Dead Girl in a Green Dress

by Loucinda McGary

  "Oh yes, Mr. Madison. Mr. Prince has a half-hour available today at three. Will that be convenient for you?"

  "That’ll be fine. Miss Long and I will be there at three."

  The woman gave a brief description of the location of Mr. Prince’s office within the hotel and rang off.

  "What does he want?" Byrony immediately demanded.

  "Don’t know." Tate shrugged. "I only talked to his executive assistant."

  With a roll of her eyes, Byrony sighed. "Guess I better bring out my business suit again, and please don’t make me ride a horse."

  "I’ll see if I can find a surrey with the fringe on top," he quipped and was rewarded with a brief smile.

  Back off, Madison. He warned himself. He was treading on very thin ice here, getting too close to a client. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, "C’mon Sunshine, I’ll walk you back to the Gingerbread House of Horrors."

  Not many tourists milled in and around the shops on Main Street, but the two of them didn’t hurry. Instead they traded wisecracks about Mr. Prince Charming and his snooty wife as they strolled from Main to the cross street and turned on the next block toward Byrony’s B&B. Tate fell silent, trying to figure out what it was about the stubborn little bean counter that he found so appealing.

  A sudden clattering noise brought both of them up short. From seemingly nowhere, a black horse with a yellow-clad rider barreled toward them. A few steps in front of Tate, Byrony turned and he saw a flash of fear leap across her face.

  The horse reared and hurdled onto the sidewalk right at her. Backpedaling, Byrony stumbled and threw her arms over her head.

  "Whoa! Stop!" Tate shouted, waving frantically at the big animal and causing the horse to snort and hurl itself back onto the street.

  Without pausing, the horse and rider galloped away.

  Chapter 5

  As she fell to the sidewalk, Byrony curled into the fetal position, expecting a slash from those vicious hooves. But the blow never came. Instead, she heard Tate yell and the animal lunged away.

  "Stop him!" Tate shouted again, then she felt his strong arms around her. He must be bending down to be able to reach her on the ground.

  With a sob, she turned and melted against his broad chest.

  He pulled her close, gently patting her back. "You okay?"

  Unable to speak without blubbering, she bit her lower lip and nodded.

  "You sure you’re not hurt?" He pulled back and she watched his blue eyes made a quick scan up and down the street.

  "Y-yes," she managed to gasp, threw her arms around his neck and buried her face against him again. His warm and solid presence helped her regain control and stop weeping.

  "Should I call 9-1-1?" She heard a stranger asking.

  "Naw, she’s all right." She could feel Tate’s voice vibrating through her as he answered. "Did anybody get a look at the horse or rider?"

  "Not really." The bystander sounded perturbed. "Damn tourists!"

  "Byrony, sweetheart," Tate murmured, the stubble of his beard rasping against her temple. "Can you walk?"

  She swallowed hard to steady her voice. "Yes."

  Reluctantly she pushed away from him, and wiped the last remnants of moisture from her eyes. With a groan, Tate regained his feet and offered her a hand up.

  "I’m calling Sergeant Brandon." The middle-aged man standing nearby declared, and disappeared inside a nearby shop.

  Tate offered his hand, and Byrony let him help her stand. Her hand stung when she gripped his and she saw that both her palms had bloody scrapes. When she rose, she saw a rip in the right knee of her jeans, but miraculously her leg felt fine. Hooking his arm around her waist, Tate pulled her close to his side. Since she still felt a bit shaky, Byrony leaned against him and let him guide her across the street and the short distance to the Ames House.

  As they limped up the front stairs, Mrs. Giroux rushed out the front door. "What happened?"

  "Horse jumped the sidewalk and almost trampled her." Tate’s tone was gruff as the innkeeper gasped and held the door open for them. "Did you get a look at the rider?" he asked Byrony as he assisted her to a wooden rocker.

  She shook her head. "Just someone wearing a yellow rain coat and hat. I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman."

  "Sounds like typical rain gear." Frowning, Tate settled on the small wooden footstool at her feet. "Probably most of the locals wear the same thing." He rolled up her torn pant leg, but the dirty graze on her knee wasn’t deep enough to draw blood. Squinting, he looked at her palms. "How are your wrists?"

  Byrony circled first one hand, then the other. "Fine."

  Mrs. Giroux materialized beside her with a cloth, bandages, and a container of alcohol. "For your hands." She pulled over a tiny round table, placed the items on it, and gave Byrony the damp cloth.

  Dutifully, Byrony cleaned off the blood and grime, but the doorbell rang before she could finish. Wiping her own hands on her frilly apron, Mrs. Giroux rushed to answer. Tate picked up the bottle of alcohol, doused a wad of gauze and reached for Byrony’s left hand.

  Behind them, Byrony heard Sergeant Nick Brandon’s voice. "Aunt Char? Mr. Holcomb said one of your guests was hurt by a runaway horse…"

  A sudden burning on her left hand made Byrony suck in her breath sharply.

  "Sorry, Sunshine, didn’t mean to hurt you." Tate’s smoldering blue gaze delved into her as he lifted her palm close to his mouth and blew a soothing breath over the scrape.

  A different kind of heat flashed through Byrony’s nervous system.

  "Miss Long? Mr. Madison?" Nick Brandon interrupted. "What happened?"

  While Tate placed a couple of bandages over the deepest of the gouges, Byrony haltingly told Brandon about the horse and rider. Tate filled in with a few extra details when she paused.

  Wearing a perplexed expression, Brandon scratched his head during their recitation. "Something must have spooked the horse and the rider lost control."

  "That’s what I figure, too." But Tate’s face and tone remained grim. "Can’t believe anyone would risk running a horse onto the sidewalk, that’d be plain stupid."

  "Sure you don’t want Doctor Kelly to check you out, Miss Long?" Nick Brandon insisted.

  "No, I’m just shook up, not hurt." But in spite of the two men’s conclusion about the incident, Byrony couldn’t shake the niggling thought that what had just happened was no accident.

  "All right, if you’re sure." The mollified sergeant took his leave.

  After Mrs. Giroux saw him to the door, she asked, "How about a nice cup of hot cocoa?"

  Taken aback for a moment by the innkeeper’s change of demeanor, Byrony blinked twice before she could answer. "Sounds wonderful, thank you."

  As Mrs. Giroux disappeared into the kitchen, Tate picked up her right hand. Carefully, he blotted the scrape on her palm, lowering his lips to once again soothe the sting with his breath. Byrony shifted and bit her lip to stifle a moan. He raised his eyes to hers and the heat she sensed in them told her he felt the intimacy of the action the same as she did.

  Yikes! This was a really bad idea. But knowing, even admitting she should not be attracted to Tate Madison did not stop Byrony’s suddenly over-active hormones from flaring.

  The sound of a throat being cleared made Byrony jerk her gaze up to see Mrs. Giroux standing behind Tate with two steaming mugs. "I brought cocoa for you too, Mr. Madison."

  Tate turned slowly, a lazy grin on his face. "Why thank you, ma’am. Just give me a sec to finish."

  Byrony took her mug with her left hand while Tate stuck two bandages on her right palm. Still looking rather flummoxed, Mrs. Giroux handed him the mug as soon as he was done. Picking up the first aid supplies, the innkeeper hurried from the room. Tate rose and moved to sit on the nearby settee, but didn’t look any more comfortable than he had been on the little stool.

  They sipped silently for several minutes before Tate stood again. "Okay, Sunshine, you chill here and I’ll check back af
ter my meeting with Mr. Prince."

  "What? No. I mean, I still want to go."

  He gave her a stern look. "Don’t think so. You need to rest."

  She glanced at her watch. "It’s barely noon, so I have plenty of time to rest and change. I’m not going to let a few little scrapes stop me."

  A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I suppose if I don’t take you with me, you’ll just come on your own." When she lifted her eyebrows in challenge, he muttered, "You are one stubborn little bean counter."

  "Takes one to know one, Cowboy."

  Tate rewarded her sassy remark with a throaty chuckle, then he threw up his hands in mock surrender. "All right, you win this round. I’ll be back at two thirty in my surrey with the fringe."

  ***

  Since he’d never driven a horse and carriage, Tate opted to rent both a buggy and driver. Actually, he discovered there were several available, because they were the equivalent of taxi service on the island. The sixtyish driver Ben stopped his rig in front of the B&B and Tate climbed out. As he walked through the gate, Byrony rushed down the stairs to meet him. Apparently the couple of hours of rest had rejuvenated her.

  Dressed in her dark blue pant suit, she once again looked like a straight-laced bean counter, but a smile lit up her features, and made his pulse beat a little faster. Then, when he helped her clamber into the carriage, the glimpse he got of her very fine behind sent a spike right through his nervous system.

  You’re losing it, Madison. He’d never had a problem putting aside an attraction to a woman before, but something about Byrony Long challenged his control like no one ever had.

  The closer they got to the Grand Hotel, the more he could feel Byrony’s tension growing. By the time the large white building came into view, she seemed as tightly wound as a jack-in-the-box ready to spring.

  "It’s only a half-hour appointment, Sunshine," he tried to caution her. "Don’t expect much."

  Unlike their previous visit, the taxi driver pulled into the broad circular drive in the front of the hotel. "I’ll be waiting just down there." He inclined his head toward the far end of the drive as Tate and Byrony climbed out of the buggy.

  "Appreciate it, Ben," Tate said, then pressing his hand lightly against Byrony’s back, he escorted her up the marble entrance steps.

  He led the way to the customer service desk, and told the woman they had an appointment with Mr. Prince. She ushered them through the ‘employees only’ door. The third door on the left had a simple brass nameplate: M. Prince.

  When they entered, a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back into a prim bun looked up from her desk. "Mr. Madison? Miss Long? Go right in." She motioned to the single door in the mahogany paneled wall.

  "Nice place," Tate muttered in Byrony’s ear as he reached for the door knob.

  And it got nicer. He caught a glimpse of more rich wood paneling and floor to ceiling windows with a fantastic lake view, then a dark-haired man rushed forward extending his hand.

  "Mr. Madison? I’m Michael Prince." In a black three piece suit with a red and blue striped tie, the guy looked like an ad from GQ. His dark hair was perfectly styled and when he shook hands, Tate noticed Prince’s nails were manicured. When the guy turned to Byrony, he clasped her outstretched hand in both of his. "And you must be Jessica’s sister. Please, please have a seat."

  The way the smarmy dude fawned over Byrony set Tate’s teeth on edge. As he and Byrony sat in the chairs facing the massive desk, Michael Prince leaned against the edge closest to her and casually crossed his legs at the ankles. No doubt to show off his expensive Italian shoes.

  Tate didn’t worry that Prince would see his sour expression. Mr. GQ was totally focused on Byrony. "When my wife told me you were here yesterday, I wanted to personally express my sympathy. We were simply devastated about Jessica."

  "Thank you." Byrony’s stiff tone gave Tate a nudge of satisfaction. Obviously she wasn’t going for Prince’s over-exaggerated sincerity.

  "We gave the police our full cooperation." Prince’s dark eyes finally moved off Byrony to include Tate, who carefully schooled his features while the other man continued. "But they said with so many tourists on the island, they’d probably never find the monster who mugged and killed her." His voice caught ever so slightly, and he stopped and cleared his throat.

  Nice try, Buster, but nobody’s buying it. Tate had to call forth all his control to keep his voice impassive. "Miss Long and I have reason to believe Jessica’s death was no random act of violence." He narrowed his eyes to closely study Prince’s reaction. "And the Mac City police are taking a closer look at the case."

  "Not random?" Prince repeated, then his façade cracked just long enough for Tate to see a flash of real anguish in his dark eyes. He turned away and took two steps to a credenza behind his desk. His back was to them but his voice sounded thick when he spoke, "Who would want to kill Jessica?"

  "That’s what Miss Long and I are here to find out."

  But Prince didn’t seem to be listening. He rummaged in a side door of the cabinet and pulled out a cut glass decanter, followed by three glasses. As Mr. GQ poured amber liquid into each glass, Tate could see his hand shaking a little.

  "I’m s-sorry," Prince stuttered over the clanking of glass on glass. "This is news to me, and very upsetting. Please, join me…"

  He handed each of them a glass with two fingers of the liquor, then grabbed his own and drained it with one gulp. Tate took a small sip – scotch, very smooth and undoubtedly very expensive. Byrony set her untouched drink on the edge of the desk while Prince poured himself a second round. This time he took two gulps to finish it.

  As Tate took another slow sip, Prince shuffled over and sat heavily in his desk chair, momentarily resting his head in his hands. When he looked back at them, his smooth veneer was once more in place except for a slight flush on his neck. "Forgive me, please. My staff and I will, of course, assist you and the authorities in any way we can." He paused to give Byrony another of those phony too sincere looks. "Your sister Jessica was a very special girl, Miss Long. We all… loved her."

  Byrony gave him a golden-eyed glare. "Well, obviously not everyone, Mr. Prince, and I won’t stop until I get justice for my sister." Tate was glad he didn’t have a mouthful of liquor when she delivered her missive, and she wasn’t finished. While Prince blinked, open-mouthed, Byrony went on in a tone that would flash freeze boiling water. "Now, please have your assistant provide Mr. Madison and me with the names and contact information for every staff member on premises the night Jessica died."

  Prince blinked one more time then replied, "I’ll have her get on it right away. Is there anything else?"

  Byrony inclined her head at Tate and raised her eyebrows.

  "That’ll do for now," Tate replied, and took one last sip of the excellent scotch. Meanwhile, Byrony stood, extended her hand and gave Prince’s a single shake. Tate rose too, and shook the shell-shocked Prince’s limp palm. "Appreciate your help."

  Tate could only follow as Byrony marched out the door and through the reception area. She didn’t stop until they reached the main entrance, and Tate skirted around her to hold the door. "Damn, Sunshine, you really went for the jugular."

  She stopped on the top step and took a deep breath. "Guess I did. But all that fake concern of his just rubbed me the wrong way."

  "I thought women went for those dark, suave types." Her answering snort made Tate momentarily forget about the twinge in his knee as they descended the marble stairs.

  "Hope I didn’t mess up the interview," she huffed on a frustrated sigh. "But I could just tell we weren’t going to get any honest answers out of Mr. Prince."

  They reached the bottom step and Tate leaned out and waved his arm to signal their cabbie. "Don’t worry, Sunshine, he might have lied through his teeth, but he told me plenty."

  Wrinkling her pert little nose, Byrony gave him a quizzical look. "Other than the fact that he guzzles booze at three in the afternoon, wha
t?"

  "For starters, he actually believed Jessica was killed by a mugger until I told him otherwise. He wasn’t lying when he said it was news to him."

  Byrony continued to look askance as their carriage pulled up next to them. "If you’re sure."

  "I’m sure all right." Tate confirmed, offering his hand to assist her into the buggy. "And our charming Mr. Prince also knows who killed your sister, or at least he thinks he knows."

  "He what?" Byrony gasped and grabbed his arm. "We need to go back in there!"

  As she twisted and made a lunge for the stairs, Tate braced himself and stopped her in mid-stride. "Just hold on. He’s not going to tell us anything today. We gotta let him stew for awhile."

  While she sputtered in frustration, the cab driver leaned down and interrupted, "You ready to go back to town or not?"

  Tate waved at the guy without looking up. "Trust me, Byrony, and get in."

  Still looking rebellious, she climbed into the carriage and he followed. Their driver Ben clucked to the horse and headed the vehicle back down the circular drive and toward town.

  "I can’t believe we’re just going to sit around and do nothing," Byrony muttered through gritted teeth.

  "Hey, I didn’t say we were doing nothing. What’s the name of that pizza place we ate at?"

  She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Island Pizzeria."

  "Hey, Ben!" Tate raised his voice, while Byrony shot him a sullen look. "Drop us at Island Pizzeria, will you?"

  For the entire way back into town, she gave him the silent treatment. In fact, the Grand Hotel’s black horses and carriage passed them just before they reached Main Street, and Byrony was in such a huff that she didn’t even notice. But Tate trusted his instincts, and right now they were telling him not to discuss the case in an open vehicle in front of an unknown driver. Besides, Byrony actually looked pretty darn cute when she pouted.

  Since it was barely 4 PM, the pizza place was pretty much deserted. But Tate was positive Byrony hadn’t eaten lunch, so he ordered two salads in addition to their carnivore pizza. They sat in a booth in a far corner of the room.