Life in the Dead Lane (Secret Seal Isle Mysteries Book 2)

by Lucy Quinn

  Life in the Dead Lane

  Lucy Quinn

  Seaside Story Publications

  Contents

  Copyright

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 by Lucy Quinn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Lewellen Designs

  Editing by Angie Ramey

  Don’t miss an installment from Lucy Quinn. Sign up for her newsletter.

  About This Book

  All Cookie James, FBI agent and Innkeeper extraordinaire, wants is a romantic date with her hot handy man… but what she gets is a corpse presented with a big red bow.

  When she and Dylan discover a boat with a dead body, not only is her picnic ruined, but a woman from Dylan’s past returns to the island. The famous rock star appears to want a comeback tour with her former bodyguard. But Cookie doesn’t have time to worry about that, because her oh-so-sexy ex-FBI partner has arrived, too. And he’s ready to make a little music of his own.

  With an entangled love life, too much manscaping, and a songbird in trouble, it’s once again Cookie’s job to wrap up another murder.

  1

  “Okay,” Cookie James declared, leaning back against the boat’s hull, both arms draped over the side, long chestnut hair flying in the summer wind, “I’ll admit that when you asked me to lunch this isn’t what I was expecting.”

  From his place behind her by the motor, Dylan Creed grinned. “That was kind of the point,” he explained, steel-blue eyes hidden behind mirrored shades and the bill of his baseball cap, but dimples clearly visible through his stubble below the sunglasses. “I thought you might like a little mystery.”

  Cookie laughed, as much at the adorable expression on his face, as the comment itself. He was giddy like a little kid thrilled he’d gotten away with something. Though he was right, she did like to be surprised. As long as it was a good surprise.

  And Dylan himself had certainly proved to be one of those, Cookie thought, glad she was also wearing sunglasses and able to stare at him all she wanted. The day was pleasantly warm, and despite the breeze generated by their boat’s forward motion and the cold salt-water spray, Dylan was wearing only a snug T-shirt and an equally snug pair of blue jeans, the latter worn so soft Cookie suspected they would feel like velvet. She was dying to find out, but decided against getting handsy on what was their first, or possibly second, date, depending on how one looked at it. The first, a lunch date, had been cut short when her ex-partner had strolled into the restaurant.

  Either way, she’d been thrilled when Dylan had agreed that they should pick up where they’d left off. And surprised, but intrigued, when he’d told her to meet him down at the dock. He had been waiting there for her with a big smile on his face and a picnic basket in one hand. “I thought we could go someplace a little more private,” he’d said when she’d arrived, gesturing toward the battered motorboat beside him. “I know just the spot.”

  Yes, Cookie congratulated herself, studying his strong features, his short dark hair, and the play of his muscles beneath his shirt and along his arms, she hadn’t expected someone like Dylan when she and her mother had moved here to Secret Seal Isle, but he had been a welcome surprise indeed.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Dylan’s gravelly voice interrupted her, and judging by his smile that verged on a smirk, despite her sunglasses Cookie had been caught ogling him yet again. Damn.

  It’s your own fault for being so darn hot, she thought, but didn’t say. Dylan certainly hadn’t objected to her directness so far, but there were limits. Especially this early on. Instead she cast about for something to say, and was saved by the sound of a bell somewhere nearby.

  Clang, clang! The sound was similar to that of the local ferry, but different enough that she knew that wasn’t it. This was a slightly harsher tone, lower and rougher. “What’s that?” she asked, squinting against the late morning sunlight as she tried to find the source of the noise. But all she saw was the nearby shore of an uninhabited island.

  “None, boy,” Dylan replied, and Cookie shot him a glance but he didn’t appear to be laughing.

  “None, boy?” she repeated. “What does that mean, exactly? None of what? And who’re you calling ‘boy’?” She lifted her sunglasses and glanced down at her ample chest, before raising one questioning eyebrow.

  Now he did laugh, but not meanly. “Nun as in Sister Mary-Margaret,” he explained, “and buoy as in the kind floating in the water.” With one hand controlling the motor, he pointed to one side, and following his gesture, Cookie spotted what looked like a bright red cone bobbing in the water a little ahead of them and off to the right.

  “It’s called a nun buoy,” Dylan continued. “They’re used to mark the edges of channels, especially near open water like a sea or ocean. It’s got a number on it to show how far we are from the nearest dam or reservoir, or to show the channel number. You keep them on your starboard side, or to the right, and you know you’re heading upstream.”

  “Gotcha.” Tilting her head, Cookie watched as they slid past the buoy. “And the bell?”

  “Lets you know the buoy’s there even if you can’t see it,” Dylan answered. “That way you can find the channel in fog or at night.”

  Cookie nodded. She was a beginner when it came to sailing or boating, though at least she was a solid swimmer. Secret Seal Isle was a good thirty minutes by boat from the Maine mainland, and most of its residents could handle a water vessel better than they could a car. Cookie hadn’t gone quite that native yet, however.

  She was thinking about that, and wondering if maybe she could talk Dylan into giving her boating lessons. She had paid close attention when he’d started the engine, just out of curiosity, and also because she enjoyed watching him work in his quiet, competent way. She stretched her jean-clad legs out in front of herself, more content than she’d been in days, but then jerked forward when a flash of white up ahead caught her eye. “Hey, what’s that?” she asked, pointing.

  Dylan peered where she’d indicated, a frown creasing his forehead. “Don’t know,” he admitted, the humor falling from his tone. “We’re still a few minutes out from the Lookout.”

  “The Lookout?” She peered at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

  He half-smiled, though she could tell even with the sunglasses that this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Lookout Point is a tiny little island not even the size of a football field. It got its name because back when pirates and smugglers used our island as a hideout, they’d station a guy on Lookout to, well, keep a lookout. Now it’s empty, of course, but it makes a great spot for a nice private picnic.” He sighed. “But whatever that is up
ahead, it shouldn’t be here, so we’re gonna have to check it out first.”

  Cookie nodded. It made sense—that white object appeared to be right in the middle of the lane, and if somebody came sailing along and wasn’t paying attention they could crash right into it.

  She couldn’t help noting it would also make a great ambush point, like the water equivalent of a log across the road. A part of her cursed the fact that she’d left her gun back at the inn, but what reason would she have had for bringing it on a date? And how would she have explained it if Dylan had spotted the pistol? She glanced around for anything unusual. There was still a lot he didn’t know about her and her past, and that wasn’t exactly the way she wanted to start that particular conversation. But it sure would have felt good to be armed right about now.

  Dylan had shifted their course, aiming toward the streak as they rocketed across the water, the engine whining. “Is that a boat?” Cookie asked, trying to make it out against the glare of the sun-lit waves.

  “Yeah,” Dylan confirmed, still steering them straight toward it at top speed. “Nice one, too. Don’t recognize it, though.”

  They were finally close enough for Cookie to make out a few details, and she whistled involuntarily. Nice one was right. The boat was long and sleek, with a black hull and white deck, and a short white canopy over the pilot’s seat and part of the back deck. As they closed the rest of the distance she saw that there was a recessed area along the front, with built-in couches, and a similar space at the back partially under that canopy. An entire row of powerful-looking engines lined the back, and Cookie got the impression this boat could all but fly once it got going, yet right now it was drifting without a sound or a hint of motion. Or life.

  “What kind of boat is it?” she asked as Dylan cut his motor and twisted the rudder, expertly bringing them up right alongside. His poor little motorboat, which had nothing but two benches and a single outboard motor, looked particularly shabby alongside this gleaming beauty.

  “It’s a cigarette boat,” he replied, studying the larger vessel. “They call it that because one of the first ones like it was called the Cigarette.” He flashed her a brief smile. “Before that, boats like this were typically called rum runners.”

  “Funny,” Cookie said, tying back her windblown hair. “But what’s it doing out here? And where’s the owner?” She stood, carefully, and grabbed hold of the railing at the top of the cigarette boat. “Hello?”

  Dylan added his voice to hers, and they both shouted and called for a few seconds before quieting to listen. But no one answered. Cookie scanned the rocky shoreline, coming up empty. It was deserted.

  “You don’t just leave a boat like this floating on the water,” Dylan pointed out, frowning. He tugged his baseball cap off his head and reversed it so the bill was angled backward, something Cookie had seen SWAT members do right before going into action. “Could be somebody onboard who can’t call for help.” And, without waiting to see what she thought about the idea, or to discuss it any further, he rose to his feet, took a step forward atop the bench, grabbed the railing, and vaulted onto the bigger boat with thud.

  “Damn.” Cookie muttered as she hauled herself over the railing after him. “Dylan, wait!” Now she really wished she had her gun. He paused, and at first Cookie thought he was simply waiting for her to catch up. But when she did, she followed his gaze and a sinking feeling claimed her gut.

  “Damn,” she whispered again. But this time it was because of the dead man lying on the deck in front of her. He was young, she saw, automatically reverting to FBI Agent mode and analyzing the scene. Maybe mid-twenties, tall, well built, blond, good looking. And he was completely naked. Well, maybe not completely. There was a large satin bow tied around his … well, around his junk. Like it’d just won a prize at the county fair. Other than that he was completely bare.

  Actually, Cookie realized now that she looked more closely, he wasn’t just unclothed. He was almost completely devoid of body hair, except for a carefully sculpted wedge right above his, well… He’d clearly been manscaped.

  She shifted her gaze from his manhood—which was hard to overlook, given how it was currently giftwrapped—to his face. And gasped.

  “Don’t look,” Dylan told her, turning around. His grip on her arms was tight as if he meant to shield her from the grisly sight. But it wasn’t squeamishness that had wrung the sound from her. She knew him.

  “It’s Dickie,” she managed, pulling free from Dylan so that she could continue to catalog the scene. “Dickie Dungworth.”

  Dylan stiffened beside her. “Did you say ‘Dungworth’?” he asked carefully. His face had gone stone hard, and his voice was almost flat.

  She nodded. “Yeah. I met him a few days ago, in town. He said he was here for the scenery, something about how peaceful it was out on the water.” A wry smile touched her full lips. “I asked if he wanted to stay at the inn but he said no, he preferred to sleep out on his boat.” She sighed. “I don’t think this is quite what he had in mind.”

  “What do you think happened to him?” Dylan wondered aloud. He’d clearly resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to shield Cookie from the dead man—and perhaps also to the idea that he didn’t need to. Cookie hoped so. She’d never been any good at playing the helpless damsel in distress.

  “There’s no blood, no visible wounds,” she replied, stepping down onto the front deck so she could examine the body more closely. “Though he does have some scratches on his face, there’s no way those’d be enough to kill him.” She frowned and leaned in more. “He’s got some residue around his nose, too. White powder, most likely cocaine. Won’t know for sure till we get tox screens back.”

  Dylan shifted his focus from the corpse to her, studying her carefully. “You sound like you’ve done this before,” he said, and Cookie didn’t think she’d imagined a faint hint of accusation behind the words.

  Now was not the time to go into all that, however. “I’ve been around,” was all she said instead. “Former law enforcement work, remember?”

  A cool ocean breeze blew a strand of hair in her face and she shoved it out of the way as she scanned the rest of the front deck, but didn’t see anything suspicious. “We’d better call this in.”

  Dylan nodded. “What is it about us and dates?” he asked as they turned back toward his boat, reaching for his radio.

  “And dead bodies,” Cookie pointed out. Their first and only other date had been interrupted by the investigation into another dead man—one who had washed up in the water behind the inn. Now here they were again.

  The universe hates me, Cookie groused in her head as she followed Dylan back across and watched as he called the local law, Deputy Swan. Or at the very least it wants me to die alone. But hopefully not nude and decked out with a big ribbon. That would just be cruel.

  2

  “You know,” Dylan commented the next morning with a big grin plastered across his face as he slapped a wrench into the palm of his hand, “if you wanted to get me into your bedroom there were easier ways to go about it.”

  “Oh, ha ha,” Cookie shot back, unable to think of a better comeback with all the blood rushing to her face. “Trust me, when I want you in here, you’ll know it.” Then she heard the words that had just rushed from her mouth and bit her lip, wishing she could call them back.

  Dylan, on the other hand, looked both amused and intrigued, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying that’s a ‘when,’ not an ‘if’?” His voice had dropped a register or two, becoming even more gravelly.

  The sound of it sent shivers down Cookie’s spine in all the best ways. Between that and the heated look he was giving her, a large part of her wanted to just say yes and tear his clothes off him. It didn’t help that he was already shirtless, the lean, taut muscles of his arms and torso on full display.

  Fortunately, Cookie’s mother saved her from herself. Which was ironic considering Rain was usually the one getting into trouble. />
  “Cookie!” her mother screamed up the stairs. “You need to get down here right now!”

  For half a second, Cookie panicked. After all, the last time her mother had screamed for her it’d been because a dead body had washed ashore—and Rain had just jumped into the water right on top of him. But she didn’t sound terrified this time. More… excited?

  “Better see what she wants,” Dylan advised, still grinning. “Before she comes up to find you.” He eyed her mischievously, clearly thinking that Rain would be scandalized to discover the two of them here in Cookie’s bedroom, and him with his shirt off.

  Uh-huh. Right. Rain would likely fan herself, drool a little, and then probably start snapping pictures.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Cookie replied. “Just fix something, why don’t you?” She turned and stalked out, her face still flushed, as Dylan chuckled and then presumably returned his attention to the broken ceiling fan he’d been trying to repair.

  Cookie’s feet tapped hurriedly down the stairs, and she wasn’t surprised to find her mother standing at the bottom waiting for her. What did throw her for a loop was that Rain was not alone. And then, as she reached the ground floor, Cookie got a good look at the tall, slim blond woman standing there—and nearly face-planted as her foot skidded off the last step.

  “You’re Hayley Holloway!” she managed to gasp after recovering as she stared at the other woman. She couldn’t believe it, but there was no doubt about it. This was Hayley Holloway, in the flesh.

  “Isn’t it amazing!” Rain gushed, hovering around the new arrival like a proud mama bird, her bright red hair aglow in the early morning light from the open front door. “Hayley Holloway, at our little inn. Just wait ‘til I put that on Facebook.”