A Walk on the Dead Side (Secret Seal Isle Mysteries Book 3)

by Lucy Quinn

“We wanted to ask you about your husband, Jimmy,” Hunter started, but Cookie tapped him on the arm before he could get any farther.

  “We were hoping to buy some lobsters from him,” she finished, deciding at the last minute there wasn’t any reason to alarm Leslie until they could ID their still-missing body for certain. Cookie cast Hunter a let-me-handle-this glance and smiled apologetically at Leslie. “Sorry for the badges and all—force of habit. There’s no need to be concerned,” she lied, wishing with all her heart that it was true.

  Leslie was eyeing her like she didn’t know what to make of all this. “You want to buy lobsters from Jimmy?” she asked slowly. “An FBI agent and a deputy? For what, exactly?”

  “Oh, we’ve got a cookout,” Cookie replied easily, trying to act like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Agent O’Neil here is in town for a few days, following up on the Winslow case.” Everyone in town knew about that, so it wasn’t a surprise when the waitress nodded at the reference. “And Sheriff Watkins thought it’d be nice to treat him to some local hospitality.” She lowered her voice, letting the actual sympathy she felt for Leslie rise to the fore. “We thought, well, if we had to get lobsters somewhere, we might as well get them from your husband, you know? Put a little more money in your pockets?”

  That did the trick. Tears came to Leslie’s eyes, and the smile she offered in return was sad and grateful. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, looking from Cookie to Hunter and back again. “Thank you. Jimmy’s out on his boat right now, but I can tell him as soon as he returns.”

  “He’s out on his boat?” Hunter asked. He frowned up at the night sky. “Isn’t it kind of late for that sort of thing? I honestly have no idea. I’m not much of a boat person.” He spread his hands wide as if to apologize for his ignorance.

  “It is late,” she admitted, “but Jimmy’s been pulling a lot of long hours lately.” She glanced down at her hands, which she’d clasped together. “Truth is…well, truth is, we’re going to Paris.”

  “What?” Cookie leaned in, not sure at first if she’d heard correctly. “You’re going to Paris? As in, Paris, France?” The idea of this woman walking the streets of Paris, which admittedly, Cookie had never seen herself, just didn’t compute.

  But now Leslie’s smile was genuine, and maybe just a little bit proud. “That’s right,” she replied, raising her chin. “Me and Jimmy. We’d always talked about it, you know, like you do, but once he got sick…” Her voice dropped again, as did her eyes. “Once he got sick, we figured that was never gonna happen. Then, after the last round of chemo, when they said he was done for, he looked me right in the eye and he said, ‘Leslie,’ he said, ‘we’re gonna make that trip to Paris if it’s the last thing I do. I wanna give you at least one good memory of me to hold onto.’” Her voice wavered, thick with tears. “As if I didn’t have a million good memories already,” she sobbed as she scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand.

  “I’m so sorry.” Cookie offered her a tissue, which Leslie gratefully accepted. “That sounds amazing. So that’s why he’s working extra, to pay for the trip?”

  Leslie nodded, still dabbing at her eyes. “I’m pulling doubles and triples here, all the shifts they’ll give me, and he’s working twice as much out on the water, getting every last lobster he can.” This time her smile was a little tremulous, as if uncertain whether it should broaden or collapse. “It means we don’t get to see each other much for the moment, but we’re so close now. Jimmy says once he’s finished this latest run we can probably buy our tickets as early as next week.”

  Cookie’s heart went out to this poor woman who’d already been fending off her grief by clinging to this once-in-a-lifetime experience, and who had no idea yet that it would never happen, or that she would never see her husband again. “That’s got to be hard,” Cookie said, grateful she was able to keep her voice mostly steady. Hopefully the waitress would attribute the slight wobbliness to general sympathy. “When was the last time you actually saw each other?”

  Leslie had to stop and think about that one for a second or two. “Sunday morning,” she answered finally. “I was just getting in from working all night, and he was just heading out.” She smiled, the corners of her eyes glistening again. “But we’ll be together the whole time in Paris.”

  “Of course.” Cookie nodded automatically, forcing herself to keep her smile in place. “Well, if you could just tell him when you see him, that’d be great. Thanks.”

  The waitress smiled at her, and reached out to grab Cookie’s hand with one of hers and Hunter’s with the other. “Thank you. It’s meant so much to us, having all this support from everyone.” She let them go again after a second, and waved as she turned to go back in to work. “I’ll definitely let him know, and we’ll set aside the best ones out of the catch for you.”

  “That would be great,” Hunter assured her. “Thank you again.”

  They watched her leave. Once the door shut behind her, they both let out heavy sighs. “Sometimes,” Hunter muttered, “I really hate this job.”

  “Yeah,” was all Cookie could say in reply, because that pretty much covered it all.

  14

  “All right, what now?” Cookie asked after Leslie had gone. “We’re pretty sure who our victim is, even if we can’t prove it yet. And we have a working theory of what happened to him and why. But we still don’t know who did it, or where the body is or anything else we need to close this case.” Now that she’d seen the completely unsuspecting widow, she wanted to find and punish the people responsible for Jimmy’s death more than ever.

  Hunter ran a hand over his smooth scalp, something he only did when he was thinking, and usually only when he was considering things that went outside the normal FBI playbook. “That depends,” he replied slowly. “How adventurous are you feeling?”

  Cookie knew exactly what that meant. Hunter was planning something potentially stupid and possibly illegal. She grinned up at him. “What’ve you got in mind?”

  He smiled back and pulled out his phone. “Once your mom told us about Jimmy, I ran a background check on him.” He held up the phone to show her the screen. “I’ve got his home address.”

  “And his wife is working late again tonight,” Cookie completed the thought. “Which means his house should be empty right now.”

  “Nothing we find will be admissible,” Hunter reminded her, though of course he was aware she knew that. He was just making sure they both understood exactly what they were doing here. They were talking about an unlawful entry and an illegal search. It was the kind of thing that could easily get you tossed from the Bureau.

  Fortunately, she didn’t work for the FBI anymore. And she was the only person who’d ever know what Hunter had done. “If we find something to point us in the right direction, it’ll be worth it,” she answered, and he nodded. They were on the same page, as had usually been the case. It was why they made such good partners. They thought enough alike that they could usually follow each other’s logic. At the same time, they usually managed to come up with different angles on the same situation, which often led to useful connections and clues.

  Cookie checked the address again. Fortunately, Secret Seal Isle wasn’t that big. There was the one main street and a few small offshoots and that was it, at least in the residential and commercial part of town. The artist colony on the other end of the island was its own separate community, and she was less familiar with that area. But figuring out where Jimmy and Leslie’s house was? That was easy.

  When they reached the address, Cookie wasn’t surprised to find a weathered but neatly maintained little house. It looked exactly as she’d pictured it would, a tidy little home for a childless couple who both worked full-time but still cared about having a clean, comfortable space for themselves. There were flowers in the front yard, and the walk was swept. The paint on the shutters had started to peel but not so badly that they needed repainting yet. A cheery The Calders sign hung on the front door, an
d a Welcome to our happy home door mat right in front of that.

  “Shall we?” Hunter asked as they approached the porch. She nodded, and he reached out and rapped on the door with one hand. “Hello?” he called out. “Anybody home? This is FBI Special Agent Hunter O’Neil, and I’d like to ask you some questions.” Nobody answered. After trying again, he reached for the doorknob. It didn’t turn. Locked.

  “What, you thought they’d make it that easy?” Cookie asked with a smirk. She elbowed him out of the way and pulled a pair of bobby pins from her pocket. She kept them handy in case she needed to pin her hair out of her eyes, but also because they made excellent lock picks. And she’d always been better at breaking and entering than Hunter, thanks to a certain larcenous ex-boyfriend from her high school days. It was good to know Tommy Malloy had ultimately been good for something.

  The lock gave way within seconds, allowing her to push the door open and usher Hunter inside. He grunted but stepped in, moving aside so she could follow and close the door again behind her. No sense advertising their presence to the neighbors.

  Cookie was still letting her eyes adjust when she heard a quick pitter-patter approaching them, and then a low growl. Oh crap. Just what they needed, a guard dog.

  She turned and glanced toward the hall just as a large, broad-shouldered brown-and-white shape came barreling through the doorway. He had floppy ears, heavy jowls, a squared face, and big dark eyes that were fixed on them. His tail was straight up, and his jowls pulled back to show a mouth full of impressive teeth.

  “Whoa,” Hunter muttered. Then he added, a bit louder, “Nice doggie.”

  The dog growled louder in response.

  Again, Cookie hip-checked her ex-partner to the side. “I’ve got this,” she told him. “Animals love me.”

  “Love you like they want to be your friend, or love you like you’re their favorite appetizer?” Hunter asked, though he stepped back, giving her the lead.

  “Hopefully the first one,” she admitted quietly as she squatted down and held out her hand. “Hey there, handsome,” she told the dog, who was now only a few feet away. “How’re you? My name’s Cookie. What’s yours?”

  The dog’s eyes remained fixed on her, but she saw his ears twitch as her words reached him. A second later, he crept forward, his nose only inches from her hand. He was still showing his teeth, but he’d stopped growling, which she took for a good sign. His tail twitched a little, and her lips curved into a gentle smile.

  “That’s a good boy,” she told him softly, her hand still out. The dog sniffed her fingers, then finally nudged his nose into her hand, his tail wagging.

  She blew out a breath, relief running through her. She shifted her hand to run it up his forehead, scratching him behind the ears as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

  “Oh, what a sweetie,” she told him, and he made a faint whimpering sound in response, though she was pretty sure it was just a sign of pleasure.

  “Look at you, Dog Whisperer,” Hunter said from behind her, and the dog opened one eye to glare up at him.

  “Why don’t you go look around and leave me and my buddy here to hang out a bit?” Cookie suggested, continuing to tame the beast with her touch.

  Hunter nodded and sidled off without another word. The dog watched him go for a second before returning his full attention to Cookie. She’d never had a dog growing up. Rain had always said they were too much work, and she thought looking after Cookie was quite enough, thank you very much. But Cookie had always liked animals, and it was true that most of them responded to her. Except for that one turtle of Mary Jo Pensky’s back in junior high. Who knew turtles didn’t like their chins scratched?

  After a few minutes, Cookie rose to her feet. The dog head-butted her hand, clearly saying, “Hey, this doesn’t mean you have to stop petting me, you know!” Then he took a step and turned so that his entire body was leaning against her legs. He was a big fella, too, so all that weight nearly bowled her over. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving just yet,” she told him, patting his head. His tail wagged so energetically it was like someone was thwacking her side with a leather strap. While she petted him she took the opportunity to finally look around properly.

  The inside matched the exterior, with its warm and homey feel. There wasn’t anything fancy about the tidy, but threadbare place; no high-end electronics, designer furniture, or priceless artwork. But everything had clearly been chosen for comfort and had served its purpose well. It was the home of a nice, working-class couple, not the den of a criminal mastermind, which only confirmed in her mind the fact that Jimmy had been a pawn rather than a crook.

  “Hey,” Hunter called out from an adjoining room. “Come take a look at this.”

  Cookie headed toward him, her new best friend trotting along beside her so closely that he constantly brushed against her leg. She liked having him there, she realized. Maybe she should talk to Rain about them getting a dog of their own.

  The first room off the living room was a study, dominated by a big, heavy, old, wooden desk. There was also a futon against the far wall under the window, no doubt so that this space could double as a guest room. The center of the desk was littered with papers, while a computer and printer took up the left side, and a large nautical map of the surrounding area had been tacked up on the wall behind it.

  Papers rustled as Hunter glanced through them, being careful to use a pen to nudge each one aside. When Cookie reached him, he tapped a page that had been at the bottom of the pile.

  She quickly scanned the contents. Her heart got caught in her throat. It was a good-bye and an apology… to his wife.

  My Dearest Leslie,

  After all the years we spent together, I can’t believe I have to write this letter. I’d like to blame it on the cancer, on the healthcare system, on anything other than my own failings, but I can’t. What I did was wrong, no matter the circumstances, and I know that. All I can do is offer an explanation. I owe you that much.

  All I wanted to do was find a way to pay the outstanding hospital bills and give you that trip to Paris that you so deserve—to spend my final hours living one last adventure with you. But it appears I’ve gotten in over my head, and now there’s no way out. In order to protect you, my love, I won’t go into the details here, but chances are, if you’re reading this, you need to talk to the police. I’m sorry for what you must be going through, but know I’ve always loved you and always will.

  You loving husband, Jimmy.

  “Damn,” Cookie muttered, brushing away tears as she finished reading.

  “Yeah,” Hunter agreed. He pointed to another page in the pile. “He left an updated will, too, more or less.”

  It wasn’t an official document, Cookie saw at once, but just a list of personal items with notes indicating who to give them to after his death.

  ‘My fishing rod and tackle to Larry, as a thank-you for all the times he let me fish off his dock,” she read. “My collection of baseball hats to Ed, who could really use something to cover that bald dome of his. My good boots and heavy raingear to Vince, who never can remember to bring his own. My old boots to Buddy’—the dog, who was now sitting at Cookie’s feet, barked at that, and she looked down at him. “That’s you, huh?” she asked. “Not the most imaginative name, but it suits you.” She went back to reading. ‘To Buddy, so he can now chew on them to his heart’s content and never get yelled at for it.’ She had to stop and wipe away more tears.

  Considering how advanced his cancer had been, Jimmy had certainly known he didn’t have a lot of time left, but this was more than that. This was him realizing he was in real danger from his little side venture and trying to make sure he’d tied up all his loose ends.

  “There’s this, too,” Hunter said softly, indicating a different paper. It was a map, a smaller version of the one on the wall. But this one had been marked up, a circle drawn in part of the water between the island and the open ocean, and dots of color placed within that radius. There
weren’t any words, but Cookie had a pretty good idea what this was.

  “It’s got to be his trap locations,” she told Hunter. Cookie had spent some time researching the long-held tradition of lobstering one night on the Internet. “These guys, they’re super protective of where they drop their traps. Some of them are still using the same spots as their grandpas so it’s like family tradition. Since they’re inherited, if Jimmy thought he was done for, he’d leave this for Leslie so she’d know where to put them if she kept up the lobstering. Or she could sell the locations to somebody else like you’d cede mining rights when you got too old to keep prospecting yourself.”

  Hunter frowned. “And if he was using his traps as a way to smuggle drugs—”

  “Then this is a map to those drop points.” She pulled out her phone.

  “It’s inadmissible,” Hunter reminded her as she aimed the phone’s camera at the map.

  “I know,” Cookie replied. “But we might wind up needing it anyway, and I don’t want to count on Leslie doing the right thing and bringing all this in.” Her camera snapped as she took the picture, then she tucked her phone away. “We got everything we need?”

  “Yeah.” Hunter pocketed his pen and strode toward the door.

  “Sorry, Buddy,” Cookie told the dog, scratching him once more behind the ears. “I’ve gotta go. You keep an eye out, okay?” He wagged his tail but didn’t follow as she left.

  It broke her heart to think of him sitting there, waiting for a master who would never return.

  15

  The Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ringtone startled Cookie out of her funk. Leave it to Rain to program the song she considered her anthem into someone else’s phone, Cookie thought. She dug it out of her pocket and lurched forward as it slipped from her fingers, barely catching it before it clattered to the ground.

  Hunter let out a low chuckle as she pressed the devise to her ear and said, “Hi, Mom.”