Highway to Homicide

by Lucy Quinn

  Cookie had a sudden vision of a mercenary grandma taking on the mob and shook her head. “Please tell me you have a license for that, and why do you even have it?”

  “I taught in the Bronx, dear. Been packing heat since ’68.”

  Cookie chuckled. “Of course you have. Thanks, but I’m good in that department.”

  Martha returned the gun to its hiding spot and took a few steps before she moved a door-size canvas aside. Behind it was a refrigerator. “Let me make you and Rain some sandwiches for the road.”

  As curious as Cookie was to see what other magical things Martha could make appear, she didn’t have time. “Goodness, Martha. That’s—”

  “I told you!” they heard Eugene shout. “That’s my studio! Nobody—”

  Cookie didn’t process the rest of what he said because Martha quickly pushed her up against the refrigerator before she slammed the large canvas back in place, nearly breaking Cookie’s nose with the force.

  Cookie held as still as she could as her eyes watered with pain, and she heard Jimmy say, “Jeez, man. Hire a cleaning lady.”

  “Apparently you have no appreciation for genius,” Martha said in a haughty tone. “Eugene, what’s this—this person doing back here?”

  Cookie had to stifle a laugh as she pictured Martha giving Jimmy the disgusted-teacher glare.

  “I’m looking for a woman. Kind of tall, brown wavy hair, and sort of on the—” he let out a sigh. “I always forget what’s socially acceptable with you broads these days. Oh! Well-fed. Yeah. She looks well-fed,” he said as if he was proud of his term. Never mind that he’d just called Martha a broad.

  Well-fed? thought Cookie, and anger simmered in her. She’d show him well-fed once she got her hands on him. It was likely Jimmy said that because he was used to the skinny model types the mob liked to have on their arms. But Cookie wasn’t worried about her weight. She knew Dylan appreciated her curves just the way they were.

  “Huh,” Eugene said, and Cookie imagined him running paint-stained fingers though his hair, adding another colorful streak or two.

  Martha asked, “Do you suppose he means Dede Sharp?”

  “At the town hall?” Eugene asked.

  His wife sighed. “Try to keep up, honey. She works at that Holey Donut food truck now.”

  “Well, I’ll be. I love that place. Probably why she’s lookin’ well-fed.” Cookie heard what sounded like the slap of a hand on someone’s back and pictured Eugene’s hand on Jimmy as he said, “You ought to try them son. They make this toasted sesame seed and chocolate one that’s heavenly. It’s just down the road a ways by the—” After Eugene’s voice faded away, Martha came over to Cookie to move the canvas.

  “That was close,” she said and then frowned. “What happened to your nose, dear? Got a cold? Hold on.” She scurried over to another pile and pulled out a small bag of throat lozenges. She had the canvas bag in her hand and dropped them in. “Honey and lemon. Age-old remedy but effective.”

  Cookie shook her head in amazement. She hadn’t had much interaction with the Hendersons before, and now she wished she’d had. She would definitely remember Martha would be a great asset for future invest— Cookie’s heart stopped. There wouldn’t be any future investigations for her on Secret Seal Isle.

  Or anywhere if she didn’t get her and Rain out of there. Urgency sizzled through her like an electric shock. “Martha,” she said. “Thank you so much for everything, but I’m going to pass on those sandwiches. I really must go.” Cookie took in the petite woman with the heart and strength of a lion, and her emotions got the best of her once again. She stepped forward and gave the tiny woman a hug. “You keep this town safe for me, okay?”

  “And you watch out for Rain.”

  Cookie pulled away. “Will do. Thanks,” she said before she slipped out the back door.

  Chapter 27

  “Psssst!”

  Cookie stiffened and glanced over to find Daisy standing beside the dumpster in the alley behind the art gallery. The woman held up a pile of neatly folded clothing as she stepped forward and glanced around to make sure they were alone. She spoke barely above a whisper. “We’ve got a plan to hide you until Jimmy stops searching the town, but it’s going to take a little while to get it set up.”

  Cookie took the clothing Daisy thrust at her and noticed it was a white chef’s jacket and black and white checked pants. “A plan?” she asked, wondering what was going on.

  “Yes.” Daisy grabbed her by the arm and tugged her behind the dumpster. “First we’ll hide you in plain sight in the Salty Dog kitchen. Now get dressed. I’ll stand watch for you.” Daisy turned her back to Cookie and crossed her arms as if she, a petite redhead better suited to tossing a baton in a parade than throwing punches, was fierce enough to keep anyone away.

  It didn’t get past Cookie that the woman who was Dylan’s former girlfriend was putting herself in danger to help her. Cookie had to admit Daisy did have a good idea for her to hide as a chef for a while. It would be a welcome change from running through business after business as she tried to reach Blake’s car. And since his vehicle was parked at the Salty Dog, at least she’d be close when she could finally leave town to get to the inn. She wiggled out of her jeans as she asked, “What’s the plan? And who’s behind it?”

  “The whole town is behind you and Rain, Cookie. Jimmy’s not getting a thing from any of us. For all he knows you’ve never set foot on Secret Seal Isle.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you do that for me?”

  Daisy glanced over her shoulder as Cookie buttoned up the chef’s jacket, happy to know that Daisy had taken her chest size into consideration so that the garment lay flat without gaps. She turned and said, “The same reason everyone has a Free Rain jar, which, by the way,” Daisy reached into her pocket as she continued. “Here. I cashed ours into something easier to carry.” She handed Cookie three hundred-dollar bills.

  “What?” Cookie shook her head. “No. That’s too much.”

  Daisy reached out and took Cookie’s hand to press the money inside. She curled Cookies fingers around it. “Nothing is too much for Rain. And you because—” She shook her head. Cookie knew that deep down inside Daisy still had a thing for Dylan, and it couldn’t be easy for her to help save the love of his life to this extent. She said, “You’re going to need this. It’s not like you can use your credit cards.”

  “Daisy, I don’t know what to say. I know the Free Rain jar didn’t hold this much money. You really don’t—”

  “You hush up right now, Cookie James, and come with me.” Daisy took off at a brisk walk, and Cookie gathered up her discarded clothing before following her to the back door of the Salty Dog. The rain had stopped, and the sun was starting to poke out from behind the clouds. Cookie felt the warmth on her skin and started to think of it as a sign of hope. She was going to make it through this. With the help of her chosen island family, one way or another, she and Rain were going to be fine. She felt it all the way in her bones.

  “Well, well,” Larry, Daisy’s father, said when Cookie stepped into the kitchen. “Look at the new addition to my crew.”

  Cookie smiled at the large man, who was a testament to the tastiness of his food, as it occurred to her that since cooking wasn’t exactly her forte, she’d better let him know. “Um. I’m not sure what you have in mind, but I can make a good sandwich.”

  Larry chuckled. “Don’t you worry. Rain’s told me all about your cooking abilities. You’re going to be in charge of French fries.”

  “French fries?”

  Larry walked her over to the fryolater. “All you gotta do is pour the potatoes into the bin.” Potatoes thudded into a rectangular metal basket as he dumped them in. “Lower them into the oil, and when they get brownish, you pull the basket up and hang it on this little hook to drain for a bit.” He swept his hand over to the left where she saw a large stainless-steel tray under a heat lamp. “Pour them in here, give ‘em a few shakes of salt, and we’
re good to go.”

  “Okay. Seems easy enough.”

  “It is. So long as you keep up. The lunch rush is in about an hour, and you’ve got Johnny here to keep you in line.” Larry’s stomach shook with a nice big belly laugh as he slapped the young man on the back.

  Cookie laughed along with him and Johnny, getting the joke. It wasn’t very long ago that she’d suspected Johnny, a dishwasher at the time who Larry and Daisy had taken under their wing as a parolee, of being involved in a murder. She smiled at the young man. “I have no doubt he will.”

  It didn’t take long for Cookie to realize her job wasn’t as simple as it had seemed. With four baskets to man she struggled to keep up. And being the French fry girl was sweaty, greasy work. She had a new appreciation for kitchen workers.

  When the lunch rush finally slowed, Larry handed her a plastic cup of ice water. “Not bad for a first timer,” he said.

  “Thanks. It was pretty hairy there for a while. I hope I didn’t slow you down too much.”

  “Nope. You were so busy you didn’t even notice Jimmy when he came in.”

  “What?” Cookie glanced around. The kitchen was accessed from the dining room by a swinging door that went both ways, and there was a counter where the front-line cook put the orders up for the waitresses. “I don’t understand. How could I have missed him?”

  “That’s because of me,” piped in Johnny. “Remember when I sent you into the walk-in freezer for more shrimp?”

  Cookie nodded as she recalled the way he’d barked out, “Shrimp!” and shoved her toward the freezer. She thought he was reacting to the stress of the lunch rush, and while she had a moment where she’d recalled almost dying in a freezer the year before, she had ended up grateful for the minute it took her to find the shellfish considering how cool it was in there.

  The young man said, “Jimmy had just come in, and I figured he’d never think we’d hide you in a place you’d freeze to death.”

  “Smart,” Cookie said. And it was, because she’d have wanted to run if Jimmy had seen her, and who knew where she could have gone next.

  “Naw. Selfish. We needed you to finish your shift.”

  Larry laughed and slapped the boy on his shoulder. “Spoken like a chef for life.”

  “Come on, Cookie,” Daisy said, taking her by the hand. “It’s time for phase two of operation Hide the Snickerdoodle.”

  “Hide the Snickerdoodle?” Cookie parroted. “Seriously?”

  “It’s better than the alternative. We were going to go with operation Half-Baked, but I thought that was a little too on the nose,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Um, I don’t think I want to do anything that’s half-baked,” Cookie said. “Thanks anyway, but—”

  Daisy laughed as she turned to her father and Johnny. “See? That’s why I made you guys change the name.” When she looked back to Cookie, she placed a reassuring hand on her arm and said, “Trust us. This is genius. Let’s go. I’m going to drop you at your next stop and then take Blake his truck so no one gets suspicious.”

  Not sure what else to do, Cookie followed Daisy out the side door of the restaurant. Daisy took the keys from Cookie and they both hopped in. “Where are we headed?”

  “Stone’s. Slump down. We don’t want you spotted by anyone. Not that they’d recognize you in that get-up. But better safe than sorry.”

  Cookie blinked at her, surprised by the woman’s all-business attitude. Only one of them was a former FBI agent, and it wasn’t Daisy. Cookie needed to get her act together. She pulled her baseball cap down and slumped in the seat as she mumbled, “Thanks.”

  “No problem. We all just want to do our part to keep you and Rain safe.” Daisy quickly turned off the main road onto the residential streets, intentionally taking the long way to Stone’s in order to stay under the radar.

  “Okay. Stone’s waiting for you,” Daisy said, pulling into an unfamiliar driveway.

  “Here? I thought Stone lived over the old stationary store on Main Street,” Cookie said, eying the small but well-maintained blue saltbox-style cottage.

  “He bought this last fall. Apparently, that food truck of his does really well during the tourist months.”

  Cookie reached over and squeezed Daisy’s hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

  She waved a hand. “You’d do it for me.”

  “I would.” She sucked in a breath. “Will you call Dylan and let him know where I am and make sure he knows what’s going on?”

  “Of course.”

  Dylan would be able to figure out how to get in touch with Hunter, and between the two of them, surely they’d neutralize DeMasi so Cookie and Rain could get out of town.

  Cookie gave her one last nod and jumped out of the truck, quickly darting to Stone’s door. It opened as soon as she hit his front porch.

  “It’s about time. I was getting worried,” the jack-of-all-trades stoner said, pulling her into his home and down the hallway. “This way.”

  Cookie dug in her heels. “Wait, where are you taking me?” She twisted out of his grasp and headed toward the front window, wanting to take a look at all the exits.

  “Cookie! What are you doing? Get away from that window.” He tsked and reached for her again. “I’ve been instructed to keep you safe until the FBI gets here.”

  “FBI? Who did you talk to?” And would anyone entrust her safety to Stone? He was a decent guy, but law enforcement wasn’t exactly his thing.

  “That bald guy you used to run around town solving all the crimes with until you replaced him with Dylan. Hunter O’Neil.” He started moving down the hall again. “Come on.”

  Cookie couldn’t resist. She peeked out the window, scanning the neighborhood from her vantage point, and then ran after Stone.

  “Hurry. We need to get you into the safe room before anyone comes looking for you,” Stone said, taking the stairs down to the walk-out basement.

  “Your safe room is down here?” Cookie asked when she stepped onto the concrete floor. There was a door straight ahead that led to the backyard and another one to the right that looked like a regular storage room.

  “Yes. It was the perfect place.” He waved to the door that led outside. “That’s a steel door. And look.” He pointed above it. “See that wire?”

  Cookie squinted and spotted a silver wire attached to the back of the door. “Yeah, I see it.”

  “If someone opens that back door, it triggers the bucket overhead. Slime everywhere.” He rubbed his hands together like a gleeful ten-year-old.

  Cookie groaned. “You think that’s going to save me if the mob is trying to get in here?”

  “Hey!” he cried, his face scrunched up in irritation. “Don’t discount slime in the eyes. Do you have any idea how hard it is to see after that crap gets everywhere? Those precious seconds could mean the difference between getting out of here or getting shot.”

  “You might have a point,” Cookie said reluctantly. It was extremely low tech, but it was better than being a sitting duck.

  “Might?” he scoffed. “Since I started working for the government, I decided my next adventure is to be a Russian spy, so I’ve been reading up on ways to thwart anyone who might sniff me out. You know, making sure I’m able to stay undercover. It’s a lot more exciting than pulling records down at the town hall.”

  “Um, Stone? You probably need to be Russian in order to be a Russian spy,” Cookie said, frowning at him. “Besides, why would you want to spy for the Russians?”

  “Spy for the Russians? Oh, no. I want to spy on the Russians.” He gave her a wide grin. “That’s why I built the safe room and set up the slime bucket. There’s also an alarm that plays “Love Shack” if anyone gets near the safe room. Watch.” He hurried over to the safe room door. Just as he was reaching for the knob, “Love Shack” by the B-52s blared through the basement. “Alexa, turn the music off,” he ordered. Silence filled the room as he grinned at her.

  “Great. So what do I do if the music comes
on?” Cookie asked, trying not to panic at her situation. There was no reason to believe Jimmy would find her there at Stone’s, but she needed an escape plan should the worst happen.

  “Oh, that’s easy.” He pushed the safe room door open, revealing the nineteen-sixties décor. She wondered if he’d gotten the supplies from Rain, considering the place looked a lot like her mother’s hideaway at the inn. There was shag carpet, lava lamps, a couple of bean bag chairs, and a mattress on the floor that was pressed up against a makeshift headboard. No windows.

  And no bathroom or food supplies. She pressed her fingertips to her temple as a low-grade headache began to build. Things weren’t looking good.

  “Relax, Cookie,” Stone said with a laugh. “See? This place even fooled you.” He moved one of the bean bag chairs and then lifted up the rug. Stone stepped down on the area, causing a trap door to flip up. “Provisions are in here.”

  Cookie peered in and spotted canned goods and bottles of water. At least she wouldn’t starve.

  “Bedpan.” He pointed to fake plant. “Gotta take the ficus out first.”

  The bedpan was actually a ceramic planter for the plastic tree. Yikes. She wrinkled her nose and prayed she wouldn’t have to disturb the ficus.

  “It’s better than nothing,” Stone said with a shrug.

  “And how do I get out of here if I need to?” she asked, already feeling like the walls were closing in on her.

  “Oh, right.” He jumped on the bed. Grinning at Cookie, he tossed the pillows on the floor and then removed a false wall that was embedded in the headboard. “This is the way to freedom—”

  “Or her demise,” Hank said, popping out of the crawlspace and brandishing a gun.

  Chapter 28

  Cookie automatically reached for her own gun, but before she could pull it out of her holster, someone grabbed her wrist and twisted. “Not so fast, sweetheart,” a man with a thick, east coast accent said into her ear.