by Gina LaManna
“Sure,” he said. “Would you like to come inside for a moment? Unfortunately, I don’t have long. I have a lunch meeting shortly.”
I stepped into the apartment, my eyes scanning the place and catching sight of furniture that reminded me of IKEA. Perfectly respectable, nice-looking tables and chairs, but nothing that would last. Nothing unique or truly beautiful.
“What can I help you with?” he asked, buttoning his shirt as he spoke. “Sorry about my appearance. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I’ll keep this short,” I said. “It’s about Andrea.”
At her name, Ryan froze. His fingers had pushed a button midway through the hole, and there it stayed as his gaze slowly raked up my body and landed on my face. The mixed color of his eyes was eerie now, and the black of his hair shone under the bright ceiling lights. “Andrea?”
I exhaled my nerves, quickly calculating how long it’d take me to leap out the door. Three seconds maybe? Then again, we were already four minutes into our meeting, and if Annalise’s meditation session ran out, she might come looking for me at any time.
I couldn’t decide if that would be good or bad. I didn’t want her to get involved, but it would be nice to have company. The way Ryan was watching me for an answer sent shivers over my skin.
“I’m looking for quotes about her life,” I said, scrambling. “A memorial article. Did you hear she passed away?”
Ryan turned back to the buttons on his shirt, his fingers shaking as he made his way up to the top, then back down to the bottom. Either he was truly shaken by Andrea’s death, or he was a fabulous actor.
“I heard,” he said carefully. “But we were no longer together. The relationship we had was a long time ago. How did you get my name?”
“How long?”
“Long enough that I shouldn’t be the first person commenting on a story about her life. Who did you say we had as a mutual friend?”
“Who should be the person commenting?” I asked. “Was she close to somebody? A friend or a new boyfriend?”
“If she was,” he said, his lips quirking into an eerie smile, “do you think she’d tell me about it?”
“When I spoke to her parents and friends, they mentioned that you were a big part of her life.”
“If you’ve already talked to them, why are you coming to me? Surely they gave you plenty of quotes.” Ryan took two steps toward me, and I moved backward simultaneously. I stopped when the back of my legs ran into the dining room table. “Unless you’re here for another reason.”
“No, I just thought—”
“What paper did you say you’re with?”
“Tech...” I hesitated, trying to remember the magazine Melinda had pointed to during my perm. “Tech Industry Magazine Unlimited.” I mostly spouted words until I ran out. Then I ran a hand through my hair, forgetting that it’d been tied back. My fingers got stuck as I tried to drag my hand out, and the whole moment turned into a huge mess. And worse, a dead giveaway that I was lying.
“You think I killed her,” Ryan said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was taller than me by several inches, his posture clearly meant to intimidate. “I’ll tell you what, Lola, I didn’t. We were done. Over. Finito. I wouldn’t risk going to prison over that bimbo.”
“You asked her to marry you.”
“And she didn’t want to get married.” Ryan’s lips formed a thin line. “That’s all there is to it. My friends said I dodged a bullet. I guess they were right.”
“Do you have any idea who might have wanted her dead?”
Ryan ignored me, pulling out his phone. It hadn’t rung, hadn’t beeped. I waited, trying for patience as he flipped through a few search results on Google’s front page. “What’s the name of the magazine?”
I blanked. I completely blanked. “Uh-unlimited text—I mean, Tech Unlimited, uh...”
“Right.” Ryan turned his phone off and put it in his pocket. “Forget about your acronyms; I know you’re lying. Who are you working for?”
“What?”
“You’re not a cop. I know how to smell a cop. You’re not a friend of Andrea’s—she prefers to hang out with women of her own...” he paused, giving a pointed look at my chest, “caliber.”
I swallowed. “I worked with her, and she was a friend of a friend’s. I saw her the morning of her death.”
“More lies. Andrea didn’t work.”
“She modeled.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Right. She modeled for creepy old dudes, at least until that jerk...” he trailed off, his breaths turning shallow, quick. His face darkened as the pieces clicked into place. “You work for him.”
“Mr. Dane Clark,” I said. “Yes, and Andrea—”
I stopped short, jumping to the side as Ryan’s eyes flashed in anger. He leaned forward, and with a single swipe, he sent the vase in the middle of the table flying. It hurtled across the room, just barely missing my body as it sailed toward the entrance to his condo.
It was at that very moment that the door to Ryan’s apartment opened and Annalise’s head poked inside. Luckily, her training in the circus was grueling and intense—and had prepared her instincts to be lightning quick.
With one glance in our direction, her reflexes kicked in and she catapulted herself into a somersault, landing daintily across the room as the door shut behind her. The vase passed the exact spot Annalise’s head had been moments before, smashing into the wall and shattering into a million pieces.
“That is a rude way to say hello!” Annalise pushed herself to her feet. “You almost killed me, jerk.” Annalise must’ve been in shock. She’d been scared to walk through the door, but now she was marching toward Ryan with her finger extended. “I just got my hair cut, and you ruined Gabriella’s style.”
Ryan blinked in surprise, obviously unsettled at the small woman scolding him for bad behavior. “Sorry.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, waving Annalise off. “One last question, Ryan. What do you have against Mr. Clark? How do you know him?”
“I don’t know him. All I know is that the second Andrea turned her sights on him, she decided I wasn’t good enough for her.” The frustration returned to his eyes, the twitchiness in his fingers making me nervous he’d start throwing plates next. “If you should be questioning anyone, it should be your own damn boss. Why don’t you ask him who killed her? He’s got to be mourning his girlfriend. Now get out and leave me alone before I call the police.”
“ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE okay?” Annalise pulled up in front of the Clark estate after the short drive from Ryan’s condo. “You’re looking a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t the truth. Between Ryan’s vase throwing and his accusations against Dane, I was still shaken up. “I’m just thinking.”
“But—”
“Really, I’m okay.” I leaned over and hugged Annalise, giving her hair an affectionate pat. “I know you have to get back to practice. Thanks for all your help today. I already kept you too long.”
Annalise glanced at the clock on the dashboard, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel. She was punctual to a tee, and her afternoon practices began in under ten minutes. “I’m already going to be late,” she said finally. “So, if you need something, I can stay. I can call in sick. I haven’t called in once this year, and the Bearded Lady has called in, like, five times this month.”
“No, no—that wouldn’t help anything. That’s sweet of you to offer, but you should get going. I have to talk to Dane, anyway.”
Relief flooded her face. “Okay,” she said. “Then no offense, but can you hop out of the car? I might be able to make it on time if I drive creatively.”
I laughed. “Live life on the edge, Annalise,” I said, sliding out of the car, holding the door open for one last wink. “Be five minutes late.”
She made a face at me and threw the car into gear before I could say goodbye. I shut the door, then made my way to the front of the house.
However, it didn’t take more than two steps before a flurry of activity drew my attention to the front door.
Dane appeared in the entryway, speaking in fast, clipped tones over his shoulder, his gaze focused on Mrs. Dulcet. He hadn’t noticed me. “I’ll be back in two hours. I’ll take my conference call in the workout room later this evening.”
Mrs. Dulcet saw me first, her hands flying toward Dane in a fluttering mess, trying to direct his attention toward me. He looked mildly annoyed as he continued talking, oblivious to me until his butler quite literally pushed him down the steps.
Recovering his balance, Dane finally sensed my presence. His gaze rose to meet mine, his eyes filled with a smile as he found me standing before him. “Right on time.”
“Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything? You sound really busy, and this is my job, not yours. I can handle the event planning alone if you’d prefer.”
“No,” Dane said, his words measured. “I want to go. If I rescheduled other events, it’s because I want to spend the time with you.”
I watched Mrs. Dulcet’s face brighten in relief at Dane’s explanation. My heart matched her face. “Are you sure?”
“Lola, I have many flaws, and one of them is my brutal honesty.” Dane gave a lopsided smile. He took careful steps toward me, looking beautiful in a bright blue shirt underneath a well-tailored suit. His features were enhanced with a uniqueness that made him even more alluring. “I want to spend time with you, and I’d prefer not to spend the time discussing whether I want to be here.”
Since I couldn’t find an argument to top his, I shrugged. “Shall we take one of your cars, or my bicycle?”
His bark of laughter surprised me. Behind him, Mrs. Dulcet snickered as well, unsuccessful at hiding her lurking presence. She stepped into the light, giving a shake of her head as her eyes gleamed. “You’ll never get Dane Clark on a bicycle. I’ll eat my hat if you do.”
“Why not?”
“He’s terrified of bicycles,” Mrs. Dulcet replied. “Took a horrible spill once when he was five, never got back on it.”
I narrowed my eyes at Dane. “Seriously?”
“Must you?” Dane turned to face his housekeeper, his obvious adoration of her clouded with a tinge of annoyance. “Can’t you keep any family secrets?”
“He has three motorcycles!” Mrs. Dulcet quipped, covering her mouth as she giggled and tried to stifle it. “But he wouldn’t get on a bicycle if it’d save his life.”
Gerard saved Dane in that moment, pulling up the driveway in a beautiful old Aston Martin a la James Bond. Gerard climbed from the car and gave it a look of pure love before holding open the door and passing the reins to Mr. Clark with a toss of the keys.
“She’s just out of the shop,” Gerard said gently. “She’ll purr like a kitten. Enjoy yourself, kids.”
“The car is too much, Dane,” I said as I climbed inside. “What if I spill coffee or wine or pasta sauce, or—”
“We’ll clean the car,” he said with a quick smile. “Or you can leave the pasta sauce and wine for later, and we’ll stop for a nice cup of coffee between errands. You won’t win this argument, Lola.”
“Well,” I said, slipping into the pristine interior. “In that case, let’s go, Mr. Clark.”
Chapter 13
“THIS IS YOUR EVENT coordinator’s final suggestion?” Dane looked across the center console to where I squirmed uncomfortably in the passenger’s seat of his beautiful vehicle. We’d already visited the bowling alley along with Melinda’s other suggestions, but none of them had worked out. “How did you say you found her? Are you sure she’s planned events before?”
I fidgeted with the binder holding my crazy hair in place. “Well, she’s not a planner, per se. She does all sorts of things: perms, highlights, waxing.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said, waving a hand toward the small house in front of us. “Stop here. Melinda said Mr. Reynolds’s family has a nice spot out back for weddings. An old barn, very rustic and quaint.”
“Old barn?” Dane murmured. “Interesting.”
“Look, I know it’s not what your mother is probably used to with her charity galas, but it might be fun to switch things up. Instead of a glamorous venue, maybe we can show the rich folks another side of the town. Retro is in these days, you know.”
“The rich folks—that’s what you think of me?”
“Not you,” I said. “You’re not stuffy like the rest of them.”
“That’s good to know. Then what am I?”
He parked the car and turned his attention toward me. Crystalline eyes scanned my face, his expression one of amusement as a smile played at his lips. Sexy. That’s what he was, but I couldn’t find my voice to say it aloud.
I also couldn’t tell him that he was handsome or intelligent or adorable in his quirkiness. I couldn’t bring myself to show him how I felt by running my hands over his broad shoulders, down his arms to the gentle fingers that so often found themselves on my lower back.
“You’re...ah, you’re very nice,” I said, my face heating due to the noticeably long silence in which I’d thoroughly analyzed his features.
“That’s all I ever wanted to be when I grew up,” he said, a deep laugh warming the temperature in the car. “Nice.”
“Let’s go,” I muttered, before I landed myself in more hot water. “I didn’t tell Mr. Reynolds we’d be coming, but after his grocery store was torn down, he took to gardening and watching TV. He should be around.”
Dane followed me out of the car, and to my pleasant surprise, his fingers found themselves on my lower back. Together we approached the small, single story home set in a cul-de-sac with four other similar houses, all owned by one sibling or another of the Reynolds family.
Behind his house was a large, shared garden and the barn. The barn was set far enough behind the house that it couldn’t be seen from the road, but I knew it was there, just behind the layer of trees that gave it a nice, secluded shield and a layer of privacy for custom events.
I walked up to Mr. Reynolds’s house and knocked on the door. He’d been a regular at Dotty’s hut, and I knew him well. When he didn’t answer after the first few knocks, I tried again, then explained to Dane, “He’s practically deaf.” I turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Dane rested a hand on my wrist. “What are you doing? You can’t just walk into someone’s house.”
“Everyone walks into Mr. Reynolds’s house. I’m checking on him—I’m doing the neighborhood a favor.” Before Dane could scold me further, I called Mr. Reynolds’s name loud enough for the dead to hear.
“Who’s that?” he asked. “Annie, is that you? Or Mary, did you forget something?”
Dane raised his eyebrows at me.
“I told you he gets a lot of visitors. He’s a popular guy.” Raising my voice, I stepped into the living room and waved. “Hey, Mr. Reynolds, it’s me—Lola. How are you?”
Mr. Reynolds was a rumpled old man, his glasses as thick as the table next to him. He had a scruffy mustache and hair poking out of his ears, and when he smiled, his whole face lit up. “Is that you, Pink? Dotty’s granddaughter?”
“It’s me.” I grinned, crossing the room to give Mr. Reynolds a hug while Dane stood stock still behind us. “I have a favor to ask you. The barn out back—are you still renting it out for events?”
“For you?” His soft gray eyes melted, his thick wrinkles forming a quirky, lovable face that turned to look briefly over my shoulder. “Is it a wedding?”
My face turned back to a shade of red I wasn’t proud to display. “No, no—not a wedding. Charity event.”
“I rent it out for weddings,” he said, shaking a finger at me. “Your wedding. Dotty would’ve loved it. That Dotty, she made for a great friend.”
I nodded, sinking into the familiar feeling of listening to stories about Dotty. The beautiful thing about having a grandmother who’d been so loved by everyone was that she never truly fel
t gone. Her stories, her memories were preserved in the hearts and souls of everyone on the Sunshine Shore.
“I used to go to her every year to find out my Christmas presents,” Mr. Reynolds confided in me. “I started meeting with her back in eighty-four and went every year until she passed.”
I blinked, taking a long breath before allowing the smile to form on my lips. It got easier and easier to listen to stories about my grandmother, but when someone as sweet as Mr. Reynolds lamented her absence, it was still hard. “She was an incredible woman.”
“I hear you’re taking over the shop. You’ll be the new Psychic in Pink?” he asked. “The town needs one.”
“I’m not very good at seeing the future,” I said. “I’m more of a hindsight sort of girl. I’m renovating the shop though, turning it into a sunglasses hut. We’ll have a coffee bar, keep some of Dotty’s furniture—it’ll be nice.”
Mr. Reynolds reached out and clasped my hands, his gray eyes watering as he looked into mine. “Whatever you turn that place into, you keep the spirit of your grandmother alive, understand?”
“Yes,” I murmured. “I’ll try my best.”
“Her spirit’s there, in every breath of that wood, every curve of that fat red chair. You leave that porch light on through the night—rain or shine—and if someone comes to you for help, don’t turn your back on them,” he said. “That’s what Dotty Pink brought to this town, and it’s in you, too.” He nodded, pointing toward my chest. “You’ve got that same bright spirit, girl. Let it shine.”
I swallowed, the lump in my throat preventing me from commenting.
“Now, you might not be psychic, and I’m not either, but I can see the two of you have a future together.” He pointed between me and Dane. “When you get married, I’ll lend you my barn. It’s a real beauty. Rachel just used it last week for her ceremony.”
“Rachel...” I hesitated. I knew almost everyone on the Sunshine Shore, but there were no Rachel’s with wedding announcements in recent history. “Rachel who?”
“Harrington. Todd, that was the groom’s name,” Mr. Reynolds said. “Todd and Rachel got married there last week.”