by Lucy Quinn
All in all, the place looked as if it hadn’t been updated since before the days of saddle shoes and poodle skirts.
It was mostly empty, with two guys using one of the heavy bags, the staccato sound of fists punching the leather echoing through the quiet space, while one lone guy was lifting free weights, one weight for each hand. When he spotted Cookie and Hunter, he set the weights down and sauntered on over. He was a typical gym rat, so built up he couldn’t lower his arms all the way to his side. His neck thickened into a collar of muscle, and a snug white sleeveless tee showed off all that dedication.
“What do you guys need?” he asked as he closed the distance to them. His dark-brown hair had been buzzed short and suited his thick—some would say rugged—features. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, Cookie thought. If you were into that sort.
“FBI,” Hunter announced, flashing his badge. A part of Cookie couldn’t help but wonder if that little display had been as much for her benefit as for the gym rat—showing her what she had given up when she’d left.
As if she didn’t remember all the bloody time.
“We’re looking for Rand Lambert,” Hunter declared.
Cookie wasn’t even a little bit surprised when the gym rat ground to a halt just shy of them. “I’m Rand,” he acknowledged, the muscles in his upper arms, chest, and shoulders flexing as if he was about to make a break for it. But Hunter’s right hand slid under his suit jacket, and Rand froze.
“We wanted to ask you a few questions about you and Chip Winslow,” Cookie explained. “We hear the two of you got into it a few nights ago, over at the Tipsy Seagull.”
“That’s right,” Rand admitted. “He was hitting on my girl. I told him to knock it off before I knocked him out, but he wouldn’t listen. Ian, Mindy’s brother, stopped me from rearranging Chip’s face. Mindy and I left. That’s it.”
Cookie frowned as she considered the big, beefy guy in front of her. He didn’t look very happy, but to her eye he wasn’t acting all that guilty, either. Less like a man trying to hide his involvement in a murder and more like a man unwilling to admit he had a temper. She caught Hunter’s eye and shook her head, just barely. He sighed, but some of the tension fled his stance.
“Anybody else see what happened?” Cookie asked.
Rand nodded. “Sure, everybody else at the Tipsy Seagull.” He tossed off a few names. “Ask them. They’ll vouch for me.” Then he frowned. “Why’re you asking about Winslow? He finally get what was coming to him?”
“He did,” Cookie confirmed. “Any idea who else besides you might want to help him get there?”
“You need to talk to Larry Harris,” Rand replied without a second’s hesitation. “Dude hates Winslow even more than I do.” He frowned, dark-brown eyes focusing on something well past her. “Heck, I’d look at the whole family, if I was you. Larry’s kids, Daisy and Stone, they don’t like Winslow either. And Stone’s got a record.”
“Stone?” Hunter asked.
Cookie sighed. “Stone Harris. I’ve seen him around enough to know who he is. He’s a total stoner. When he’s not at the Salty Dog, he’s wandering around town or sunning himself out by the beach on the hood of his old Subaru.” She gave Rand a sharp look. “I’d be willing to bet his only ‘record’ is multiple counts of possession, sprinkled with a few possessions with intent and maybe a DUI or two for good measure.”
“Hey, a crime’s a crime, right?” Rand shrugged. “You wanted to know who’d be happy to take Winslow down, it’s them.”
“Just because others hated the guy too doesn’t make you any less of a suspect,” Hunter pointed out, staring Rand down until the big gym rat faltered and turned away. “Where’d you go after Mindy dragged you out of there that night?”
The scowl on Rand’s face slowly transformed itself into a broad, leering grin. “Back to my place,” he answered slowly, all but licking his lips. “I had a lot of aggression to… work off.”
Cookie could feel herself flushing under his suggestive gaze. And she had absolutely no question that he was telling the truth. “Thank you,” she managed to sputter out through suddenly dry lips. “If we have any other questions, we’ll let you know.”
He nodded and turned around, heading back to the free weights. Cookie watched him go. If you liked them big and beefy, Rand Lambert was certainly one very impressive specimen.
Evidently, Hunter was less impressed. “I’m liking him for this,” he insisted as he and Cookie stepped back out of the gym a few minutes later. “He’s got motive, clearly, and just look at the guy—he’s a poster child for steroid use. He probably waited around the Tipsy Seagull for Winslow to leave and then beat him to death with those oversized Popeye arms of his. Mindy’ll cover for him, of course—they probably did go back to his place and keep busy all night, things just got started a little later than he claimed.”
Cookie could see the logic there, linking every detail together. Rand did make an almost ideal suspect.
The only problem was, she didn’t believe it.
And Hunter could tell that by looking at her. “You’re not buying it,” he noted as they retraced their steps through a quaint residential section of town in the direction of the inn. “Why not?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, shaking her head and sending her long hair cascading about her. “I’m just not. It all makes sense, and you could probably convince a jury, especially if Rand has a history of violent behavior. I just don’t think he did it.”
Neither of them said anything for another minute. Then Hunter laughed. “I’ve missed this,” he told her. “The arguing back and forth over witnesses, suspects, alibis, motives, and all the rest.” He favored her with a small, almost-shy smile that warmed her insides. This was the sweet, thoughtful Hunter that lived hidden beneath the other’s overpowering machismo and only let her catch glimpses of him through the cracks. “I always liked the way you never let me get away with sloppy policework,” he told her. “You made me earn each and every case.”
Cookie shrugged and fought to keep the grin off her face. “No point if you didn’t have to work for it,” she reminded him, citing an old saying she’d appropriated after seeing it on a poster. That was how she’d built her career, never settling for the easy win. On anything.
Which had been yet another reason for not sleeping with Hunter. He’d made it very easy for her to say yes, but she’d always known that if she had, she’d have wound up regretting it. Because sleeping with him would have been incredibly simple—and the next day she’d have discovered he’d already moved on and set his sights on some other equally-easy target.
No, she’d decided right after being partnered with him years ago. She wasn’t going to make it that effortless for him. If he really was interested, he’d have to work for it.
She did, however, throw him a bone. “I’ve missed working with you, too,” she replied and almost laughed at the bright, boyish smile that creased his face. What stopped her was the mental reminder that Hunter was only up here because she’d asked him to look into this case. Once it was over, he’d be gone again. And while Cookie could hardly blame him for fleeing back to civilization, it also meant he’d be making a choice—her or Philly.
And she wasn’t willing to let him claim both of them, only to leave her behind afterward. She was worth more than that, and they both knew it.
9
“Okay,” Cookie asked, “what now? The girlfriend?”
“The girlfriend,” Hunter agreed. “Mindy. You know her?”
Cookie shook her head. “We’ve only been here a few weeks,” she reminded him. “I’ve met a few people, like Larry, and seen plenty of others, but she’s not one of them.” She sighed. “I’m not even sure where to find her.” She pulled out her phone. “But I think I know someone who would.”
“We can’t go involving any potential suspects or giving them a heads-up about our investigation,” Hunter said. Her sudden flash of irritation at him for reminding her of basic procedure as if
she were a wet-behind-the-ears rookie again vanished when she realized he’d just referred to it as “our” investigation.
“Trust me,” she replied as her fingernail tapped on the phone, “I didn’t forget. The person I’m calling isn’t even remotely a suspect, but I’d be willing to bet she could name every person on this island and tell you where they live, where they work, what they like to eat, their favorite drink, and probably a half dozen other facts.” She dialed and lifted the phone to her ear. “Mom? Listen, I need to know about a local girl named Mindy…”
A few seconds, later she ended the call and grinned at her ex-partner. “Mindy Tremaine,” she reported smugly. “Too pretty for her own good, and knows it, according to Rain. More importantly, she makes her living as a hair stylist and owns the salon down the street.”
Hunter shook his head, laughing. “What, no favorite color?” he said. “Tell your mom I’m disappointed. She’s going to have to work at it a bit more if she wants to earn favorite CI status.”
They were both smiling as they turned around and headed back toward the heart of town, and Cookie savored the moment. This was what it had been like between them at its best, both of them intent on catching the bad guys, both of them knowing the other had their back, trusting each other’s instincts and dedication. This was what she missed.
“So is everything on this one street?” Hunter asked a few minutes later, his tone light and teasing as they passed the gym and a handful of other mom-and-pop businesses. “There aren’t any other streets, are there? Makes it easy to find things, I guess.”
“What do you want?” Cookie answered. “It’s an island. There’s maybe four hundred people here, tops, though that’s doubled in summer, they tell me. That’s when the artists’ colony comes out.”
“An artists’ colony?” She could hear the derision dripping from his words. “Oh, joy. A bunch of ‘artistes’ wandering around telling everyone their run-down old eyesores ‘sing with authenticity’ and ‘speak to the soul of perseverance’ and ‘glisten with the promise of a rainbow’s inner vision.’”
“Wow, you’re pretty good at artist-speak,” Cookie accused, a wicked smile touching her lips. “You sure you aren’t hiding something from me? You go home and splash paint around on a canvas and then stare at it, weeping at the beauty of the patterns?”
That earned a snort from him. “Yeah, right.” Then he brightened, his grin just as mischievous as her own. “Hey, are you sure it’s just an artist colony? Not, say, a nudist colony? The two go hand in hand, right?” He started laughing. “I can picture it now, you and your mom awash in old, wrinkled, naked people who just want to stand around and talk about art and color while their junk’s in your face.”
“Shut up.” Cookie swatted at him, trying to drive out the image he’d just inserted in her head. Then the vision of Rain mingling with their unclothed guests, just as naked as they were and just as uncaring, sent a horrifying shudder through her. She needed brain bleach.
They were still laughing as they strolled up to Mindy’s workplace, whose small sign made Cookie laugh harder while it took Hunter longer to get the joke. It read Clip, Dip & Rip.
He said, “Wait. Does that…?”
Cookie nodded. She had to hand it to Mindy—it was a memorable name. “After you,” she said, pulling the door open for Hunter.
The salon wasn’t terribly big, she saw as she followed Hunter inside. There were several reclining chairs, each one set in front of a sink with a mirror mounted on the wall behind it. A row of chairs along the opposite wall were outfitted with old-fashioned hair dryers hung over each seat. It again felt as if she’d stepped into the fifties, complete with the ammonia odor of perm solution, and she glanced down at herself, half-expecting to see that she was now wearing a poodle skirt.
There weren’t any customers in the salon at the moment, and a woman sat in one of the chairs, thumbing through an old fashion magazine. She glanced up and smiled as Cookie and Hunter entered. “Hi, welcome to the Clip, Dip and Rip,” she chirped with a straight face. “What do you need today? Haircut?” She eyed Cookie’s long, thick hair, which was windswept from all the walking, before turning to study Hunter. “Shave?” Her eyes darted down and back up his body as if she hoped he hadn’t noticed. “Wax?”
Hunter cleared his throat, and Cookie smirked at his pink-tinged ears as he replied, “You must be Mindy.” Her resemblance to her brother was obvious, but whereas Ian’s delicate features made him look frail, they gave Mindy an ethereal beauty. Combined with her long, glossy black hair, she looked like a fashion model.
“That’s right,” she answered, rising from the chair and stepping across to them. She even moved like a model, gliding as if she were floating on air. That was a trick Cookie herself had certainly never mastered. A fact Rain reminded her of often enough by shrieking that the ceiling was coming down on her head whenever Cookie thundered down the stairs. “Did someone recommend me?”
“Something like that,” Cookie agreed, nodding to Hunter, who flashed his badge. “We need to ask you some questions about Chip Winslow.”
Mindy instantly dropped the sales pitch, her bright smile collapsing into a sullen pout that made her look like a rich but spoiled teen princess. “Crap, what did Rand do now?” she asked, retreating to her chair and flopping down into it. Cookie stared at her, mouth parted, amazed at the way the girl landed in a pose more suited for a renaissance painting than the Clip, Dip & Rip. Even when flailing, the girl was still more graceful than she could’ve ever managed. Not that she was jealous or anything. “I told him to just leave it alone. Chip didn’t mean anything by it. He was just being friendly.”
“Friendly?” Hunter pounced on the word like a hawk. “Way we heard it, he was all over you at the Tipsy Seagull. Rand got in his face about it, and Winslow refused to back off. You and your brother had to pull them apart before your boyfriend tore the poor guy’s head off.”
Mindy laughed, and it was a sharp, cutting sound. “Poor guy? Don’t let Chip hear you call him that. He’d go nuts! Poor is about the last thing he wants to be.” She shrugged, her straight, silky hair floating about her shoulders. “Yeah, so Chip was hitting on me. So what? It’s not like I haven’t flirted with him plenty. He’s a regular, comes in whenever he’s on the island to get his hair cut and his nails done.” She smirked. “And he tips well. Really well.”
Hunter cleared his throat. “That must not have made Rand very happy.”
“Maybe not, but he understood. Girl’s gotta earn a living, right?” She eyed the two of them suspiciously. “What’s this all about? That tussle at the Seagull? Or is something else going on?”
“Where were you the rest of that night?” Hunter asked, not bothering to answer her question.
“With Rand,” Mindy answered. She flushed, but at the same time her smirk widened. “We were… busy. All night.”
Yet another image Cookie didn’t need seared in her brain. She frowned. “You know anybody else who had a beef with Chip Winslow? Anybody who’d want to hurt him?”
Mindy didn’t even have to think about that one. “Have you talked to Daisy Harris yet?” she asked, scowling. “She had a thing for Chip, but he wouldn’t give her the time of day. Said she was ‘too common’ for him. That pissed her off something fierce.” She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “Daisy’s used to getting what she wants. Girl’s got a serious temper, too. Spoiled and vicious, not a good combination.” She smiled, a slow, nasty smile. “Somebody put a hurt on Chip, my money’s on Daisy.”
Cookie glanced over at Hunter, who met her gaze. She could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. That was twice Daisy’s name had come up, and everybody on the island knew about Chip’s disagreements with Larry. At the same time, the two people pointing the finger at this girl were Mindy and her boyfriend, who even if they hadn’t rehearsed their stories would have similar attitudes and probably shared gripes. So it wasn’t conclusive or anything, but obviously they would want to ta
lk to Daisy, even if just to rule her out.
“Thank you for your time,” Hunter told Mindy, his tone polite, sympathetic, but a little distant. Which was good, since she was eyeing him up and down, clearly evaluating his looks, his physique, and the quality of his clothes.
Looking to trade up, Cookie thought. She was willing to admit to the needles of jealousy and possessiveness spiking through her now. Sure, she’d turned down Hunter’s suggestion last night, and they were only ex-partners, but she still had some claim on him. And she’d be damned if she’d see him get scooped up by an obvious gold-digger like Mindy Tremaine.
Hunter was nobody’s fool, though, and he was a playah, he didn’t get played. “If you think of anything else, please let me know,” he continued, offering Mindy his card.
“Oh, I definitely will,” she all but purred back, wrapping her fingers around his as she took the card. “Thank you so much for stopping by.” She threw Cookie only the briefest of looks, a dismissive glance that clearly said, ‘Don’t even bother, girlfriend, he’s all mine.’ It was all Cookie could manage not to laugh in the other girl’s face—right before flattening it with a right hook.
“Well, she’s a piece of work,” Cookie said as soon as the salon’s door had swung shut behind them.
“What, you’re not going to be getting your nails done there and gossiping about all the other girls?” Hunter asked, his face showing fake shock. “But you could be besties.”
“Yeah, right.” Cookie shook her head. “I remember girls like her from school. They ruled the roost and made life miserable for anybody who didn’t follow their lead—or for anyone who they thought was a threat.”
“Like you?” Hunter asked.
Cookie laughed, though even to her ears it sounded a little bitter. “Me? Not likely. I was a wallflower in school, kept to myself, had my nose in a book. I’d have been completely beneath her notice.” She sighed. “Part of me wants to discount Daisy as a suspect just because Mindy so clearly has it out for her, and anybody that girl dislikes so much can’t be all bad.”