Nash jerked his chin toward the sidewalk where the cop waited. I followed him. "Miss Albright, this is Detective Mowry."
A tall man with eyes the color of milk chocolate and wavy, dark hair flashed me a smile. "Ma'am."
The police detective was much younger than I imagined. Detective Earl King, the consultant on Julia Pinkerton who bought me ice cream every Friday, was older. Hard to imagine Detective King looking like Detective Mowry. Of course, Detective King had a neck the size of my thigh.
My Maxim smile felt inappropriate, so I tried the grin I used for that whitening strips commercial and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry about the circumstances."
"Let's go," said Nash. "Where's your golf cart?"
"I walked to her villa, then ran back."
"Is that why you look like that?"
"I had a fall. I was trying to see into Cambria's room. That's when I found her. And fell."
A tear spilled down my cheek and I swallowed hard.
Nash patted my shoulder.
"The resort manager is coming to talk to us." I wiped the tear with the back of my hand and felt a second drop on my knuckle.
"Let me check on that. I'll get a cart, and you can explain what happened while we drive to the villa," said Detective Mowry. "Be back in a sec."
Nash watched Mowry walk into the restaurant, then he looked down at me. "You okay?"
I nodded.
"Tough luck, kid. Sorry about your friend." He ran his hand from my shoulder to my elbow and squeezed. "Mowry's a good guy. He'll be discreet."
I licked my lips and sniffed. "I haven't seen Cam-Cam in a long time. She did a season of Julia Pinkerton with me. She was a serious actress then—" I choked on a sob.
He released my arm to pat my shoulder. "Sorry, kid."
I held my hands before my face to hide the tears, making me cry harder. "She had such a great opportunity with Shackleton. Why now?"
Nash pulled me against his chest and gentled the patting.
"Rule number two, no hugs," I sobbed, but let my head fall against his Def Leopard t-shirt.
"It's okay." He rubbed soft circles on my back. "You're not like Cambria."
"I know." I tilted my head to peer at him. "I knew a lot of Cambrias, though."
"I suppose you did." The hand stopped rubbing, which disappointed me, but then Nash gazed down, meeting my eyes. The blue had lost their recent glacial coolness, warming with sympathy. His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek, then stroked my jawline.
"I feel horrible for her." My voice faltered, and I swallowed hard. I felt even worse for thinking about Nash when Cambria was so recently dead. A tremor of remorse rocked me, brushing me against Nash's body.
He hitched a breath, and his fingers inched from my jaw to cradle the nape of my neck. "I know you do, Maizie."
His hand lay lightly, but the intention felt heavy. The curled fingers stroked my neck. I watched him, studying me. And felt more aware of my body pressing against his. The firmness of his chest and thighs against my very un-firm curves.
The latent heat I'd been trying like crazy to tamp down over the past weeks broke and blossomed, rushing to my face to lick my cheeks and branded my neck. With my pale skin, I'd never been able to hold back the color, not even with Vicki's insistent coaching against blushing.
Great, I thought. Obvious much, Maizie? You might as well tattoo "I'm hot for my boss" on your neck.
Nash's eyes widened then darkened. His body shifted and fitted against me. "Don't cry, Maizie," he murmured and angled his face toward mine.
I closed my eyes, caught between excitement and guilt for seducing Nash when I should've been focused on my grief. The scent of his spicy aftershave drifted closer. His shirt dragged across my cheek. I moistened my lips and parted them. Just a little. Didn't want to seem overeager.
My face met open air.
I opened my eyes.
Nash had stepped away. The hand on my neck dropped to his side. He looked over my head.
I turned, running my thumbs under my lash line.
Detective Mowry held up a key ring. "Ready?"
I nodded, but I didn't move. My feet had fused to the sidewalk. Probably caused by my sudden core meltdown.
"You okay?" said Mowry.
Not really, I thought. I'm about the dumbest person in Black Pine. And worst friend. Although if anyone would understand wanting to make out with Nash in a parking lot after finding your friend's body, it would be Cambria. One of her many issues. Or so I'd heard.
"She's fine." Nash stepped closer and rested a hand on my shoulder. "Miss Albright is tough. She just has a big heart, is all. Seeing a victim's body is never easy. Particularly when you know them."
I gave Nash a shaky smile and walked to the waiting golf cart, feeling better than I had all day.
Five
#BodyTrouble #DoubleTake
Golf carts acquired, we sped toward villa six. The resort manager, Robin Coxon, followed in her official Black Pine Golf and Resort cart — complete with a flashing yellow light — while I explained my "finding Cambria" story to Detective Mowry and Nash. Three times. With questions.
"You ate one of her muffins?" repeated Mowry.
Avoiding looking at either man, I mumbled about the diets of starlets and my hatred of wasted food.
"You climbed on a log in those shoes?" asked Nash.
I glanced at my Gianvito Rossi’s, now dirt and grass-grimed. The calfskin leather covering one stiletto had peeled. My life in Black Pine might be better for my soul, but it was hard on my wardrobe. "I couldn't see into her bedroom otherwise. The window was too high."
"I don't understand why you wanted to see in her bedroom," said Mowry. "Most people would leave if there was no answer. And if you thought she might be…busy with a friend…wouldn't that give you more reason to leave?"
I yanked up my sagging straps, not wanting to explain the laziness behind hiking back to the Cove nor the issue of the temptation in sitting next to a basket of muffins. "I worried that Cambria was using or drinking. Or doing something else that would ruin her career. The lights were on and music blaring. Mr. Shackleton was clear about keeping Cambria out of trouble. I wanted to make sure she was okay."
Nash turned off the golf cart path and onto the wooded trail to the villas. At villa six, the two carts pulled in front. The lights and music continued to blare from the cottage. Robin Coxon hopped from her cart but froze as Mowry called for her to halt.
"Stay in the cart," he ordered.
"You won't tell me what's going on and I have a right to know," said Robin. "I'm in charge of the resort and its guests. I know who's staying in this villa. I want to talk to Cambria before you do."
"I don't think she's available," said Detective Mowry. "I'll explain in a few minutes, but I need to check something first." He turned to Nash and me. "You stay put, too."
He approached the porch, scanning the ground and surrounds. Climbing the stairs, he knocked on the door. A moment later, he peeked inside both windows, ambled off the porch, and circled the left side of the cabin.
"What's going on?" called Robin. "Where's Cambria? Why are we here?'"
Nash's eyes were riveted to the side of the building where Mowry had disappeared.
"Should we call Mr. Shackleton?" I whispered. "He's going to arrive at the Cove in forty-five minutes."
Nash held up a hand. "Something's wrong. We'll wait."
"How do you know something's wrong?"
Mowry strode from the back of the cottage. "Miss Albright, can I speak to you?"
I scrambled from the cart with Nash following.
"Just Miss Albright. Stay in the cart, Nash."
Nash halted but folded his arms. "I'll wait here."
"Can I please have some idea of what's going on?" called Robin.
"Just a minute, Ms. Coxon." Mowry turned, beckoning me to follow. We circled the side of the villa and stopped at the log beneath the window. "This is where you fell?"
I nodded. "Did you se
e her?” I asked.
"Let's talk about that,” said Mowry.
"Okay?" I took a step toward the log.
Detective Mowry walked around me to stand before the log. "Stay there, please. Go through this with me again. You heard music, saw lights, banged on the door. Then looked through the front windows. You saw no one at that time."
"Yes. The bed was blocking my view of the floor. I couldn't see her body from the window."
"Then you came back here, went ’round to the back, got a piece of firewood, stood on it, and fell off."
"First I looked into the kitchen and bathroom, then got the wood. Then I saw Cambria and fell off."
"Can I check your head? For a lump? From your fall?"
I patted my hair. "I guess so. But I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt. I've had a lot of head injuries over the years."
His eyebrows arched.
"Oh my God, not because I look in windows. I had to do stunts on set. On Kung Fu Kate, I…" I stopped, remembering Nash's rule number one. Then realized this wasn't Nash. But it seemed like a good idea to stop anyway. Mowry probably didn't care about my TV past any more than Nash did.
"Humor me." Mowry took a step toward me and twirled a finger.
I turned around, embarrassed. He smelled like fresh soap and balsam. Clean pine. His fingers slipped into my hair and gently skimmed my scalp, tangling in my hair. His touch was light.
Until he found the bump.
I winced. "Ouch."
"You've got a small goose egg on the back of your skull. You should get that looked at."
"I'm fine." Turning, I found myself at eye level to Mowry's chin. I stepped back.
He smiled. "I found a few of these, too." He held up a blade of pine straw.
My skin ignited. I finger combed my hair, willing my cheeks to cool.
"You do have a nice lump that probably came from the fall. When you first saw Cambria's body, how did it look?"
"Dead."
"Did you see any blood? Any sign of injury? Was her body contorted?"
"She was lying face down, but with her head toward me. Her eyes were open."
"Her arms and legs weren't at a weird angle? And again, no blood?"
I shook my head, feeling confused.
"Okay, if you don't mind, I want you to climb on the log again and tell me what you see. I'll help so you don't fall this time."
I studied Mowry. The brown eyes were serious.
"Are you worried about what you'll see?" he asked.
I blew out a sigh, thinking about Cambria. It wasn't like seeing her again would do more damage. I was already pretty damaged. "I guess not."
"Good." He held out his hand. "I like to be humored."
I took his hand and stepped onto the log. Rising on my toes, I grabbed the windowsill.
Mowry tightened his grip on my hand and steadied his other hand on my waist. "What do you see?"
"Where's Cambria?" I scanned the room. Her body was gone along with the equipment. The bed was still rumpled, but the cover had been returned. "I don't understand."
I leaned forward, the log tipped, and Mowry dropped my hand to circle the arm around my waist. He swung me away from his body, and the log rolled away.
"Where's Cambria? What happened to her?"
"I was wondering that myself."
"What's going on?" said Nash.
I spun around to face Nash. "Cam-Cam's gone."
Robin slowed her trot to stop behind him. "What do you mean she's gone? She left Black Pine?"
Nash strode forward, brushing past Mowry to the window. No need for a log when you were as tall as Nash. Rising on his toes, he peered inside. "Did someone clean up?"
"Clean up? Do you mean housekeeping? They should have been here before three unless Cambria asked for something different." Robin's eyes widened. "Was something stolen? Is that what this is about?"
Mowry shook his head. "Please, Miss Coxon. I'll answer your questions in a moment. If you could wait in your cart, that'd be helpful. I also may need you to open the door."
Robin folded her arms. "Not without a warrant. I need to protect my guests. And I'm not leaving."
Mowry sighed.
Nash looked at me. "You sure about what you saw?"
I bit my lip, but nodded.
"She has a goose egg on the back of her head," said Mowry.
"Bumps cause amnesia, not hallucinations," said Nash.
"What lump?" said Robin.
"Getting a warrant is going to be near impossible," said Nash. "You know it."
"Why do you need to see Cambria's rooms anyway?" Robin pulled a phone from her pocket. "This is bullshit. If you're not going to talk to me, you're going to talk to the resort's lawyer."
"Miss Coxon, I said I'd speak to you in a moment. I'm just trying to sort something out before getting the resort involved. You'll thank me for being discreet later." Mowry looked at me. "Will you come to the station and make a statement?"
I nodded.
"Thank you," said Mowry. "I'm going to look around the area."
"Not without me, you're not," said Robin.
"Let's go. I'll explain as we walk." Mowry strode toward the carts and Robin stalked after him.
I stared at my log. "I don't understand. I wasn't gone that long."
"If she was dead, whoever was with her must have hung around and cleaned things up after you left," said Nash.
"If?" But Nash had a point. I shuddered. "Do you think he was hiding while I was here banging on the door? Her golf cart was missing. I thought her boyfriend had taken it. But it's parked in her spot at the resort. Carlos radioed to find out for me."
"Carlos?"
"The Cove's valet parking attendant."
Nash folded his arms and studied me for a long minute. "You've had a rough start to your evening. If you have to go to the police station, maybe you want to go home and clean up first? Mowry can get a ride back with Ms. Coxon. He's probably going to want to do a thorough search, interview guests. Whatever she'll let him do without a warrant."
"We should meet Shackleton. He'll be at the Cove soon."
"True." Nash glanced at his watch, then looked back at me. "You okay, kid?"
I nodded. "Except for losing Cam-Cam. And giving the news to Shackleton. I'm a little scared to tell him."
"Feels like old times."
Yep. Losing the client before the job begins was becoming my trademark.
Probably something to bring up with my next therapist.
* * *
Eight o'clock was the magic hour for the Cove. The sun had set, the air cooled, and Black Pine's martini and scotch drinkers had converged on the patio. Below the Cove, yacht party lights shimmered and the lake lapped against the docks. As Nash and I climbed the stone stairs leading to the patio, a swell of laughter and the scent of Chanel No. 5 drifted toward us. Instinctively, my stomach clenched and I ran my tongue over my teeth in a lipstick check.
"I hate this place," mumbled Nash.
"Do you feel on display?" I said. "Like you're the St. Bernard in a dog show, and no matter how well you've been trained, you know the poodle will win?"
"No." Nash cut his eyes toward me. "I hate it because Jolene and her type hang out here. What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Nothing," I said quickly.
"You feel like a St. Bernard?"
I yanked up my straps. "I'm just used to be publicly critiqued or whatever. Like show dogs. Never mind."
"Miss Albright, the things that come out of your mouth." Nash shook his head.
My spirit drooped, but I pulled back my shoulders, angled my chin, and plastered on my "suck it" face. My eyes darted around the patio and honed in on Vicki at the prime table in the corner farthest from the server's entrance. She had her back to the water and the breeze made a pretty swirl of her platinum waves. I averted my gaze but felt the heat of her eyes skimming my shoddy appearance. I sensed the accompanying snort.
"Let's wait for Shackleton in the foyer," s
aid Nash, plowing past the tables.
He had no idea show dogs were supposed to circle and prance, not stomp through the center.
"My darling."
I almost stumbled in my ruined Gianvito Rossi's. A hand grasped mine and steadied me.
Still holding my hand, Giulio Belloni slid from his premium table against the lakeside wall. Once my (by audition) dating partner on All is Albright, Giulio had followed the show's move to Black Pine. The executive producer — Vicki — hadn't canceled the show yet despite my very public departure from LA. Rumor had it All is Albright hoped Giulio had enough star power to carry on in the role of "heartbroken ex."
Considering Giulio's heart was lodged somewhere between his wallet and penis, he had quite an acting challenge before him.
Leaning forward, Giulio air-kissed my cheeks and took my other hand in his. "What have you been doing? What are you wearing? I heard a certain summer collection had a retro-grunge look, but darling, I fear you chose the wrong designer."
Cocking his head, he half-circled me and leaned into my ear. "The girls are fantastic as usual, but darling, the fitting? It's not a good look for you."
"Maybe it needs a choker holding a little barrel filled with alcohol," I said, thinking of my animal spirit guide.
"That would be brilliant." Giulio pulled me closer. He bent to kiss my hand, knowing a double V-neck forced me to stay upright. Also knowing that his flashy poodle tricks would be rewarded. Nearby tables snapped pictures of his Balenciaga jeans pulled tightly across his perfect posterior.
Giulio always hoped a Calvin Klein rep would notice his Instagramed posterior and call his agent for a spread. Advertising spread. Giulio dreamed of showing off his six pack and V-cut for a tighty-whities billboard.
A loud throat clearing interrupted his low bow. Giulio jerked up, bounced against my chest, smiled, and spotted Nash. "Darling, it's your private dick. How wonderful. Are you on an assignation? Will you tango with a spy tonight?"
My private dick mumbled a remark about tangoing with a fist.
"We are meeting someone," I blurted. "I need to go inside. It was nice to see you, sweetie."
"Likewise, my darling. Let's do drinks sometime soon. Your partner, too, of course. Yes?" He smiled at Nash.
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