Dead Girl in a Green Dress

by Loucinda McGary

  Tate gave a slight chuckle. "Why Miss Long, I thought you’d never ask. Go ahead and order a large with lots of meat. I’ll meet you there as soon as I turn my ride in at the livery."

  "Okay, see you." A little thrill of excitement raced through her as Byrony clicked off and shoved her phone back inside her purse. She couldn’t believe talking to him for less than two minutes left her breathless as a high school girl. But the truth was, she didn’t wanted to eat dinner alone, and Tate was the only person on the island she knew. That and the fact that she was anxious to hear what he’d found out were the only reasons she was eager to see him she told herself.

  Nothing else. Like she believed that lie.

  Patrons filled the tiny pizza restaurant. By the time Byrony stood in the line and placed her order, only one empty table remained. Dirty dishes and two beer mugs littered the middle of it. Half the customers crowded close to the big screen TV mounted in the far corner, where a hockey game flickered. Loud laughter and periodic shouts erupted from the crowd. After a long five minutes, the place’s lone waitress finally appeared, and with a muttered apology cleared the table.

  She reappeared with clean silverware and a basket of freshly baked breadsticks. "On the house since you have to wait."

  Byrony had just finished the second breadstick when Tate walked in the door. The slow smile that spread across his face made the pulse in her throat jump. So much for her rationalizations. The man oozed sex appeal. He sat down and reached for a breadstick.

  The waitress suddenly became very efficient and appeared at his elbow. "Get you something?"

  Tate looked her up and down with the unhurried, deliberate way Byrony recognized. "Sure, sweetheart. I’ll take a beer. Whatever you have on tap is fine. Want one, Sunshine?"

  Byrony shook her head, while the waitress snapped her gum and flounced away. Tate held his breadstick like a cigar and bit off the tip.

  "Sweetheart?" Byrony queried with exaggerated incredulity. "I can’t believe you haven’t been slapped with a sexual harassment suit."

  "She didn’t look harassed to me," he countered with a wink.

  However, Byrony couldn’t make a retort, for she could see the waitress headed back to their table, balancing a full mug in one hand and their pizza in the other. As the woman bent to place both items on the table, even from where she sat, Byrony could see down her loose neckline to her lacy, push-up bra. But Tate seemed more interested in the fragrant pizza.

  One of the hockey fans yelled for another pitcher of beer, and the woman rolled her eyes as she straightened. "Holler if you need anything else," she said as she sashayed away.

  Sniffing appreciatively, Tate served up a slice for Byrony and then one for himself. "You done good on this one, Sunshine."

  "They call it the carnivore special."

  "Yes, indeed!" Tate enthused. Then he proceeded to polish off three slices and half his beer in the same time it took Byrony to finish her first piece.

  When she was halfway through her second slice, the hockey game ended amid much hooting and exclamations, and most of the crowd started to disperse. With the noise reduced to a manageable level, Byrony decided to ask if Tate’s afternoon endeavors had been more successful than hers.

  "So did you get in touch with Cody Henry?" she asked between bites.

  "Course I did." He took a gulp of beer, picked up another slice, then asked, "You up for a ferry ride to St. Ignace in the morning? Before you say yes, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow."

  "I brought an umbrella." Byrony nibbled for a few more moments, but when Tate didn’t say more, she prodded again. "So did you rent a buggy from the livery?"

  He shook his head, his too-long blond hair falling across his forehead. "I never drove a team, so I borrowed a horse from the Sarge. Took a little ride out to visit our buddy Mister J. Saunders from the Grand Hotel."

  "J. Saunders?" Byrony mused, taking another bite before she made the connection. "You mean the twitchy guy in the suit?"

  "The very one," Tate confirmed, one dimple briefly visible. "Mr. Justin Saunders is an assistant manager of the hotel dining room. I found his address and dropped by to see him when I knew he was off work. He wasn’t a bit happy to see me, wouldn’t even open his door, much less ask me in."

  As Tate paused to imbibe more of his beer, a flash of excitement raced through Byrony’s nervous system. "Do you think he’s hiding something?"

  "Maybe, but maybe not." Tate took another leisurely bite of pizza, and Byrony clenched her hands to keep from shaking more words out of him. Finally he continued. "He said he’d told the Mac City police everything, and I should talk to them. But I got the distinct impression he was under orders to keep quiet."

  Byrony stuck her nose in the air and adopted a haughty tone. "Mrs. Cristina Woodleigh-Prince, by any chance?" Then when Tate gave a low chuckle, she added, "She’s not well-liked around here according to my innkeeper Mrs. Giroux. Can you imagine?"

  "Maybe they haven’t heard of her mother either." He didn’t crack another smile, but chewed with a thoughtful expression. "Find out anything else from the knowledgeable Mrs. Giroux?"

  "Just that Mr. Prince is charming," Byrony admitted with a sigh. "Maybe you should try your hand with her."

  Nodding, Tate finished his fourth slice and raised one eyebrow. "And maybe you should take a shot with Mr. J. Saunders. You might be more his type."

  "Really?" Byrony’s mouth fell open at the realization he was asking for her assistance. "I mean, not about being his type, but you’d let me question him?"

  He shrugged and reached for slice number five. "You’re so blasted determined to help me, why not? The dude ain’t talking to me. But first we have to meet with Mr. Cody Henry. The earliest ferry to St. Ignace leaves at nine tomorrow morning, and I’ve already booked our tickets."

  Still flabbergasted over Tate letting her take an active part in the investigation, Byrony could only nod like a bobble-head.

  "Good, I’ll meet you at the pier at 8:45." Tate finished off his last piece of pizza, wiped his hands, then eyed her half-eaten slice. "You gonna finish that?"

  ***

  The next morning, Tate pulled his Cubs hat more firmly over his eyes and hunched his shoulders against the drizzly rain. He’d already spoken to the detectives in Mac City to ask about a few details of the case, like time of death and the tox report. If Byrony was truthful about her sister not taking drugs, how had she wound up with all those sedatives in her system? And how could witnesses have seen Jessica walking around downtown when she’d had enough drugs in her to knock out a horse?

  Detective Shaffer had grudgingly agreed to look into the inconsistencies and get back to him, so Tate had to let such slipshod police work ride for the moment, even if it irritated him.

  He squinted at the people with umbrellas dodging each other up and down the sidewalk until he spotted Byrony. Even though she was half-concealed by her black umbrella, he recognized her walk, and waved to get her attention. They both ducked under the protective alcove that was the entrance to the ferry pier.

  "I’d have pegged you as a Sox fan," she said as she closed her umbrella.

  "Not in this lifetime. Want a cup of coffee?"

  A little grin flickered across her pretty face. "Sure. I take cream but no sugar."

  They were the last two people on the ferry, but had no problem finding seats inside. In the half-hour it took to reach the town of St. Ignace on the upper peninsula, the rain had stopped, which was fortunate because they had to stand in the ferry parking lot to flag down a taxi.

  "This is more like it," Byrony declared as she slid into the back seat of the car.

  "Two horsepower not your speed, Sunshine?" Tate teased as he climbed in next to her.

  "Not like you, Cowboy." She smelled of rain and coffee, and the heat of their thighs pressing together in the crowded back seat gave Tate’s hormones a distracting jump start.

  By the time they reached the main street of St. Ignace, the windows of the cab w
ere covered in steamy fog and they couldn’t see anything.

  "This the right place?" the cabbie asked.

  Tate got out and stared at the papered windows of the empty storefront. "Looks like it." He paid the driver and offered Byrony a hand.

  Frowning, she followed his gaze. "Why are we meeting Cody Henry here?"

  "His father is a plumbing contractor, and Cody is helping him redo this soon-to-be deli," Tate explained, as he rapped on the glass paned front door. He was just about to knock again when the door swung open and a dark-haired kid in a ripped T-shirt stood there. Tate extended his hand. "Cody Henry? I’m Tate Madison and this is Miss Byrony Long."

  The kid blinked as if confused before he gave Tate’s hand a half-hearted shake. "Hi, um… come in. Sorry, we don’t have any place to sit."

  "That’s okay, this won’t take long." Tate ushered Byrony in ahead of him, and got right into it. "According to the police, you were the one who found Jessica Long. What time was that?"

  Cody scratched his head as he answered, "A little after six. I was on my way to work."

  "And you recognized Jessica?"

  A wave of sorrow crossed the kid’s face as he nodded.

  "Did you recognize her dress or what?" Tate persisted.

  Dropping his gaze, Cody shook his head. "I never saw the dress before, but as soon as I saw the red hair I knew it was her."

  "Yeah, she had pretty red hair, didn’t she?"

  Still looking at his dirty sneakers, Cody nodded again.

  "She was a very pretty girl," Tate continued as the kid squirmed in discomfort. "And close to your age, too. Did you ever ask her out?"

  The kid’s eyes jerked up and a flush flooded his neck and cheeks. "Yeah, but she told me she was seeing someone else. She wouldn’t say who."

  Behind him, Tate heard Byrony stir, but he didn’t want to break his momentum with Cody so he didn’t turn around. "But don’t you have an idea who? Ever see her with anyone?"

  "Jessica didn’t socialize that much." Cody muttered, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Not like the other seasonal girls."

  "Party girls, huh? Did they go out with guests?"

  "Some did, but not Jessica," the kid insisted. From the back room, a gruff voice called Cody’s name. "Be right there," he hollered back, then he shifted his anguished gaze to Byrony. "I tried to save her, Miss Long. I really did, but I couldn’t. She was already cold…"

  Tate saw tears glittering on Byrony’s lashes and her voice shook a little when she spoke. "I know you did, Cody, and I’m very grateful you tried."

  Rubbing his nose across the sleeve of his t-shirt, the kid turned to go.

  "One more question." Tate stopped him. "The police report said she had no purse, or other ID. What about shoes? When you found her, was she wearing shoes?"

  Confusion twisted Cody’s features. "I dunno… I don’t remember seeing any shoes. But why would a mugger take her shoes?"

  "I’ve been asking myself the same question." Tate handed the kid a business card. "If you think of anything else, please give me a call."

  "I will," Cody promised, shoving the card into his pocket.

  Back outside, the clouds had started to give way to patches of blue sky, but Byrony’s expression looked stormy. "She couldn’t have walked on that trail without shoes!"

  "Doesn’t seem likely to me either, Sunshine." Tate took her elbow and guided her to the corner, talking as they went. "Plus, I can’t see any woman going barefoot in a fancy dress like that."

  "So somebody brought her there. She wasn’t mugged, at least not there."

  "Like Cody said, never heard of a mugger who took shoes." Tate gazed across the street and inclined his head. "How about we continue our discussion over coffee at that diner?"

  "Sounds good," Byrony agreed.

  Once they got inside and seated, Tate ordered pie with their coffee.

  "Why don’t you weigh three hundred pounds?" Byrony asked with a roll of her golden eyes.

  "Lucky dip in the gene pool," he answered with a shrug.

  While Tate dug into his apple pie, she sipped her coffee thoughtfully for a few moments before she spoke. "So this wasn’t a random crime of opportunity. Who could have possibly had a reason to murder my little sister?"

  Tate chose his words carefully. "I know it’s a corny old saw, but there really is a thin line between love and hate, so cops always look at the spouse or significant other first."

  Byrony banged her coffee cup on the table and raised frustrated but beseeching eyes. "So how do we find this mysterious boyfriend? There are so many possibilities."

  "Not as many as you think." He wanted to reassure her, but not give her too much hope. He laid down his fork and ticked off on his fingers. "First, we know she didn’t date guests. Second, if she was dating another seasonal employee, why would they keep it a secret? Most of those seasonals are kids with nothing to lose by having a fling with each other."

  Her golden gaze flashed. "My sister is not the fling type."

  "Sorry, bad word choice – dating, in a relationship." If she didn’t like the idea of a fling, Tate expected Byrony would blow a fuse at what he actually suspected. He cleared his throat and tried to prepare for the worst. "My point is that if Jessica and her boyfriend wanted to keep it on the down low, one of them probably had something to lose."

  He paused intentionally and took a slow sip of his coffee to let her digest his words. When it finally sank in, her mouth flew open for a moment then snapped shut. He watched her struggle to restrain herself before she spoke.

  She wasn’t entirely successful and her tone came out in a low hiss. "Are you saying Jessica was seeing a married man?"

  Tate threw his hands into the ‘time out’ gesture. "Whoa! I didn’t say that, although I wouldn’t completely rule it out. But right now I’m guessing that Jessica was involved with one of the permanent employees at the Grand. Someone whose career might suffer if word got out about him and a twenty year old seasonal."

  But Byrony shook her head in denial. "I can’t believe she would be so stupid." She covered her face with her hands and groaned.

  "C’mon, Sunshine," he tried to console her. "We all do dumb stuff when we’re young."

  She spoke through her fingers in an anguished tone. "But we didn’t die. Jessica did." Rising suddenly, she practically sprinted toward the rest room sign over an archway near the kitchen.

  Rather than follow her, Tate finished his pie, even though it no longer had much taste and stuck in his throat. He washed it down with the last of his coffee, but declined a refill from the waitress. Instead, he asked for the check. Five long minutes later, when there was still no sign of Byrony, Tate left money on the table with the bill and headed toward the rest rooms.

  After standing outside the ladies room for a couple more minutes, he finally rapped on the door. "Byrony? If you don’t come out I’ll have to make a spectacle of myself and come in there."

  A rustling noise came from inside, then the door popped open. "What did you call me?" she demanded, ducking under his arm.

  Tate pulled his head back and stared down at her in confusion. "Byrony. That’s your name, isn’t it?"

  "I know it is, but I didn’t think you did." Obviously she was putting up a front, for her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose pink.

  He admired her attempt and played along. "Very funny, Sunshine. Call us a cab back to the ferry terminal, we’ve got work to do."

  "Sure you don’t want a horse, Cowboy?" she asked, pulling out her phone.

  "Just wait ‘til we get back to the island."

  They lucked out and arrived at the terminal just as a ferry was loading. Though the rain had stopped, the breeze had picked up, making the trip back to Mackinac a little on the bouncy side. Seemingly unperturbed by the waves, Byrony stayed on the top deck while Tate sat in the center of the lower deck, scribbled notes from his interview with Cody Henry, and formulated his next steps.

  When the engines cut back and Tate saw
the dock coming into view, he ventured up top to join her. She stood alone at the back rail, hunched against the chill. Her smallness and vulnerability caught him by surprise, then when she turned at his approach, his fingers twitched to brush the tangled hair away from her face.

  "The day’s still young and looks like the rain is over, so what’s next?"

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Tate answered, "Another call to the Mac City police. We’ll have a little chat about missing shoes, and I’ll see if they have my other info. If not, I’ll make myself a pain in their rears until they do. Matter of fact, I might just pay them a visit this afternoon to look at their collection of evidence. Want to come along?"

  Byrony chewed her bottom lip, and Tate’s wayward thoughts speculated on how that lip might taste. "I think I might pay Mr. Justin Saunders a visit, if you trust me to talk to him alone."

  Tate shook his head and to play it safe, he focused his gaze over her shoulder. The fact that she was asking him first was a major accomplishment, but he kept it casual. "Like I said, the dude ain’t talking to me, so anything you can wrangle out of him will be a plus."

  "That’s what I thought," she agreed as they moved to exit the now parked ferry. "Don’t worry, I’ll be charming." She turned and batted her eyelashes at him, then smothered a giggle. Tate tried to smile, but he really didn’t find the idea of Byrony flirting with Justin Saunders amusing at all.

  As they walked down the pier toward Main Street, he pulled out his phone and saw he had a message. Not the Mac City detectives as he’d expected, but none other than the general manager of the Grand Hotel, Mr. Michael Prince. Tate stopped short to listen. A few paces ahead of him, Byrony turned and gave him a questioning look.

  He held up his finger to indicate one minute and punched save. "That was none other than the charming Mr. Prince. He wants to meet with us."

  Byrony’s disbelieving expression mirrored his own astonishment. Moving out of the path of foot traffic, Tate hit redial and fidgeted until a woman’s nasally voice answered and identified herself as Mr. Prince’s executive assistant.

  "Tate Madison returning Mr. Prince’s call."