by Adrianne Lee
Seth urged me on through the salon and the storeroom to the offices. “You want me to come up with you?”
“No. Thank you.” I handed his jacket over. “For everything. I’m going to have a big glass of wine and a long bath. I just can’t seem to get warm.”
“Probably the shock. You might want to do some Jack Daniel’s instead of wine. I hear it helps. And eat something sweet.”
The idea turned my stomach. I let him out the back door. Soon after, I stepped into a bath filled with bubbles, a tumbler of whiskey at hand. The chills left after a while and I retreated to my room for a nap. When I awoke, hours later, I heard the murmur of voices in the kitchen, along with the fragrant scent of cooked food. I assumed Mom and Gram had heard the news by now and were likely anxious to get firsthand details from me, but I wasn’t up for talking to anyone. Or for eating. Someone opened my door, and I feigned sleep.
I finally got up hours after the apartment grew silent. My suitcase rested on the footstool where I’d left it, partially packed. I’d forgotten my clothes in the dryer. I crept into the laundry room. As I was opening the dryer, I remembered Mom’s torn dress, the splatters on the skirt, and I wondered again where she’d been last night and how the dress had ended up in that condition. I glanced into the wastebasket. The debris that had been there earlier—dryer lint and used fabric dryer sheets was still there. The dress, however, was gone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The day after the wedding
Gram had brewed a pot of coffee, and the rich aroma lured me to the kitchen. But I had the place to myself. Mom’s door was still shut, but Billie’s stood open. She was already awake and working in the shop. That meant I would finally have Mom to myself this morning. When she got up. No more freezing me out. She was going to answer my questions. Not sidestep the truth. I poured a cup and settled at the breakfast bar, my gaze landing on an abandoned copy of The Weddingville Weekly.
I flipped to the front page, noting that it was a special edition. Printed yesterday. The paper usually released on Wednesdays. Today was Monday. As I brought my mug up for a sip, the headline grabbed me. My hand froze. The mug wobbled, sloshing hot java over my fingers and onto the counter. Murder Victim Disrupts Ceremony.
I lowered the mug and leaned in as if getting closer to the newsprint would make the words less horrendous. As if murder could be anything but horrific. Murder. A shiver tracked my spine. Denial swept me. An autopsy couldn’t possibly have been performed already. This was probably conjecture. Gossip. I mean, hadn’t I been warned most of my life not to believe everything I read in the papers or hear on TV? Reporters made things up all the time. I lived in Los Angeles, worked in the industry, and had firsthand knowledge of how the media twisted something innocent into a salacious, attention-grabbing news item. Surely that’s what this was.
I took a long swallow of coffee, needing the caffeine to clear my head. It started working immediately. Did I really think that Mr. Early, the editor of our local paper, would be so careless about a story in his precious Weekly? Not likely. Billie always complained about his penchant for accuracy. “That man won’t accept an ad for the bridal shop unless he checks every detail with me ten times over.” No. The news story, sketchy as it was, had to be true. Someone had killed Tanya.
I don’t know how long I sat there, frowning. Lost in thought. Trying to figure out who and why. Motive, means, and opportunity. The motive list would be the longest. Even Mom and I had that. But who also had means? Opportunity? A thread of frustration stitched through me. Not knowing when or how Tanya had been killed limited my deductive powers. After all, shooting someone was likely easier than, say, strangling them. One allowed for distance, while the other required close contact, strength, and a garrote. Like a belt? I swallowed hard. Poisoning would be fairly easy. But stabbing not as much, and it would be messy, bloody.
My mind went to the splatters on Mom’s dress. The now-missing dress. Had those stains been blood spatter? I felt ill. My mother was not a violent person. She wouldn’t stab or strangle anyone, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that damned dress. Why throw it away and leave the rest of the trash in the basket? The possibilities had my skin crawling. I wasn’t sure I could cope with the answer. I wanted to get on a plane and fly back to Los Angeles and bury my head in the sand. Or at least in work.
Unfortunately, the sheriff wasn’t about to let me or anyone else skip out on him.
That settled it. I had to find out how Tanya died. And when. But how was I going to do that? I supposed I could call Troy, but I doubted he’d tell me anything about an ongoing murder investigation. The police had probably given Meg the details, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t ask her. And I wasn’t Peter’s favorite person at the moment. I drank some coffee as I considered and discarded options. Then I had a thought. Seth. He’d taken photos of the corpse. He could answer my question.
I got dressed. Mom’s door was still closed when I emerged from my room, ready to leave. Figuring someone should know where I was going, I hunted Billie down and found her in alterations. The work area always reminded me of a seaside cottage, the carpet as blue as a tropical sea, the walls a soft gray-washed paneling with trim the color of whitecaps. Violin music whispered through the air. Gram’s velour armchair had seen better days, its fabric punctured from years of use as a giant pincushion. Her feet rested on a footstool. She faced the windows that overlooked the sound, but her head was bent to her hand-stitching. The buyer of the Vera Wang gown wanted extra bling attached to the bodice.
“Good morning,” I said, bending to kiss her cheek, grateful that at least one area of my life remained familiar. Steadfast. Billie had finally decided to believe what her doctor kept telling her. Her wrist was healed. Doing what she excelled at would work out the lingering stiffness.
“Are you okay?” she asked, avoiding the more obvious questions. But we both knew she was referring to the wedding fiasco and Tanya’s murder.
“As well as can be expected. I need to see Seth right away. We’ll talk more when I get back, okay?”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
I nodded and left. I set out down Front Street toward Cold Feet Café. I’d scratched Big Finn from my list of those I could ask about the murder. He was likely consoling Meg. But there was always Zelda. Someone bumped into me. I uttered, “Excuse me.”
“Oh, Daryl Anne, I’m so glad to run into you.”
I glanced at the person attached to the voice and did an inward groan. Lila Spiboda, aka Spybody, the town gossip, er, I mean librarian.
“This murder has the town in an uproar,” she said, then began clicking off questions with the speed of an auctioneer. “Did you see it happen? What was it like seeing a dead body? How did the guests react? How is Meg doing? Who do you think did it? I heard your mother got into a row with Tanya at The Last Fling tavern the night before. Is Susan a suspect?”
“No. What an awful thing to say.” The bottom dropped out of my stomach. Oh, God. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. “And don’t spread rumors like that.”
I crossed the street and began to run, away from the wedding shoppers and curiosity-seekers, away from Spybody. Thankfully this street was devoid of other curious Weddingville citizenry.
Seth’s studio was a block off the waterfront, in what had once been the porch and living room of his parents’ Craftsman-style house. The senior Quinlans were retired, traveling with a group of friends in their RVs, seeing America. Seth’s brothers worked in the area, but neither had had the eye for photography that Seth inherited from his father, and for now, at least, he lived in the house alone.
At least, he’d been alone last time I was in town. Loud barking told me that was no longer the case. From the noise, I expected a puppy to fly at me when Seth answered my rings, but instead a fully grown golden Lab greeted me. Seth held him by the collar. “Sit, Sonny.”
The dog complied, tail wagging, eagerness in his dark eyes. I held my hand out for him to sniff, then stroked the top of
his head. “A new friend?”
“Yep. A rescue buddy.”
Our gazes met, his warm and full of light. I asked, “He need rescuing or you?”
Seth grinned, and my knees turned to mush. “A little of both, I think. This big, old place was feeling empty.”
Empty = lonely. I knew that feeling.
“Come on in. The coffee’s fresh, and the inhabitants are fresher.”
Was he flirting with me? Or just teasing me as usual? I could tease too. “A long as fresh doesn’t mean ripe…”
He laughed as I stepped across the threshold. I followed him through the darkened studio and into a wide-open family room and kitchen full of natural light and breathtaking water views. “Wow. You remodeled.”
Had I been out of town that long? Yes, I suppose I had.
“Yeah, took down a couple of walls and opened it up.” He asked, “Do you approve?”
“Very much.” The once-galley kitchen was gone. The new kitchen was sleek and modern with white cabinets, a large island, stainless appliances, and hardwood floors throughout. A round table that could accommodate twelve filled a bay window with views to the water. The main seating area was burgundy leather, consisting of two massive chairs and a sofa centered around a brick fireplace with a big-screen TV atop a huge driftwood mantel.
“I was just looking over some of the shots I took at the wedding.”
Good timing, Blessing. I’d been wondering how to breach the “cause of death/time of death” subjects, but he’d given me the perfect opening. And yet, I was biting my lower lip, Meg’s trait, not mine. When had I started doing that?
“I take it you saw the special edition of the paper?” The smile fell from his rugged face, his expression growing as somber as the topic.
I nodded. “Yeah, I did.”
“I only know what’s in the Weekly.”
“If you came here looking for more information, then you’re about to be disappointed. I’m not allowed to divulge anything I know or suspect.”
My hopes dropped. “Not even how Tanya was murdered?”
“Not even. Not until the autopsy results are in and made public.”
“Even if I swear not to tell another living soul?”
Seth poured me coffee and handed me a mug that bore his logo. He ignored my wheedling. “Although I did get an update on Reverend Bell.”
Oh, God. I grimaced, contrition burning my cheeks. I’d been so upset about the murder that I’d totally forgotten about the minister. “Is he okay?”
“He will be.”
“Was it a heart attack or stroke, then?”
“Neither. He was drugged.”
“Drugged? Self-inflicted?”
“I doubt it. Sleeping pills in his herbal tea. Not enough to kill him, just enough to knock him out. By the time the ceremony started, the effects were taking place. It’s why he was slurring his words and swaying.”
I hadn’t noticed the swaying. “I thought maybe he’d been drinking or was doing recreational drugs, and when he collapsed, well… I assumed the cause was one of those.”
“Giving the minister an overdose of sleeping pills is as effective a way as any to stop a wedding,” he said pointedly.
If you don’t stop this wedding, I will. My chest seemed to fill with ice. “Was Tanya’s body coming ashore also part of the plan to stop the wedding?”
“I don’t believe the two are related,” he said, the answer coming so quick that I knew he’d been mulling this over. “Seriously. There weren’t any boats in that stretch of water all morning. So what are the odds that a body dumped farther up shore would end up where and when it did?”
I couldn’t do the math required to answer that. I shrugged, in case he could.
“Besides,” he started, but broke off just as abruptly, a crooked smile parting his sexy lips. “Whoa. Damn, Blessing, you’re good. Getting me to let down my guard and spill my guts. I’m going to have to watch myself around you, aren’t I?”
Definitely flirting. Why did I have to like that so much? Why did I wish he’d do more than flirt? Why did my insides suddenly feel like melted gold, liquid and hot? I strove for an innocent expression. “What do you mean?”
“I told you that I can’t discuss this with you.”
I hated roadblocks. I sighed and tried another tact. There had to be a loophole or two in whatever agreement he had with the Weddingville Police Department. “Is there some rule that says we can’t speculate on what happened?”
He sipped coffee, chocolate eyes locked with mine, but I could tell he was rolling around my suggestion. “I guess not.”
“Well, then…?”
His grin broadened, and he stared at my mouth as if he wanted to kiss me. The wayward thought made my mouth water. He said, “You have to swear on Billie’s life that you won’t tell anyone this, not even Meg.”
“Cross my heart. Pinkie swear.”
He ignored my little finger, studying me a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to trust me. I almost laughed. He had to know with my giveaway face that he’d be able to tell immediately if I were being insincere. Obviously I’m not a good liar. But perhaps he didn’t know that a pinkie swear was as good as an unbreakable pre-nup.
He made up his mind and invited me to sit at the table. His laptop was there, tempting me to spin it my way so that I could check out the photos he’d taken. Wait. Did I really want to view a murdered body up close? No. I breathed easier when he shut the laptop. We sat next to each other, Sonny nosing in between, placing his muzzle on Seth’s thigh.
“This has nothing to do with cause of death.” Seth stroked the dog’s head. “It’s only speculation on my part. As I said, I’ve been viewing the photos this morning. I noticed something… odd. I thought a strip of seaweed had gotten wrapped around Tanya’s waist, but the more I looked at it today, the less certain I was. So I blew up the frame. Turns out, it was some sort of cloth or ribbon.”
Like a certain missing cloth belt? My deepest fear reared its ugly head. I glared at Seth’s laptop. My alter ego, Ms. Denial, came to my rescue. “Anything could have snagged on the body while it was in the water, right?”
He frowned, as if debating the wisdom of telling me what he was thinking. For two seconds, I fought the urge to run, but his words riveted me to the chair. “More like the killer used it to attach a weight of some kind so that the body would sink.”
I felt the blood drain from my face and congeal in my tummy. “Of course. That makes more sense.” Had someone used my mother’s belt to insure Tanya’s body would stay underwater forever? If so, why? The obvious reason sickened me. To incriminate her, of course. Oh God, was that what had happened? No. Calm down, Daryl Anne. “But wouldn’t it make more sense to use a rope or heavy-duty twine to keep the body from ever surfacing?”
“It would have. But this smacks of using what was at hand.”
The air seemed to vanish from the room, and a lump the size of Sonny’s toy ball clogged my throat.
“Are you okay? You look kind of ill.”
Like the time you spun Meg and me in the teacup ride at the carnival when we were kids, and I literally turned green just before tossing my cookies? That was exactly how I felt now. Any lie about “feeling okay” wasn’t going to fly. “This… this should have been such a joyful homecoming…”
He sighed, the sound as heavy as my thoughts. “Definitely not the usual Weddingville wedding.”
He reached over, his big hand covering mine. The touch was reassuring and intimate, robbing some of the sense that I was alone in a scary new world. Reminding me the new world held other things, like feelings for a man I didn’t dare encourage, yet couldn’t stop craving. I let the warmth filter through my being.
But my mind—perhaps still seeking any explanation that didn’t involve my mother tossing Tanya’s body into the water—refused to wander from the subject at hand. “Any substantial weight attached to a dead body would take someone super strong, or even two people, t
o toss it into the water. Right?”
He rubbed his chin, taking a second to consider that. “Depends on where the murder occurred. There are some pretty high cliffs around here, where the water remains deep despite the flux of the tide. One person could roll a body off such an edge without lifting it.”
Which meant even a woman could have dumped Tanya into the sound. A black cloud appeared on the horizon of my hopes. I prayed for a strong gust of clarity to blow it away. I needed to disconnect my emotions and look at what I knew, and not keep working up scenarios of unacceptable possibilities. More facts would help. “It’s just so odd that the body ended up on the beach by the gazebo of all places.”
Seth frowned. “It is odd, but I assume the sheriff will check with the local NOAA about tide flow and currents.”
“NOAA?”
“National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.”
I drained my mug. I thought I’d feel better after talking to Seth. Instead, I was quaking in my boots. I shouldn’t have put off talking to Mom. “I wish you’d tell me how she died.”
He sipped his coffee, studying me and my readable face. “What’s going on Blessing? What has you nibbling that gorgeous lower lip?”
“Nothing,” I lied. Had he called my lower lip gorgeous? He had. My pulse picked up. I wanted to crawl into his lap and let him hold me, kiss away my concerns, make love to me until the sheer pleasure of it erased everything dark from my mind. Oh, God. Don’t let that be written on my face. I bit my lip harder. “Nothing.”
“I see.” He pitchforked his fingers through his thick, tawny hair. “You want me to share what I know or suspect, but you aren’t willing to offer me the same in return.”
Guilty as charged. If this kept up, I’d wear a hole in my lower lip. “Who do you think vandalized the wedding tent and sent that note?”