by Lena Gregory
“You did?” A sigh of relief escaped. One less thing to worry about. “Where was it?”
“You don’t want to know.” Bee cleared his throat and glared at her. “But trust me when I tell you, you do not want it back.”
“Oh . . . uh . . . nah. I’m just glad you found it.”
“Yeah, me too. Anyway, I went down to the kitchen to see if Isabella had anything hot to drink—by the way, she said to tell you to keep Beast out of the garbage.”
“When did he get into the garbage?”
Bee did his best not to appear guilty. It didn’t work. “It could have been on my way back in with him.” He fluttered his lashes then tilted his head in an imitation of Beast’s innocent look.
Cass laughed.
“Anyway, when I saw Bozo and his sidekick there . . .” He nodded toward Donald and Sylvia. “. . . coming in, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Aw, thanks, Bee.” Cass leaned her head onto his broad shoulder. “You’re a real sweetheart.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“How’d you know we were here?” Placing the milk back on the tray, Stephanie absently stirred her tea.
“I always make it a point to know where my girls are.”
Warmth surged through Cass. She didn’t always appreciate Bee enough. Not only was he a good friend, he was the most sensitive, caring man she knew.
Bee was quick to change the subject. “Jim sure looks unhappy.”
Jim Wellington’s mouth had firmed into a thin line, and the creases in his face had deepened. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he gripped the back of Priscilla’s chair tighter.
“I’ll say. Did you hear anything on your way past?” Cass asked.
“Nah. Couldn’t hear a word. Seemed to me the Wellingtons and the cop were glaring at one another without saying anything. Priscilla looked like she’d been crying, but she seems to be over it now.”
The anger etched on her face chased away any signs of the prior grief. Jim helped her to her feet and, with one final glare at the poor cop, he led her from the room.
“Hmm . . .” Bee stared openly, making no attempt to disguise his interest. “Somebody just made a couple of enemies.”
“He’s getting on everyone’s bad side. We ran into Joan on our way in, and she looked like she was running from a monster.” Cass watched the small whirlpool as she swirled her spoon around and around. A shadow passed over her, and she sucked in a breath.
“Well, well, well . . .”
Cass jumped, startled by Donald’s voice so close to her, and the spoon clattered to the table. How long had she zoned out that she missed him approaching? Though Bee and Stephanie eyed him suspiciously, they didn’t seem surprised he was standing there with Sylvia hanging on his arm.
Donald ignored them, focusing his full attention on Cass. “Apparently our dearly departed Conrad may not have climbed up into those rafters himself. Who do you think could have helped him up there?”
Cass bristled. “How would I know?”
“Oh, I don’t know, but I bet the police would be interested to know you were lurking around his room after the fact.” Donald stood tall, hands in his pockets, no indication of his former fear remaining.
Scanning the room to be sure no one was listening, Cass gritted her teeth.
Bee slid back in the chair, hooking his arm over the back and crossing his legs. Pressing a hand daintily to his chest, he batted his long eyelashes. “I bet they’d be more interested to know she wasn’t alone in there. Could be hard to explain to some people what the two of you were doing together . . . in the dark . . . alone.” He tilted his head and aimed a lifted brow at Sylvia.
Anger reddened Donald’s face as he turned on Bee, then just stopped and gaped. Bee in full diva mode was quite a sight to behold.
Without taking her glare from Bee, Sylvia straightened and released her hold on Donald. “Donald already explained why he was in there, and I think it was really sweet he went back to look for my engagement ring.”
Wait a minute. Hadn’t Donald said Sylvia sent him back to look for the ring?
“This may come as a surprise to someone as loyal as you . . .” Bee leaned forward and gestured for Sylvia to do the same. “But to some people, a ring doesn’t mean anything.” Then he gestured toward Donald’s groin. “By the way, how are the boys feeling?”
Donald winced and covered himself.
With a huff, Sylvia turned and stalked away.
Cass made no attempt to hide a smirk.
“You ought to think about having another séance, Cass.” Donald’s sneer shot right to her gut. “Maybe you can ring up good ole Conrad and ask him who offed him.”
Bee stared after them as they stormed from the room. “What a jerk. How were you ever married to that guy?”
Cass was saved from having to answer, or even think about it, when Tank strode into the room and straight toward them. He didn’t look happy.
“Well, that’s my cue.” Bee stood.
“Uh-uh. You’re not going anywhere.” Tank pointed to the chair Bee had been sitting in. “Why don’t you stick around and we’ll have a little chat.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I have things to do, places to go, people to see. You know how it is.” He only got as far as the next table.
“Sit, Bee.”
He grumbled but did as he was told.
Tank frowned. “What are you doing here anyway? Stephanie said you weren’t staying.”
“I wasn’t, but there were some issues when we got here.” He shrugged it off as if it were no big deal, though everyone sitting there knew it was. “I hung around to help out and got caught in the storm.”
Tank nodded then turned the remaining chair around and straddled it, folding his hands on the table. “What happened?”
The question wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, but since Bee and Stephanie sat staring at Cass, she sighed and started from the beginning. She talked Tank through going into the cupola, told him about the open space she’d stumbled across in the floor—then stared at Bee and Stephanie in turn, hoping they wouldn’t mention she’d accidentally opened it while moving Conrad’s shoe. Satisfied her secret was safe, Cass continued to walk him through what she remembered of the crime scene. When she finished up with her thoughts about the knot on his head and the bruises on his upper arms, Tank lifted a brow but remained silent.
Exhausted, Cass reached for her tea. “And that’s it. Then we came down and had hot chocolate while we tried to call the police.” A bead of sweat trickled down her back. Had Donald told anyone she’d been in Conrad’s room? If he had, Tank would surely know by now. She lowered her gaze and sipped the now lukewarm tea, praying he’d accept her explanation and let it go at that.
Tank cleared his throat and ran a hand over his buzzed hair. He pinned her with a gaze, his steel-grey eyes locking onto hers, searching for something. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Why?” She feigned innocence—at least she hoped it came across as innocence. She was a terrible liar, so it could possibly come across as hiding something.
“You didn’t notice anything else at all while you were up there?”
Cass shook her head, her heart racing. Could he see it pounding against her ribs? She pulled her coat tighter around her, even though the room had warmed considerably.
Finally releasing her from his captive gaze, Tank stood. “Okay. Get your things.”
Cass’s heart lurched. “What are you talking about? I can’t leave.”
“What do you mean you can’t leave? Of course you’re leaving. All three of you.” He pointed a finger and gestured at Cass, Bee, and Stephanie.
“Tank, please. This weekend is really important to me. I have to stay.”
With a quick glance around the almost-empty room, Tank sank back onto his chair. “Cass
. . .” He ran his thumb and forefinger over his goatee. “Do you understand what’s going on here?”
She swallowed hard. Should she ask, or simply continue to go about her life without knowing? If she chose the latter, she could convince herself Conrad committed suicide. Probably. While sad, that would mean they hadn’t spent the better part of the night holed up with a killer. She pitched her voice as low as she could. It wasn’t hard, since she could barely suck in enough air to force out any sound. “Conrad didn’t kill himself, did he?”
Tank shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Fear clutched her heart. “How can you be positive?”
“The rafters are eight feet high. Conrad was less than six feet tall.” He waited.
She stared blankly then spared a quick look at Stephanie and Bee. Neither of them seemed to have any sort of epiphany, so she turned her attention back to Tank. “And?”
“There was a stepladder in the back corner of the room.”
Cass walked through the crime scene in her mind. She remembered the shoe lying on the floor across the room. Weird. But she couldn’t recall seeing any sort of ladder, or stool, or chair. Nothing overturned beneath Conrad as he swung at least two feet off the floor. Ah . . . jeez . . .
“Obviously, Conrad didn’t put it away himself, no matter how much of a neat freak he was.”
“Neat freak?”
Tank shrugged. “At least that’s what everyone says.”
An image of the mess spread across Conrad’s dresser flashed into her mind. Overturned bottles, discarded napkins and jewelry. Whoever left that was far from a neat freak. Had Donald made the mess while he was searching the room?
Tank stood, interrupting her thoughts. “There’s no way I’m leaving my wife or my friends in danger. Not happening.”
Bee sat up straighter, his fluttering eyelashes a good indication he was holding back tears. He and Tank had clashed numerous times, only recently reaching some sort of tentative truce, but this was the first time Tank had referred to him as a friend. It obviously meant a lot. Bee considered Stephanie one of his best friends, family really, and it always hurt that her husband couldn’t accept him.
Tank’s expression softened for just an instant. “I’m sorry, Cass. I really am.”
“I’m going to have to refund everyone their money and still pay for the food and everything.” Her throat strained with the effort to hold back her tears. “In the long run, this could end up costing me money. You don’t understand, Tank.” She had to struggle to force the words past the lump blocking her throat. “It could ruin me. I might lose the shop.”
The confession didn’t come easy. She’d poured her heart and soul into Mystical Musings, as well as all of her savings, but Bay Island just didn’t thrive in the winter. She wiped away tears.
“It’ll be all right, honey.” Bee was at her side in an instant. He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed, pulling her into his embrace. “Since Dreamweaver has picked up and I’ve gotten some big-name buyers to come to my shows, I’ve been able to put a little money away. It’s not much, just a small nest egg, but . . .” Twin spots of crimson spread across his cheeks. “You’re one of my best friends, Cass. I’ll help you any way I can.”
A vise squeezed her chest. “Thank you.”
He hugged her closer, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Of course, dear.”
Stephanie rubbed a circle on her back. “Tank and I will help too.”
“Come on, guys.” Tank gently untangled her from Bee. “We’ll work it all out, Cass. You’re not going to lose the shop. Now, let’s get you out of here. I’m closing down the bed-and-breakfast as soon as we can safely transport everyone to the Bay Side Hotel.”
“Can we go up and get our things? I have to get Beast, too.”
Tank’s face paled. “You brought the dog?”
“Well, Bee was supposed to watch him, but when he got stuck here, so did Beast.”
Tank propped his hands on his hips and blew out a breath. “We can’t unbury all of the cars, so he’ll have to ride back with us in my truck.” He lifted a finger in warning. “Do not let him eat any part of it.”
8
Cass unlocked the door to Mystical Musings the next morning and shoved it open with her hip, while digging through her oversize bag in search of the muffled ringtone coming from it. Using her elbow, she held the door for Beast to enter. “Ha. Got it.” She yanked the phone from her bag and hit the button. Nothing. “Dang. After all that, I missed it anyway.” Letting the door fall shut behind her, she crossed the store and dropped her bag onto the counter, then smiled when she read Luke’s name above the missed call message. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She’d call him back as soon as she got settled.
She hadn’t seen Luke in close to a month. With the holidays, his work schedule, and his other commitments, he hadn’t been able to make time for the trip over to Bay Island. She could probably make time to get over to the mainland, but she didn’t have anyone to leave Beast with.
Beast. The big dog stood near the front door licking puddles of snow from the floor. Cass sighed. Could be worse. At least he wasn’t doing any damage, and she’d have to mop the floors before she opened anyway, before the residue from the salt in the parking lot and the porch damaged the wood. Actually, she should probably throw some more salt on the steps too. Maybe she’d do that first. The bright sun beating down had melted the snow and ice, turning everything to slushy puddles, only to have it all re-freeze again as soon as the sun dropped below the horizon.
With a sigh at the thought of going back out into the cold, she pulled the ice melt out from beneath the counter and trudged back onto the porch. A small niggle of depression crept in. Why even bother? Would anyone come into the shop today? The diner and Tony’s bakery had opened this morning. And she had no doubt the deli had managed to open yesterday, since the owner’s son lived in an apartment above the store and didn’t have to wait for side roads to be cleared. Word of her failure would have spread to almost everyone by now. Especially with everyone pretty much snowbound for all of Sunday. They’d all be desperate for their daily dose of gossip by this morning. Cass might have been, too, after being cooped up for almost two days, if she wasn’t the topic of the week. Again. Ugh . . .
She grabbed the shovel from beside the door and pushed the slushy mess off the porch and steps, then did the walkway, too. Wouldn’t want the mad dash of customers to slip. The crunch of tires on the icy mess intruded on her pity-fest, and she glanced up. Emmett Marx was pulling in, driving his tow truck.
Emmett was a sweetheart. He owned the garage at the other end of the island, and most islanders took their cars to him because he was practically a miracle worker. He was also known as the local handyman. Emmett hopped out of the truck and strolled toward her with his hands tucked into his sweatshirt pockets.
“Hey, Emmett. What are you doing out without a coat? It’s freezing out here.”
“Nah. Not that bad. ’Sides, my coat’s in the truck. Too bulky while I’m driving.”
Cass narrowed her eyes. As sweet as he was, Emmett wasn’t known for his social skills. That was more than he usually said in an entire conversation. Hmm . . . maybe being stuck in the snow made him talkative.
“Thanks for digging my car out yesterday.” If he hadn’t plowed out the bed-and-breakfast, she’d still be stuck home with no car.
He waved her off and tucked his wild mane of long hair farther under his black knit cap. “If you give me your keys, I’ll move your car out and tidy up the parking lot a bit.” He held out an ungloved hand.
“Come on in for a minute. I have to get the keys.” She propped the shovel beside the door. “Thank you. I was just thinking about shoveling it. I was worried this would all freeze over again by tomorrow.”
Emmett grunted. Apparen
tly his chatty streak was over.
Beast scrambled to get his feet beneath him on the polished wood floors, giving Emmett a second to brace himself before the onslaught.
“Beast!” Cass’s command fell on deaf ears as the dog landed his front paws on Emmett’s chest.
Emmett backpedaled, but caught himself before he toppled over the coatrack behind him. “Hey, fella.” He ran his fingers through Beast’s mane before pushing him down.
“I’m sorry, Emmett.” Cass pulled the keys from her bag and ran toward him. She picked up a bone from the floor and tossed it to Beast. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. I’m used to big dogs.” Brushing the dirt from his sweatshirt, Emmett grinned. “Love that big fella, right, Beast?”
Beast barked once in answer then returned to chewing.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?”
Emmett shrugged.
“Come on in. Sit and warm up for a few minutes.” She led him to the table at the back of the shop. “I was just going to make some coffee.”
“Sure.” Emmett pulled out a chair and sat. He cleared his throat, something obviously on his mind.
“You okay?”
Fidgeting with the keys, Emmett shrugged. “Fine.”
Cass busied herself preparing the coffee. Emmett was one of the shyest people she knew; though, he’d come out of his shell a little since he’d been seeing Sara Ryan. Cass couldn’t be happier. The outgoing woman was good for him, and her daughter, Jess, and his son, Joey, were great friends.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the other night.”
She waited, stirring milk into the two cups. Hopefully, he didn’t want his refund right away. Bracing herself for the possibility, she lifted the cups and turned to him. “I’m sorry. I know it didn’t work out so well.” Heat flared in her cheeks.
“No big deal. At least I got to spend the night with Sara.” He jerked his head up, a look of sheer horror twisting his features.
Cass laughed.