by Lucy Quinn
“Do all these dead ends get to you?” Dylan asked as walked beside Cookie with his fingers threaded through hers.
He was referring to the case, and Cookie replied, “Sometimes.” Especially when my former partner is avoiding my phone calls, she thought. “It often feels like we’re on a wild goose chase, but that’s part of why I love the job. Each lead is an opportunity to uncover a clue, similar to a scavenger hunt, and it’s our job to flesh out which clues count.”
“That’s a good way to look at it. But I’d rather get right to the heart of the matter.”
Cookie chuckled. “Wouldn’t we all? Speaking of getting to the heart of the matter, what are you and Cade doing tonight?” Dylan and Cade hadn’t had a chance to spend much time together since Cade had arrived, and they’d decided at breakfast that they needed a guys’ night out. Considering Cookie was dying to get the lowdown on Scarlett’s new relationship, she hadn’t minded at all.
“Just hanging out. I’m going to get us steaks for the grill. We’ll probably sit around drinking beer and telling war stories.”
“Well darn. You’re going to miss out on charcoal face masks, popcorn, and a rom com.”
Dylan chuckled as they approached the sheriff’s office. “If we get too lonely, we’ll be sure to stop by.”
“Don’t you dare mention that to Cade. He’ll ditch you to steal Scarlett away, and then neither of us will get the dirty details of their relationship.”
“Goodness,” Dylan teased as they walked into the air-conditioned coolness of the sheriff’s office. “We can’t have that.”
Cookie hit his arm lightly before stepping into June’s office. What she saw made her mutter, “Oh boy,” under her breath. On June’s desk was a fresh collection of questionable items. She saw a gas mask, a can of blaze-orange spray paint, a handgun, and bolt cutters. June was wearing protective gloves and appeared startled when Cookie asked, “What have we got today, June?”
June’s brow furrowed. “What do you think I have?”
“Ah,” Cookie glanced at Dylan for a clue as to what June might be getting at, and he shrugged in reply. “Well, it appears you have bolt cutters, spray paint, a gas mask, and a handgun.” She paused and realized June still appeared confused. “Am I missing something?”
“That’s all?” June asked.
“That’s all.”
June looked at Dylan. “Is that all you see too?”
“Yes.”
June reached out tentatively toward the gas mask and then withdrew her hand before she touched it as if she’d discovered it was scorching hot. “And for what purpose do you think the owner used them?”
Cookie smiled with amusement and winked at Dylan, fairly sure she understood June’s hesitation. “I think the bolt cutters could be useful if one owned a storage company. The spray paint could be used to mark a number of things, like trees that need to be cut down. The gas mask? Perhaps for fertilizing a garden or safety against other toxic fumes. And the handgun, I assume, is for personal safety.”
The deputy sheriff let out a whoosh of air. “Good. Lord knows I can’t be too careful around those people.”
“Those people?” Dylan asked.
“The Posse. We found these items at Winter’s house,” June said. “And with your imaginations, I figured if there was anything remotely—you know—you’d have sorted it out.
“Sex-u-al?” Cookie enunciated clearly and slowly in an effort to torture the woman. Dylan snorted a little as he tried to hold back his laughter.
June glared at her, and then she lifted up the spray paint can. The top popped when she removed it. “Hmmm. Marking things. Like where to put explosives?”
Dylan said, “Highly unlikely. Blaze orange is the shade hunters wear and would be conspicuous, don’t you think?”
“Well what about this?” June asked as she held up the gas mask. “You’d wear this if there was smoke.”
“If someone was worried about smoke from the explosion then they’d have been on the boat. And if you recall, nobody survived that.”
“Huh.” June squinted at Cookie. “Got an answer for everything, don’t you?” She lifted the bolt cutters up from the table. “I highly doubt Winter owns a storage company.”
June had Cookie there, because Cookie suspected Winter had used the bolt cutters to access more than one secured area for a protest. The gas mask had likely been for tear gas, and the spray paint to send a message.
Fortunately, Dylan had a plausible explanation. “You know how Winter loves a good dump scavenge. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got those to open up locked trunks.”
“But what about this gun?” Loon held it up with two fingers. “You can’t tell me that hippy runs around packing heat. I think this is more than enough to bring her in.” Loon reached for her phone and dialed. “I’m sure I’ll have the arrest warrant by the end of the day.”
“Wait!” Cookie put her hands up in a stop motion. “There’s nothing here that even connects to the explosion.”
“Please, Cookie. You’re giving the criminals far too much leeway. A gun? A gas mask? Bolt cutters? Obviously, they used this stuff when they rigged the barge. Winter is far too dangerous. She’ll be joining your mother shortly.”
Cookie pulled her phone and quickly scrolled through her contacts, searching for Sheriff Watkins’ cell number. Any arrest warrants would have to go through her office, and Cookie was going to make darn sure one wasn’t issued for Winter.
She walked out of Loon’s office, her stomach in knots as she waited for Watkins to pick up the line.
“Watkins here,” the woman said, her tone clipped.
“Sherriff Watkins. Thank goodness. It’s Cookie James over on Secret Seal Isle. I need to talk to you about the arrest warrant Deputy Loon is asking for.”
“Go ahead.”
Cookie explained the situation and ended with, “There is nothing about these items that connects Winter to the explosion. At best, they’d need to be tested for evidence, but Winter shouldn’t be arrested until there’s something more than pure speculation to go on.”
“I’ll take it into consideration,” Watkins said. “Thanks for the phone call.”
Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she turned to Dylan with a pained look on her face. “I swear, the law enforcement in this town is a clown show.”
His lips quirked into a tiny smile. “Not when you’re in charge. What did she say?”
“Nothing. We’ll have to wait and see what happens.” Cookie pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to ward off the headache that was forming just above her eyes.
“It’ll be all right. We just need to solve this case, and then Rain and Winter will be exonerated.” He jerked his head. “Come on. Let’s go see your mother before we start digging for more clues today.”
They avoided June and her office as they made their way back to Rain’s cell. Cookie took one look at her mother and couldn’t help the feeling of admiration. The woman had some sort of gift for living life to the fullest… even when she was locked up.
“Good morning, Peaches,” Dylan said with a nod.
“Mornin’.” Peaches smacked her gum and turned her attention back to Rain, who had her hand poking out of the bars. Peaches was busy filing Rain’s nails, and an entire manicure kit was spread out on the floor next to her. The woman’s bleach-blond hair was piled high on her head, and her impressive rack was spilling out of her skimpy tank top. But her eyes were kind and her smile genuine. “Can you believe what bad shape Rain’s nails were in?”
“Um… I guess I didn’t notice,” Cookie said, glancing down at her mother’s fingers. “They look okay from here.”
Peaches tsked. “That’s because you wouldn’t know a manicure if it smacked you over the head, Cookie James.” She grabbed Cookie’s wrist and smirked. “You desperately need an appointment. I can set you up for tomorrow morning, first thing. Maybe get some color on those nails.”
Cookie yanked her hand back and sho
ved it into her jeans pocket. She didn’t have time to worry much about a manicure. Not when Rain was still locked in a jail cell. She said, “Maybe after we spring my mother from the clink.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Peaches said sagely. “You don’t want to miss the two for one special. Nails and a wax.” She glanced down Cookie’s body and made a wide circle around Cookie’s pelvis area. “When’s the last time you had any maintenance done on your kitty cat? I don’t recall you coming into the Clip, Dip, and Rip.”
“Oh, Cookie doesn’t wax,” Rain said, blowing on the nails of her free hand. “She likes the au natural look. Right, Dylan?”
Dylan blinked at Rain and then backed up, holding his hands out and shaking his head. “This isn’t… I don’t… damn.” He just shook his head and said nothing.
Cookie felt her face heat up and gave her mother and Peaches a flat stare as she said, “My grooming habits are no one’s business but mine, all right?”
“And Dylan’s.” Rain beamed at him. “Seriously, Dylan. You should ask her to try the Brazilian. Hale just loves—”
“That’s enough,” Cookie said. “We don’t need to know what Hale loves.”
“Oh, Cookie, you’re such a prude.” Rain rolled her eyes. “You should be grateful you’re on the outside and still able to spend time with your man. It’s been weeks since Hale and I have been able to play Madam President and her favorite Secret Service agent. I had the white pant suit cleaned and everything.”
Dylan made a strangled noise like he was choking down laughter. Cookie couldn’t blame him. If Rain were anyone other than her own mother, Cookie would be laughing too. “Mom, you’re in TMI territory again.”
“Am I?” She flipped her red hair over her shoulder. “Well, sue me. What else am I going to do in here? Look at these conditions!” She waved a hand around her small cell. It was filled with cookies, chocolate, and a variety of chips and crackers. On one wall was a sketch one of the island residents had drawn. It was a crowd of the islanders holding a Free Rain sign. The television was flickering with reruns of Project Runway. And there was even a flask sitting in the middle of her bed on the down comforter.
“Looks like you’re glamping, Mom,” Cookie said. “You have more down pillows here than you do at home. You even have your own personal esthetician.”
“There’s no privacy,” Rain whined. “All I’ve had is take out and sugar for three days. I want my kitchen. My own bed. Hale. And to sunbathe nude in my backyard while we still have warm weather.”
“Wow,” Peaches said. “That was some rant, Rain. I’m impressed.”
Rain leaned back and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead like she was Scarlett O’Hara. “I’m a bird with her wings clipped, Cookie. If you don’t get me out of here soon, I’ll be a shell of my former self.”
Cookie was amused by her mother’s dramatics, but she also felt for her. Even with all her creature comforts around her, Cookie had to admit that being locked up did look like it was taking a toll on Rain. She’d lost that shine in her eyes and she was starting to appear a bit pale. And why wouldn’t she? Cookie would lose her mind if she was stuck in a cell ten feet from Loon’s office.
“We’re working on it, Mom,” Cookie said. “We’ll figure out who did this soon enough and you and Hale can get back to… well, whatever it is you do.”
“Do you have any leads?” Rain looked up at her with such a hopeful gaze that it almost made Cookie cringe. They barely had anything to go on and were no closer to solving this case than they had been the minute Rain had been arrested.
“Not yet,” Cookie said, forcing a smile. “But you know how these things go. We just keep digging until we find the crack. And when we do, it will be enough to bring you home. Don’t worry. We’re on it.”
“I know,” Rain said with an exaggerated sigh and then popped a chocolate caramel into her mouth while Peaches started to massage her hand. “I’ll just have to suck it up and not let this place beat me down.” She blinked up at Cookie. “It’ll be rough, but I think I can make it a few more days.”
“Right,” Cookie said. “A few more days.”
“Just a few more days,” Rain whispered to herself.
Cookie glanced at Dylan. “Ready?”
“Ready.” He placed his hand on the small of her back, and after promising Rain they’d see her in the morning, they headed outside.
“Well, that was something,” Dylan said.
“You can say that again.” Cookie paused on the sidewalk and pulled out her notebook. “I know it looks like she has everything she needs in there, which she does, but we have to get her out of there soon. Her spirit can’t handle being caged.”
He raised one eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like Rain or Winter. You know that, right?”
Cookie shrugged and turned her face to the sun, soaking it up in honor of her mother. “Probably. But it’s obvious that even the novelty of being fawned over is wearing off. I just want to get her home.”
“I know. You’re right,” Dylan said. “It’s just hard to take her seriously when she’s getting her nails done.”
Cookie let out a small huff of laughter. “You’re right, but she’s just putting on a brave face now.” She flipped her notebook open and scanned the page. “So far we’ve talked to Peaches, Julie, Hank, and Jerry. We’ve also searched Henry’s room at the inn. Of all of them, Jerry seems the most suspicious, right?”
“Yeah, but we don’t have anything to go on there. Just the fact that he didn’t want to talk to us,” Dylan reminded her.
“True. We’ll need to try talking to him again and maybe get a background check on him.” She jotted down a note in her book. When she looked back up, she said, “That leaves River Song over at the colony. She’s our last lead before we’re grasping at straws. Ready to make a trip across the island?”
He grinned at her. “I’ll drive.”
Chapter 17
Dylan’s truck rumbled down the dirt road, woods on one side and the churning ocean on the other. The artist colony was at the other end of the island from the inn and was only populated during the summer. The communal area was dotted with camps, most of them with simple wood structures, but there were a few trailers and even a yurt—the place River Song called home for the summer.
River Song was a woman who, Cookie guessed, was in her late fifties. She’d been a part-time resident of the island for three decades, spending her time hand-painting silk scarves that she sold at the market each week.
Dylan pulled the truck into a clearing that housed a round yurt. Cookie and Dylan hopped out, and the pair stood there among the trees, marveling at the view. The sun sparkled over the deep blue sea, and off in the distance there was another island. Docks lined the coastline while boats motored around the bay.
Seeing no signs of the woman in question, Cookie walked up to the door of the yurt, but knocking proved futile on the canvas door so she called out, “River? Are you home?”
No answer. She tried again. When she was met with silence, she let out a frustrated sigh. “Should we wait or come back?”
“We don’t have any other leads, right?” Dylan asked.
“Nope.”
“Then I guess we stay.” He gestured to the bay. “Want to wait on the dock?”
“Sure.” Cookie followed him down to the water, where they waited and waited and waited some more. Finally, after a few hours, Cookie stood. “We might as well go back to the inn and get some food. We completely missed lunch.”
Dylan opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of a loud motor cut him off, and they both turned to find a yellow VW Thing pulling to a stop beside his truck. “Looks like we’re in luck.”
“Well, hello there,” a woman called as they made their way up to the yurt. “Are you the ones who were looking for hemp cheese?”
Cookie and Dylan glanced at each other before turning their attention back to her. She had a gorgeous blue and purple scarf wrapped around her he
ad with her long dark hair spilling out the back. She was wearing formfitting tank top, a long peasant skirt, and so many bracelets that they covered half her forearms. As she moved toward them, her long cotton skirt swirled around her ankles, showing off her dusty Birkenstocks.
Dylan leaned down and whispered, “What’s hemp cheese?”
“No idea,” Cookie whispered back. Then she smiled at River. They’d met the summer before at the market. “Hi, River.” Cookie held her hand out. “I’m Cookie James. My mother and I own the inn on the other side of the island.”
“Of course. How’s Rain doing?” She scowled. “I heard the fuzz has her locked up. Some of the artists have been collecting money for her legal fees.”
“That’s very kind,” Cookie said. “She’s doing as well as can be expected, I guess. Deputy Loon has been putting off the arraignment, so we haven’t been able to post bail.”
“Bitch,” River spat out. “You know, I bet Loon is working for that jackhole, Hank. Or at least getting a kickback. The law is always corrupt, you know.”
Cookie bit back a snarl and refrained from stressing that Cookie herself was the law and that she’d dedicated her life to law and order. She knew if she said anything that River would clam up. The artists at the colony didn’t trust cops.
“That would definitely be a scandal, wouldn’t it?” Cookie said.
River snorted and turned around, heading for the yurt. When she got to the front door, she turned and asked, “Are you coming?”
“Uh, sure.” Cookie and Dylan followed her into the round structure. It was packed with fabric and paints, but right in the middle there was a small coffee table and pillows to sit on.
“Take a seat,” River said. “I’ll get you some kombucha.”
“What’s kombucha?” Dylan whispered to Cookie.
“I think it’s tea,” Cookie said as she lowered herself to one of the pillows.
“It’s good for digestion.” River put two glasses on the table and then sat down with them. She pulled out a hand-rolled joint, lit it up, and took a puff. Holding it out to Cookie, she nodded, and while still holding the smoke in her lungs, squeaked, “Your turn.”