I was glad to see his friendly face that day despite my concerns about how close his face had been to my married friend's face.
The room we'd caught him in was a child's bedroom with a narrow bed. The bed had been neatly made, but the duvet was rumpled with two butt imprints, right next to each other.
I lifted my chin and fixed Colt Canuso with a businesslike stare. “And what brings you here today, to Mrs. Sweet's open house?” I put a strong emphasis on the word Mrs., for all the good it would do. By the two butt imprints on the bed plus the guilty look on Samantha's face, the horses had left the stables already.
“Same as you, I imagine.” He flashed me a luminous grin. He'd always had big, naturally straight teeth. They'd been too big for his face when he was a skinny kid, but he'd grown into them perfectly.
I blinked at him and licked some icing from the corner of my mouth. “Oh? Same as me? You came to taste Samantha's sweet little cupcakes?”
Beside me, Jessica made a horrified squeak.
Colt's lips twitched as his smile broadened. A dimple appeared in one bronze cheek. “Stormy, I never realized you were so funny.”
“I'm no class clown, but some people find my directness amusing.”
His dimple deepened. “I am, indeed, amused by your directness.”
Samantha Sweet hadn't said anything. She was looking down at her white blazer, flicking away imaginary spots of lint.
Jessica cleared her throat.
The four of us surveyed each other in uncomfortable silence. The doorbell sounded again. Jessica broke away to go downstairs and greet the visitors who were muttering to each other in the entryway. Larry was still grumbling about having to take off his shoes.
Samantha Sweet finally looked up at me, her lower lip trembling and her sparkling emerald-green eyes filling with water.
Not again, I thought. Please don't cry on me, Sam.
I gave the real estate agent what I hoped was a friendly, supportive look.
Samantha took in a sharp gasp of air. She darted out of the bedroom in a bright flash of blond hair and white blazer, heading for the stairs.
The first couple who'd come in were still bickering over the removal of shoes. And even more people were arriving and ringing the doorbell.
Over the din, I heard a shriek behind me. I twisted around in time to see Samantha's arms flail into the air as she stumbled down the stairs. Jessica, who was partway down the stairs, calling out a greeting to the open house visitors, wheeled around in the nick of time and caught Samantha in her arms.
Colt and I dashed to the top of the stairs to make sure everyone was okay.
Jessica's elaborate hairstyle had come partly undone, and her cheeks were pink, but she'd caught Samantha. Jessica was the hero of the day.
“I'm okay,” Samantha huffed and puffed. “This stupid cheap shoe tried to kill me.” She leaned over and pulled off her shoe to show everyone the snapped heel that had caused her fall.
Jessica quickly took off her own shoes and handed them to Samantha. The blond real estate agent thanked her, donned the borrowed shoes, and continued on her way to greet the visitors with a cheerful ring to her voice. That was Samantha Sweet. She wasn't the most confident person or even the brightest penny in the jar, but she was a hard worker, and she did everything wholeheartedly. I'd never gotten a text message from Samantha that didn't contain enough exclamation points to warm up my mood a few degrees.
As Samantha got to work greeting the visitors, Jessica followed behind, barefoot, stuffing Samantha's broken shoes into her purse.
Colt and I still stood at the top of the stairs. As I turned to him, he followed Samantha with his gaze and quipped, “Samantha keeps saying this house will be the death of her, but I didn't believe her until today.”
“Was it really the house, or the shoe?”
He turned his dark brown eyes toward me and quirked an eyebrow. “You should launch a private investigation into that suspicious accident,” he said. “Someone looking to sabotage this open house must have loosened the heel on Mrs. Sweet's shoe.” He also put a strong emphasis on the word Mrs.
I snorted. Ever since word had gotten around Misty Falls about me being a licensed private investigator, people had been making lame jokes about me looking into not-so-suspicious events.
“She's lucky Jessica was there,” I said. “Back when we were in the cheerleader squad, Jessica was the one person you could count on to never, ever drop a girl.”
Colt leaned toward me and tipped his head forward. A section of raven-black hair crossed his raised eyebrow. “I try to live my life with no regrets, but I do regret never trying out for the cheerleader team.”
I tilted my chin up. “Colt Canuso, you would have been a great cheerleader, except for one thing. You were so scrawny back then. No hips at all. Even the smallest skirt would have fallen right off you.”
He chuckled. “I'm not so scrawny anymore, but you're as mean as ever.”
“Mean?” My jaw dropped. “I was never mean to you in school.”
“You were downright cruel. You wouldn't let me buy you a root beer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Colt, you never offered. You'd buy yourself a root beer and try to get girls to share your drink, with all your spitty backwash.”
“Backwash?” He pretended to be horrified. “I'm a careful sipper. I never backwash.”
He hadn't made a move down the stairs yet. We were alone on the upper floor, listening to Samantha giving the early bird open house visitors a tour of the downstairs. She expertly listed off the home's unique features: original stained-glass windows, pocket doors, wood wainscoting. Her pitch was almost good enough to take my mind off what I'd witnessed in the small bedroom. Almost.
I cleared my throat. “Speaking of other people's spit, how long have you been conducting business with Samantha? You two seemed to be having a very friendly meeting in here.”
Colt didn't blink. “Stormy, you know I'm a big flirt. That's just how I am. I'm generous with my compliments and attention.” His brown eyes remained fixed on mine, unwavering. A little too fixed. Liars always overcompensated with too much eye contact.
“You weren't trying to taste Samantha's sweet little cupcakes?”
He looked me steadily in the eye and swore, “There's nothing inappropriate going on.”
I grabbed his hand and held it tenderly.
He blinked three times in a row. He hadn't been expecting physical contact.
I brought his hand up to my mouth and whispered, “It's good to know you're still available.”
He kept on blinking rapidly. “Aren't you dating the lawyer with the beard? The one who dresses like a hipster urban lumberjack?”
I batted my eyelashes. “He hasn't put a ring on my finger,” I said breathily. “And I see you've taken off your wedding band, which must mean you're up for grabs again.”
Now his jaw dropped. While Colt was distracted, I looked down at his hand. Colt was left-handed, so I'd grabbed his left hand, which was where the lipstick he'd rubbed off his mouth had transferred. With my free hand, I grabbed a cloth handkerchief from my pocket. I used the crisp white cotton to quickly scrub the top of his hand.
Then I dropped his hand, took a step back, and held up the white handkerchief as though performing a magic trick. A telltale pink mark stained the center of the square.
“Ta-da,” I said. “Samantha's lipstick, from her mouth to yours, and then onto your hand, and now on my hankie. Which confirms you lied to me.”
Colt frowned. He straightened up, and a dark look flashed across his face. A monstrous look. That of a person caught up in their own lies. And then, just as quickly, he hung his head in shame, gazing down on the floor.
Without looking up, Colt said. “I take it back.” He shuffled his feet so the toes of his western-style boots pointed away from me. “You're not as mean as you were in high school. You're meaner.”
I put my hands on my hips. “She's got little kids,” I hissed. “I know Mik
ey was a jerk to you back in the day, but we're all adults now. Let it go.”
He glanced up, his dark brown eyes darker than ever. “Michael Sweet wasn't just a jerk,” he spat out tersely. “He was a bully. He made my life a living hell.”
“I remember,” I said softly. “He called you Tonto, and he used to make all those insensitive jokes.” I shook my head. “We grew up in different times. That racial bullying wouldn't cut it today.”
“You'd be surprised,” he said, moving his head stiffly. “Things are not as progressive as some folks would like to believe. Not even here in Oregon.” He tilted his head to the side. “It's a small town, and no matter what I do with my life, some people will always dislike me for the family I was born into.”
I broke eye contact, looking down at the handkerchief. I tucked it in my pocket and deliberately softened my posture. “Colt, I'm sorry,” I said. “I shouldn't have invaded your privacy like this.” I remembered a phrase I'd read a number of times in my investigation training manuals. “A person has a reasonable right to privacy.” I gave him a sheepish grin. “I don't know what got into me.”
“You're a force of nature, Stormy.” He took a step back and rolled his shoulders forward, slouching the way he had as a scrawny teen. “And I'm sorry I called you mean. That wasn't fair. You're not mean. You're...” He gave me a blank look. “Well, you're just Stormy.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. It wasn't the first time someone had used my name to describe me. It always stung, no matter how many times I made the same self-deprecating cracks about myself.
Colt glanced over at the stairs. Samantha's voice was getting louder as she herded the lookie-loo couple and more visitors toward the access for the upper floor.
He said without looking at me, “For the record, I'm glad you're here. You always did know how to talk sense into me. I still remember that day in the cafeteria, and I owe you one.”
That day in the cafeteria? A memory started to surface, albeit slowly. I felt the emotions first. The fire inside me. The desire for justice. The details of who did what to whom and who started it were jumbled.
“And another thing,” he said, his luminous grin gradually coming back. “That kiss I stole from Samantha was the first one ever. I swear.”
I met his gaze. “First and last?”
He nodded once. “First and last. I've got a new crush now.” He looked me up and down. “Technically, it's an old crush, but it's back with a vengeance.”
I said nothing. He knew very well that I was dating “the lawyer with the beard,” also known as Logan Sanderson. My boyfriend really did dress like a hipster urban lumberjack, with his smart suits and his neatly trimmed beard. Despite a few minor quibbles, I was quite happy to be dating Logan. It didn't hurt that he lived under my roof, renting the other side of my duplex. A girl couldn't ask for more convenience than that. Our situation was comfortable. Convenient and comfortable.
Colt Canuso turned toward the stairs and started down. “See you around, Stormy Day. Let's share a root beer real soon.”
Chapter 4
Colt Canuso left immediately, without saying goodbye to Samantha.
Jessica and I both stuck around for the open house. We did the duties we'd promised to perform for Samantha—pretending to be interested in the house, saying positive things whenever prospective buyers were within earshot.
I played up the positive investment angles of the house, since anyone who knew of me and my history in venture capital would know I was good with money. And I wasn't lying. The surrounding neighborhood had been increasing in value lately, as more and more young families turned away from new homes on the outskirts of town in favor of fixing up older homes in walkable neighborhoods near amenities. In fact, the more I listed off the home's potential, the more I wondered if it might make a good addition to my own portfolio. If only I could get past the strange upstairs bathroom with its awkward sidesaddle toilet.
Jessica wasn't nearly as positive. She struggled to talk up the house while staying true to her beliefs. She wanted to help our friend, who'd been struggling for months to make a sale, but Jessica was a terrible shill due to her unflinching honesty. I heard her tell one couple the house was “perfect for embracing minimalism,” due to its lack of closets. The couple, in their early twenties and expecting a baby any minute, hadn't noticed the lack of storage space until Jessica mentioned it. The young woman's eyes bugged out as she glanced around, noting the size of the bedroom. It held a single bed because there wasn't room for anything bigger.
The husband said, “But it's in our budget.”
She replied, “I'd rather live with your mother than live without closets.”
His eyes bugged out to match hers. “That bad, huh?”
She grabbed the features sheet from his hand and discarded it on a dresser.
As they exited, I overheard the man telling his wife, “We really dodged a bullet, thanks to the chatty redhead.”
Samantha must have overheard this as well, as she called us over for a private meeting in the walled-off kitchen and politely dismissed us from our shill duties.
Jessica stuck out her lower lip. “But we're barely twenty minutes into the open house.”
“You've done more than enough,” Samantha said through a tight smile.
Jessica turned her pout in my direction. “But what else are we supposed to do for Roomies' Day Out? We can't go home without doing something fun.”
“Movie matinee? Shopping?”
She scrunched her lightly freckled face. “Until my next payday, I can afford a non-fancy coffee and a leisurely stroll in the dog park. But only if you buy my coffee.”
“I'll buy you a coffee, silly. In fact, I think I've got a—”
Jessica cut me off with a raised hand. “No, Stormy. Don't you dare tell me you have a two-for-one coupon for coffee. I won't be your charity case. I'm on to your little tricks.”
“Tricks? Me?” I shrugged and tried to look innocent.
Samantha interjected, “If you're looking for something free to do, I have the perfect thing.” She opened her brown leather briefcase, pulled out a newspaper, and handed it to Jessica. “They're doing an open casting call at the casino.”
Jessica asked, “Is that what you and Colt were talking about?”
Samantha's cheeks flushed pink. “Sure, along with other things. He's really excited about it. They're casting actors for the new House of Hallows series on HBO.”
“That's still happening?” I shook my head in amazement. I had fallen behind on my entertainment news. The last I'd heard, the epic fantasy series had seemed as good as canceled following the death of its creator. Samantha and Jessica, who were both fans of the books, quickly caught me up. According to them, a young woman named Piper Chen had taken over the writing of the series. Rumor was, she was being aided by the ghost of author George Morrison. Either that or she was a prodigy. Regardless of the implausible paranormal details, all the House of Hallows franchise plans were moving ahead.
Samantha excitedly told us how the Sweets' eldest child, Sophie, was trying out for the role of Kinley, the precocious young dragon master in training.
“Sophie's been practicing all of Kinley's lines for weeks,” Samantha said. She glanced over her shoulder at the new group who'd entered the open house and gave them a friendly wave.
Jessica frowned and gave Samantha a sidelong look. “You don't let Sophie read the books, do you? They're not exactly family friendly.”
I chuckled at her understatement. “But the royal family in the series sure is friendly. Maybe the wrong kind of friendly.”
Jessica pretended to gag.
Samantha pushed us toward the door. “Michael tore out the chapters with Kinley and made the girls a mini booklet. Sophie and her best friend Q have been rehearsing like professionals. Q is so confident. She says she'll get the role of Kinley for sure, but has graciously offered Sophie the role of stunt double.”
“Aww,” Jessica said. “Kids are so c
ute. With all their naive hopes and dreams.” She looked down at the newspaper. “Why are they doing a casting call all the way up here in Misty Falls?”
“Publicity, I guess,” Samantha said with a shrug. “They're doing a whole national talent search. Plus, you know, there's the whole neutral accent thing for child actors.”
I did know what she meant. A number of child actors had come from our area, because their natural accent was close to what some call General American, the neutral style favored by news anchors.
“Sounds like it might be crowded,” Jessica said.
“The casino's huge,” Samantha said. “You'll have fun. You might even bump into Michael.”
I asked, “How is Michael?”
Her face reddened. “You know Michael,” she said vaguely, herding us toward the front door. “Busy, busy.”
As I stared at her, fascinated by the depth of her blushing, I noticed something was wrong with one of her eyes. Her left eye was swollen, puffier than the right, and she seemed to have the telltale purple of a bruise peeking through underneath yellow-tinted concealer.
“Is that a black eye?” I leaned in to look closely.
She turned away. “It's nothing. I wasn't paying attention, and he bumped me with his head.”
“Who bumped you?”
“Michael.” One of the visitors asked another person where the agent on duty was. Samantha jerked her chin up and called out, “I'll be there in a minute!”
I wanted to ask more questions about her black eye, but the woman was practically shoving us out the freshly painted door. I could take a hint. She didn't want me staring at her, trying to figure out if her husband had hit her on purpose or what she and Colt Canuso had been up to in the bedroom. And she sure didn't want Jessica talking about the lack of closet space and scaring away buyers.
We both wished her luck with the house, complimented her on the work she'd done sprucing up the porch, and walked over to my car.
Jessica was still barefoot due to loaning her shoes to Samantha. I popped the trunk of my car and sorted through my EDC—Everyday Carry Kit. Before becoming a private investigator, I hadn't given much thought to the assortment of items I kept in my purse and car. Now that I was a professional, though, I'd stepped up my game. The newest addition to my EDC was a can of Crisco. Shortening is useful for so much more than creamy frosting. It's a great source of emergency calories, a lotion for chapped skin, and with the addition of a simple twist of paper, can be burned like a candle for several hours, serving as a source of light and heat.
Death of a Double Dipper Page 2