by Diane Bator
"I'm a two-faced what?" Thayer strolled into the school. "I thought you guys were closed for the long weekend, but I saw Gilda come in."
"We are closed." Mick folded his arms across the well-defined muscles of his chest. "She was just leaving."
"Relax, muscle head." Thayer's gaze flicked from Gilda to Mick then back. "I thought I'd see if either of you remembered anything else."
Gilda tried to look away but couldn't. He could have asked her before she left the station. "Yeah, I remembered I was going for a run."
"Since when do you run?" Thayer asked.
Her face warmed as she stood. "Since I dumped you."
Mick's jaw twitched. "Since she started learning karate and wanting to get in shape. You have a problem with that?"
"Nope."
"You want some company?" Mick glanced to Gilda. "I've had enough paperwork. I need to get out of here too."
Thayer laughed. "What are you? Her bodyguard?"
"Only when you're around," Mick said. "In case you missed the memo, I don't like you much. You have a habit of not treating my friends very well."
"She's your employee, not your friend, and she's perfectly capable of protecting herself. I've got the stitches to prove it." He backed away. "Fine. I'll leave, but this isn't over. As long as Walter Levy's killer is still out there, I'll be in your face." He hesitated. "And Gilda's."
Neither spoke until Thayer had left the building and climbed into his cruiser.
Mick leaned against the desk and blew out a long breath. "I really don't like that guy."
"Get in line."
"I once dated a girl who worked at Café Beanz and had a fling with him," he said. "You want to know the funny part? His girlfriend caught them in the act and beat the snot out of him."
Gilda snorted. "You know full well I was his girlfriend, and it wasn't funny."
Mick grinned. "I still can't believe you gave him a black eye, threw him into a gigantic bag of coffee beans, and left him with a nasty concussion. By the time I found out, it was all over the newspapers. They'd already broke up and the girl left town. Last I heard, she had two kids and a seventy-year-old sugar daddy."
"A sugar daddy, huh? Maybe she's onto something." Gilda had a job babysitting black belts, a mortgage on a house the size of a throw cushion, and no one to go home to. She shut off the computer and headed for the door. "I'm going for my run. See you later."
"Hey, wait up." Mick ran to his office and emerged pulling a muscle shirt down over his well-muscled torso. "I was serious about tagging along."
At least she'd feel safer under the circumstances—safety in numbers—unless Mick was the killer. Gilda swallowed hard. "I guess that's okay. Where do you want to go?"
"Surprise me." He locked the door behind them. "I need a change of scenery."
She took him on her usual route, along Main Street to the park then down the trail by the river. Neither spoke. Both ran side by side, keeping their thoughts and words to themselves. A year and a half ago, she decided to run around the high school track. She got halfway around on her first attempt. The next day she pushed to three-quarters. After three more tries, she ran one complete lap then collapsed into the grass. Now she was up to running five miles every couple of days through the streets of her hometown.
Ten thousand people called Sandstone Cove home during the summer. Nestled along the southern shore of Lake Erie, the town boasted sandy beaches and lazy, sunny days. Driftwood washed ashore daily, much to the amusement of local artisans, who turned nature's debris into artwork.
By far, the town's biggest selling feature, until Walter's murder, was that no real crimes had been committed there since someone shot a local cop. Her dad. Apparently word hadn't gotten out yet that a man was murdered. Most tourists wouldn't really care. It was really none of their business. They'd continue to splash in the lake, Jet Ski, and steer their boats through the cove. For them, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Well, nothing that affected their lives anyway.
Gilda's regular run took forty-five minutes. Today, moving at Mick's pace, she cut her time by five minutes. Two blocks from her house, she slowed to a walk and gasped for breath. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and down the curves of her back. "That was awesome."
"Yeah, I needed that, even after all the training earlier. Sometimes it's better to stop thinking and just run hard. We'll have to go out together again sometime." Mick wiped his forehead. "For a run, I mean. Mind if I grab some water?"
"Sure." She led him inside and grabbed a towel. "Have you talked to Walter's wife?"
He slumped onto a chair at the table. "No, but I suppose I should call her, considering he died in the school. I'm really bad at that sort of thing."
Gilda set two tall glasses on the short counter that divided her kitchen from her tiny dining area and poured cold water from a pitcher she kept in the fridge. "I think you owe her a lot more than a lousy phone call."
His mouth dropped open. "Like what?"
"Flowers would be a nice start. Maybe a sympathy card from the school."
"Why? I didn't kill him." He drank the entire glass of water at once.
She contemplated throwing the water from the pitcher in his face. "I didn't say you did. I merely suggested that acknowledging Walter's death would be the descent thing to do."
"You're right." Mick got up and leaned on the opposite side of the counter's breakfast bar. His breath cooled the sweat on her bare arm. "I'm not very good at that kind of stuff. Do you think you could take care of getting flowers later?"
She sighed. "Sure. Right after I shower and have lunch."
His gaze strayed below her face, a grin flickering. "I'll deal with Yoshida. I'm not sure how many people will show up to train Tuesday. We'll have to do a moment of silence or something before class."
"That's a good idea," she said. "I could add that to the e-mail to the students."
"Make sure you post one of those little cards from the funeral on the bulletin board for a while." Mick drained his glass then reached for the pitcher and refilled both their glasses. "I know it seems like I don't really care, but he and I were friends for a long time, and things are a little weird. It's going to be strange with him gone."
"I agree. It'll be hard to replace him, especially when all the kids loved him to pieces. They'll have a really hard time dealing with the loss."
Mick smiled. "Maybe I should take on the kids' classes for a while. Erik and Xavier can help with the adult classes."
"What about Razi?"
"You know him. He'd rather assist than teach. He hates the spotlight." He drank half his glass of water. "Honestly, Razi's never struck me as the jealous kind. You know, the kind of person who would kill to get whatever they wanted."
"Huh. Now who's playing private detective?" Gilda smirked.
"Busted." Mick winked. "Tell me, Sherlock. Would you eliminate Razi as a suspect?"
"Not totally. He had as much opportunity as anyone, including you."
"What about you?"
"I have an alibi," she said. "I was at brunch with Marion then at the doctor, remember? I don't know if Razi had a motive. He and Walter got along on a professional level. I don't think they had much to do with each other outside the school, did they?"
"Razi's not a real social guy. He'll come out to watch MMA but never hangs out for long. He's a real man of mystery." He set his glass on the counter and laid his hand on hers, which sent her heart racing. "Thanks for the drink. I'd better go. Places to go, things to do."
As she glanced out the front window, a dark car drove past. "Oh, I forgot to mention someone was looking for you earlier."
"Oh yeah? Who?" He finished the last of his water.
Gilda let him swallow before she answered. "Gary del Garda."
Mick paled and yanked his hand away like she'd burned him. "What did he say?"
"Just that he was looking for you to discuss some business. What would someone like him want with you?" She narrowed her eyes.<
br />
"Probably just a misunderstanding. Don't worry about it."
She opened her mouth but sensed she wouldn't get any more answers regarding Gary. "Was your family upset you couldn't go visit this weekend?"
"Actually, my parents wanted to come here and help." He averted his gaze. "I told them I have enough to do without entertaining, and they'd only be in the way of the investigation."
Gilda had told her mother more or less the same thing. What she'd omitted to say was that she and the remaining black belts were all suspects. That would come out once everyone in Sandstone Cove discovered how Walter Levy actually died.
Every time she shut her eyes, she pictured his body. The katana. The blood pool on the tatami mats. The ring. She should have shown it to Mick. He'd know who it belonged to. He'd known the instructors longer, and someone would probably have bragged about a memento like that.
"You suddenly don't look so good." Mick walked around the breakfast bar. He slid his hand around her waist and pulled her into a hug. "You should go take a shower and get some rest."
Before she could ask about the ring or who he suspected, Mick walked out the door and loped down the front steps. Rather than turn left toward his condo, he ran toward the karate school like rabid cats were after him.
Was there something going on at the school Gilda had missed?
CHAPTER FIVE
Freshly showered and fed, Gilda was too restless to stay inside and too nervous to go to the school alone. She put on her headphones and strolled along the shoreline littered with garish towels and tourists. Places like Café Beanz were far more crowded than normal, and she gave up on even getting close to the ice cream shop until late August, which was probably for the best for her waistline.
If it wasn't for the tourists, Sandstone Cove would be just another little lakeside town full of deadwood. Instead, God blessed the area with miles of sandy beach, rugged jetties, and lush forests. Water sports, hiking, and camping were mainstays and drew people in year-round.
Yoshida Martial Arts sat along Main Street tucked between Nine Lives Consignment Boutique and the Novel Ideas Bookstore. More kitsch, which was a big part of why Gilda hadn't left, even after her dad died and her mom moved to Erie.
She sighed and sat on a large tree that had washed ashore in a storm years earlier. Her initials and Thayer's were engraved in the trunk for all time—or at least until someone cut it up for firewood. She'd been in love with him once. On a shallow, fleeting level, she probably even still cared about him.
Her thoughts ambled from Thayer to Mick and stalled. On some level, she was sure she loved Mick Williams as well. Most days he was an annoying older brother. Some days, ones like today, the attachment seemed deeper and more intense. The occasional moments of innocent intimacy, like him touching her hand in her kitchen, suggested he felt the same way. Then he'd run out and hook up with a new girlfriend.
Mick kept a second set of books in his office. He always said they were personal papers, nothing for Gilda's eyes. Now she wondered. She'd always thought she knew everything about the school, about the black belts, and about Mick. What other things did he keep from her?
Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She ignored it. Mick would be upset she wasn't at work and wasn't at his beck and call. Let him deal with the police and students for a while. Her hands hadn't stopped shaking since she'd discovered Walter's corpse.
Body.
She shuddered then blinked back an onslaught of tears and pulled in a deep breath. Her phone rang again, its vibration tickling her hip. Mick was always persistent. Reluctantly, she checked the screen. A text from her mother, two missed calls from Marion, and one from Thayer. Not a peep from Mick. Her heart sank. Why did that disappoint her so much? He was only her boss.
Her mother wanted her to come home, yet Thayer warned her not to leave town, or else. The "or else" made her laugh out loud. Who did he think he was? Sure, he'd proposed marriage once. They'd even gone so far as to set a date. She had the dress, the caterer, the church, and the hall. He had the girl from Café Beanz, a honey in Erie, and according to Fabio, a hot babe who worked in Happy Harvey's Hangover Hut.
Gilda walked up Main Street, past Yoshida's, Café Beanz, and the Victorian-style brick hospital, toward the pricier part of town. Ponderer's Point was a finger of rocky beach dotted with mansions and summer cottages easily four times the size of Gilda's house. An offshoot of Sandstone Cove, at the far end of the point sprawled a sturdy pier where yachts docked and seagulls squawked, seemingly without stopping to take a breath.
She climbed toward her favorite place to sit and daydream—near the squat, white lighthouse. The dreams were never the same and were more like stories she told herself to pass the time. A handsome lighthouse keeper, she imagined, would one day come to her rescue and sweep her away into his domain. Or a wealthy playboy on a blinding white yacht. Or a sexy karate master…
Gilda sighed and sat on a huge granite boulder. It didn't matter who the leading man was, the story always ended the same. She'd refuse him, and then he'd convince her he was worthy through some Herculean feat, and she'd fall into both his arms and his comfy eiderdown bed.
Maybe her mother was right. She needed a boyfriend, not steamy novels. Lucky thing she'd started to read crime novels after breaking up with Thayer.
Today, however, she wasn't here to daydream. She pulled her knees to her chest, in need of an escape. No leading man or bodice-ripping endings. Just a hollow pain in the pit of her stomach. Grief, she'd heard, pulled people and communities together, yet she felt more alone than ever. The sky, bleached from the heat, seemed to close in on her. Suffocating her. Daring her to take a deep breath, lest it be her last.
"Lots of big sighs for a little girl." Doc, tall and white-haired, picked his way over the rocks toward her. Today he wore tan Bermuda shorts and a straight-back-from-Hawaii shirt with well-worn Birkenstocks. "It sounds like the world is caving in on you."
It was comforting to see someone she trusted. Gilda had first met Doc the day she was born, having been one of his first deliveries. He'd guided her through measles, broken ankles, acne, and heartbreak. When he lost his wife to cancer earlier this year, Gilda was the first to deliver an apple-peach cobbler and shepherd's pie to his door.
"It's been a long day." She frowned. "I can't believe Walter died just yesterday. It seems like a week ago."
"Yes, a murder most foul. It stinks you were the one to find his body." He sat next to her and lit a pipe. The sweet scent of his tobacco was comforting, and for a few blissful minutes, she dismissed all thoughts of secondhand smoke and lung cancer.
"Yeah." She rested her chin between her knees.
"And I was unlucky enough to get him on my autopsy table." He puffed. The burning tobacco reminded her of her grandfather who smoked a pipe right up until he died at ninety-five. "Seems like we both got the bitter end of the stick this time."
"Was the medical examiner hurt badly in his accident?"
"Yeah," Doc said. "He's got a few broken ribs, and his collarbone broke in three places. He'll be off for a while."
Bile crept up Gilda's throat. "Have you seen Walter yet?"
"I did the preliminary this morning and have him prepped. Normally, I'd send him to the state, but Thayer insisted I take a look first," he said. "Not sure what the rush is, but I had to take a break when the widow came in to identify the body."
"Why would she have to do that? Mick and I both identified him at the school."
Doc shrugged. "I wondered the same thing. I guess she had to see for herself."
"To make sure it was him, or to make sure he was dead?"
He raised a thick, white eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"Sorry. That was rude." Gilda's face warmed. "Just a dumb thought that got away."
"You've always been a perceptive young lady." He patted her hand. "I can always count on you to notice things others can't."
"What did you think after the preliminary exam? I mean, I saw the katana an
d the awful state of the changing room, but…"
Doc met her gaze. "Do you think there's more to the story?"
"Yes. Do you think I'm crazy?"
"I think you have boundless potential as a writer." He took a drag from his pipe. "The actual cause of death is blatant, but I can't tell you more than what you already know. Confidentiality issues, that sort of thing."
"I know. Sorry for prying. I just feel awful about everything. Jade seems so sweet. She has to be devastated… Do you think Walter might have been poisoned first so someone could take him down easier?"
"You know I can't talk about that, Gilda. What do you think happened?"
"I think either his attacker was bigger, stronger, and faster, or they drugged him." She scanned the horizon. "If he was drugged and semiconscious, anyone could have killed him."
Doc took one last drag on his pipe then knocked it against the boulder. "My job is to determine how he died. Thayer and Fabio have to worry about the rest." He looked Gilda in the eye. "You need to keep out of the way and let the rest of us do the detecting."
Her lower jaw dropped. "What makes you think I'd—?"
Doc smiled. "History has a habit of repeating."
Indignant, she slid off the rock, lightly scraping the backs of her legs. She would never live the incident down for as long as Doc lived. "Honestly, I really did see Mrs. Watson steal drugs from your office. She even admitted to it."
"Honey, you were ten and delirious," he said. "You'd just woken up from surgery for a ruptured appendix. Mrs. Watson was my nurse who was merely getting you painkillers."
She snorted. "So you say. But I know what I saw and heard."
"Yeah? You also said she sprouted shiny wings that looked like bubbles and flew out the window to her car." He hugged her. "I have to admit, you almost had me convinced, until then. Do us both a favor and make sure you have more evidence this time."
Head bowed, Gilda picked her way over the rocks toward the sidewalk. Across the street sat a dark sedan she swore belonged to Gary. Why was he following her?