by Lucy Quinn
Jared cleared his throat. “I did find something else,” he said slowly. “Something that might help you narrow down your field of suspects.” He had their full attention as he got up and moved to his desk, where he retrieved a plastic evidence bag. It rustled as he brought it back over and handed it to Cookie, who peered inside it. The bag held a small, crumbly yellow hunk of something roughly triangular in shape.
“What is it?” she asked, tilting the container and studying the way its contents shifted. “It looks a little bit like—”
“Brick,” Jared answered proudly. “It’s a fragment of a yellow brick. I found it caught in the cuff of his pants. Best guess? Whoever dumped him in the water weighted him down with yellow bricks, hoping the body would sink and never be recovered. But they weren’t tied on tight enough, or they were old and disintegrated in the water, or something caused the bricks to come loose, which is why he floated away instead.”
Hunter took the bag from Cookie and shook it. “A yellow brick?” he asked, staring at it. “I didn’t think that actually existed outside of the Wizard of Oz.”
Cookie slapped him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be a tool,” she warned. “Just because they don’t have them in Philly doesn’t mean they don’t exist anywhere else. It’s a big, big world, you know.”
“Yeah, well, most of it isn’t worth seeing,” Hunter shot back with a sharp grin. Apparently he’d gotten his sense of humor back after all.
Jared seemed less than amused. “We may not be a big city like Philadelphia,” he declared huffily, “but that doesn’t mean you can go demeaning us.” He snatched the bag from Hunter’s hand. “Do you even know why someone around here would have bricks on hand?”
Hunter stared at the geeky medical examiner, as if stunned that someone so clearly not his physical equal would dare to get in his face like that, but after a minute he shook his head. “No idea,” he admitted.
Cookie, however, already had the answer to that particular question. “It’s for lobstering,” she said, turning to Jared for confirmation. “Right? Lobstermen use bricks to weight their traps.”
“Exactly,” the medical examiner told her triumphantly. He bestowed a smile on her that said he might be even more smitten now. “It’s the easiest, cheapest, simplest way to make the traps sink down to the bottom, where the lobsters crawl about. And when a brick cracks or crumbles, you just toss it and get a new one.” He frowned at the bag he held. “It’s mostly the mineral content that determines color. Add a lot of iron, and you’ll get pink bricks, for example. Yellow or white usually means more lime. You don’t see a lot of yellow bricks around here. Most are the standard red and brown, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find out who uses these.”
“And whoever it is would have a supply of them in his boat,” Cookie added. “So it’d make sense to use them when trying to weigh down Chip’s body.”
“Exactly.” Jared shot a glare at Hunter. “Maybe if the FBI took the time to learn more about what goes on in backwoods towns like this one, their agents would know about this stuff, too.”
Cookie held her breath for a second, not sure how Hunter would take that. It was entirely possible he’d fly off the handle at the little medical examiner, especially considering his ego had already taken a few hard hits today. But instead her ex-partner surprised her by nodding thoughtfully.
“You’re right,” he told Jared without a trace of sarcasm or condescension. “That’s really good information and a subject I knew nothing about. Thank you for all your help, and I’m sorry if I insulted you or your town.” He offered his hand.
Jared stared at Hunter for a second, then down at his hand, then back up at him, clearly speechless. Finally, he took a few steps and shook hands with him. “Yes, well, don’t worry about it,” he offered. “I’m sorry I got a little hot under the collar. I get a tad bit defensive when I think someone is putting us down.”
“You had every right to call me on my behavior,” Hunter replied. “I’m sorry.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “In my defense”—he gestured down at his clothes with his free hand—“I might have had a reason for being short-tempered myself.”
That actually drew a laugh from the coroner, and not a mean one. “Fair enough,” Jared agreed, any animosity toward Hunter apparently forgotten. “And I’m glad I could help.” He glanced over at Cookie, an unmistakable puppy-dog look on his face. She could practically see his tail wagging.
“You’ve been a huge help,” she assured him as she pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the yellow brick fragment.
A dopey smile claimed his face as his metaphorical tail waved back and forth all over the place.
Hunter stalked over toward where Jared had indicated the box of cast-off clothes lay, leaving Cookie to face Jared on her own.
“My pleasure,” the medical examiner told her cheerfully. He turned a bit red in the face. “Perhaps, sometime, you might like to… have dinner with me? After all of this has been settled, of course.”
The cardboard box of clothing scraped along the floor as Hunter dragged it closer and pretended to be solely focused on the contents. Cookie knew she was on her own. “Oh.” She had been afraid that was coming. He seemed like a nice enough guy, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings but decided it was best to just be honest right from the start. “I’m flattered, really,” she told him, “but I don’t think that would work. I’m sorry.”
“Ah.” He deflated right before her eyes, all but sinking back into his chair. “No, I understand.”
Hunter returned to her side, a bundle of clothes clutched in his hands. “We should get moving,” he told Cookie, who nodded quickly. “Thank you again,” he told Jared, patting the devastated coroner on the shoulder.
Jared lifted a hand in a halfhearted wave good-bye, but he didn’t bother to look up as they left. Cookie reminded herself it had been the right thing to do, telling him no before he could get his hopes up.
But she still felt awful all the way home.
16
“Stop beating yourself up about it,” Hunter advised, shaking Cookie out of her funk. They’d managed the return trip and were now back on the inn’s front porch, lemonade in hand, her phone sitting on the little side table between them displaying the photo of the yellow brick. The house key gleamed in the sun beside it. “You let him down easy instead of leading him on. That was the right thing to do.”
Cookie shrugged, annoyed both that she was still upset about her interaction with Jared and that Hunter had correctly read the cause of her concern so easily. “He seems like a nice guy,” she said, more to herself than to her ex-partner, “but I just… there wasn’t any…”
“Spark?” Hunter offered, something beyond sympathy in his tone, and when she glanced up at him, she saw that he had one of his customary smirks plastered across his face. Ice in his glass rattled as he sipped some of his drink. His eyes had darkened, however, suggesting that perhaps he wasn’t taking this conversation as lightly as she’d suspected.
But she couldn’t deny the truth of his statement. “Yes,” she agreed finally, picking up the phone to study the photo without really seeing it. “There wasn’t any spark.” She knew without looking at him that Hunter was leaning in toward her a bit more, and exactly what he was pointing out without actually saying it. Yes, the two of them had plenty of sparks.
Jared had clearly noticed, and Cookie was sure that was part of why he’d gotten so defensive at Hunter’s crack about how small-time Hancock was. Her mom had seen it right away. Others had spotted it as well. She cringed as she recalled a meeting with the agent in charge of the Philly field office shortly after she’d started there, warning her that she and Hunter would have to be careful to remain completely professional and to not “let any mutual attraction interfere with their working relationship.”
The only problem was she’d never been sure if sparks were all they had. After all, strike two pieces of metal together, and you’d get a spark. That didn’t mean t
hey were a match, just that there was friction and a physical connection.
And she’d always been careful not to broach the subject while they’d worked together. If they’d tried something and it hadn’t worked out, well, they’d still have been stuck as partners. Talk about awful. And if it had worked out? Their boss had been right—it would have clouded their judgment when on the job.
Then she’d moved away. And now Hunter was here, but not for much longer. Which made the idea of trying to start anything both ridiculous and dangerous, even if she thought they could have more than wild attraction. Why take the risk of exploring it if it would just be torn away a few days later?
And was he really the one she wanted, anyway?
Argh, enough of this, Cookie thought, shaking herself free of her wild notions. She set her phone down with a clatter and picked up the key. The edge was rough on her palm as she fiddled with it. They had a job to do, and right now that should be her focus, not all of… this. She picked up her phone again and forced herself to stare at the photo, to actually see it this time.
“We need to figure out who uses bricks like this,” she said aloud, trying to drag her attention back to the matter at hand. “We can head down to the docks and check out the lobster boats there as they come back in for the day. Maybe we’ll get lucky and see them without having to ask any questions—or produce any warrants.”
Hunter frowned beside her. “You really think it’ll be that easy?” he asked, accepting the change in topic without comment. “These guys strike me as the don’t-take-to-outsiders-much type, and I’m definitely an outsider.” He was still wearing his get-up from earlier while the clothes he’d found at the coroner’s were being washed, and the give-me-a-break-here look on his face made Cookie laugh, which was a welcome relief.
“No, you’re not exactly going to blend in,” she agreed, unable to prevent a smile from touching her lips. “You’ll have to let me do the talking.”
She knew that irked him, but he bowed his head, acknowledging the necessity.
“We still have the key to consider too,” Cookie said.
“What are we going to do with that?” Hunter asked. “Test it on every door in town?”
Just then, Rain emerged from the house, a pitcher of lemonade in her hands. “You need to test a key? I’m pretty handy with inserting things into slots.” Her wink at Hunter made Cookie groan as Rain added, “Maybe I could help.”
“It’s not that simple, Mom,” Cookie said.
“Oh.” Rain smiled and lifted the pitcher. “How about a top-off?” she offered, stepping over to them. “And we’ve got booze inside if you need it a little stronger.”
“Just lemonade would be great, thanks,” Cookie replied, holding up her glass.
Liquid gurgled as Rain refilled both glasses. Then she glanced down at the phone. “What’s that?”
“A piece of yellow brick,” Hunter answered. “Might be evidence.” He sipped his lemonade. “Thank you, Ms. James.”
Rain waved a hand at him. “It’s Rain, please,” she said, unable to resist flirting. But she was still staring at the photo and frowned. “You know what that looks like?” she said finally. “The bricks at the Salty Dog. They’re the same color as that.”
Cookie gaped at her mom. “The Salty Dog? What bricks?” Then it hit her. Rain was right. Most of the building was weathered wooden shingles, but the base of the building was a layer of brick, and they were the same yellow as the one Jared had found. “Oh, wow,” she muttered.
Hunter was watching her closely. “The Harrises?” She could tell by his tone that he sympathized, and when she met his eyes they were a warm brown.
“The Harrises,” she agreed slowly. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was hard to deny the evidence. “They have their own lobster boats—that’s where most of their lobsters come from for the restaurant, and Larry buys off the other lobstermen to supplement as necessary. I know because I’ve heard him complaining about it once or twice.” She sighed. “And if they have these bricks lying about from building the place—”
“They’d use them in their traps rather than waste them,” Hunter finished for her. “Yeah.”
“So I was helpful?” Rain asked. She’d remained hovering over them during this last exchange.
“Yes, Mom,” Cookie told her honestly. “Very helpful. Thanks.”
Her mother nodded and left without another word, which was strange in and of itself. But she was beaming as she departed, and Cookie was glad that at least one good thing had come from the revelation.
“Okay, let’s talk this out,” Hunter suggested quietly. He didn’t sound too excited about it either, and Cookie appreciated that, recognizing that it was only because he knew she liked Larry. “We’ve got just the three of them, right? Larry, Daisy, and Stone.”
Cookie nodded. “Yeah. They’ve got people working the boat, of course—I’ve no idea who they are—but they wouldn’t have as much at stake as the Harrises themselves.”
“Right.” Hunter rubbed a hand over his smooth scalp, as he often did when he was thinking. “And Chip didn’t show any signs of bruising except for around his knuckles, so he wasn’t in a fight, or at least not one where the other person hit back.” He grimaced. “Maybe it’s chauvinist of me to say it, but I’d pretty much rule out most guys from that.”
Cookie had to nod. “The lobstermen tend to be tough,” she agreed. “And Chip’s no Rand. One blow from him isn’t going to knock them out, and they’d have hit back, absolutely. Same with Larry.” She considered. “I don’t know about Stone. He’s kind of a lightweight and more a toker than a fighter. But he grew up around here, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he could take care of himself despite all that.”
“That leaves Daisy,” Hunter pointed out. “What do we know about her?”
“Loyal to a fault,” Cookie replied, remembering what Dylan had said with a sharp pang. “Bit of a temper. Would do anything for her family.” Each word made it sound worse and worse.
She could see that Hunter felt so, too. “So we’ve got Chip, who wants to buy Larry’s restaurant out from under him,” he said, thinking it through out loud. “We know he likes the ladies and comes on strong. Daisy confronts him down by his boat, tells him to back off her dad. He hits on her instead. She gets pissed, maybe takes a swing at him. He hits back reflexively, even though she either didn’t connect or didn’t do any damage. She shoves him. He falls backward, hits his head, dies. She freaks, decides to dump the body. Drags it into her family’s lobster boat, weighs it down with some of the bricks they’ve got lying about, manages to tip him into the water. The bricks pop loose, he floats up and away and washes ashore.” He studied her. “What do you think?”
Cookie considered it from every angle. Her phone was slick in her hand as she stared at the picture of the brick while she turned Hunter’s theory over in her mind. “It holds up,” she finally forced herself to say. “She’s got motive, certainly. And means.” She shook her head. “I think we don’t have a choice. We’ve got to bring her in.”
“Yeah.” Hunter glanced up at the darkening sky. “Bit late for it now. Let’s go get her first thing in the morning. I’ll call Deputy Swan and make sure we can use the station. We’ll interview her and see if she slips up.”
“And check for telltale bruises,” Cookie added, though she knew that was a longshot. It had already been enough time that any such marks could have faded. But maybe they’d get lucky.
So why was there a pit in her stomach, making her slightly nauseated? They finally had a real suspect, and she felt worse than ever. But if she was honest with herself she knew why. Dylan had spoken up for Daisy. It was obvious that even if their relationship was long since over, he still liked her. And Cookie liked him. Enough that she didn’t want him to think less of her. Which he definitely would once he found out she’d arrested his ex on suspicion of murder.
But Cookie knew there was no way out of it. Not now. Not with the brick pointing them right
to Daisy. They had to follow the evidence, no matter what. Even if they really didn’t like what it was telling them.
17
“We’re all set,” Hunter told Cookie later that night. After dinner he’d disappeared to make a call, and now he joined Cookie out on the porch, waving his phone at her. “Deputy Swan said he’ll be ready in the morning. Plus, he called the judge in Hancock—who it turns out is another cousin, go figure—and we’ll have a warrant in the morning, giving us the authority to search the Harrises’ boat.”
Cookie nodded. “Even if we do find the yellow bricks, that’s not proof,” she pointed out as he sank into the chair beside her. She indicated the thermos on the table in front of them, and the empty mug beside it.
Taking the hint, Hunter scooped both up and then poured hot coffee from the one into the other. Cookie had her own mug firmly clasped in both hands as the rich aroma filled her senses.
“I know,” he agreed after taking an appreciative sip. It had cooled down outside just enough for the steaming hot beverage to really hit the spot. “But you know as well as I do that it’s one more link in the chain.” His eyes twinkled. “Or should I say, just another brick in the wall?”
She groaned at him and swatted his arm. “I guess you got your sense of humor back,” she joked, sipping her own coffee to hide her smile. “Must be the change in attire.”
“It’s hard to find anything else funny when you’re the one who looks like a joke,” Hunter confirmed with a chuckle. Before dinner, he’d changed into some of the clothes he’d gotten from Jared. Though they weren’t anything fancy, and certainly weren’t up to his usual standards, the tan slacks and blue pullover looked both more comfortable and a lot less silly than what he’d been wearing earlier.
“I guess now you know to bring a spare change of clothes next time you come to visit,” Cookie shot at him. Then she bit her lip as she heard the words out in the open.