by Bree Baker
He slid a linen suit jacket on over his pit-stained shirt, then smoothed a hand through his thinning hair. “Hello.” His shoulders were broad and his legs were long. He was over forty, but had clearly been an athlete. “I’m Leo Metz.” He smiled. The tip of a gold-capped tooth twinkled in the sun. “Can I help you, Miss—?”
“Swan.” I reached for his hand to shake. “Everly Swan. I knew a friend of yours, I think. Benedict Paine.”
Metz’s face morphed from confusion to shock before landing on distrust. He slid his gaze over my ensemble. “I suppose you came from his funeral?”
“Yes, sir.”
He choked out an ugly sound. “You here to accuse me of riding him too hard? Being too disagreeable? Rude? Greedy? Successful? Handsome?”
That had taken an unexpected turn.
“Actually, I was wondering if you’d tell me about your dispute with Mr. Paine. I hear he’d taken issue with your renovation of this property.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, now that he’s gone, how will it impact what you’re doing here?”
He barked a humorless laugh. “How will Paine’s death impact me?”
I nodded my head too quickly. “Yes.”
“Well, for starters, now that Paine’s out of my way, I’m ecstatic. Thrilled. Saving money and moving along as planned.” He opened a palm and gestured to his colonial as if he were a middle-aged game show host. “What about it?”
“I’m just trying to figure out who hurt him. Trying to track his actions those last couple of days.”
Metz grimaced. “Who cares? Paine was a crotchety old fool who wanted to preserve his notion of what this town was rather than embrace the possibilities of all it can be. This bed and breakfast is going to make us a lot of money. Me and your town. This one and the others I’ve put bids on are going to bring folks across that bridge who never would’ve come otherwise. Paine should’ve been shaking my hand and singing my praises instead of fighting me every step of the way. His death was a blessing. I’ll save a fortune in attorney fees by not having to fight him on his nonsense. I’m glad he’s gone. Now I can get stuff done. Goodbye and good riddance!”
I sucked in air as my feet carried me back a step. The construction site had gone silent around us.
Mr. Metz seemed to return to himself with a start. His cheeks went ruddy as he took in the gawking faces. “Back to work!”
I opened my mouth to excuse myself, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I crossed the street at a jog and kept going. Anyone who would yell at a total stranger like that, in broad daylight, with a dozen witnesses, was someone I didn’t trust, and I couldn’t help worrying that Mr. Paine’s determination to preserve Charm had gotten him killed.
I collapsed on a bench behind a thick oak tree on Main Street and tried to slow my panicked heart. Mr. Metz hadn’t given a confession, but he’d made it clear he was glad Mr. Paine was dead. That felt like a lead to me, and I had witnesses who had heard his cold-hearted statement.
I dug my cell phone from my purse and dialed the number I’d saved under Detective Meanie.
A blustery wind whipped over me, tossing hair into my face and flipping the hem of my skirt over my knees. “Goodness!” I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder, then scanned the street for signs of Mr. Metz, Lucinda, or anyone who looked like they might want to shove me in a marsh.
The bizarrely attentive white cat from the beach and alleyway caught my eye. Her sharp green eyes locked on mine. “Hello, Maggie.” I waved.
“Detective Hays.” A deep tenor cracked through the phone.
“Hi,” I said, pulling my focus off the kitty. “This is Everly Swan.” I forced wads of windblown hair away from my face. “Can we talk?”
He groaned. “Where are you?”
Something rubbed against my legs and I screamed.
“Everly?” he barked. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a cat,” I panted, pressing a palm to my aching chest. I hadn’t even seen her cross the street.
The ratty-looking feline stared up at me and meowed.
I stroked her head and worked my heart rate back toward normal. “Detective?”
“You know the lighthouse on the peninsula?” he asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Meet me there in thirty minutes.” The line disconnected.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and made an angry face at it. “I can’t walk to the peninsula in thirty minutes,” I complained.
Maggie rubbed her face against my leg, then darted across the street at an angle and leaped onto the narrow window ledge outside Finders Keepers, the resale shop.
“The bike!” I jumped up and followed her lead. “Brilliant!”
Five minutes and ten bucks later, I was the proud owner of a fixer-upper Schwinn. I walked the bike to Molly’s, three doors down, for a packet of tuna. The kitty followed, clearly anticipating my next move.
“Here.” I tore the packet open and emptied the tuna onto the sidewalk, then tossed the container into a garbage can. “Thanks for reminding me about the bike.” I rubbed the top of Maggie’s head and scratched behind her notched ear. “Meet you at home later?”
She gobbled the tuna without another look in my direction.
I fit my backside onto the narrow bike seat and started pedaling. Fifteen minutes later, I’d made it to the lighthouse, where Detective Hays walked toward me at a leisurely pace on the long gravel lane beside the lighthouse.
I hopped off the bike, checking to be sure my dress was back in place.
The detective had changed clothes since the funeral, trading the stuffy suit for fitted jeans, a simple white T-shirt, and sneakers. There was a ball cap over his wavy brown hair, and he carried a child on his shoulders, cowboy-booted feet bouncing against his chest as they moved. Detective Hays gripped the boy’s calves with both hands, and pinned me with his stare. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m okay.” I tried not to stare at the tiny, gray-eyed human he wore around his head, but it couldn’t be helped. The wavy brown hair, the mischievous smile, and that dimple—I struggled to swallow the block of surprise wedged in my throat. “Who’s this?”
I asked as a formality. There was no denying this boy was Detective Hays’s son.
Chapter Eleven
Detective Hays swung the pint-sized version of himself off his shoulders and set him on the gravel. “Denver, this is Miss Everly.”
I leaned forward, struggling to add a new adjective to what I knew about Grady Hays. He was a daddy. “Hello, Denver.”
The boy lifted one dimpled hand to me.
I shook it gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, dropping his hand back to his side. Denver raised his eyes to his daddy.
The detective nodded. “All right.”
Denver turned on his dusty boots and ran back the way they’d come. His thin arms and legs pumped as he raced off the gravel and into the field.
A moment later, a pair of ducks took flight; Denver squealed in delight.
“Leave the ducks alone,” Detective Hays called. “They lived here first.”
Denver chased them into the weeds, then set them off again.
The detective smiled. “He loves the ducks.”
Confusion coiled my brain into a knot as he watched Denver running through the field. There was a kindness in his eyes I’d never seen before. It was a side of him I hadn’t imagined, and I liked it.
I blinked through the haze of shock. “He’s handsome,” I said. “Looks just like you.”
The detective’s gaze heated my cheeks. I ignored the warmth rushing through me. I hadn’t intended to call him handsome, but there it was. I watched intently as Denver raced in circles, arms wide like airplane wings. “How old is he?”
�
�He’ll be five next month.”
“Wow.” According to the internet, Detective Hays was thirty-four, so he’d had Denver at close to my age. What would I do with a baby? I barely remembered to feed Lou.
Denver’s small frame ambled toward the lighthouse at the end of the snub peninsula, and I cast a sideways glance at Detective Hays.
The sound of tires on gravel drew my attention.
Detective Hays’s SUV bounced up the worn and pitted lane, the young blond woman I’d seen him with outside the ice cream shop behind the steering wheel. She powered the window down and pushed large designer sunglasses onto her head. “Hello,” she said congenially to me before swinging her gaze more pointedly to the detective. “I got that call we were waiting for. Company’s coming in two weeks.”
He gave a curt nod. “Denver’s headed for the lighthouse.”
Her eyes scanned the horizon, sticking on something midsweep. “Chicken for dinner.”
“Yep.”
She powered the window up and rolled on, heading for the little boy and the lighthouse.
I dragged my attention back to Detective Hays, forcing my gaping mouth shut. She’d said “Company’s coming in two weeks” as ominously as if that would be the last day of the world, then simply added “chicken for dinner” like it was a completely sensible follow-up. My mind overflowed with questions, none of which had answers that were any of my business. Like, how old was she anyhow? She looked like a baby. Very early twenties, I guessed, which would have practically made her a child when they’d gotten married, if they were married. My gaze slid down his arm in search of a wedding band on one of his long tan fingers. Nothing. Not even a white line to suggest a ring had ever existed.
“She’s not his mother,” he said, following my gaze.
“What?” I jerked my head up.
His eyes were already on mine. “Denise.” He nodded in the direction of the SUV. “She’s not Denver’s mom.”
“Oh.” A nonsensical wave of relief washed over me. “It’s none of my business.”
He locked his hands over narrow hips, fingertips resting on a gun holstered on his belt. “Denver’s mom died three years ago.”
I kicked the stand down on my Schwinn, captivated by the unexpected peek into his private life. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.” Profound sadness pooled in his eyes. “Cancer. I know people are going to ask.”
“I wasn’t.”
He nodded. “We came here for a fresh start, but it feels a little like losing her again every time I have to say she’s gone.”
I forced a tight smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’ll probably only have to say it once or twice around here. The town gossip will take care of the rest.”
He chuckled softly. “It helps.”
I knew I shouldn’t pry, but my insatiable curiosity reared its rude head once more. “Is that why you left the marshals service?”
He didn’t answer.
I kept babbling on. “It sounds like you had an impressive career.” According to the articles I’d binge-read that first night, he’d been a local hero in Charlotte. “You led a violent fugitives task force, a successful one that landed your name in the papers a dozen times in the past five years. You apprehended more than a hundred known criminals and reduced crime by twenty percent.” My voice rose with enthusiasm on each new count.
“You’ve done your research.”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t figure out why you’d leave success like that behind.” I’d assumed the reason was something bad that he’d done.
“Amy died,” he said. “And suddenly I couldn’t go undercover anymore. I couldn’t work unending hours. I was a widower with a toddler. The grieving father to a confused kid who didn’t stop asking for mama for four months.” Emotion glossed his eyes, and he lowered his gaze from mine. “For weeks, all I wanted was for him to stop calling for her, and the minute he did…” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
My heart clenched, waiting for his next words.
Instead, the crunch of gravel returned and the SUV passed us, Denver and Denise waving from the car.
When the vehicle was nothing but taillights, he turned to me as if he hadn’t just shared his heart-wrenching truth. “You and I have some ground to cover,” he said. “I just can’t decide if we should start with what brings you here, why Lucinda wanted to have you removed from the funeral home, or why you ran away when you first saw me on the boardwalk the other night.”
I had no idea. I was just thankful, if we were talking about me, that he didn’t want to hear my sob story about a cowboy who didn’t return my affections. Knowing what Detective Hays and Denver had been through put my mess into perspective, and I decided right then that I wouldn’t let my past hurt me anymore. I’d shed enough tears for the loss of a dead-end relationship, and it was time I started looking forward again. If the man beside me could carry on, there was no reason for me to wallow.
I took a deep breath, letting the excessive drama of my day snap back like a rubber band. “I’m here to report a threat,” I said, “and I have a new lead for you in Paine’s murder. Maybe two.”
His eyelids shut and he murmured for several long beats.
I inched closer, trying to understand the words. “Are you counting down from ten?”
He opened his eyes, spread his fingers wide, and exhaled. “Go on.”
“Wait a minute. What was that?” I said, motioning between us. “What did you just do?”
“It’s a relaxation technique. I looked it up online after meeting you.”
“Ha, ha.”
His cheek ticked up. “I’m not kidding. Start at the beginning and don’t skip any details. I need to know everything you’ve been holding back.”
“Okay.” I mimicked his relaxation technique, then I let him have it, unloading it all, from the strange visit with Sam and his finger-pointing at Lucinda to my trip to Duck and the sunscreen threat left on Amelia’s windshield, all before stopping for a breath.
“Anything else?”
I nodded. “I was just catching my breath. I also spoke with Martin Paine at the funeral and he pointed me to Mr. Metz, the guy renovating the colonial on Bay View. So, I talked to him too. Oh wait, Martin asked that his name be left out of this, so that last bit is off the record.”
“Uh huh.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “And what about Metz?”
“He’s a major jerk. That’s really why I’m here,” I admitted. “Metz is the new lead I mentioned. Everything else is unsubstantiated, but Metz is awful. He said he was glad Mr. Paine died, that his death saved him tons of time and money in legal fees—and there were witnesses to the statement. That’s got to be motive, and he’s been here every day for two weeks, according to Martin, so there’s your means.”
“Being a jerk doesn’t make him a killer,” he said, “And being in Charm doesn’t give him means—otherwise you could accuse the whole town. The killer needed access to both Paine’s drink and his pills. There’s no evidence to suggest Metz had either.”
“So, the prescription was Mr. Paine’s,” I whispered. That explained why I hadn’t been arrested. Martin’s mom had told him there was a prescription medication of some kind found in Mr. Paine’s tea. I hadn’t considered someone might have used Paine’s own medicine against him.
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accidental overdose?”
“Yes.” Detective Hays mashed his lips into a thin white line. “You need to stop this. Now.” He ground the last word between his teeth.
I raised both palms over my head, then let them drop. “I want to. I really do, but how can I stop looking for the real killer when someone is clearly after me? They pushed me into the marsh, followed me to Duck. What’s next?”
“Nothing,” he said. “If you’d let me handle this.”
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sp; “It’s not that simple.” I hated the desperation in my voice. “The poison was in my tea. Now no one wants to come to my shop, and they’re boycotting my aunts! Can you believe that? This thing is out of control. My aunts’ livelihoods shouldn’t be damaged for their kinship with me, and I can’t afford my house without the café. I don’t want to leave Charm again, or move back to the family homestead. I know this town has been a mess since you got here, and some folks are being real dumb right now, but I love this place.” My heart dropped. “I have to straighten this out, and I have to do it before the damage to my reputation is irrevocable. Shoot. I should’ve asked Metz’s crew if he’d been there all day. Then I’d know if he’d had time to follow me to Lucinda’s shop and leave a nasty message.”
Detective Hays leveled me with his business stare. “Look. I like you. I think you’re a nice lady and probably not a murderer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, stop. Sweet-talker.” I removed my phone from my purse and brought up the photo of Amelia’s windshield with the threat. “Here.”
He gave it a dirty look, then tapped my screen for several seconds, presumably sending a copy to himself.
“I don’t want to see you hurt. So please let me handle this. The more you interfere, the more of a distraction you become. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I made an angry face.
“Imagine someone hired you to cater their wedding, but you had to babysit that day. How much more difficult would it be for you to do your job if you were constantly sidetracked by people calling to tell you the toddler under your care was getting into trouble? Or hurt? Or lost. Whatever. Bottom line is that the toddler would make doing your job very difficult, and even if you got the job done, it would take twice as long.”
I grabbed the handlebars of my new old bicycle and kicked the stand up. “I’m not a toddler, and I didn’t come here to be called one.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.” Today had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, and I was done. There were too many things ping-ponging around in my heart and mind. I just wanted some sweet tea, my favorite rocker, and a view of the ocean to help me think.