by Lucy Quinn
“What’d you do next?” Cookie pressed.
She needn’t have worried, though. Apparently Stone had decided there wasn’t any point in hiding anything anymore. “I wrapped him in a tarp and dragged him over to our boat,” he told her and Hunter. “Took the boat out onto the water and, when I was far enough out, weighted him down with bricks then tossed him overboard. I figured either he’d sink to the bottom to get eaten by fish or wash out to sea, but either way I was good.” He sighed and glanced at Cookie. “When I heard he’d washed up behind the inn, I couldn’t believe it. All that open water, and he winds up right back on the island.” He shook his head. “Unreal!”
Hunter leaned in with a question of his own. “Why’d you run?” he asked. “You knew we’d picked Daisy up. Were you really going to let your own sister take the rap for you?”
Surprisingly, Stone bristled at that. “No way,” he snapped, showing more life than he had since they’d caught him. “I had a letter all written out, explaining what’d happened. I was gonna post it as soon as I was across the border to Canada. I’d never let Daisy take the fall for me. I was just hoping I’d have time to get away before I had to come clean.” He looked around the interrogation room as if he was searching for a hidden camera. “Guess I was wrong, huh?”
“Where’s this letter?” Cookie wanted to know. If he really had written one, it’d go a long way toward proving Daisy’s innocence.
“It’s in my car,” Stone answered glumly. “In the glove compartment.”
At a nod from Hunter, Cookie rose and exited the room. They had Stone’s car keys in a box with the rest of his things, and they were cold in her hand as she snagged them before heading outside to the small station parking lot that doubled as the town’s impound. Stone’s Subaru sat there, and in minutes she had the door open, one of the deputies standing beside her as a witness. The glove compartment stuck, requiring some serious muscle, but when Cookie yanked on it hard enough, it flew open, spilling papers, old food wrappers, and other paraphernalia everywhere.
And right on top was a closed envelope that read Hancock Police across the front.
Cookie snapped a few pictures with her phone to record where the letter had been then scooped it up. She brought the letter back inside unopened and returned to the interrogation room. The deputy stayed with her all the way to the door. That way no one could later claim she’d swapped out a different letter or planted the whole thing in the first place.
“Is this your letter?” she asked Stone as she took her place at the table again and laid the envelope between them.
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“Go ahead and open it,” Hunter instructed. Stone did so, extracting a pair of pages covered in a scrawling hand. The papers fluttered as he held them. “Is that your handwriting?”
“Yes,” Stone confirmed, his voice small, resigned.
“And is that what you wrote?”
Stone scanned the letter then said it was. Once that was done, Hunter spun the letter around so he and Cookie could read it.
It recounted exactly what Stone had already told them—he’d confronted Chip, they’d fought, Chip had fallen and hit his head and died, and Stone had tried to dump the body. Everything matched what he’d said, although the letter didn’t explain that Stone had been running from Chip when he fell. But all the important details were there. Hunter shared a sharp, predatory grin with Cookie.
They had him.
23
“What do you think will happen to him?” Cookie asked as she and Hunter rode the ferry back across. A deputy had given them a ride to the Hancock dock. Stone was still in jail there, awaiting his trial and sentencing.
Hunter shrugged. They were standing along the side, leaning on the railing and looking out at the water. It was just starting to get dark, streaks of color enlivening the sky, and there was a calm breeze blowing, pleasantly tangy with the salt from the ocean. As the air kissed her cheeks with its gentle caress Cookie realized it was moments like this that she was happy she and her mother had moved out here.
“Depends on his lawyer,” Hunter answered finally. “If the guy’s any good, he could argue that Stone never actually touched Chip, that he was the victim rather than the aggressor, and that Chip simply tripped and did himself in. Accidental death, with Stone an accessory at most and merely a witness otherwise. He’d get a slap on the wrist for obstructing justice by trying to hide the body, but that’d be it.”
Cookie nodded. They only had Stone’s word, of course, that Chip had tripped rather than been pushed, but they didn’t have anything to prove it hadn’t happened that way, which meant he’d have reasonable doubt on his side. Add to that the fact that Stone was a local, and although a miscreant, not an outright criminal, and that his father was a pillar of the community, she figured Stone stood a very good chance of being acquitted. It didn’t hurt that nobody had liked Chip and that he was known to be a bully.
And she was fine with that outcome. They’d had plenty of cases back in Philly where they’d gone after real bad guys, unrepentant murderers and rapists and kidnappers, awful people who fully deserved to rot in prison—or in the ground. Stone wasn’t one of those. Had he acted poorly? Sure, both when he’d tossed Chip’s body and when he’d run from them. But he’d been trying to stand up for his sister. That had to count for something.
She’d believed him when he’d broken down back in the interrogation room. This wasn’t a guy who’d set out to hurt anyone, much less kill them. Things had just gone badly, especially for Chip. But Cookie suspected, that whatever the District Attorney’s decision, that night at the dock would haunt Stone for a long, long time.
Moisture from the wet grass soaked her feet as Cookie and Hunter trudged back up the hill to the inn, and Cookie was surprised to see the front door open with all the lights on inside and music wafting out. It was her mother’s typical hippie songs from the sixties, the same stuff she’d grown up on, but mixed in with the radio were women’s voices, both loud and more than a little off-key.
Had Rain somehow talked Scarlett into singing? That boggled the mind. Because while Cookie’s best friend had no shame when it came to her body or her words, she was convinced she was the world’s worst singer and couldn’t even be talked into doing karaoke in one of those private booths where no one outside can hear a thing. Heaven knew Cookie had tried convincing her enough times.
“Do we need to be worried?” Hunter asked as they climbed the front steps and crossed the porch. He was smiling when he said it, but he also had a nervous twitch to his eye, no doubt thinking about the last time they’d walked in on Rain.
Remembering that, and his reaction, Cookie couldn’t help but giggle. “Don’t worry, Scarlett’s not her type,” she assured him, leading the way. The voices were coming from the kitchen.
Stepping into the big, open kitchen, Cookie stopped and stared. Rain was there, singing as expected. But the other voice didn’t belong to Scarlett at all. Instead the second singer was a heavyset older woman with long silvery hair and a lined face, bright-blue eyes, and a wide smile—a smile Cookie recognized at once.
“Winter?” she asked, dredging the name up from her memory. “What are you doing here?”
Winter Sage turned and beamed at Cookie. “Cookie!” She lumbered forward to wrap her arms around Cookie in a tight bear hug. “So good to see you, girl!” She hoisted Cookie off the ground, twirled her in a circle, and then set her back down again.
Hunter had followed her in and stopped at the doorway. “I take it you know this woman?” he joked.
“Yes,” Cookie replied, laughing and trying to catch her breath at the same time. “She and my mom are old friends.” She stared at the two older women. Was it her imagination, or did both of them look a little glassy eyed?
“That’s right, Winter and I go way back,” Rain agreed, turning from the oven with a tray of fresh brownies in her mitted hands. “Care for one?” she asked Hunter, offering the tray. “They�
��re nice and hot.” She and Winter both giggled.
Hunter was just reaching for a brownie when Cookie slapped his hand away. “He’ll pass, thanks,” she said, glaring at Rain. “FBI agents and brownies don’t really mix.”
“What?” Hunter stared at her as if she were crazy. “What’re you talking about? I love—” He stopped speaking as his brain finally caught up with his eyes and ears and sent a frantic cease-and-desist to his brain. “Oh.”
Winter, meanwhile, had gone as white as her namesake. “An FBI agent?” she managed after a second, plastering a smile back on her face. “How… interesting. And what are you doing up here, Officer? Will you be staying long?”
Cookie was studying her mom’s old friend. “Will you?” she asked pointedly. Not that she didn’t like Winter—she had fond memories of the woman teaching her to sing and to make gods-eyes when she was little—but she also remembered that Winter and Rain used to get up to all kinds of trouble back in the day.
“Oh, it’s the most amazing thing,” Rain answered, either oblivious to or ignoring Cookie’s suspicions. “I was just sitting on the porch the other day, wandering around on the Web, and decided to see what Winter was up to. And would you believe it? She’s in Hancock now. What are the odds?”
“Yes, what are the odds,” Cookie replied. Suddenly her mother’s suggestion that they consider Maine as a possible hiding place made a lot more sense. “And you had no idea she was here?”
Rain had always been good at looking innocent, so naturally she appeared to be a perfect angel, her expression completely neutral when she answered, “None whatsoever.” But then she and Winter spoiled the effect by giggling like schoolgirls. Or baked college students left without adult supervision.
Cookie placed her hands on her hips. “Where’s Scarlett?” she asked. “She was supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”
“Oh, she’s out back,” Rain answered. “She needed a little rest.”
That made Cookie frown even more. Scarlett was the type of person who could get up at five, run a few miles, make a brunch for ten, play hostess, clean up, head in to the office, defuse ten crises before lunch, conduct an international business meeting, balance the books, light up the room at a dinner party, map out a business plan that night, go to bed around one, and then get up the next morning and do it all again. And probably perform open-heart surgery and take down a drug cartel somewhere in there as well. The idea that she would be tired out from watching Rain cook was impossible to fathom.
Brushing past the two older women and leaving Hunter to decide his own fate, Cookie crossed the kitchen and stepped out the back door. Sure enough, Scarlett was lounging in one of the hammocks, one long leg dangling over the side to push off from the ground every time she swung back. She was also giggling and sucking on a lollipop.
“Scar?” Cookie asked as she approached her friend. Her eyes were full-on glassy. It was a wonder they weren’t spinning like kaleidoscopes.
“Oh, hey, CJ,” Scarlett answered, treating her to a huge, lazy grin. “How’s it going? I’ve got the most amazing sucker—want a taste?” And she pulled the lollipop from her mouth, offering it to Cookie.
“No, thanks.” Cookie frowned. She could already guess how this had all gone down. Rain had contacted Winter, who had come out on the ferry, conveniently after Cookie had already left. The two of them had started baking. Scarlett hadn’t seen anything wrong with that. What could be more harmless than a pair of old friends getting together in the kitchen? So she’d left them to it.
And then they’d given her that lollipop. And maybe a brownie or two before that. Cookie and Scarlett had tried things back in college, and Cookie could tell from experience that her friend was well and fully lit right now.
Just then Rain appeared beside her. “Oh, you probably shouldn’t have so much sugar this late in the day,” she urged Scarlett, reaching out and snatching the lollipop right out of her mouth. Then she pressed a bottle of water and a bag of chips on Cookie’s friend instead. “Here, try these. She’s just tuckered out,” she told Cookie. “She got up early to help us bake.”
“Mom…” Cookie squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to keep from exploding. “Mom, what are you and Winter up to?”
“Oh, you’ll love this,” Rain answered, clapping her hands together, her eyes sparkling. “We’re starting a new business. Baked goods and lollipops. We’ll make a killing.”
Cookie eyed the half-consumed lollipop in her mother’s hand. It was a creamy brown, like caramel or dolce de leche—but were those green specks in it? “What kind of lollipops?” she asked.
“They’re all-natural,” her mother replied. She noticed Cookie’s gaze and shoved the sticky candy into the pocket of her apron. “Very healthy. Winter has a medicinal tea shop, you know. We’ll sell the goods out of there. It’ll help make up for our lack of renters.”
“You mean the renters you drove away by smoking pot with them?” Cookie sighed. “Mother…”
Winter stuck her head out of the back door. “Next batch is ready to go!” she hollered. She was clutching a large glass jar filled with some sort of green herb.
“Ooh, is that tea?” Scarlett asked, also spotting the jar. “I’d love some tea.”
“We’ll make you a nice cup of tea, dear,” Rain promised. “But not with that. That’s for the brownies and cookies.”
Scarlett pouted. “Why can’t I have that tea?” she asked. “Can I just have one of the brownies, then? If it’s already got tea in it?”
Rain glanced over at Cookie. “Probably best to cut back,” she declared. “Too many sweets will spoil your appetite.”
“Mom,” Cookie said, catching her mother’s arm as Rain turned back toward the house. “Where did that ‘tea’ come from?” She waved in the direction of Winter, who had disappeared back inside.
“What? Oh, we got it in a moving sale,” Rain answered absently, shaking loose. “Just this morning, when I went to pick Winter up at the docks.”
Something clicked in Cookie’s head. “A moving sale? Was the guy who was moving driving an old Subaru?”
Now Rain was the one eyeing her suspiciously. “Why do you ask, dear?”
Cookie considered pushing the issue but finally sighed. “Never mind.”
She’d never be able to prove that her mom and Winter had bought the pot from Stone on his way out of town. There was no doubt in her mind that was what was in the jar Winter had been holding. But she had been surprised to learn that the deputy who’d searched Stone’s car hadn’t found any drugs whatsoever. Good thing for Stone, too, since he’d have been charged with possession on top of everything else. So he’d seen a chance to clear out his cache, get rid of anything incriminating, and make some quick cash, all in one fell swoop.
And the fact that he’d sold it all to her mother was just one more of life’s little ironies.
Cookie trailed after Rain, and when she spotted Hunter, still in the same place by the kitchen door, he met her gaze and shrugged. What can I do? He asked with his eyes. He clearly knew what was going on here. He wasn’t an idiot, and the brownies had a distinctive smell even amid the regular scent of fresh-baked goods. But he also obviously didn’t want to admit to it, because if he did he’d have to arrest Rain and Winter and maybe even Cookie and Scarlett as well. And nobody wanted that. So for now he was just pretending to be unaware.
Which Cookie appreciated. She wished she could ignore it all so easily herself.
24
Two hours later, Cookie was sitting on the porch when Hunter emerged to join her. “All packed?” she asked without looking his way.
“Yeah, didn’t really take much,” he answered with a chuckle. That was true enough. He’d worn his one suit when he’d arrived and had brought along only a single duffel bag with, she assumed, clean shirts, ties, socks, running pants, and underwear, plus the usual toiletries. He was still wearing the pullover and slacks he’d gotten from the medical examiner, which meant he’d shoved his despera
tely-needed-to-be-dry-cleaned suit into the bag as well.
“I guess you need to get back,” she continued, and it wasn’t a question but a statement—one they both knew the answer to.
He answered her anyway. “I do, yeah.” He sighed. “It’s not like this was an official assignment, so this case of yours just cost me a week of vacation.”
“Sorry about that.” She did turn to look at him then. “I really am glad you came up, Hunter.”
“Hey, you know you can always call on me,” he replied, reaching out to brush a strand of hair back from her face. His hand lingered there, stroking her cheek, and she shivered slightly, tilting her head so that he cupped it, enjoying the warmth of his touch. “Come back with me, Charlie,” he urged then, his voice deep and rumbling. “You don’t belong up here.”
“There’s a reason I took an extended leave from the FBI, remember?” she reminded him. “Nothing is resolved with DeMasi. Why would I go back now?”
He leaned in, his eyes black as the night. “Me.” It was a tempting offer. Cookie had spent the last few days reliving the life she used to have. The excitement of uncovering clues, the thrill of bantering theories back and forth with Hunter, and the hum of—and dare she say it?—sexual desire that happened whenever Hunter was close. His gaze drew her in, warming her from the inside, and all she could see were his eyes, his face, his lips as they parted slightly, drawing hers to them like a magnet, pulling her closer—
The thud of feet on the porch steps made her startle and pull back reflexively, glancing about, as if she’d just been shaken awake.
And there, approaching them, was Dylan. Dylan of the sly smile. Dylan of the lean, wiry build. Dylan of the steel-blue eyes that sang with all the freedom of the sky. Dylan of the life she’d chosen and wasn’t ready to give up without a fight. The man made her feel safe and wanted and admired and respected all at once. Even though they’d only known each other a week, and the strangest of weeks at that.