Over Maya Dead Body

by Sandra Orchard

  “Where do you plan to park?”

  “Lisa’s house is two in from another dirt road that winds behind her place. I figured we could park in the driveway of the house directly behind hers.”

  “A summer place?”

  “I think so. It looked deserted this afternoon.”

  “With all the vacant summer houses on the island, Ben could easily be holed up somewhere else.”

  “Hey, what happened to the positive thinker I know and love?” Tanner flashed that teasing grin I’d seen a thousand times before, but my stupid heart kicked up as our eyes met.

  Tanner turned his attention back to the road, and I mentally smacked myself.

  These men were going to drive me crazy, if I wasn’t already there. “I flew here for an engagement party and landed two murders, a missing person, and an antiquities smuggling case instead,” I said, sharper than I intended.

  Tanner sobered. “I’m sorry about Jack.” He reached over and gave my hand a squeeze.

  My befuddled thoughts skittered to happier times with Jack.

  “Your dad was telling me stories this morning about all the people Jack helped over the years, donating his designs to Habitat for Humanity and for homeless shelters and for projects in developing countries, working on the crews, and even taking people into his home sometimes. Sounds as if he was a great guy.”

  “He was.” And he didn’t deserve to die.

  But I kept that little rant to myself. Jack would be disappointed in me if he could hear it.

  After my grandfather’s death, Jack had been the one person who’d noticed that God and I were no longer on speaking terms. Only, Jack hadn’t given me the usual pat answer about the price of free will. Instead, he’d shared the story of a family he’d met in Africa who’d lost two children to malnutrition and struggled to meet their daily needs. Then he said something to me I’d never forgotten: Not one person in that family ever asked me how God could be so loving and still let them suffer.

  Jack figured it was because they’d always clung to God. And for them, God hadn’t changed, only their circumstances had. Whereas I’d never really needed God, so I hadn’t turned away from Him so much as I’d come to realize I’d never been all that close to Him in the first place.

  These days . . . I still nursed the occasional dose of righteous indignation at the seeming randomness of it all. Yet, in my job, I’d seen good come out of the bad enough times to solidify my hope. “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

  “Pardon me?” Tanner said, jolting me out of my thoughts that I’d apparently voiced aloud.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s something Michelangelo said.” My heart felt surprisingly lighter at the thought.

  “We’re here.” Tanner shifted into park and turned off the engine. “I’ll take a quick scout around the perimeter to make sure Ben hasn’t already returned.”

  It was 7:00 p.m., which meant it’d be close to an hour before sunset, although here in the woods, darkness was already creeping in.

  Tanner returned inside of five minutes. “All clear. Let’s eat.”

  There were enough trees between the two properties that Ben probably wouldn’t look too closely at our parked car, but the foliage was still sparse enough that we’d have no trouble spotting his approach, unless he happened in from the northeast.

  “Better food than our last stakeout,” I complimented after polishing off the last crab enchilada.

  “And better company than your lunch date,” he teased. At least, I think he was teasing.

  “I never kiss and tell,” I said flippantly, trying to get back to our usual status quo.

  His eyebrows lifted inquisitively.

  Okay, wrong thing to say.

  He relieved me of my empty container and spoon, his hand brushing mine as he handed me my chowder. “You kissed Nate?” he said, his tone even.

  I rolled my eyes, acting as if his steady gaze wasn’t making my heart pound like a jackhammer. “Public displays of affection aren’t my thing.”

  “Hmm.” He released me from his gaze and casually looked out each window, in turn, as if the foliage surrounding us was of the utmost fascination. “So, what if you were with an attractive, eligible guy in a . . . private setting?”

  “Uh . . .” I stared into his chocolate brown eyes, looking for the hint of mischief that was surely there. “I, uh . . .”

  A car door slammed and I jumped with relief.

  “Did you hear that?” I hissed, my attention snapping to a black sedan whizzing past Lisa’s house.

  Tanner set down his dish, a small smile playing about his lips, then pulled out a miniature pair of binoculars. “Looks like we might be in business. Wait. Oh, for—” He lowered the binoculars, frowning.

  “What?” I grabbed a napkin and wiped a dribble of clam chowder off my chin.

  “Looks like we’ve been spotted.” He plucked the chowder from my hand and set it on the dash. There was a gleam in his eye I didn’t trust. “Sometimes you gotta take a PDA for the team,” he said, leaning into my personal space.

  “P. D. Wha—?”

  His hands cradled my face.

  “What are you doing?” I managed to squeak, attempting to pull back. But there was nowhere to go. My head was already against the back of the seat.

  His gaze lowered to my lips, and my heart ricocheted off my rib cage.

  “Making it look like we’re just a couple out watching the submarine races.”

  “The submarine races?” I blurted, my voice rising a few more octaves. “We’re half a mile from the ocean.”

  Laughter bubbled in his eyes. “Don’t be so literal, Jones.”

  Tanner cut off my last squawk of protest with his lips. I vaguely sensed movement out of the corner of my eye, but . . . whoa! . . . this was no pretend kiss.

  His lips were surprisingly soft and . . . thorough. My heart turned over, my squawk morphing into a sigh, and I found myself kissing him back, my hands creeping up to rest on his broad shoulders. Wait! What were we doing? We had to work together! This wasn’t right.

  With a herculean effort, I broke the kiss. For a second, we stared dumbly into each others’ eyes, then my gaze skittered past his to . . . to . . . I squinted at his window. “Gun!”

  15

  Reflexively, I slammed Tanner to the seat even though it was impossible to get out of the shotgun’s line of fire. At the same time, someone exploded from the woods and took a flying leap at our gunslinger.

  Tanner did a hunkered-down one-eighty on his seat and kicked open the door, knocking the pair off their feet. I scrambled out the passenger side, pulled my gun on the lot of them, and shouted, “Freeze! FBI!”

  Shotgun Guy, who already had his face in the dirt under the weight of Fly Boy, instantly unhanded his weapon and raised his hands. Fly Boy grabbed the gun and pushed to his feet, his back to me.

  “I said freeze.”

  His hands shot up, the shotgun still in one of them.

  Tanner snatched it away. “You can put down your hands.”

  The guy turned to face me, his hands still raised.

  “Nate? What are you doing here?”

  He stared at the gun I still had pointed at his chest.

  Oops. I lowered it.

  “Your aunt Martha and Carmen dropped me at the corner. I figured it was a nice night for a walk.” He searched my eyes as he slowly lowered his hands.

  Oh no! If Nate’d been out there, then he must have seen . . .

  I looked away, feeling heat steal up my cheeks.

  Leave it to Tanner to . . . wait a minute . . . who did Tanner see through those binoculars?

  I glared at Tanner, who was patting down the guy on the ground. “You knew it was—” I bit off the accusation and stomped down the anger bubbling up in my chest.

  Tanner had to have known it was Nate approaching the car. And that was the only reason he’d kissed me.

  Tanner hauled the guy to his feet and propped him against the
hood. “What’s your excuse for being here, buddy?”

  “I live over there.” He pointed to the house next to Lisa’s as I took a calming breath and refocused my thoughts. “I thought you were robbers casing houses.”

  “Have you seen anyone else sneaking around here the last few nights?”

  His eyes lit and he looked from Tanner to me, clearly feeling vindicated for his paranoia. “Yeah, some guy showed up at Lisa’s Wednesday afternoon. Was testing her doors and windows before I scared him off.”

  “What did he look like?” I pressed.

  “About six feet. Dark shaggy hair and beard. Was wearing long shorts and a band T-shirt. Don’t remember which one. But my wife called Lisa at the hospital, and Lisa said he was a friend.”

  So although Lisa may not have actually seen Ben again—if she hadn’t been flat-out lying to us—she knew he’d been back.

  “She mention his name?” Tanner cut in.

  “Didn’t ask. Hey, you mind if I see some ID?”

  Tanner dug his badge out of his pocket to satisfy the alert neighbor, then emptied the shells out of the shotgun and handed it and the ammunition back to the guy. “Go on home.”

  “We might as well too,” I said to Tanner after the guy was out of earshot. “If Ben was anywhere around here, he won’t come back after that escapade until we’re long gone.”

  “You’re probably right.” Tanner extended a hand to Nate. “Thanks for the assist. Sorry I nailed you with the car door.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Get in, Nate,” I said, opening my door. “We’ll give you a ride back to the house.” And I’ll just pretend this isn’t awkward at all.

  “You heard him,” Tanner countered. “He wants to walk. Nice night and all. Remember?”

  I shot Tanner my light-saber glare.

  “Okay, okay.” He opened the rear door for Nate. “You better get in.”

  With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Nate did as he was told. His gaze snagged mine in the rearview mirror.

  “That was an impressive move you pulled out there,” I said, giving him a determinedly upbeat smile.

  He shrugged. “I just reacted.”

  Tanner climbed in, handed me the two containers of half-eaten chowder off the dash, then reversed out of the driveway.

  “How was supper?” Nate asked.

  “Dessert was pretty sweet,” Tanner said cheerfully, and I nearly reached over to smack him before I thought better of it.

  Instead, I shrank into my seat, trying to ignore the suddenly oppressive smell of uneaten seafood not mixing well with the overabundance of testosterone filling the vehicle. The rest of the ride passed in blessed silence, and I had Tanner drop me off at Ashley’s before delivering Nate to his car at Preston’s. Yeah, yeah, I’m chicken. What can I say? He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.

  Ashley wasn’t home yet, which I was glad about. Harold was a much better listener. And nonjudgmental. Although from the way his purring got louder when I mentioned Nate’s name, there was no mistaking where his allegiances lay. Lie? Laid? Oh, brother. You know you’re overthinking when you start questioning your own grammar.

  I rose with the first glimmer of sunlight and dragged on my shorts, tee, and running shoes. Missing my morning run for three straight days had seriously messed with my peace of mind. Well, that and Uncle Jack’s death and Ben’s disappearance and . . . whatever was going on with Tanner and Nate.

  Harold wound around my legs, purring loudly.

  I cuddled him to my chest. “Sorry, buddy, you can’t come. You be good, okay? Ashley’s still sleeping. I’ll feed you when I get back.” I plopped him on the bed, and he curled into the warm spot I’d left behind.

  I quietly let myself out the front door and savored a deep breath of tangy sea air. I pulled my right foot up until I felt a satisfying stretch in my quads and then let my gaze wander past Jack’s house to the long stretch of field and ocean beyond. A smile slipped out at the memory of bygone morning runs with Ashley. As interesting as Forest Park in St. Louis was, running there couldn’t hold a candle to running on the beach to the music of gently lapping water as the sun breached the horizon in glorious color.

  “How long do you plan on stretching that leg?” Tanner’s voice made me drop my foot like a hot potato.

  I braced my hands on the porch rail and did a forward lunge to stretch the calf and buy time to hide what his appearance had done to my heart rate. His rental car sat in the driveway beside Ashley’s. How had I not noticed it? “What”—I cleared my throat and tried again—“What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might like some company on your morning run.” He bent his arm and nonchalantly tugged his elbow behind his head in an upper body stretch.

  “You want to hu—” I choked off the word. What was I doing? Clearly operating on too little sleep. Because throwing out Sandra Bullock’s singsong line, “You want to huuuug me, you want to kiiiiiiisss me” from Miss Congeniality was no way to get back to normal with Tanner. Not after—

  I cleared my throat. “You want to hustle down the beach with me, do you?” I substituted lamely.

  Tanner stopped stretching and looked deep into my eyes. “I do,” he said solemnly.

  Paralyzed, I stared back at his face for several excruciating heartbeats, then his dimples winked.

  “. . . want to ‘hustle down the beach’ with you,” he finished.

  I snorted, shaking off my stupor. “Try to keep up then, Special Agent.” I skipped down the steps two at a time and took off across the field toward the water.

  Tanner’s long strides quickly eradicated my head start. “I thought you might want to talk.”

  My step faltered. “Talk?” Was he determined to keep me off balance this morning?

  “Yep. Talk. Don’t women always want to talk after . . . they nearly get shot?”

  I huffed out a breath and rolled my eyes at him.

  He didn’t say anything more, and a less awkward silence settled between us as I slowed to a comfortable pace. But I still felt as if the ground beneath us was as precarious as the sand washing out with each lap of the waves, so I braced myself and blurted out the question that had been burning inside my head all night. “Why’d you come to the island?”

  “To lend you a hand with the investigation.”

  Ye-ess. Obviously.

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer right away, seeming to actually give serious thought to his response. “Because it’s important to you,” he said finally.

  My heart squeezed.

  “And I knew you wouldn’t be willing to leave it to the locals even though you’re too close to the victim and some of the suspects to think straight.”

  Wow. There went my warm fuzzy. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Have you questioned Ashley about her whereabouts the night Jack died?” Tanner asked pointedly, as if to prove his point.

  My stride faltered. Nate must’ve told him about the sea glass the cat found at Menemsha Hills. “She was working.”

  “Have you verified that?”

  “The police have . . . Special Agent Jackson said it was solid.”

  Tanner’s silent censure irked. Did he expect me to duplicate the job of the entire police force? “If Ashley caught wind of me questioning her boss about her schedule, she’d never speak to me again.”

  “What if she’s Jack’s killer?”

  “She’s not.”

  “She has motive. She’ll inherit half her uncle’s estate, instead of the fractional amount she stood to inherit after he changed his will.”

  “She’s engaged to Preston Sullivan Frasier III. Money is hardly a concern.” We reached the sandy beach, and I veered right along the shoreline the opposite direction to Tisbury Great Pond and Preston’s house.

  “Nate tells me her fiancé ‘accidentally’ exposed the film in Jack’s camera. Film that caught a picture of someone in tight jeans. The kind of tight
jeans Ashley seems to favor. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Oh, so Tanner was noticing the fit of Ashley’s jeans, was he? I picked up my pace again. “You and Nate getting chummy now?” I said, in a semi-sarcastic tone I immediately regretted.

  Tanner gave me that single-raised-eyebrow glance as he ran alongside me in easy strides, scarcely breathing heavy. “Anything it takes to solve a case, right, Jones?”

  “Right,” I muttered. Definitely shouldn’t have mentioned Nate. I slowed my pace and focused on the soothing streaks of orange coloring the horizon, the cries of the sea gulls swooping over the shallow waters. Why can’t I just let go and let God, instead of stressing over these two guys who are tangling me in knots?

  “Let’s look at Preston,” Tanner said, breaking into my thoughts. “Maybe he’s one of those Thomas Crown types who dabbles in antiquity smuggling for amusement, only Jack was on to him and Ashley’s covering for him.”

  I attempted to slant him the one-raised-eyebrow look. “Thomas Crown?” I said, surprised he was familiar with The Thomas Crown Affair movie about a financier who steals a museum’s painting. More likely, Nate fielded the theory after they dropped me off last night. Yes, it had to be Nate’s idea. He was the movie buff.

  “Yes, I watch movies too, sometimes, you know. I thought of it all by myself.”

  Huh.

  “You ever think that Preston may be so rich because he is a criminal?”

  “What about Ben? He lied about being on the island. And if it was his sister or Preston who assaulted him, why bother lying?”

  “Hmm, good point. Maybe it was Preston but Ben figured the scumbag wouldn’t tell Ashley because she might get all family loyalty on him. Whereas Preston would’ve figured letting everyone believe Ben’s lie gave him time to hunt him down and silence him permanently.”

  “Preston is not a killer.”

  “Good-looking guys can be evil too, you know. I know it’s hard for you to believe when you have a Paul Rudd look-alike as your partner.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks and burst into laughter. I planted my hands on my knees and gasped for breath.