Skinny Dipping with Murder

by Auralee Wallace

  She was the one who spotted me first and rushed over.

  “What’s … what’s going on?” I asked.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” she replied. “Everyone has been working so hard on your case. You’ll be cleared in no time.”

  I walked slowly toward the hub of action, picking just that moment to remember the Acme Corporation discussion I had had with Freddie.

  “She’s here!”

  The women swept toward me en masse then ushered me to a spot on the sofa.

  “We have so much to tell you,” Susan Anderson, the crying cat lady, said.

  One of the other women squeezed her on the shoulder. “Well, we can’t prove anything yet, but we’re getting close to figuring out who’s behind all this.”

  “Okay.” My eyes flitted over the stacks of evidence. “What have you found out?”

  I saw a number of eager little grins, but no one was talking.

  The excitement generated by their enthusiasm was starting to get to me. “Come on! Don’t leave me in suspense.”

  Finally, Lydia Morgan spoke. “The development company.”

  “Ha!” I shouted, clapping my hands in the air. “Finally.”

  “Listen, we’ve been doing a lot of digging,” she said, rushing over to one of the walls. She pointed at a photo of a polished-looking man, handsome in a plastic, too-good-to-be-true kind of way. “This man here, Bryson Maxwell, is head of PR for Lakeside Living, a subsidiary of MRG Properties, one of the largest real estate developers in the world. The MRG stands for MacDonnel, Richmond, and Goldstein, but it is colloquially known as Many Rich Guys.”

  “I’m with you,” I said, bouncing on the sofa cushion. “I like it. Keep going.”

  “We’ve been looking into some of the previous developments he’s been involved with, and it took some digging, but…”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I nodded eagerly.

  “There’s been some shady doings.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “Well, not excellent, but I like that I’m looking less guilty all the time.”

  “Now,” she said, passing me a newspaper article printout. “Nothing’s been substantiated, and there have never been any charges, but Lakeside Living has had a number of complaints filed against them. It seems that after they target a property, acts of vandalism and other misdemeanor crimes tend to rise in areas where the owners are reluctant to sell.”

  “I knew it!” I jumped to my feet and walked around the walls eyeing the women’s handiwork. “It was Candace all along.”

  “Oh! We don’t have any proof that she knows of her company’s doings.”

  The urge to tell them everything that Freddie and I had discovered was strong, but I knew he would not be impressed if I shared our potentially illegal investigating with anyone else. I did, however, allow myself to say, “How could she not know?”

  Suddenly a zebra spoke. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them.” It was Maria Franelli dressed in another pair of jungle-themed pajamas.

  “Regardless,” Lydia said, giving her a look. “We were thinking that the three young men … the ones with the distasteful name … that, perhaps, they were paid to cause similar trouble around Otter Lake and that Laurie knew about it.”

  I pulled my lips in and gave her a big nod. “I am so picking up what you’re putting down.”

  She smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “Then something went wrong.”

  Or someone went wrong. Someone with dimples.

  “We think maybe Laurie’s in hiding.”

  “The alternative is too horrible to even think about,” Lydia said, nodding.

  Suddenly another woman in pink flannel cut in. “But I’m telling you … the police must have looked into this already.”

  I scoffed … loudly.

  The woman’s cheeks flushed.

  “I’m sorry … you.” I really needed to learn their names. I think this one had a husband into sexting his junk. “But the police,” I said, making big air quotes on that last word, “would probably do a better job investigating the corporation, if the police,” air quotes once again, “weren’t dating Candace.”

  The collective gasp the women made, I have to admit, was very satisfying.

  “Now,” I said, pausing for dramatic effect, “what do you have to say for the so-called innocent Candace?” I crossed my arms over my chest, soaking in the women’s horrified looks.

  “Oh, you poor thing.”

  “I’m sorry?” I blinked my eyes a few times. “Wait … no!”

  “She’s jealous.”

  “That’s why she’s always had it in for Candace.”

  “No. No. No! You guys are supposed to be on my side!”

  “Oh, that’s terrible. She’s so cute too, that Candace. Those dimples? How do you compete with that?”

  “I’m not competing,” I yelled.

  “I’ll tell you how you compete,” one lady said, pointing to my chest. “Those. Nobody can compete with those.”

  She’s lucky she wasn’t standing any closer, or I would have snapped that finger off. Instead I said, “You guys thought Candace was suspicious too … like two days ago.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve had a session on the damage women do to one another,” Maria said, albeit somewhat dryly. “You should have been there. It might have helped.”

  “That’s right, ladies,” my mother shouted above the din. “Let’s not turn against our sister Candace. Let’s focus on the real problem. Grady Forrester.”

  The women quieted down, obviously interested in this developing angle.

  My mother’s caftan wings soared as she opened her arms wide to capture their collective attention. “You all saw the way he looked at Erica on the ropes course.”

  The women began murmuring again. A few nodded their heads.

  I stood speechless.

  She dropped her arms and balled her hands into fists. “That he would even dare to show his face after what happened all those years ago.”

  “And the audacity he had of standing on that dock in those tight cop pants,” one lady interjected. “No man should look that good.”

  “Exactly!” my mother said, pointing to her. “Can you blame my daughter for being jealous?”

  “Hey!” I shouted, trying to interrupt the wave of interpretation.

  “He’s been torturing her mind for years!”

  “Amen!” someone shouted. “They all do.”

  “It’s never the mistress to blame…”

  The tone of the women’s ongoing murmuring turned a little skeptical at that.

  “It’s the man!”

  The murmuring exploded to a roar.

  A knock interrupted the rising clamor.

  We all looked over to the front hall.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the wood floor.

  A voice called out, “Ladies, did I come at a bad time?”

  Grady.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I scooted over to the door before the women could rush him and pushed Grady back outside.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “I don’t think the ladies want to see you right now,” I said, slamming the door behind us.

  He smiled. “What are you talking about? Those ladies love me.”

  “Not right now they don’t.”

  I’m not going to lie. Part of me might have enjoyed seeing the ladies take Grady down a notch or two, but I couldn’t see that happening without it becoming glaringly obvious that I was the motivation behind the lynch mob. Hey, maybe I was a little jealous, maybe even a little hurt, especially that Grady had told Candace all about our history, but he certainly didn’t need to know that. He also didn’t need to know what was going on behind that closed door. I had come to accept that I couldn’t control the women or their detectiving activities, but I doubted Grady would see it that way.

  “It never fails,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What?”

  “You! Every time I talk to you, I know you’re
up to something crazy, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.”

  My mind flashed to his threat of arresting me for obstruction, but there was no need to help him out in this.

  “Sometimes … this job…” He pushed his hat back and scratched his hairline.

  “It’s a lot of responsibility, isn’t it?”

  He looked me in the eye as though surprised I would say that. “It is.”

  I nodded. “I bet when you were growing up, you never thought you’d be the person responsible for keeping everybody in line.”

  He chuckled. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

  I backhanded him on the chest, hard. “Well, get over it! People’s lives are at stake!”

  He pointed a finger at me, pressing his lips together in an angry line.

  I planted my hands on my hips. “Well, seriously. And you wonder why people of interest look into their own cases?”

  Grady grabbed my elbow. “That’s it. You’re coming with me.”

  Uh-oh.

  “You’re not arresting me, are you? I’m sorry I lost it like that. It’s the stress. I—”

  He led me firmly to the porch steps.

  I skidded to a halt. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He stopped, let go of my elbow, and spun on me. He looked mad.

  “Um, Grady?” I asked cautiously. “Did you growl? I swear I just heard—”

  “If you’re not careful, I might bite too.”

  I swallowed.

  “Can I at least ask where you’re taking me?”

  His upper lip twitched almost into a snarl. “Somewhere we can talk in private.”

  “This is private.”

  He jabbed a finger back at the retreat. I turned. About fifteen women had their faces pressed up against the glass.

  “Point taken.”

  He stomped away from me, but instead of walking toward the steps that led down to the dock, he headed to the back of the retreat, toward the ropes course.

  “Grady?” I called out, scampering after him.

  He didn’t stop.

  “Grady!”

  This time he stopped, but he didn’t turn.

  I moved quickly to catch up to him.

  I stopped a foot or two away. He still hadn’t turned. “Can you at least tell me what we’re going to talk about? Because this is feeling a little like the part of the movie where I get murdered in the woods.”

  “So I’m the murderer now?”

  “No, I—”

  He spun quickly toward me. His face hovered inches from mine. I tried to breathe, but that much Grady up close made it difficult.

  “This ends tonight.”

  I stayed quiet.

  “You are going to hear my side of the story.”

  I started to make a sound, but Grady’s finger shot up toward my lips in warning.

  “Don’t you pfft me one more time, Erica Bloom.”

  I pressed my lips together before saying, “I told you, Grady, I don’t care about the social! I wish everyone would stop bringing it up. Because I don’t care. We have other things to talk about, like Cand—”

  “Oh, you care,” he said. He paused for a beat then said, “I mean, I get it. It was embarrassing—”

  “Ha!” I shouted, folding my arms across my chest. “I’m so not embarrassed.”

  “Oh, yes you are,” he shot back. “Anyone would be! It was embarrassing! And part of it was my fault,” he said, lightly hitting his chest with his palm. “But not in the way you think.”

  I furrowed my brow. “I think nothing … nothing at all … not ever.” Wait, that didn’t sound right. “I mean I don’t think about anything … ever.” That wasn’t much better.

  Grady ignored me. “I’m pretty sure that’s why you’re not listening to anything I say about staying out of what is so obviously a police matter.” He flexed his jaw. “But tonight you are going to listen. Listen to the whole thing. I will be heard.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, surrounded by the chirping of frogs and insects. Then Grady spun away again and resumed his stomp into the woods.

  All sorts of emotions tumbled through me. After a moment, I chased after him. He was waiting for me in the moonlit clearing of the ropes course. His back was still to me, but it looked as though he were holding something.

  I cleared my throat to let him know I was there.

  He looked over his shoulder, and tossed something to me.

  “Put this on.”

  I didn’t have to pick it up to know what it was.

  “No way.” I planted my feet and crossed my arms over my chest. “No freaking way.”

  He turned to face me, full-on.

  “Put it on.”

  “There’s no way I’m putting that on.”

  Grady scooped down to pick up the climbing harness and crossed the distance between us in a few long strides. “You’re going to put it on. You want to know the reason why?” His eyes flashed in the moonlight. “Because deep down you know you want to hear what I have to say.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “More than that, I think even deeper down you want to be proven wrong about me, but you’re afraid.”

  I huffed air out my nose. “What exactly are you going on about?”

  He stepped even closer. The butterflies in my belly fainted.

  “You, Erica Bloom, are deathly afraid that I’m not the bad guy.” He leaned in, slowly licking his lips. “And if I’m not the bad guy, then you’re in serious trouble.”

  “I have no—” I had to stop for a moment because my voice cracked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Then put on the harness and find out.”

  He pushed it toward me. The rough fabric brushed against my stomach.

  “Why not just tell me?” I asked, flicking my eyes down to the hand that was nearly at my waist. “Why the harness?”

  “Because I’m getting through this story tonight. No more running away. No more blowing up boats that mean the world to people.”

  “You said that wasn’t my fault,” I said quickly. “That someone tried to blow up the boat.”

  He closed his eyes and whispered, “Pull. Pull. Pull. Erica, stop. Let me help. Pull. Pull. Pull.” Then he made the sound of an explosion.

  “Fine, but I’m still not putting that on,” I said with a point.

  “This is your last chance to hear, straight from the horse’s mouth, what happened that night.” He let the harness drop. “Take it … or leave it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ten minutes later, I was fully harnessed and stepping out onto a thick rope, twenty to thirty feet above Grady.

  “I hope you’re happy,” I shouted down.

  “Best I’ve felt in days,” he called back.

  I moved both feet onto the lower rope while gripping the upper tightly with both hands. “Okay, well, let’s hear it.”

  “Move out to the center of the course.”

  “Seriously?” I shouted.

  “Seriously.”

  I grumbled and shuffled toward the center of the ropes. I wasn’t terrified of heights, but I wasn’t exactly a big fan either. This had better be one good story.

  When I made it, I looked down and saw Grady’s teeth practically glowing in the moonlight. “Satisfied?”

  “Not hardly,” Grady shot back, “but you can stop there.”

  I waited a few moments, but he didn’t speak.

  “Hello? Anytime now.”

  “I’m trying to figure out the best place to start.”

  “How about you start at the part where I’m naked in the water, like an idiot, and you leave, telling me to trust you?” I asked loudly … really loudly.

  “No, I think we should back up a little.”

  I groaned.

  “Well, you’re skipping over all the good parts,” he said.

  I tightened my grip on the rope, imagining it was Grady’s neck. “I don’t remember any good parts.”
>
  His laughter floated up to my ears. “Oh, I remember all sorts of good parts.”

  I said nothing and stared up at the sky. Stars.

  “I remember talking,” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “I remember splashing with you in the water.”

  I still said nothing.

  “I definitely remember you suggesting we skinny-dip.”

  “Grady! That’s not what hap—”

  “Joking! I’m joking!” he called up. I could practically feel him willing me to look down and meet his eyes, but I couldn’t. “It was a great night before everything happened. One of the best.”

  “So what the hell happened!” Hmm, that came out a little shouty too. I guess maybe I did care a little bit.

  I heard him take a breath. “I never intended to leave you there.”

  “So where did you go?”

  “My grandmother’s place.”

  “Grady, please.” I took a few steps toward the platform. “I’m not sticking around to hear some story about a sick grand—”

  Grady gave a few quick pulls on the ropes that attached to my harness.

  “Hey!” I yelled.

  “Would you listen?”

  I stopped moving.

  “I wanted to go to my grandmother’s place because, first, it was close. Second, I knew she and my grandfather were at the social, which meant, third, I could get us some … supplies.”

  “Supplies?”

  “Blankets. Food. A candle or two.” He almost sounded shy. “I didn’t want our date to end. I thought maybe we could keep talking … until the sun came up.”

  “You’re lying.”

  He pulled the rope again in warning.

  “Fine. So what happened? Why didn’t you bring the supplies?”

  “Do you remember my saying that Tommy, Dickie, and Harry were making a point of watching your mother dance?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, it didn’t hit me at first, but when I heard the music for your mother’s dance, I just knew they were up to something.”

  I let this information sink in before saying, “And?”

  “I ran straight there”—he paused for a moment—“but I was too late.”

  I huffed loudly. “That’s a pretty convenient story.”