COVE EGRET WAS a secluded inlet on the northern side of Port Samanish. It was open to the winds that came sweeping down Puget Sound and seldom used by tourists because of the dangerous undertow. Riptides were common, dragging the unwary out as the waters rushed away from the shore. A number of deaths had occurred before the Port Samanish Council had voted to ban swimming in the area. Since the grass and shrubs were sparse, and the wind never seemed to fade in the inlet even on the warmest of days, most of the tourists and a good share of the locals avoided the area. I came here when I needed to think.
Bran was waiting for me, leaning against his truck. At six three, he stood taller than me by five inches, and his long dark hair was swept into a neat ponytail. He wore a pair of olive-colored cargo shorts and a black mesh tank top, an Aussie bush hat, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. My hormones surged. He was gorgeous, all right, and sometimes a good hunk of man was just what the doctor ordered.
His leg was scarred where he’d had several pins inserted during a bad break earlier in the year. He’d caught himself on a rope on his boat and almost ended up over-board during a bad storm. If he’d gone over the side, he would have died. As it was, he just suffered some seriously nasty broken bones.
He waited silently as I screeched to a halt and slammed the car door. I swung in beside him, and we headed toward a large driftwood log that had buried itself half in the rocky beach. At times, the waves tossed driftwood around like Lincoln Logs; getting caught on the beach during a wild storm could result in getting crushed. Driftwood logs could kill…but most of the time, they sat, silent witnesses to the waves, bleached by the sun, sandblasted smooth by the wind and sand.
I dropped onto the log that had become our favorite place to picnic and leaned forward, elbows on knees, resting my chin on my hands. Bran settled himself in the sand, leaning back as he pulled his hat low to protect his eyes.
After a moment, I said, “Sharon Wellstone stole my journal. My fragrance journal. And now Bebe’s Cosmetics is gearing up to sell replicas of my work under different names.”
Bran glanced up at me. “That’s pretty stupid. You can take them to court, can’t you? Have them arrested for theft?”
The sound of waves crashing against the shore comforted me for a moment, but then I shook my head. “They’ll change them enough to claim coincidence. And I’m a fucking idiot, Bran. I didn’t even keep a copy of my recipes. How could I prove my charges? I don’t know how many times I told Auntie I was going to do it—and I really meant to—but I never got around to it. Oh, I have some of my earlier recipes, but none from the past few months. I don’t know how I could be so dense.”
He put his hand on my knee and said nothing, staring out at the water. After a moment, I spilled my guts, telling him everything that had happened over the past few weeks.
“They’re out to ruin us, Bran. And they may very well do so. We have a lot of circumstantial evidence, but nothing that will stand up in court. I’m not sure what to do. Without reasonable proof, Kyle isn’t going to search their headquarters. Not to mention, they might have already destroyed my journal after copying the instructions. It’s my word against theirs.”
“Do you want my advice?” he asked.
I nodded. I liked to think of myself as an intelligent woman, but right now, I felt like a fool. “Whatever you’ve got, I want to hear.”
He pushed himself up on the log next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. “Babe, go talk to Kyle again.”
I nodded. “Shit…even if he wants to help, what can he do? But you’re right. I guess that’s my only choice.”
“He’s going to be the one to know what avenues are open to you. He’ll believe you—even if he can’t do much about it. And I think you need to talk to your aunt about better security in the shop. Miss Florence is a brilliant woman—as are you. But you both trust fate a little too much for comfort.”
I glanced at him and laughed. “That seems pretty strange coming from your lips.” Somehow, the idea that he didn’t trust in fate seemed odd to me.
He snorted. “One of the first things you learn when you begin working with the paranormal is that you can’t rely on magic unless you take care of the practical. All the luck in the world won’t help somebody who doesn’t keep their house in order.”
I nodded. “Makes sense. Okay, so I’ll go talk to Kyle. For whatever good that will do.”
Bran pulled me close and nuzzled the top of my head. “Just don’t ask him for any other kind of help, okay?”
I squashed a grin. “Well, he is rather handsome…”
“Hey!” Bran tightened his grip around my waist. “I thought you said he wasn’t your type?”
Reaching out, I ran my fingers under his tank top. “He isn’t, but that doesn’t mean I can’t tease.” I glanced around. “Hey, Stanton, there’s nobody here today. You want to take a little break before I go visit Kyle? I could seriously use a good—”
“Tension release?” he said, a secretive smile sliding over his face. He cupped my breast. “I love a woman who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants.”
And with that, we landed in the sand, taking advantage of the privacy of the cove. As Bran slipped my top up, I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of water cresting on the beach. The feel of his body against mine pushed all thoughts of thieves and perfume and corporate intrigue out of my mind, and for a little while, I was able to forget about my worries.
KYLE LOOKED UP as I came waltzing through the door. Though I was still mad as hell, my encounter with Bran had relaxed me, and I wasn’t feeling quite so ready to gun down Bebe’s Belles.
I slid into the chair opposite him and leaned forward. “I know who took my journal,” I said, and laid it all out for him.
When I was done, Kyle blinked. “So, do you have any proof, anything at all, that would give you prior claim?”
“Here are the products we have on the shelves—the ones I made. And here are Bebe’s sample cards. The fragrance is the same, and we’ve been carrying them for months, but there’s no way to analyze these. By the time they market them, you can bet they’ll change the formula just enough to keep themselves out of hot water.” I handed him my bottles of fragrance, then the samples.
He sniffed each carefully. “Anything else? This is a good start, but I know I can’t get a search warrant on the basis of what you’ve shown me.”
While I was racking my brain, trying to think of anything I’d overlooked, the phone rang. Kyle answered it, and by the look on his face, I could tell whatever the news was, it wasn’t good. He turned away, lowering his voice. After a few minutes, he finished his conversation and dropped the receiver back in the cradle, then stared at me for a moment, a look of deliberation on his face.
Feeling suddenly ill at ease, I asked, “What is it? Something’s happened. What’s wrong?”
He cocked his head, giving a noncommittal shrug. “Where were you last night, Persia?”
I frowned, “At home for the most part. Why?”
Kyle sighed. “This is an official question, Persia. Where were you last night?”
Narrowing my eyes, I glared at him. “I want to know why you’re asking me. Official business usually spells trouble.”
Abruptly shifting into all-business-no-nonsense mode, Kyle said, “Fine, you want to know why I’m asking? Sharon Wellstone was just found outside the hotel, in the garden. She’s seriously injured, and they’re not sure if she’s going to make it. Somebody shot her in the shoulder, which by itself wouldn’t be critical, but when she fell, she hit her head. She’s in a coma.”
I stared at him, at first thinking he was pulling my leg. “If that’s a joke, it’s extremely bad taste, Kyle.”
He shook his head. “I assure you, it’s no joke. She’s fighting for her life in the ICU right now. She’s lucky it was so warm last night. As far as the doctor can tell, she was shot sometime between midnight and morning.”
A gamut of
feelings ran through me. While I was horrified that someone might actually have taken a gun to her, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of empathy. Only two hours ago, I wanted to punch her lights out myself. Then it dawned on me why Kyle had asked. Precisely because of those sentiments. I’d left nothing to the imagination as far as what I felt for the conniving thief.
“Oh wait—you can’t think I did it? Come on, Kyle. You know me better than that.”
He shrugged. “We all like to think we know what our friends are capable of, but I seem to remember you trying to take a bite out of my finger when you were mad at me a few months ago.”
“That’s ancient history, and you deserved it.” I sighed impatiently. “Listen, you want to know where I was? At home, in bed with Bran. We spent a quiet evening alone while Auntie was out at a Gull Harbor Business Women’s Meeting. He left around 1:00 AM, after we went for a walk around the house to make sure nobody was prowling in the gardens trying to destroy more of our flowers. I was alone for the rest of the night, and Auntie saw me at breakfast.”
Only the slightest blink told me that my statement had had any impact on Kyle. He simply wrote down what I said. “I take it Bran will confirm this?”
“Yeah, he’ll confirm it.” I pushed myself out of the chair. “So, am I free to go? Or are you going to hold me on suspicion of attempted murder?”
“Persia, you’re a spitfire,” he said. “You always were. And I sincerely hope you’ll always be one. You’re free to go, but don’t leave town until I’ve had a chance to talk to Bran and your aunt.” He frowned. “Meanwhile, about your journal…I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do legally at the moment.” He held up his hand to forestall my protests. “I believe it was stolen, so don’t start in on that. But my hands are tied. The law is specific.”
I took a deep breath and pushed myself to my feet. “Kyle, I’ve got to get that journal back. My life’s work with fragrances is in there. I was stupid, but do I deserve to see somebody wipe out everything I’ve accomplished over the years just because I didn’t make a copy?”
He stood and circled the desk, placing a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “No, Persia, you don’t deserve that. I promise you, we’ll do everything we can.”
Flashing him a subdued smile, I returned to my car, wondering who’d shot Sharon. As much as I wanted to feel sorry for her, I couldn’t help but think that she’d probably brought it on herself.
WINTHROP WINCHESTER SETTLED into a chair at the table, his black leather briefcase solid against the walnut tabletop. He removed a sheaf of papers, carefully placing them in front of me.
“I stopped by the hospital on the way and talked to the chief,” he said. Auntie’s lawyer, Winthrop, was the best money could hire in Gull Harbor. He was also charming, crafty, and won most of his cases by his sheer ability to cow the competition into submission.
“How’s Sharon doing?” Even though I was pissed at her, I didn’t want her to die. We couldn’t lock her up for stealing my journal if she kicked the bucket. I bit my lip, realizing that my thoughts were sounding pretty callous, and tried to let go of some of the anger.
He gave me a speculative look. “She’s still in danger. The doctor doesn’t know if she’s going to come out of the coma or not, and they won’t be able to tell if there’s been any permanent brain damage for a while. She was shot in the shoulder, but it looks like they were aiming for her heart. That’s not what did the most damage, however. When she fell, she hit her head on one of the concrete benches. All we can do is hope that she wakes up.” If she wakes up. The words hung heavy between us.
I decided to get my fears out in the open. “Does Kyle seriously consider me a suspect?”
Winthrop shook his head. “I don’t think so. There’s certainly not enough evidence to run you in, although he wants a complete listing of any firearms in your possession, and your aunt’s possession. That one’s easy, considering neither one of you own a gun. But you do have the rest of last night to account for after Bran left. The latest report places Sharon’s injury as happening around four in the morning—give or take a few hours. There’s enough wiggle room that you’re on the list of suspects, but not at the top.”
“In other words, be grateful for small favors?”
He chuckled. “Something like that, yes. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, though. Kyle didn’t bite when I brought up your name.”
I glanced over at Auntie. When I’d called her at the store to tell her about Sharon and my journal, she’d closed the shop and dropped by Winthrop’s office. They’d returned to the house together, which was why we were having this powwow session.
Winthrop looked at his list of notes. “Let me get this straight. Sharon approached Persia, trying to convince her to leave Venus Envy. Your roses were doctored with organophosphates, at a level that could have been dangerous for your customers if you hadn’t caught the mistake in time. Your computer was hacked into and your files destroyed. Persia’s journal of fragrance blends was stolen, and Bebe’s Cosmetics suddenly comes up with what seem to be replicas. And Sharon Wellstone ends up on the wrong end of a gun.”
“That’s about it,” I said, looking at Auntie for confirmation.
She nodded. “A real mess, is what it is.”
Winthrop glanced at me. “You said there were other people mad at Sharon?”
I closed my eyes, struggling with my conscience. I didn’t want to tell Winthrop about Killian, but since I was on the suspect list, I figured the truth was the best choice.
“I saw Killian Reed, of Donna Prima Cosmetics, get in a screaming match with her. He accused her of being a thief. According to him, she stole something from him or his company. And Sharon was is some skirmish the other day with a blonde whom I don’t know. I think she’s another Belle, but I have no idea what they were arguing about.”
“What else?” Winthrop said, taking detailed notes.
“Nancy Louis and her animal rights activists. You heard about the paint incident?” When he nodded, I continued. “Sharon might have been one of their targets. The truth is, I can’t remember if Sharon was wearing a fur at lunch or not, but it’s worth a shot. But I’ll bet you anything she has one of Bebe’s coats hanging in her closet.
Winthrop snorted. “Fur coats in August? Absurd.”
Auntie laughed outright.
“Winthrop,” she said, “you have not lived until you’ve met a Belle in full regalia. They wear those cheap furs everywhere. The minks are made from leftover scraps. Anybody who knows fur, knows that. But a number of the Belles are from…shall we say…poorer families who don’t really know what quality mink should look like. It boosts their self-confidence to wear them. You’ll see a number of furs in the summer at luncheons and teas.”
Winthrop grinned at Auntie, a bemused smile flickering across his lips. “Do tell, Florence. All right then, so we have three potential triggers right here, then. This Reed fellow, a mysterious blonde, and Nancy Louis. Did you tell Kyle any of this?” he asked, turning to me.
“Kyle and his men showed up when the Animal Freedom Association pulled their little stunt and carted away the perpetrators. I forgot to tell him about the rest, I was so pissed off about my journal.”
“I’ll have a talk with him after I leave here and mention the possibilities. They could be important leads.”
I swallowed my pride. “Don’t implicate Killian, please. Just tell Kyle what I said, but don’t make it sound like I think Killian shot her.”
Winthrop raised one eyebrow. “Do I detect a little interest here?”
I blushed, then shrugged. “He just seems like a really nice guy.” Auntie gave me a questioning look but said nothing as Winthrop finished with his notes.
He sat back, frowning. “I’ve done some research on Bebe Wilcox. What I’ve found isn’t pretty. Makeup may cover a multitude of sins, but it won’t cover up fraud.”
“Fraud?” Auntie asked. “Are you saying Bebe’s Co
smetics isn’t a legitimate company?”
“No, it seems this time Bebe has gone to the trouble of backing up her claims with an actual business, but it appears that in the past, things weren’t so hunky-dory. As a matter of fact, Bebe Wilcox used to be Eudora Gallagher, who spent several years in and out of trouble with one attorney general after another, in at least five states. Somehow, she always managed to avoid prosecution.”
Auntie and I both perked up. This was starting to sound interesting.
Auntie leaned forward. “Do tell.”
Winthrop gave her a long smile. “Do you remember the Worthwright Scholarship fiasco? Several hundred people were conned into donating close to twenty thousand dollars to phony school fund-raisers.”
“Bebe?”
“It seems that she managed to avoid prosecution by settling out of court and returning the money. The charges were mysteriously dropped. I think that the prosecutor at the time was on the take, but we could never prove such a charge. And there was the Scofield Retirement Fund…a pyramid scheme in which a lot of older folks lost their life savings. But Eudora managed to skip out on charges for that, too. I could list half a dozen other fraudulent companies she was behind. And each time, she bought—or lied—her way free. A few years ago, she changed her name to Bebe Wilcox and founded Bebe’s Cosmetics.”
“So what’s she up to this time?” Auntie asked.
Winthrop shrugged. “I have no idea, but my guess is that, while the company and its products actually exist, there’s probably a lot of lying, spying, and outright theft going on over there. Eudora isn’t a straight shooter, and I sincerely doubt that she changed her tactics along with her name.”
I considered the information. “She’s built an army of Belles who are rabidly loyal…. It’s going to be hard getting in to find out where the hell my journal is.”
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