Wicked After Midnight (Midnight Blue Beach Book 1)

by Olivia Jaymes

  Willow slowly placed her glass on the table, seeming to consider her next words. “There’s only one problem with that. Our husbands died in accidents. They weren’t murdered.”

  Slumping against the cushions, Bailey sighed in defeat. “I want to be able to explain all of this. I want it to make sense.”

  “It will.” Peyton scooted closer to Bailey and patted her hand. “We’ll find a connection. If there is one.”

  There had to be. It was too weird to be a coincidence. All of this was too…fucked up.

  Bailey made her decision then and there. She hated the unknown and the universe could kiss her ass. She wanted to know the truth.

  “I will find a connection. I’m going to pack a bag and head for Williamsburg. Visit that summer camp and maybe talk to some people who remember the murder. Maybe they know how Frank is connected to Gwendolyn. If he is at all.”

  Peyton’s eyes were wide and she was shaking her head. “Do you think that’s a good idea? More butterflies?”

  Barking with laughter, Bailey was even more determined. “Afraid I’ll start World War III? I just can’t let this go. I’ll admit this has my curiosity piqued. I want to see where Gwendolyn was murdered. I want to find out if this is one giant cluster coincidence and we should all just laugh at fate. I need to know.”

  Willow nodded, her expression serious. “So do I. I’m going with you.”

  “Alex might not have any connections at all to Gwendolyn,” Bailey protested. “The clippings were in Frank’s possessions.”

  “That’s true but I want to help. I’m not going to let you do this alone. Frankly, this is the most intriguing thing to happen in years. I don’t lead the most exciting life despite what the old biddies in this town might say.”

  Bailey wouldn’t argue with that sentiment but she didn’t want to lead anyone on a wild goose chase.

  “Maybe it would be better if you and Peyton stayed back here and checked into your husbands’ pasts. Find out all the details about their friends, schools, jobs. Put it all together and then we can compare notes. I don’t want both of you to drop your lives for something that might not be worth the trip. Frankly I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there.”

  Peyton sighed and let her head loll back onto the couch cushion. “I can do that. But if you find something – anything – you have to call us. I’m not going to miss out although I’m not sure I really want to know. I’ve already given Greg too much real estate in my brain these last five years.”

  Bailey smiled for the first time since yesterday. “What about the butterflies?”

  Peyton was smiling too.

  “Screw ’em. I’ve always preferred ladybugs to be honest.”

  Bailey was beginning to believe she couldn’t move forward until she’d looked back. Way back. She didn’t know just how far she’d have to go but she was willing to do it.

  This was no coincidence. No chaos. No butterflies.

  Frank and Gwendolyn were connected and Bailey was going to find out how.

  Chapter Six

  “Recalculating.”

  The disembodied voice of the GPS announced loud and proud that Bailey had once again managed to not follow the directions. She had checked into a hotel in Williamsburg and was now driving to the summer camp where Gwendolyn had died. The rental car was equipped with GPS but she seemed to be having issues.

  The problem was that Bailey was too absorbed in her thoughts about the entire creepy situation she’d found herself in and would forget to follow the instructions from the annoying female voice even though it had warned her about the upcoming turn.

  “Turn right in two hundred feet,” the mechanical voice droned. “Then stay right.”

  Grunting, Bailey slid into the correct lane. Luckily there was no one already in it as she barely checked her mirror before turning right at the light.

  “That was an adventure,” she muttered under her breath. She wasn’t the type that knew north from south or east from west. She navigated by landmarks, which was a problem in an unfamiliar area.

  Bailey wasn’t so sure that she hadn’t made a terrible error in judgment coming here. Last night she had barely slept, her mind refusing to quiet down, so she’d been dragging this morning, chugging a giant coffee when at the airport. She tended to be a nervous flyer so the trip wasn’t high on her fun meter nor was driving in a strange town any better. Her nerves were frayed and now she needed a Xanax to be able to handle the road trip. She couldn’t get to the damn summer camp soon enough.

  “Turn left in three hundred feet.”

  Willow leaned forward and craned her neck to see a street sign. They were out in the middle of nowhere or at least it seemed that way – somewhere between the James River and Williamsburg. “I’ll happily turn left but where the hell am I supposed to do it?”

  The rental car slowed to a crawl as she tried to find the turn off. She’d almost passed it when she finally spotted the sign.

  “There it is. Keene Hill Camp. The branches and leaves cover almost the whole sign. It would be easy to miss this place. Maybe that’s the point.”

  Talking to myself again.

  Bailey had been aware that the campground was closed down and had been for several years. When she’d looked it up she’d found that in its heyday it had been one of the premiere summer camps for the children of the wealthy elite. They’d come from all corners of the United States to horseback ride, swim, play tennis, and make connections that would serve them well for the rest of their privileged lives.

  After driving up the long, rutted road, Bailey parked the car near the first building she came to and climbed out, anxious to stretch her legs. She circled the large, dilapidated structure that had a sign hanging from a single hinge that proudly announced it was the dining hall and social center. More buildings were visible and there were directional signs mounted on posts pointing to the lake, the stables, and the basketball courts.

  But there wasn’t a single, solitary soul. It was kind of creepy.

  Maybe if the buildings hadn’t been so rundown or the greenery so completely overgrown it might not have been too bad. The place looked like it hadn’t seen a human being in fifty years although Bailey knew it had been less than twenty. The camp had fallen on hard times after the murder. No one had wanted to spend their summer where someone had been brutally stabbed.

  “Jesus, I’m ready for Jason to jump out any minute wearing his hockey mask and wielding a machete.”

  Clearly I’ve watched too many horror movies. Shame on me.

  Bailey placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the area, not even sure where to start first. Or if she even wanted to. “This place brings new meaning to the word ramshackle.”

  Bailey began to head deeper into the camp. She wanted to see where Gwendolyn was murdered. She’d read all the clippings and seen the few photos but what she really wanted to see was where it actually happened. As for what she’d learn? Probably nothing except to get a better picture in her head as to what had happened that night. What it wouldn’t tell her is why it was important to Frank.

  She was used to being surrounded by people even in their little town so being alone was slightly unnerving. A screen door waved in the breeze, slamming against the door frame every few seconds in time with her pounding heart. The smell of dust, old wood, and grass filled her nostrils and made her sneeze a few times. In her mind’s eye she could see this place filled with teenagers bustling to the lake and the dining hall. At one time this must have been a happy and lively place.

  I need a better travel agent.

  Bailey spotted a sign on a wooden pole pointing down a pathway to the river. Where Gwen was killed.

  The hot afternoon sun beating down on her back, she trudged down the narrow path through the trees that eventually led her to a small sandy beach only about three feet wide and a hundred feet long. The river wasn’t expansive and Bailey could see the opposite bank and in her younger days might have even been able to swim the
distance. There wasn’t much in the area but there were a few buildings on the opposite side but she couldn’t see any inhabitants.

  There was a rustle of grass and then the sound of someone clearing their throat. Bailey whirled around on her heel and her heart switched into a faster gear, her imagination motoring into overdrive. All she had for a weapon was her purse. She was an idiot for walking around a deserted summer camp without a way to defend herself.

  “Can I help you?”

  A tall, dark-haired man stood in front of her, dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Car keys dangled from his fingertips, not a machete, which immediately allowed Bailey to draw a full breath but not relax completely. He wasn’t a small man and he could probably break her in two pieces with little effort.

  “Can I help you?” the man repeated, taking two steps closer and sending Bailey a step back. “This is private property.”

  Another two steps forward but this time she stood her ground. He was only a few feet away now and she could smell the citrus of his body wash in the light breeze that ruffled his chocolate brown hair. Wide shoulders and long legs, he could be described as a handsome man although not in the conventional sense. His nose was crooked as if it had been broken once or twice but his cheekbones were high, his jaw firm, and his blue eyes stood out starkly from his tanned skin.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not sure what she should tell him. Was the truth an option? He’d think she was crazy, which was surely a possibility. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

  “That did cross my mind. I don’t get too many visitors out here. This place isn’t too safe. Why don’t you let me escort you back to your car?

  She’d come too far to fail this first task. Giving up was not an option.

  “Gwen Baxter,” she blurted, heat filling her cheeks. “I’m here about Gwen Baxter.”

  His friendly smile fell and was replaced with a suspicious glint in his eye. “Are you a reporter?”

  “No.” Bailey adamantly shook her head. “I swear I’m not. My name is Bailey Scott and I own a bakery in Florida. As for why I’m here, it’s a long story.”

  One you probably won’t believe anyway so why bother.

  “I’m Chase Jennings and I own this piece of property. Now why don’t you tell me why you want to see where Gwen died? What business is it of yours?”

  Now he had her complete and total attention. He knew something about the events of that night from the way he said the girl’s name. Bailey summoned up her courage and spoke. “You knew Gwen?”

  “Yes, and now I get to ask a question again. What does this have to do with you?”

  Bailey didn’t like where this was going. She didn’t have any answers. “Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”

  Chase smiled and chuckled at her bravado. Or perhaps he thought she was funny. “I wasn’t aware we were playing a game but fine. You can ask me a question.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “A few of the townsfolk saw you drive in and alerted me that I had a trespasser. There are no secrets around here.”

  That might work to her advantage although it hadn’t this time.

  “I’m not trying to trespass,” Bailey began, wanting to explain but frankly not knowing where to start. “It’s a long story but I wanted to see where she was killed.”

  He cocked his head to the side and looked her up and down. “Did you know her? You look too young to have been a friend of hers.”

  “My late husband did,” she finally admitted, although she wasn’t sure it was truly the case. So far, she only suspected he knew her. She could have lied and said she’d known Gwen but if he’d known her too he might ask her questions she couldn’t answer. “I guess my curiosity got the better of me.”

  Chase was giving her a strange look but she was determined to stay tight-lipped. Unburdening her soul about a hiccup in the universe was not on the agenda.

  Straightening, Chase pointed to his right. “The papers had it wrong. Gwen was killed on the banks of the James River farther that way.”

  “Is it far?”

  “No, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave the property now.”

  Halting, Bailey raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. There wasn’t anything to steal so what was the big deal if she walked around for a few minutes?

  “Or?”

  Chase smiled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s not go there, shall we? I’d like to stay a gentleman here. Now if you would please follow me. I’ll make sure you get back to your vehicle safely.”

  Bailey sighed and nodded. Arguing wasn’t going to get her what she wanted. She needed to come up with another plan but at the moment she was out of ideas. Time to regroup.

  “After you, Mr. Jennings.”

  “I hope you haven’t had a wasted trip. You should visit Colonial Williamsburg or Yorktown. People love it.”

  Actually, it wasn’t a waste. She’d learned that the newspapers were wrong about the location of Gwen’s murder. Maybe that wasn’t the only thing they were wrong about.

  Chapter Seven

  Chase lost count of the number of dogs that vied to lick his face and jump into his lap. His friend and neighbor Joshua Coleman was a veterinarian and there were always a plethora of animals in his home – some just visiting, some actual residents – but tonight was more than usual. All of this love was wonderful but eventually he’d have to get up from the floor. A sharp whistle from Josh had the canines backing off, tails still wagging and tongues lolling out.

  “They haven’t seen you in awhile,” remarked Josh pulling two beers from the refrigerator. “They remember that you’ll throw the tennis ball until your shoulder gives out.”

  Rising from the floor, Chase accepted the beer gratefully. It had been a long day and he’d been looking forward to this. “There’s more of them than last time.”

  Josh shook his head and chuckled. “No, it’s the same. Actually, maybe one less. Harley the poodle was adopted by Wanda down at the bookstore.”

  Chase remembered seeing a dog dressed in a ruffled collar the last time he was in there. Like Shakespeare.

  “Still no cats?”

  It was a running joke between the two of them.

  “Still allergic, so no.”

  “How can you be a vet and also be allergic to cats? Isn’t there some rule about that?”

  Josh scratched his head. “Not that I know of. And as I’ve said before, I didn’t know I was allergic to cats until after I decided to be a vet. I’m getting the shots so I’m not having any issues.”

  Chase opened the pizza box as Josh pulled plates from the cabinet over the sink. The smell of garlic and tomatoes made his stomach growl with hunger. He’d had a lousy roast beef sandwich for lunch around eleven. Far too long to go without food.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” Josh asked as they dug into dinner. Chase had met Josh when he’d moved in next door and since then they’d become fast friends, practically living at each other’s homes. He felt as comfortable at Josh’s place as he did his own. Like so many other evenings, Chase brought the pizza and Josh provided the beer. If they were feeling particularly social they might invite over a few other guys and play poker.

  Glancing at the door, Chase hesitated. He didn’t want to have to do this twice. Frankly he didn’t want to talk about it at all but it had been bugging him since seeing that woman at the camp earlier today. “Is Ellis coming?”

  Ellis Hunter was a detective with the local police and that meant he kept strange hours and they never knew if he was going to show up or not. They didn’t mind but the women he dated did. About a year ago he’d sworn off relationships for an undetermined length of time.

  “Eventually. He’ll be late to his own damn funeral with a long list of excuses. He can eat the pizza ice cold. I’m hungry now.”

  Ellis wouldn’t care about the temperature of his food. Chase had seen his friend eat out of Chinese food contai
ners straight from the refrigerator without batting an eye. No food snob, he’d just as soon eat a burger as Chateaubriand.

  “I guess I can catch him up later.” Chase set his pizza back down on the plate. “I found a woman out at the summer camp today. Had to run her off with a little warning not to come back.”

  Josh frowned, his brows pulled together. “Nobody ever goes out there. What did she want?”

  “She wanted to see where Gwen Baxter was killed. She said her husband knew Gwen but I’m not sure she was telling the truth.”

  “Do you think she’s a reporter?”

  “Why would the press be interested in this story after all these years?” Chase shrugged. “They barely reported on it when it happened. I did ask her though and she said no.”

  Josh took a long swallow of his beer before speaking. “And you believe her?”

  “Yeah,” Chase replied after a moment. “She didn’t look like a reporter. Too skittish and not polished. A reporter would have had a cover story all ready and believe me this lady didn’t. It was almost like the visit was a spur of the moment thing she hadn’t really thought through all that well.”

  A smile spread across Josh’s face. “Maybe she was there on a dare. Like a double dog dare.”

  Christ on a crutch. Josh needed to hang out with humans more often.

  “Or better, maybe there’s something she isn’t telling me. It’s been bugging me all day.”

  Josh gave him a shrewd look. “She’s been bothering you or the memory of Gwen has been bothering you?”

  “Both,” Chase answered immediately. “I barely knew Gwen but I saw her dead body that day when they were loading her into the ambulance. Jesus, that sticks with a kid and I’ll admit that the fact they never found her killer bugs the shit out of me. How can that be? How can there be absolutely no witnesses and no clues?”

  “Just forget about the whole thing. It happened years ago. Unless this woman is pretty. If she is, you should definitely talk to her again.”