Dead Girl in a Green Dress

by Loucinda McGary

  Byrony had to use every ounce of her self-control to keep her eyes from rolling as the waitress flounced away.

  Tate’s shrewd gaze swept over her. "Didn’t mean to spoil the party," he apologized, no longer smiling. "But I’ve seen these scenarios go down too many times."

  "But he and Jessica were…" Byrony’s stomach lurched, and she lowered her voice. "… having an affair. That gives him a motive. Don’t you think he’s guilty?"

  "What I think and what can be proved might not be the same things." He shrugged. "Then again, he was pretty shook up when I saw him yesterday. He might spill his guts as soon as Shaffer questions him."

  She digested his cautionary comments as best she could. She wouldn’t quit until she had justice for her sister, and they were close now. She could feel it in her bone marrow. After a long moment, she quipped, "So much for a celebration, you really need to work on your party planning skills."

  He flashed those killer dimples. "Afraid I don’t have a lot of experience with parties. Most of my clients don’t feel like celebrating."

  As she sipped her own coffee, she realized that if they had indeed solved Jessica’s murder, then she and Tate might not see each other again. Her coffee suddenly tasted bitter, and she swallowed it with difficulty. "So will you head back to Chicago tomorrow?"

  "I dunno. Since I’m here, maybe I’ll stay an extra day or two and take in the sights." He lifted one eyebrow, an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. "And speaking of sights –"

  Their waitress reappeared and deposited several heavily laden plates on the table. "I’ll be right back with your syrup." She batted her heavily mascaraed lashes at Tate. "Anything else I can do for you?"

  "Just some extra napkins." To Byrony’s surprise, Tate answered with a perfectly straight face. But he gave the woman a quelling look when she minced back with two syrup dispensers and a huge pile of napkins.

  After muttering his thanks, Tate dug into his pile of food. Finally taking the hint, the waitress left. Byrony munched a slice of bacon and picked a couple of fresh blueberries out of the mound of whipped cream on top of her waffles, but her appetite seemed to be MIA.

  Tate continued to eat with his usual gusto for many minutes. When he finally paused for a big gulp of coffee, he asked, "So you in a hurry to get back to Chicago? Or could I convince you to do a little sight-seeing in the next day or two?"

  Between the twinkle in his blue eyes and the sexy timbre of his voice, Byrony felt certain he could talk her into a lot of things, but she wasn’t going to admit it. "Well, I am still under the doctor’s twenty-four hour restriction."

  "And I let you get up too soon!" He smacked himself in the forehead. "First, poor party planning and now dereliction of my care-giver duties."

  "How will you live with the shame?"

  "It’ll be tough." He sneaked a finger into the whipped cream on her plate. "So finish off your breakfast before we get busted."

  Byrony tried, she honestly did. But after a few bites, she had to give in and take a pain pill. Ten minutes later, her arm no longer hurt, but she was also well on her way to la-la land. "I think we better go while I’m still upright."

  He paused in the middle of mopping up syrup with his last chunk of waffle. "Are you trying to tell me you want to go to bed? Why Sunshine, this is so sudden."

  "Very funny, but you won’t be laughing when you have to carry me across the street." She tried to give him a stern look, but failed miserably.

  By the time Tate finished off his last bite, paid the bill, and helped her out the door, Byrony felt woozy. She had to lean heavily on his proffered arm, and once they reached Tate’s room, she crashed unceremoniously onto the closest bed.

  Slowly, Byrony resurfaced to consciousness. When she first opened her eyes, she didn’t know where she was, but then she saw a tall figure pacing with an uneven gait – Tate. The distant recollection of his lips pressed firmly against hers flashed through her groggy mind. A tingling warmth spread across her chest and into her belly. This sudden desire caught her by surprise, but not unpleasantly. In order to see him more clearly, she shifted to her side, and immediately regretted it. The sudden pain in her arm tore a moan from deep in her throat.

  "Byrony? You all right?" His voice sounded oddly raspy and strained. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you."

  "I’m okay, I don’t think you woke me." She struggled to sit up. Leaning against the headboard, she watched him sit on the corner of the opposite bed. "Is something wrong?"

  "Prince had an alibi." He refused to meet her gaze, studying his interlaced fingers instead. "And it checked out. Shaffer had to let him walk."

  "W-what?" Byrony’s still muzzy brain refused to process this unwanted information. "But he – they – You know."

  Tate glanced up at her for a moment, but immediately dropped his gaze again. "He admitted to the affair. Shaffer said he blubbered like a baby, claiming he loved her and would never hurt her."

  "Then why is she dead?" Byrony exploded. "That lying sack of shit!"

  Her voice caught on a sob and she covered her eyes with her uninjured hand. She felt the mattress shift as Tate sat beside her. Then his arm glided around her shoulders, and she turned her face against his broad chest. She was so tired of fighting to find the truth and hitting dead ends, tired of fighting her out-of-control emotions, tired.

  "Don’t worry, Sunshine." He stroked her hair with one hand while his other arm tightened around her. "If he did it, we’ll get him. If he didn’t, we’ll find who did."

  Byrony felt his deep voice vibrating under her ear, and the sound soothed her over-wrought nerves. But as much as she wanted to believe him, she couldn’t. After the shock of learning about her sister and Prince, she’d been so sure he was guilty, that the nightmare was ending. Twin urges to cry and scream warred within her.

  "Now what do we do?" Her wavering voice was barely louder than a whisper. Obviously the scream lost the battle.

  Tate pulled back and brushed her hair away from her face. "You are going to stay right where you are. Your twenty-four hours aren’t up yet." Brushing his lips across her forehead, he stood. "You hungry?" She shook her head, but he pulled an apple out of the mini-fridge and handed it to her. "Eat this anyway, an apple a day and all that."

  Taking a deep breath, Byrony reined in her feelings and gazed from the apple to Tate. "What are you going to do?"

  "Thought I’d do some more nosing around at the Grand Hotel." When she started to protest, he raised his hand in a silencing gesture. "But first, you have to promise you’ll double lock this door behind me and not try to go anywhere or let anybody in."

  Even though she knew she didn’t have the strength to go with him, Byrony narrowed her eyes in annoyance. "Do I have any choice here?"

  His dimples flashed, causing a new burst of heat in her belly. "Nope. But I figured you wouldn’t argue as much if you thought you did."

  "Very funny, Cowboy. Don’t have too much fun without me."

  "Things are always more fun with you around, Sunshine." His tone caused flames to sear across all of Byrony’s nerve endings as he added, "Mind if I borrow that cute little tablet of yours?"

  ***

  Tate munched his ham on rye and used the deli’s free wifi to do some research on Mrs. Cristina Woodleigh-Prince. Spouses were almost always a person of interest, and snooty Mrs. Prince was no exception as far as he was concerned. Had she found out about her husband and Jessica? Was she capable of murder? Tate wasn’t ruling out anything at the moment. He figured Detective Shaffer would question the woman, but he hoped if he got to her first, he might catch her off-guard.

  When his online searching turned up nothing interesting in her available personal or financial information, he emailed Tommy and asked him to do some extra digging. Then he called for a cab, and soon found himself sharing a buggy ride with a middle-aged couple from California, who talked non-stop. At least their chatter kept him from worrying about Byrony.

  As difficult as it had been for
him to leave her alone, he felt an urgency to solve this case. The perp had tried twice to harm Byrony, and a sick certainty in Tate’s gut told him it would happen again. He didn’t bother trying to rationalize to himself that he’d have the same concern for any other client. No point in denying, the little bean-counter had gotten under his skin.

  The driver turned into the wide circular roadway and stopped at the front steps of the Grand Hotel. Tate said good-bye to the California couple, who were going past the hotel to the butterfly exhibit, and made his way up to the fancy front doors. Unfortunately, the dragon lady guarding the inner sanctum to Prince’s office was not happy to see Tate.

  "Haven’t you caused enough trouble for Mr. Prince?" she spat as soon as Tate approached her.

  "Wouldn’t be any trouble as long as Mr. Prince had nothing to hide," Tate replied, keeping his tone congenial. "Besides, I wanted to talk to Mrs. Prince. Is she around?"

  Dragon-Lady glared at him over the top of her half-glasses. "Because of the recent upsetting events, Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince is not seeing anyone, and most especially not you, Mr. Madison."

  Fine, no mercy, Tate decided as he squinted at her name plate. "No need to be insulting, Ms. Hutchinson. A young lady was killed and I intend to find her killer. Don’t you want to see justice done?"

  The woman continued to give him the evil eye. "Justice? That gives you the right to pry into Mr. and Mrs. Prince’s private life?"

  "Yes ma’am, I think it does, and if Jessica Long was your sister or daughter, I’ll bet you’d think so too."

  Ms. Hutchinson sputtered like a teakettle on full boil. "But that – that girl was a home-wrecker!"

  "Was she?" Tate demanded, banging his hand down flat on the top of the desk and causing the Dragon-Lady to jump half out of her chair. "It takes two to tango, Ms. Hutchinson, and I’ve seen your boss in action with a pretty girl. You can’t tell me Jessica Long was his first transgression." He leaned in close until he was almost nose-to-nose with the woman. "Was she?"

  "I don’t –" She pulled back and refused to meet his gaze. "—know."

  Tate stepped back with a contentious snort. "Good thing you’re not under oath. Now you can tell me where Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince is, or I can go room to room and find her for myself."

  The woman’s eyes bulged. "No, please don’t. I mean, she’s not here."

  "You’re a very unconvincing liar," he scoffed.

  "No, she really isn’t," the woman insisted. "She goes off on her own when she’s upset."

  "Off the island?"

  Dragon-lady shrugged. "Probably not. I mean, she never stays over-night, and she doesn’t have any relatives except her mother, who’s in a nursing facility. "

  "Save us both the time and aggravation, Ms. Hutchinson. Where does she go?"

  Pursing her lips, the woman exhaled noisily before she spoke. "She’s been sketching and painting over by Arch Rock. I’d go there first."

  "Now that didn’t hurt much at all." Tate didn’t wait for a reply, but when he reached the door, he turned. "And when you call Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince to tell her I’m on my way, let her know I will catch up with her, so she might as well wait."

  With an expression sour enough to curdle fresh milk, dragon-lady laid her phone back down.

  As he walked out the front doors to hail another cab, Tate wondered if the old biddy had an alibi for the night Jessica was murdered. Once he had his talk with Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince, he’d call Shaffer and let him have the pleasure of questioning dragon-lady.

  Arch Rock turned out to be on the opposite side of the island from the Grand Hotel, and the road was steep most of the way so the buggy ride was slow and uncomfortable. Tate hoped like hell he’d be able to get a ride back to the Harbor Inn once his little tete-a-tete was finished. His misgivings grew when the driver dropped him off in the large dusty parking area. As the buggy rolled away, he didn’t see another soul anywhere.

  But the views of Lake Huron were spectacular through the eroded rock formation. Tate walked over to the metal railing for a closer look. The spot certainly seemed perfect for photos, painting, whatever artistic endeavor the viewer practiced. So why wasn’t Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince around? Just his luck, she listened to dragon-lady. Now he’d have to drag his ass back to the Grand Hotel.

  A noise made him turn around as Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince emerged from the concrete block restroom. He could hardly believe she would lower herself to use a public facility. She looked ridiculously out of place in her tan riding jodhpurs and tweed jacket with leather elbow patches.

  "Afternoon, Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince." Tate called out, and ambled in her direction.

  A look of consternation, not surprise, flashed across the woman’s face before she schooled her expression into bland disinterest. "Mr. Madison."

  Yep, Ms. Hutchinson had called her all right. No point in beating around the bush. "I’d like to talk to you about Jessica Long." Tate paused within an arm’s length of her.

  She flinched a little when he said the name, but lifted her chin and looked down her long, patrician nose at him. "I’ve already spoken to the police."

  Lifting one brow, he returned her snooty glare. "I appreciate that ma’am, but a girl is dead, a girl who was having an affair with your husband."

  Unmistakable anger flared in her pale blue eyes. "As I told Detective Shaffer, my husband was at a business meeting in Chicago when the girl was killed."

  The girl. Like she couldn’t say her name. "But where were you, Mrs. Prince?" he demanded, getting into her personal space.

  "Me?" She looked completely taken aback. "I… I was here at home."

  "Where exactly? And doing what?"

  "I had dinner in the hotel restaurant." Her perfectly manicured hand fluttered up to the base of her throat, the huge diamond glinting in the sunlight. Her voice rose several notes higher. "Mr. Madison, are you implying I was involved in this?"

  "No, Mrs. Prince, I’m not implying anything. Your husband was having an affair with one of his employees. You are involved."

  Cristina Woodleigh-Prince’s mouth hung open soundlessly and quite unattractively for a long moment before she snapped it shut. Then, as she spun on the heel of her expensive riding boot, she declared, "Speak to my lawyer, Mr. Madison. I have nothing else to say to you."

  Tate watched her stride toward a group of young trees. When she reached them, she untied a horse that he hadn’t noticed earlier, a large black horse with white stockings on its front legs. With practiced skill, Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince swung into the saddle and galloped away.

  Well, shit! He’d screwed that one up, but Mrs. Cristina Woodleigh-Prince had jumped right to the top of his suspect list. Now he had to find out how she was involved with Jessica’s murder, because he felt certain she was. He just had to prove it.

  But first, he had to find a way to get back to town. Predictably, when he pulled out his phone, it had no service.

  Two hours later, Tate sat in the front seat next to the driver of the wagonload of tourists. He’d managed to talk the middle-aged driver into letting him join the tour of the island, and he’d actually found the slow moving wagon and the monotonous tone of the driver conducive to sorting out his thoughts. So rather than getting off at the first stop, he’d stayed on board.

  His close view of the rear ends of the two horse team was interrupted by the beeping of his phone. The driver gave him a dirty look, but Tate answered anyway.

  "Finally!" Byrony’s voice fairly screeched in his ear. "I’ve been calling and calling and kept getting that annoying ‘number temporarily unavailable’ message. Where the hell are you? I’ve been worried sick."

  He couldn’t prevent the grin from spreading across his face. "Hello to you, too, Sunshine. I’m just fine and I’ll be there very soon."

  She sputtered out a half-apology. "Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be gone so long. Then your phone wouldn’t connect."

  Feeling the eyes of not only the driver but several of the other tourists on him, Tate cleared his
throat. "Gotta go. I’ll tell you all about it later."

  "Little lady upset with you?" The driver asked with a dead-pan expression. Tate shrugged and the guy added. "You might not want to show up empty-handed. I suggest fudge."

  Remembering how Byrony had been crazy about the fudge the other night, Tate decided the guy’s idea had a lot of merit. Luckily, there was a fudge shop next door to the tour office which was their drop off point. From there, it was only three blocks back to the Harbor Inn.

  As he approached his ground floor room, he could see the curtains partially open but no movement from inside. Anxiety clenched his guts at the fleeting thought that Byrony might have gone back to her B&B. Quickening his pace, he rapped on the door and craned his neck to try and see through the window. "It’s me, Sunshine. Open up."

  He heard the chain on the security lock rattle, then the deadbolt clunked and she stepped aside to let him enter. Staring at her bare feet, she mumbled, "Sorry I yelled at you on the phone, but I kept having these visions of you lying bloody and beaten on the side of the road."

  She’d been genuinely worried about him, and her obvious embarrassment was so darn appealing that whatever he’d been about to say flew right out of his mind. "I, uh, got stranded and had to hitch a ride with a slow-moving tour wagon." He reached into his inside jacket pocket and laid her tablet on the desk. Then he slipped his hand into the opposite pocket. "I brought you some fudge."

  Finally meeting his gaze with a self-conscious smile, she took the bag from him. "Okay, you’re forgiven." Balancing the bag against her chest with the plastic brace, Byrony pulled out a piece of gooey candy, and lost all timidity as she devoured it in three quick bites. "Mmm, you are so forgiven." She shifted the bag and held it in his direction. "Want a piece?"

  "No, no. All yours." Tate waved his hand to decline and watched as she eagerly dug into another hunk of chocolate, savoring each bite this time. The look of pleasure on her face caused heat to flood through him and settle right in his groin.