Butterflies twirled in my stomach at the sudden memory of the kiss Nate had pressed to my hand in the darkroom. Would he have tried for an even sweeter kiss if Tanner hadn’t shown up?
I shook my head. Listen to me. We’d just lost a dear friend. And I had an art crime case that was clearly important to him, not to mention his probable murder, to solve. I didn’t have time to be twitterpated over a couple of guys bent on role-playing knights in shining armor.
I set down the napkins I’d been, um, mutilating and turned back to the cupboard to get out glasses. Mom and Aunt Martha were leaning against the counter, smiling at me.
“What?” I barked, annoyed they’d clearly caught me daydreaming.
“Nothing. Nothing,” Mom and Aunt Martha sing-songed, busying themselves with nothing.
Ashley came into the kitchen carrying Harold. “Your friend wants to see you outside.”
He’d sure taken long enough to finish up at Jack’s and fetch Ashley. I slipped out the side door so Tanner wouldn’t spot me leaving. Nate stood by his rental, watching a couple of birds glide on the thermals. “Hey. I’m sorry about the surprise visit,” I said.
He gave me an it-happens shrug. “I found some stuff after you left, and I didn’t know who else you wanted to hear about it.” He handed me the photo he’d developed. “I checked Jack’s closet. You were right about him favoring relaxed-fit jeans.”
My breath stalled in my chest. “So we’re looking at the legs of his murderer.”
“Or at the very least, perhaps the last person to see him alive.” He beeped his trunk unlocked and rounded the back of the car. “I also snooped around the dresser, desk, and tabletops a bit. No sign of any sea glass.”
I nodded, not wanting to trace the potential implications of that find at the moment.
“But I did find this.” He opened his trunk and motioned to the contents—a large backpack, the kind twentysomethings used to travel Europe or Australia.
“Whose is it?” Even as the words passed my lips, I knew the answer. “Ben’s?” I added in a whisper, flipping over the luggage tag to confirm it. I untied the top. “Where’d you find it?”
“It was propped against the front wall of the house, behind the porch rocker to the right of the door.”
“You’re kidding. I can’t believe we didn’t notice it before now.”
“Maybe it wasn’t there earlier.”
My heart thumped. So Ben had come looking for Ashley like I’d feared?
“Or no one thought to pay attention to what was on the porch,” Nate added.
I rummaged through the bag’s contents. “Nothing here but clothes and shoes and”—I leafed through the leather-bound book tucked in an outside pocket—“a new journal.” I skimmed the six pages he’d written on. There was nothing about art or antiquities or Jack, merely notes on the places he’d visited and ideas for articles.
Nate unrolled the designer jeans that had been stuffed into the top of the bag. “These are a style people usually wear tight.”
My head started pounding. “This doesn’t look good for him.”
Preston trotted down the stairs, probably off to pick up the pizzas. I quickly stuffed the journal and jeans back into the pack, but not quickly enough. “Hey, isn’t that Ben’s?” Preston joined us and peered into Nate’s trunk. “It is. Where’d you find it?”
“On Uncle Jack’s porch.”
Preston looked around. “Ben’s here?”
We didn’t respond.
“He’s not here?” Preston tugged on his ear, a habit I recalled from our brief dating stint. “You think he was connected to the art crime Jack called the FBI about?” Preston hissed out a long sigh, his gaze drifting to Tisbury Great Pond or maybe the ocean beyond. “Makes sense, I guess. A few years back he showed me an artifact he’d picked up on one of his trips. Asked what I thought it would be worth.”
And you’re only telling me this now? The sound of the pounding surf suddenly grew thunderous, or maybe that was the blood rushing past my ears. I took a deep breath to calm my rioting thoughts. “What did you tell him?”
“That it was illegal to take cultural artifacts out of most of those countries without the government’s permission. I told him to turn it over to the authorities and plead ignorance.”
“Did he?”
“I thought so. I mean, I assumed he did.” The muscle in his jaw flinched. “I’m sure he did. Ben’s a good guy. He even wrote an article about antiquities smuggling not long after that.” Preston’s tone and expression didn’t match the certainty of his words. I could understand him wanting to cover for his fiancée’s brother, but what if Ben was also Jack’s killer?
Preston excused himself and returned to the house.
“I don’t trust that guy,” Tanner said from behind me, making me jump.
“You can say that again,” Nate agreed.
“Wait!” I patted my pockets. “Either of you got a pen and paper?”
“What for?” they both asked.
“The two of you agreed on something. This is an occasion for the history books. I think you’re both wrong, but that’s beside the point.”
Nate chuckled and said to Tanner, “They used to date.”
“Wait, how’d you—?”
Before I could ask him how he’d found that out, although I was sure I had Aunt Martha to thank for the disclosure, Tanner said, “Ahhhh,” as if the detail explained everything.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
Tanner graced me with an unnaturally patient look, as if I might be too simpleminded to understand. “You have blinders on when it comes to guys you date.” His gaze shifted pointedly toward Nate.
The corners of Nate’s lips twitched into a grin. Apparently, he’d rather let Tanner think we were dating than take offense at what I was supposedly blind to in him.
Preston came out with Ashley. Malgucci and Aunt Martha bustled out behind them.
I slammed the trunk shut. What was Preston doing?
“Ben’s here?” Ashley said, her voice verging on hysteria. “You found his bag?”
I glared at Preston.
“She’s my fiancée! I couldn’t not tell her.”
Ashley frowned. “Why wouldn’t you tell me Ben is here?”
“Ben?” Malgucci said. “Isn’t that the guy you think killed Jack?”
Aunt Martha swatted him in the gut with the back of her hand, and he let out an “ooomph.”
“What was that for? That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
The shock on Ashley’s face hit me like a roundhouse kick to the chest. I hadn’t voiced that particular suspicion aloud. But that didn’t make me feel any less guilty.
“Uncle Jack wasn’t killed,” Ashley said adamantly, looking from face to face but finding little reassurance. She looked as if she wanted to stomp her foot like a toddler. “He wasn’t. The police said so. This is because of what Carly said, isn’t it? I can’t believe you believed her!”
I dug my teeth into my lower lip, wondering if Ashley might have trusted Carly’s statement if she knew about Jack’s call to the FBI asking for a deal on Ben’s behalf in exchange for information.
“You heard her mom,” Ashley rushed on. “Carly overreacts all the time.”
“Then why did Ben lie about missing his plane?” I asked softly. “Why didn’t he want us to know he was already on the island?” I hated to compound her loss, but the can of worms had been opened. Putting off facing the situation wouldn’t make it any easier to deal with.
“What are you talking about? Preston said you found his backpack on Jack’s porch. He’d hardly leave it sitting in plain view if he expected us to buy his missed-plane story.”
“She’s got a point,” Tanner said.
Of course she had a point! But that didn’t stop me from wanting to smack him for poking me with it, as if that little incongruity hadn’t already occurred to me too. I already felt bad enough for grilling her.
Ashley
whipped out her phone and madly thumbed a message—no doubt along these lines: I know you’re here, so explain yourself.
Only . . . What if Ben didn’t send the text? “Wait,” I blurted.
“Too late,” Ashley said smugly. “I told him we’re having a memorial service Saturday night and he’d better be here.”
“When did you decide that?” I asked.
“With Marianne this afternoon,” Aunt Martha said softly.
“Maybe Ben got hit by a car or something,” Malgucci suggested, “and sent the bogus text so you wouldn’t worry about him.”
Ashley burst into tears.
Aunt Martha swatted Malgucci a second time. “You’re not helping.”
“Ashley, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s nothing like that. But I’ll call the police and the hospital right now.” Anything to mitigate how awful my questions about Ben must’ve sounded. Whatever she’d been mad at me about as a teenager wouldn’t hold a candle to my all but flat-out saying her absentee brother looked guilty of murder.
Preston wrapped his arm around Ashley and coaxed her toward his car. “We’ll go pick up the pizzas while you take care of the call.”
I opted to check in with Special Agent Jackson first since I hadn’t updated him on the latest news.
He advised me to sit tight and said he’d talk to the police.
“What now?” Nate asked when I disconnected.
“We wait.”
“Maybe Ben will show up,” Aunt Martha offered, “now that he knows Ashley knows.”
“I’m not so sure he’ll get the text,” I replied. “Isaak said Ben’s cell phone wasn’t showing up on the grid anymore.”
Tanner arched an eyebrow, which loosely translated meant: You don’t saaaay? Well, well. Trouble was, I didn’t know if he was goading me because I’d referred to the agent by his first name or because Isaak had managed to get the information without nearly enough evidence for a search warrant.
I opted to go with the latter. “He called in a favor.”
Malgucci snorted. “The American legal system hard at work protecting its citizens.”
Aunt Martha slipped her arm through the crook of his. “You won’t get any empathy from this lot.” She winked at me, or maybe Nate, then coaxed Malgucci back inside as I stewed over how to mend my relationship with Ashley.
“Gotta like her,” Tanner said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Yup, Martha’s one of a kind,” Nate concurred.
I swayed sideways and they each caught an arm. “You okay?” Tanner asked.
“No, my world is utterly off-kilter. The two of you have agreed on two things in the span of less than twenty minutes.”
Nate chuckled. “If it bothers you that much, I’m sure we can find something to disagree about.” He looked to Tanner. “What do you say?”
“You’re a toad.”
“See,” Nate said, “we’re disagreeing again already. Feel better?” He tapped his forefinger to his chin as if suddenly deep in thought. “Then again, when a princess kisses a toad, he turns into a handsome prince, right? So the comparison may not be so far off.”
I giggled. I couldn’t help it. The giggle earned me a mock scowl from Tanner, which made me giggle even more. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but they’d succeeded in distracting me from how much I’d upset Ashley with my suspicions, and I loved them for it.
I abruptly stopped giggling. Love? Did I just say—love? Oh man. Oh man, oh man, oh man. All Mom’s talk about me settling down might have started to seep into my psyche. I didn’t love love them. I admired them. I enjoyed spending time with them. I appreciated their concern for my well-being. That wasn’t the same as love, right? Not in the romantic sense.
Not that romantic thoughts toward them hadn’t crossed my mind . . .
“Serena? Are you okay?”
“Huh?” I wasn’t sure who’d asked, so I glanced from one to the other and smiled reassuringly. “Yes, of course. I’m fine. I’d better get back to the kitchen and see if Mom needs any more help.” I raced inside before either of them could question me further.
“Nice to see the boys getting along,” Mom remarked as I meandered into the kitchen. She nodded toward the window, where outside Tanner and Nate seemed to be chatting amiably.
“Why wouldn’t they?” I said. My first mistake.
She looked at me with that head tilt that meant You seriously have to ask? “I understand what you’re going through,” she said consolingly. “You have a shift husband and a house husband and you’re confused.”
“What? I’m not the one confused here, Mom. I’m not married.”
“Not in the biblical sense, of course, but I read about this very thing online. Well, it was about male officers and how they have a ‘shift wife’—a partner or co-worker or waitress at a coffee shop they frequent while on the job—who they can share all their work stresses with, who gets the humor they need to stay sane. That kind of thing.”
“Mom, working for the FBI isn’t the same as being a first responder.”
“Let me finish. Then you go home and you have Nate to hang out with. And you can forget about your work when you’re with him.”
That wasn’t exactly true. My mind slipped back to my undercover visit with Nate, at his invitation, to a bar frequented by artsy types when I’d been searching for a forger.
“But now you’re on vacation,” Mom went on. “And working”—she scowled—“and they’re both here with nothing to do but be with you. So, you’ll have to decide which one you most want to be with.”
No, I don’t. I mentally stomped my foot, feeling as if I were three and Mom were telling me I had to do something and I were yelling back you can’t make me.
Tanner poked his head into the kitchen. “Pizza’s here.”
“Thank you, Tanner.” Mom hurried past him. “I’ll help Preston set it on the dining room table.”
I made a move to follow, but Tanner sidestepped and blocked the door. “Hey, I’m sorry your trip isn’t shaping up to be much of a vacation.”
I nodded. I mean, what could I say?
“How about we get dinner at one of the island’s seafood restaurants tomorrow night?” he suggested. “Take your mind off things for a little while at least.”
I didn’t immediately answer and his eyes dimmed a fraction.
“Or did you already have a date with Nate?”
“We’re not dating.”
“A guy you’re not dating doesn’t borrow a plane and fly halfway across the country to make sure you’re okay.”
“He cares about me.”
“I’ll say. The man hasn’t been in a plane since the last one he piloted was shot down over Yugoslavia!”
“What?” My voice must’ve spiked a tad too loud, because the next room suddenly got quiet. I hauled it down a few octaves. “What are you talking about?”
Tanner rolled his eyes. “Don’t you do background checks on the guys you date?”
“No. Do you?”
“That would be illegal,” he said, with a smirk that said he had.
I refrained from grilling him for details, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, even though I was desperate to know why Nate had been flying over Yugoslavia in the first place. Pilot Nate was not the mild-mannered, tea-loving, cat-adoring, film buff I knew.
Then a hole in Tanner’s argument hit me like a bolt of lightning, and I could scarcely contain my own smirk. “If Nate flew here because we’re dating, how do you explain your being here?”
Tanner grinned. “I’m your shift husband.”
I dragged my hand down my face and muttered, “You heard that?”
“Serene-uh,” he drawled. “It’s o-kay.”
With a Spanish lilt, I said, “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”
Tanner smiled, but I wasn’t sure if he’d clued in that I borrowed the line from one of my favorite movies. Nate would have.
What was I supposed to th
ink of Tanner’s supposed interest in me?
I mean . . . my parents begged him to come. And asking me out on a date? That was the kind of thing he’d do to irritate Nate.
Mom’s voice drifted into the kitchen. “Come, you two. We want to say grace before we eat.”
Tanner didn’t move, just lifted that infernal eyebrow of his to say he was still waiting for an answer.
“Yes, I would love to go to dinner with you. Thank you for asking.”
He stepped aside and with a gallant bow motioned me to go first.
Nate stood on the other side of the door, frowning.
10
The next morning, thanks to my promise to accompany Ashley to the funeral home for her appointment with the director and Marianne, I was spared from facing Nate and Tanner.
Then again, Nate was probably grateful for the extra sleep time given the all-nighter he’d pulled flying here. Which reminded me . . . I still hadn’t asked him about Yugoslavia.
Since Ashley and Marianne had seemed pretty chummy yesterday afternoon while searching for photos at Jack’s house—if that’s what Marianne had really been after—I wasn’t sure why Ashley still wanted me to come along. Maybe because Ben still hadn’t responded to her text, and she was starting to worry that I might’ve been right about him. Although, after the silent treatment she’d given me last night, despite my apologies, I was surprised she’d resumed talking to me.
“You ready?” Ashley asked as I emerged from her guest room. “I still haven’t heard from Ben, so I want to stop at the police station on our way and file a missing persons report.”
My phone vibrated in my pants pocket. I lifted a single finger to signal her to give me a minute, then pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Special Agent Isaak Jackson. “I need to take this.” I retreated to the guest room and closed the door. “What did you find out?”
“Would you believe there are eight different police departments on this little island? Not to mention a sheriff’s office and a state police office?”
“The population does swell to more than a hundred thousand people in the summer.”
Over Maya Dead Body Page 9