What did it mean to my parents that he came and stayed? I remembered my first impression of Sebastian. My parents had grounds to worry. I hoped dinner at their house would work out soon. They needed to get to know him.
“When will you be back?”
His deep brown eyes pinned me to the bed. “When would you like me back?”
I opened my mouth to speak, and air caught in my throat, thickening it. My words mattered more than ever. Whatever I said would give me away. I couldn’t tell him what I wanted—for him to stay and protect me, like a little child.
I pulled my lips in over my teeth, angry at that thought. It wasn’t too late for me to get to the bottom of things. I could redeem the mess I’d made.
He waited for an answer.
“According to Sheriff Murray, there’s still a killer on the loose.” I glanced away from his face, cursing my transparency. Stay. I sent out a mental plea, unable to voice the word aloud. Stay with me. My ears burned with a blush. Were my suspicions correct? Could he see through me? This time, I hoped he could.
“It wouldn’t be prudent for me to stay away, then. If there’s a killer on the loose, I should come back as soon as I can.”
I nodded. He’d heard my plea.
When I walked him to the Range Rover after breakfast, saying good-bye was awkward. Half the island watched from somewhere. Careful to keep an appropriate distance, I stepped aside when he climbed in behind the wheel. His lips pressed tight. Mirrored glasses covered his eyes.
“I’ll be back soon, tonight sometime. Text me if you need anything. If I can’t be here, I’ll send someone.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t walk alone. Take the love bus. Lock your doors. Be vigilant.”
I forced a smile to show I accepted his advice. Darn skippy. Vigilant was my new middle name.
Unfortunately, the questions I still needed to ask were sure to get me extra-negative attention, and the killer remained at large. My protection was leaving. I’d be a sitting duck. The weight of it knocked the air from my lungs.
He’d let me go with him if I asked.
“Sebastian?”
He pulled his glasses away, revealing weary eyes. The set of his brow and clench of his jaw worried me. “Yeah?”
For what felt like an eternity, the words wrestled on my tongue. I had no idea what might come out of my mouth. “Be careful.”
He snorted.
The minute his taillights disappeared, I took the stairs two at a time and double dead-bolted the door behind me. I flopped onto my couch and pulled Claire’s pillow to my face. It smelled like Sebastian. The couch, the air, my world smelled of spice and musk and hair gel. Sitting tall, I took a long look around.
The boxes I’d stacked against the far wall were missing. Not taken by Sebastian, of course. Who would take my books and old movies? Not Adrian. Stories of the ghost who haunted my apartment popped in and out of my head. I stood and began to examine my place. The musty stink of the walls and carpeting had faded to nothing. I trailed my gaze over the room. A row of well-worn paperbacks lined the shelf above the window. My stack of Blu-Rays sat beside my portable DVD player on the television stand, right where nice audio-visual components I didn’t own were meant to go.
I flung open kitchen cupboards. Everything was arranged neatly behind doors that no longer squeaked. Food practically spilled out of the refrigerator. Fruit, cheeses, milk, water, greens. I couldn’t believe it. I went on to the next room. Linens filled the closet in my bathroom. I ran to the bedroom closet. Everything was hung or folded and meticulously organized. A black duffel sat near the inside wall beside rows of my shoes. I recognized it as Sebastian’s.
Had he left these things on purpose or forgotten them?
I turned in a small circle, taking it all in. Sebastian had unpacked and decorated my apartment.
Huh.
The fact needed probing, but something else pushed forward in my mind. He’d left a stack of messages near the old landline for me. I dashed to the kitchen and found several slips of scratch paper.
Hank stopped by to apologize and ask if I needed more help with the boathouse. He was one brave guy, or completely bonkers. Bad things happened at the boathouse.
Melissa bought a dog and wanted me to meet him. I took a minute to think about that. Melissa was the grocery store clerk. She made a good decision. Lost dogs rarely returned. If he did, there was always room for one more. I hoped.
Sam Fines wanted to golf with me. Golf? I didn’t golf. He must have something he wanted to talk about. Sam owned the pharmacy. I wondered what he needed help with. Hopefully he didn’t have a pill addiction because that wasn’t in my realm of experience.
The last slip had a funny face drawn on it. Mrs. Franks stopped by to apologize for vandalizing the golf cart. Then she asked Sebastian to warn me to stay away from her husband. Then she left her number so we could get together.
I rubbed my forehead. This wasn’t the island practice I’d had in mind.
A floorboard creaked. A flash of red caught my eye. I placed the notes back on the counter and opened a cupboard door, removing one solid serving plate. With a white-knuckled grip, I whipped around, plate held high. Mrs. Davis screamed and made the sign of the cross over her chest.
“How did you get in here?” My arms shook over my head.
She bent forward, grabbing her knees and huffing for air.
“Where have you been?” I asked. Who disappears after a car bombing then breaks in? Jeez. I didn’t know if I wanted to hug her or smack her.
“I was staying at Adrian’s until you showed up. Then I had to sleep in the crappy art studio downstairs. You know what cold cement does to a woman my age?” She flipped upright, holding her back. “Get me some water.”
I obeyed without thinking. Mrs. Davis sat on the couch and waited for me. “You didn’t have to leave when I went to Adrian’s house. I never got to thank you for calling me an ambulance. Why’d you hide after that?”
“I didn’t know if I was spotted out there. The van pulled up, blocked the view of your car for a minute, then it drove right past me. From where I stood, I could see a blinking light on the ground under your car. Then you came running like the devil was chasing you. I called nine-one-one and took off. I didn’t want to be a crime witness some maniac set his sights on getting rid of.”
Oh. I couldn’t blame her. “I wish I’d have known you were okay. It was scary when you disappeared like that.”
SPLAT.
A pop sounded against my window. Only a foot over Mrs. Davis’s head, a shadow appeared.
She dove for the floor, but I knew that sound. I flung open the door. Mrs. Franks wielded a carton of eggs in the road outside.
“Hey!” I threw my hands in the air and marched onto my stoop. “Stop it. What are you doing? You know how hard it is to get egg off of stuff? Especially after it bakes in this heat.”
Her eyes stretched wide at the sight of me, and she shoved the carton behind her back. “Sorry.”
I chewed my lips to keep from announcing her husband was a patient like her. I did not want to sleep with Hank Franks. I had enough problematic men in my life. One was in jail because of me. Another was thoroughly confused—also my fault. Plus, somewhere nearby a third man wanted to kill me.
“Can we get together next week?” she yelled up the steps.
“Call me.”
I ducked back inside, locked the door and pulled the shades. Now that she was calmer, Mrs. Davis’s drawn expression reeked of distaste. I’d let her down, and she wanted to make sure I knew it. Long red fingernails tapped the sides of her sweaty glass. Purple creases weighed beneath her eyes. Her extreme tan had faded to a normal healthy glow. Thick black eyeliner rimmed her lids into cat eyes. The look fit.
“Well?” She screeched when
I didn’t speak.
“What?” I couldn’t very well explain the strange exchange with Mrs. Franks, if that’s what she meant.
“Well, what are you going to do now? You’re supposed to keep my boy out of prison, not sign his arrest warrant. What good were the all those days of hiding out, freezing cold nights and going hungry, if he winds up doing life for a crime he didn’t commit anyway?” Her eyes glistened. I hadn’t thought of how Adrian got his hands on food or stayed warm. Adrian was a survivor. I assumed he had his meals somewhere people didn’t know he was wanted for murder, maybe on the mainland. But how could he get money? They probably watched his bank accounts. He had friends everywhere, I’d assumed...
Sadness flattened me to the wall, and a weight settled on my chest. I’d failed big-time. At everything. I’d wasted an entire week with Sebastian, and I wasn’t any closer to finding Brady’s killer than the day he arrived. I’d failed Adrian. Now he was in jail and I was alone. The killer only had to make a move and I was toast. With any luck, Sebastian left a weapon I knew how to use in his black duffel. The odds weren’t great. The only weapon I’d wielded lately was a laptop. His government-issued handgun was secure in the holster when he headed home. What was in his duffel?
“Well?” She smacked her glass onto the coffee table and glared. “I asked one thing of you. One.” Her voice cracked. A tear fell. “I don’t understand. They arrested someone. I saw the lights and commotion. They had the guy. You found him.” Emotion spilled from her tough shell, setting me back. I’d seen her laugh. I’d seen her yell and command. I’d never seen her cry.
“Sheriff Murray says the men they caught are guilty of contaminating the national seashore, but it doesn’t make them killers. He says there’s no connection between the men he arrested and Brady McGee. Adrian was still the last one to argue with him before he died.”
But I knew that wasn’t true. Those dumpers were connected to Brady. He’d also argued with his girlfriend and possibly Perkins, too. Maybe he’d had a fight with his wife the night he died. The truth was, I didn’t have all the facts. Anything could’ve happened that night.
My head fell into my palms and my knees buckled. I sat on the couch beside Mrs. Davis and tried to see past the frustration. What had I missed?
Perkins. I needed to question Perkins again. He’d given us just enough information to get us off his trail. Smart. Maybe he wasn’t drunk or distraught. Maybe he was a cunning fox and I’d been duped. He probably packed up and fled the state the minute we left his house. My head throbbed.
I raised my eyes to meet hers. “I told you I’m not an investigator. I’m a counselor. Nothing more. I can’t fix this.”
She held a tissue out between us. The movement of her head was so small, I almost missed it. “No.” She righted herself, wiping her cat eyes with the pads of her thumbs and tugging the hem of her shirt down when she stood. “You can. If you want to. You always get what you go after. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I didn’t meet you yesterday, you know.”
I didn’t get everything I wanted. She knew that better than anyone.
She headed for my bedroom and I followed her dumbly. A myriad of rebuttals and complaints clogged my throat, not the least of which was get the hell out of my room. She surprised me when she pulled the closet door wide and stepped inside. Shoving aside half my wall, she took a set of dusty steps down to the art studio without looking back. I covered my mouth with my fingertips. Adrian Davis was a genius. I knew he made up that ghost story. I secured the woodwork behind her and closed my closet. On second thought, I dragged Sebastian’s bag out, shut the closet again and shoved my dresser in front of it. Dissatisfied, I left my room, locked the door and went to sleep in the living room, hoping Sebastian was right and no one would break into a room overlooking the street. Thankfully the stream of tourists made mine a busy street, at least until the pony swim ended. I had a week.
My mind whirled and hummed. Perkins had sent us on a goose chase, I was convinced. No man who loved money turned in his payday the way he did unless he had something much larger to cover up. Like two murders. A shiver sent goose bumps over my flesh. I needed to question Perkins again.
I sent Sebastian a quick text. “Are you busy?” If he really could read my mind, he’d know what my text really meant was “Are you too busy to cover me on my third excursion to question a killer?”
I counted to ten twice while staring at my phone. No response from Sebastian.
I yanked Claire’s pillow back over my eyes. If Perkins knew someone was on to him, he could flee with all the money he gained from his business venture. He’d get away with murder while Adrian sat in jail. I peeked at my phone from beneath the pillow.
“Answer me, Sebastian,” I told the phone. “This can’t wait.”
Nothing happened.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid phone. I groaned and righted myself. He’d respond soon. Sebastian wouldn’t ignore my text. If he didn’t text or call before I left the island, I’d try to reach him again before I knocked on Perkins’s door. Maybe he could meet me there.
What else could I do? Perkins had the answers I wanted.
Chapter Nineteen
It was time to check out what Sebastian had left for me in his bag.
I unlocked my bedroom door and peeked inside. The dresser still stood guard against the closet. I dragged Sebastian’s duffel onto the bed and unzipped it, hoping to find more than spare boots and underpants.
“Good grief.” He left me the mother lode of equipment. Night vision goggles, a stun gun, a burner phone, Mace, handcuffs and a knife I nearly cut my finger off with while removing it from the sheath. Wow. I set that back in the bag. I thumbed through the clothes in the bottom. He had a spare change of all-black essentials from socks to his undershirt. Beneath those was exactly what I needed. I hefted an enormous flashlight in one hand, feeling the weight against my palm. Now this was a weapon I could use. I stowed the weighty Maglite inside my favorite hobo.
The drive to Perkins’s house passed in a blur. I lost my nerve after turning onto his street and parked a couple blocks away against the curb, hoping a quick pep talk was all I needed. Facing him alone stole my breath, and for a moment I considered turning back. I needed backup.
My thumbs danced over the screen of the “spare” phone Sebastian had “borrowed” from his office.
“Special Agent Sebastian Clark is unavailable.” He wasn’t at his desk. With all the hoopla going on, I kind of hoped he was safely in his office filing reports or getting his story straight. If he needed to get his story straight. I wouldn’t know. He didn’t talk to me.
I huffed my way off that bunny trail and disconnected without leaving a message. I tried him again. This time, I dialed the phone he carried with him.
“This is Sebastian Clark—”
“Sebastian.” I looked heavenward and blurted out my predicament over his voice. “I’m so glad I caught you. Listen, I’m on the mainland and I need to talk with Perkins again, but I can’t stop thinking he’s the killer and I don’t want him to kill me. Can you meet me on his street and maybe we can talk to him again together?
Beep.
I pulled the phone around and stared at the screen. I was so far gone I didn’t notice it was a recording? And now I’d left a desperate message on his voice mail. My heart pounded with embarrassment and worry for my mental health. This whole nightmare had gone too far. I shoved the keys into my pocket and jumped out of the love bus before I turned tail for home. Determination to complete my mission shoved me forward. I marched along the sidewalk, running through a few possible conversation tracks. Perkins seemed to think women were stupid, so I decided to work that angle.
I took a deep breath, knocked on the door and waited. A dog barked once in the distance. No answer. No car in the drive. Maybe he’d skipped town. I peeked through a window. His coff
ee table was overturned and couple bottles of booze lay busted on the floor. Uh-oh. Either Perkins had a temper or I was wrong about him. If he wasn’t the killer, it made sense that Perkins would be next. He knew about the payoffs and the dumping. I went around to the back door, peeking in windows, terrified of what I might find. A privacy fence separated his yard from the neighbors.
Something thumped inside as I edged along the side of his house. I stopped short. The back door stood open several inches. What if Perkins was inside with a suicide note like Mrs. McGee? A flicker of determination hit, stronger this time than before. I dialed 911 and hovered my thumb over the screen ready to call an ambulance.
I pulled the door wide and waited. Silence. Wishing I had a crystal to rub or some sage to burn, I stepped across the threshold and listened.
“Hello? Perkins? Everything okay?”
The sound started above me and grew in the span of a few heartbeats. I recognized it at once, then as if to confirm, I tripped over a water dish labeled “Killer.” Toenails over hardwood scrambled down the stairs into the foyer. Oh my sweet stars. I dashed toward the back door, planning to dive out headfirst when I realized I’d pulled it shut behind me on the way in. A mammoth black Doberman slid around the corner, blocking my path. Frozen, I eased my backside onto the countertop. He edged toward me, growling low and fierce.
I searched the marble behind me and spotted a package of pepperoni rolls. I grabbed the package and jerked to my feet on the countertop. “Good doggy. Nice Killer.” I braced one palm flat against the cupboard. He sat. A tongue the size of my head licked his chops, as I slid my hand into the bag and ripped a hunk of one roll off with my trembling thumb and first finger.
I threw the chunk of one roll as far from me as possible. It landed in front of the back door. Terrible plan. The front door was in sight. I had a straight line from the kitchen, through the hall and outside to freedom, but Killer was back watching me. The growling had stopped, but his lips hitched in warning. The expression said, “No sudden moves and hand over the food.” I grabbed a full roll this time and tossed it against the window. He went for it and so did I.
Murder by the Seaside Page 21