must be Maxine,” Teddy said with a smile. “I’ve heard all about you from Declan.”

  “You have, have you?” replied the old lady. “Well, I don’t—”

  “Yes, this is loudmouth Maxine Took,” said a plump woman with perfectly manicured purple fingernails. Her hair was an improbable bronzy-reddish henna, clearly covering some major gray, because Teddy suspected she was about the same age as Maxine. “I’m Juanita Acerita, and if you’re really T.J. Mack, I have to say it’s a pleasure to meet you!”

  When Teddy reached to shake Juanita’s hand, however, Juanita reared back a little, moving her large leather bag out of reach. “Sorry—Brucie gets a little testy at sudden movements,” Juanita said with a smile, maneuvering so she could shake Teddy’s hand but keep the tote at a distance.

  That was when Teddy saw the small canine with bright eyes peeking out from inside. It was the cutest dog she’d ever seen. He had huge ears—they were each the size of its head—and mostly white fur, but with splotches of black and brown over his nose. His butterflylike ears were jet black, and had long, silky hair hanging from them.

  “That’s Bruce Banner,” Maxine informed Teddy, shoving her hand in for her
own greeting. “He’s named after the Hunk.”

  “Move over, Maxine,” said another of the four women, who seemed to ignore Maxine’s confusion about who Bruce Banner was. “I want to meet her too.” This one sounded more professional, yet there was an air of excitement in her tone. She was tall—probably at least six foot—and sturdy, with lots of thick blue-white hair combed into a simple style of short in the back, but bouffant-like on top.

  She looked several years younger than Maxine and Juanita—maybe seventy—and as if she could take down a Secret Service agent without breaking a sweat. “I’m Orbra van Hest, Ms. Mack, and I am a huge fan. I buy all of your books in hardcover the minute they come out, and I also buy the e-books so I can make the font bigger and read them better. And I listen to the audiobooks too, when I’m cleaning up—I own the tea shop in town, and anytime you want to come in, I’ll serve you the best scones you’ve ever had.” She said all of this in a nervous rush of words that indicated to Teddy that she truly was a big fan.

  “That’s right,” Maxine said, clearly intent on keeping control of the conversation. “Orbra’s cinnamon scones are a national treasure. Can’t say the same about them lavender-blueberry ones you tried on us, though, Orbry—”

  “I’m Cherry Wilder,” said a slender, very fit woman in her mid-sixties who obviously knew the necessity of not waiting for Maxine to stop talking. “I’m a big fan too, Ms. Mack, and I was hoping you might sign a few of these books for me.”

  “I’ve got mine too,” said Orbra, amid a chorus of other “me toos,” which came not only from the semicircle of elderly women, but also some other customers—including the busty blond that Baxter had a thing for.

  “I’d love to sign your books,” Teddy said with a broad smile and genuine pleasure. “All of them,” she added, looking around at everyone else. To her surprise, suddenly, there was quite a crowd. It appeared that Maxine Took and her friends had been the catalyst for several, shyer Wicks Hollow residents to come forward.

  And apparently, somehow, they’d all known Teddy would be eating at the Grille tonight. She glanced at Declan, who lifted his hands with a “sorry, what can I do?” look and smiled.