by Lena Gregory
“Cass?”
“No. Pick me up out front.”
“The main entrance is closed this late at night, Cass.”
“Oh. Right.” She’d been gone from Bay Island for too long. Even though Manhattan was less than a hundred miles from Bay Island, they were very different worlds. “Okay. Pick me up right outside the ER.” She hesitated. She couldn’t wait out there. “But pull right up to the doors and call when you get here.”
“I’m on my way.”
When Bee ended the call, Cass just stood in the stall—careful not to touch the walls—unsure what to do next. She tucked the phone back into her pocket, opened the stall door, and peered out. No one. Even with the icy roads tonight, Bay Island’s only emergency room was quiet. People must have stayed home. Smart people. At least, smarter than her.
Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror above the small row of sinks, Cass cringed. “Ah jeez . . . Bee’s gonna freak.” Blood streaked her face. Apparently, the head wound had bled more than she realized. While the car was lying on its side, it must have flowed into her hair, because her hair was matted with blood and sticking out where she’d run her hands through it. She had a small cut on her bottom lip. Her left eye and cheekbone were bruised, although not too badly. And her coat and shirt were stained with coffee. Ugh . . .
She stuck her hands beneath the faucet, then soaped them vigorously. The water ran pink as she rinsed. How had she not noticed the blood on her hands?
The door opened, and Cass jumped and spun toward the intrusion, splattering water across the floor, her heart thundering.
“There you are.” The receptionist pushed through the door, a nurturing smile on her face. “Do you need help? Are you sick to your stomach? I can bring a wheelchair if you need one.”
Cass grabbed a few paper towels and blotted her hands dry. “Oh, no. Thank you. I actually feel much better now. I just called a friend to come get me.”
The woman frowned. When she spoke next, her voice had turned gentle. “Did someone do this to you? You’re safe here, you know, we can call—”
“No.” Cass held up her hands. “Oh. No. No one hurt me. I flipped my car on the icy roads. It was hours ago, but I wasn’t feeling well, so I came in, but now I feel better. I think I was just nervous.” She almost choked on the giggle she offered. It came out sounding like more of a high-pitched squeak. Did she look as hysterical as she felt? If so, the woman would probably call for a straitjacket instead of a wheelchair.
With a suspicious stare, the woman started to back away. “So, you no longer want to see a doctor?”
“No. Thank you. I’m fine now.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.” The woman’s brow lifted. “You shouldn’t play games with a head injury.”
Okay, so maybe fine was too strong a word. “It’s not even bleeding anymore.” Cass was saved from having to argue further when her cell phone rang. She answered as she fled the bathroom with the woman’s protests following after her.
13
Pulling her hood up against the frigid wind, Cass crossed the sidewalk, careful not to slip and fall, and climbed into Bee’s bad-weather car. She was surprised the beat-up, four-wheel-drive pickup truck even still ran, but it was a better alternative than taking his Trans-Am out on icy, salt-and-sand covered roads.
“Oh my.” Bee’s hand fluttered to his chest. “They didn’t clean you up very well.”
She pressed her hands to the vents, grateful for the warmth. “I didn’t see the doctor.”
“What? Why not?” Turning in the seat so he could face her, Bee examined her face. “Well, the bleeding’s stopped, but it doesn’t mean you don’t have a concussion or something. You should really be seen.”
“No. I’m okay, Bee. Please, can we just get out of here?” She glanced around the dark parking lot. No sign of Jim’s SUV, but still . . .
“Look, hon. I know you’re spooked—especially after the . . . incident . . . with finding Marge Hawkins in the theater and all—but there are bodies in the hospital all the time.” He placed a hand gently on top of one of hers. “Unfortunately, people die. It’s no reason to go home without getting checked out. They obviously felt you needed to see a doctor, or they wouldn’t have brought you to the hospital.” He squeezed her hand, released it, turned back around, and gripped his door handle. “Now, come on. I’ll walk you in and stay with you. You can squeeze my hand if you want. Not too hard, mind you. I still have work to do on the evening gown . . .”
When he started to open the door, Cass grabbed his arm, confusion making her head pound harder. “What are you talking about?” Her head started to spin trying to make sense of the one-sided conversation. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“They?”
“You said they brought me to the hospital. Who’s ‘they’? And who died?”
Bee made a face and turned back to her. “‘They’ is whoever was in the ambulance, and I don’t know who died. You’re the one who said you found a body.”
Oh, right. She had said that.
He leaned closer, staring into her eyes. His warm breath, and the lingering scent of peppermint, washed over her.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking your pupils.”
Cass sighed and turned to scan the parking lot again. She rubbed her temples. “I’m fine, Bee. The ambulance didn’t bring me to the hospital, Jim Wellington did. And the body I found wasn’t in the hospital, it was in the cupola at the old Madison Estate. And the only other person there with me was Jim.” A barrage of mental questions assailed her, bringing an immediate headache. Ignoring the sense of urgency, she shoved the questions aside to focus on Bee.
He held up a hand. “Okay. Just start at the beginning.” He shook his head. “No. Wait. Actually, never mind that. Skip the beginning, I’ll catch up. Just start with what you were doing alone at the Madison Estate with Jim Wellington—and don’t skip a single detail.” He fanned himself with both hands. “Then you can tell me the rest.”
Cass couldn’t help but laugh. She dropped her head against the seat back and closed her eyes. “I’ll give up all the juicy dirt, but only if you drive while I do.” She opened her eyes.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” He shifted into drive, checked the side-view mirror—giving Cass a moment of terror while he waited for another car to pass—then pulled out. “Spill it, sister.”
With a sigh, Cass started at the vet’s office.
Bee clucked sympathetically, and she assured him Beast would be fine and that she was going to start a strict training program. He laughed at that, and Cass bristled.
“What? I can train him.”
“Of course you can, dear. Now, let’s get to the part where you’re alone in an empty mansion with Jim Wellington.”
“Grrr . . .”
Bee laughed again.
Wiseass. Just for that, she should clam up and not tell him anything.
“Want me to stop at 7-Eleven and get you a cup of coffee?”
Okay. He’s forgiven. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”
He hit the turn signal and made a quick right into the small parking lot. Pulling into a spot right in front of the door, he glanced at her. “Do you want something to eat?”
Did she? Her stomach was no longer queasy, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Probably the McDonald’s she had for lunch, which seemed like days ago.
“They have donuts. They’re not Tony’s, but in an emergency, they’ll do.” He grinned and hopped out of the truck without waiting for an answer.
Cass marveled again at what a good friend he had become. Bee was already living on Bay Island when Cass returned home. He had his own troubled past, his own demons to battle, and yet he never failed to offer a sympathetic ear or a helping hand. Warmth finally began to return to her. Bee always made her feel safe, loved,
protected, and happy.
How had she ever considered Sylvia a friend? Her best friend, in fact. The woman had always put Cass down in subtle ways that made her feel inferior and encouraged her to be clingy and needy. Then she’d crept in and stolen Cass’s husband when she was at her most vulnerable. Cass obviously had a lot to learn about choosing her friends.
Bee shouldered open the door and headed for the car, a cup holder and bag in his hands. At least she was off to a good start.
Cass reached across and pushed the door open for him.
“Thanks.” He handed her the drinks and climbed in. After dropping the bag on the seat between them, he rubbed his hands together. “It’s absolutely freezing out there, but at least it stopped snowing.”
A tear slid down Cass’s cheek.
“Oh, honey. Are you okay?” Bee opened the glove compartment and riffled through it, then pulled out a couple of napkins. “Here.”
“Thank you, Bee.” She held his gaze, trying to convey the depth of her gratitude for his friendship.
“It’s just a napkin.”
She laughed and let her gaze drop as she took the napkin and wiped her cheeks. “No, Bee. Not for the napkin, but that too. I meant thank you for everything. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. You’re always there for me whenever I need you. You came out in the middle of the night in terrible weather to get me, then didn’t harass me for answers . . . much anyway.” She smiled. “Even though the curiosity has to be killing you.”
Tears shimmered in his eyes, and he lowered his gaze and patted her hand. “Well, now that I’m appreciated, start talking before that curiosity does kill me.”
Cass laughed and wiped her face again. She took the chocolate donut Bee held out to her.
“Just to hold you over till we can get something else. Do you want me to go through Taco Bell?”
“Nah. Thanks, though. This is perfect.” She took a big bite of the donut and savored it for a moment, then swallowed and started to talk.
Bee didn’t bother to drive, just sat with her, eating donuts, drinking coffee, and listening to her story. He scolded her for heading up to Emmett’s by herself. She should have called him and asked him to take a ride, but she’d been upset about Beast and hadn’t thought of it. Better she hadn’t anyway. The thought of him having been hurt in the accident brought the chill rushing back.
When she finished, he ran back in for more coffee, giving her a few minutes to think about where to go from there. By the time he returned, she was more in control than she’d been all night.
She opened the door for him again, and he handed her a cup holder. “Four cups?”
“Stephanie and Tank are gonna be pissed if we show up there before dawn without coffee. Don’t you think?”
“Stephanie and Tank?” Cass’s hands started to shake.
Offering her a sympathetic look, Bee slid the truck into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. “You do realize you have to go to the police, right?”
Cass shrugged, a moody pout her only answer.
“If you’d rather go to the police station . . .”
“No.”
“Well then, quit sulking and help me figure out who killed Joan and Conrad.”
Cass perked up a little. “At first, when I found the hair on the soap, I was sure it was Donald. And I can see why he’d kill Conrad if he was having an affair with Joan. Especially since she probably inherited Conrad’s share of the family fortune. But what would they have been looking for?”
Bee sat quietly. “Maybe the will? If Joan was the beneficiary, they might have needed a copy of the will. Maybe Conrad hid it somewhere.”
“I guess.” That did make sense, at least until Joan was killed. “But why would Donald kill Joan? It’s not like he’d inherit anything if he wasn’t with her.”
“Hmm . . . true. But who would?”
Cass frowned. “You think there were two different killers? Donald and Joan killed Conrad, and then someone else killed Joan?”
Bee shrugged. “I guess it could have happened that way, but that would be kind of weird, no?”
“This whole thing is kind of weird.”
“True enough.” Bee hit the turn signal and turned onto Stephanie’s street. “Three killers seems like a bit much to me.”
“Well, there had to be at least two to kill Conrad. No one could have gotten him up there by themselves. Do you think?”
“Probably not. Even if you were strong enough, it seems you’d need at least three hands.” Bee pulled into Stephanie’s driveway. The house was dark. “Do you think we should call first?”
Leaning forward, she searched for any sign of life. Nothing. “Probably.”
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “And what about Jim Wellington? If he was alone at the house with Joan’s bod—” He held up a finger. “Hey, Tank. Yes, everything’s all right. Well . . . sort of. Listen. I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, but Cass had an accident and . . . no . . . yes, she’s all right. No, Beast wasn’t with her, he’s at the vet. Yes, he’s okay too . . . no . . . picked her up at the hospital. She also found a body. Yes. In your driveway.” Bee clicked off and tucked the phone back into his pocket. “That went well.” He grinned as the front porch light flicked on.
“What were you saying about Jim?”
“Just that if he was alone in the house with Joan’s body, who else could have killed her? It almost has to be him, no?”
Cass shook her head. “I have no idea. He acted suspicious of me, but in a she’s-acting-like-a-lunatic sort of way, more than a does-she-know-I-killed-my-sister-in-law kind of way. If you know what I mean.”
Bee nodded. “Makes perfect sense.”
Tank held the front door open, and Bee handed him a coffee cup on his way past by way of greeting. They trudged to the kitchen and sat at the table.
Tank looked good for just having been woken from a dead sleep. Of course, he was probably used to waking suddenly in the middle of the night and having to be alert. He spun a chair around and straddled it, resting his forearms on the chair back.
Stephanie arrived a moment later, the beat-up red bathrobe she refused to get rid of tied over a pair of plaid pajama pants. Her hair was a tangled mess. “This had better be good.” Apparently Tank hadn’t had time to fill her in.
“Oh, it’s good. Well worth getting up for.” Bee leaned back, crossed his legs, and draped an elbow over the chair back.
“Would you be saying that if it was seven in the morning?”
He studied her for a moment then handed her a cup of coffee. “This time, I’d have to say yes. I would have gotten up at that ungodly hour to go pick Cass up from the hospital.”
“Hospital!” Stephanie’s gaze shot to Cass. As if seeing her for the first time, Stephanie winced. “Oh, man. What happened?” She set her coffee cup down and went to the sink, pulled out a dish towel, and filled it with ice. “Here, press this to your eye. It’s already bruising. What did the doctor say?”
“She didn’t see the doctor.” Bee sat looking smug while Stephanie reprimanded her.
Tank took a sip of his coffee, seeming to take it all in before he finally interrupted. “Enough.”
Silence descended on the room.
“Cass, are you all right?” His eyes narrowed as he examined her.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Okay, then. Start somewhere, anywhere, and tell me what’s going on.” He smoothed a hand over his near crew cut.
“When I left Doc Martin’s office—Beast is going to be fine but had to stay overnight—I decided to head past Emmett’s to see if he was sure it was Conrad Joan had been arguing with.”
Tank frowned. “What made you think it wasn’t?”
“Nothing specific. We were talking about it over lunch and Bee suggested someone els
e could have been in there with Joan. And I don’t think Emmett specifically said she was arguing with Conrad. I might have just assumed it.” It could just as easily have been Donald. The soap popped into Cass’s mind. “Then when I was searching Conrad’s room, there was dark hair on the soap. Conrad had dirty blond hair, so I thought . . . uhh . . .” Oops. Apparently the knock on her head loosened her lips. She’d have to remember that.
Tank lowered his head for a minute. With his elbows propped on the back of the chair, he clasped his hands behind his neck. “I don’t even want to know yet, just back up.”
Cass had a sudden revelation. Tank was a patient man. “Right.” Lifting the coffee cup to her mouth to stall for a minute, Cass tried to remember what else she should probably leave out. At this point, it seemed pretty safe to tell him everything. There was no other way she could explain finding Joan’s body without confessing to searching the cupola anyway.
“When I was heading toward Emmett’s, I passed the Madison Estate, and I noticed the cupola was lit, but the rest of the house was dark. Then, as I was heading down the hill toward Emmett’s, my car slid off the road and rolled. I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but . . .”
Tank held up a hand to stop her. “You were knocked out?”
Oh crap. Maybe she should have skipped that. The last thing she needed was to get hauled back to the hospital. “A little. I think.”
“You think? How do you get a little knocked out? Are you sure you’re okay? I could take you to the hospital, and we could talk about all of this there.”
The concern in his voice and the warmth in his eyes made Cass choke up. She swallowed hard and shook her head. She couldn’t possibly drink any more coffee, so she settled for twirling the cup in circles on the table. “I’m good. If I don’t feel well later, I’ll go back to the hospital.”
Tank didn’t push the issue.
“The next thing I knew, Jim Wellington pulled me out of the car.” Thankfully, she was still clear-headed enough not to mention her reaction to him. She remembered the feel of his warm fingers sizzling against her skin. Surely someone who looked like him, with such a sensitive, caring touch, couldn’t be a killer.