by Erin Huss
"Agreed." Sandra crossed her ankles and sipped her tea. "It was so nice of you to go through so much trouble to be sure Katherine was returned to family."
"It was Cambria's doing," Chase said. "She was adamant that the urn be returned."
"I felt it only right that she rest in peace amongst family." Also, I couldn't risk being cursed any longer. But I didn't say that, and it's not as if I truly believed in all that…that much anyway.
"I was so sad to hear about Jessica," Sandra said. "I'd met her a few times at various events, but she didn't want anything to do with me. She looked so much like her mother. Katherine and I grew up together. She was not only my cousin but also my best friend. We lost touch after high school. She got into drugs, and I went off to college."
"Did you ever meet Shanna?" Chase asked.
Sandra dabbed her mouth with the edge of a white linen napkin. "No. I was unaware Katherine had a second daughter. I knew about Jessica. And I knew Jessica's father had custody of her and that Katherine had struggled with drugs. Had I known about Shanna, I would have been inclined to help her."
Ironic, I thought. Shanna had a famous half sister, who wanted nothing to do with her, and an even more famous second cousin who would have been willing to help.
"I'll keep Katherine safe until Shanna can get her." Sandra hugged the urn.
"That might be awhile," Chase said. "She's looking at twenty-five to life."
"You're right. I knew that. I read it in Daily C-Leb Mag. Did you hear about the movie?"
"It sounds terrible," I mumbled under my breath.
"Cambria is a big fan of your show, If Only," Chase said.
I shot him a look. Why would he tell my favorite actress that I liked her show…and, well, I guess that was a good thing.
"How wonderful," she said. "Are you excited for the finale on Monday?"
"I can't wait," I said, trying to play it cool. "I'm dying to find out who she ends up with—the cop or husband?"
Sandra bit at her bottom lip to hold back a smile. "I can't give too much away, but I will tell you this. It's unlikely she will commit to one or the other until at least season four or five. The producers enjoy playing out the love triangle for as long as possible."
Darn.
We spent the next thirty minutes chatting If Only. Sitting in Bobbie Dart's library, talking about Bobbie Dart, was the coolest thing I'd ever done. Perhaps a thank-you sent from Katherine, not that I believed in all that…that much.
Sandra walked us out, and I waited until we were in the car before I said, "I can't believe we were inside Bobbie Dart's house! Did you know?"
"Why do you think I insisted on you coming?"
"I have to text Amy and tell her." I pulled out my phone, and Chase pried it from my grasp. "Hey, what did you do that for?"
"No Amy. Tonight it's you and me. We're finally celebrating your birthday."
"Oh yeah. What did you have in mind?"
Chase put his hand on my thigh. "I know what you want."
Oh boy.
* * *
I pulled the blanket up to my chin, lay my head on Chase's chest, and curled my arm around his waist. He nestled his face close and kissed my forehead. "Did you like that?"
"It was the best one yet."
"Really? I like Taken 2 better."
"The truth is, Liam Neeson can make no bad movies."
"You make a good point." Chase reached over the side of the couch and grabbed the next DVD from our pile. "The Commuter?"
"Pop it in."
Chase started the movie and returned to the couch with two bowls of rocky road ice cream. He settled in beside me, and we cheered our spoons as the opening credits played. "Have you seen this yet?" Chase asked.
"Not yet. Why? Have you?"
"No."
"Do you think we'll actually watch it?"
"I hope not." Chase grabbed my bowl of ice cream and set it on the side table. He held my face between his hands and looked at me—really looked at me with his beautiful green eyes. I wrapped my hand around his neck and brought his mouth to mine. Our tongues met, our hands explored, my rocky road turned to liquid on the table, but I didn't mind.
I didn't mind one bit.
* * * * *
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Erin Huss is a blogger and best selling author. She can change a diaper in fifteen seconds flat, is a master overanalyzer, has a gift for making any social situation awkward and yet, somehow, she still has friends. Erin shares hilarious property management horror stories at The Apartment Manager's Blog and her own daily horror stories at erinhuss.com. She currently resides in Southern California with her husband and five children, where she complains daily about the cost of living but will never do anything about it.
To learn more about Erin, visit her online at: https://erinhuss.com/
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BOOKS BY ERIN HUSS
Cambria Clyne Mysteries:
Strawberry Swirl & Suspicion (short story in the Pushing Up Daisies collection)
French Vanilla & Felonies
Rocky Road & Revenge
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SNEAK PEEK
If you enjoyed this Cambria Clyne Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:
BEACHBOY MURDER
an Aloha Lagoon Mystery
by
SALLY J. SMITH &
JEAN STEFFENS
CHAPTER ONE
"Janet!" I shouted and waved, even though she couldn't hear me through the layers of thick glass in the airport door. "Over here."
Janet Belinski walked down the airstairs and stopped on the tarmac lifting her face to the bright Hawaiian sun.
I owed this woman—big-time, and I made it a point to let her know she'd changed my life, helped me breathe again, and that I'd never forget it. My best friend and ex-boss was the one who'd chastised me to stop wallowing in my suddenly single existence and get on with my life, to yank off and throw away the ticking clock I'd been chained to that had ruled me in the Windy City. Janet was even the one who'd discovered the small boutique travel agency for sale at the Aloha Lagoon Resort in Kauai and had convinced me to buy it and live the life that both she and the inner me knew I was destined to live. I loved her dearly, and this was the first time I'd seen her since moving to Kauai.
The sight of her made me want to shove open the door, run out, and pull her into a huge bear hug. That would have surprised Janet. The Gabby LeClair she knew from the old nylons and business suit days in Chicago wouldn't even have thought of such a public display of affection.
But that was before I'd been lulled by the siren song of the sweet island melodies in the trade winds and the music in the soft voices of the islanders and had taken them into my soul. That was before Rick Dawson had called me "Princess" and shown me the lights of Waikiki from his helicopter at night and then taught me, Miss All-thumbs And-proud-of-it, to drive a stick-shift shuttle bus.
While Janet waited on the tarmac, a diverse group came down the stairs of the sleek Gulfstream chartered jet that had just landed at Lihue Airport. Twelve in number, including my friend, they comprised a consortium that had contacted me a few weeks ago, saying they were interested in buying Gabby's Island Adventures. I hadn't said yes. I hadn't said no. In fact, I hadn't said anything about their offer, but they came to Aloha Lagoon anyway.
Janet looked around and finally saw me standing inside the terminal waving at her like an AirDancer at a 4th of July car sale. Her face lit up and broke into a wide grin. She shouted into the wind and grabbed onto her wide-brimmed hat to keep the trades from snatching it off her head before turning to speak to the man who'd come down the stairs behind her.
His back was to me, so I couldn't tell
much about him. But the way he dressed spoke volumes. In heavy army-style boots over thick white socks, multi-pocketed photographers' vest, bushman's hat, and too-short khaki shorts, he looked more like he belonged on an outback adventure than an island sojourn. The shorts were a little comical. The style that was more than fine on Tom Selleck's long, lean legs lacked appeal on this man's pale, furry drumsticks.
He and Janet exchanged words before he turned back to take the hand of a small, schoolmarm-type woman disembarking behind him who was dressed exactly as he was.
After his twinsie made it safely down the stairs, the man stood watching as others followed behind her.
Janet turned toward me then and threw an enthusiastic, wide-arcing wave before breaking into a run, which wasn't an easy thing to do in the form-fitting pencil skirt and gorgeous black-patent Christian Louboutin five-inch stiletto pumps. I sighed, remembering the days of tackling stairs in that kind of skirt—and forget about getting in or out of a taxi with any dignity at all.
The shoes? The shoes I got. I hadn't yet had the heart to give up my own red-soled beauties, although I wore them less and less often these days. One tended to forego eight-hundred-dollar footwear when driving a standard transmission shuttle or boarding an inflatable Zodiac boat or leading a group of tourists on a zip line.
But Janet did look good. In fact for a fifty-eight-year-old woman, she looked terrific—slim and straight-backed, her lovely face unlined courtesy of regular visits to her dermatologist for Botox injections. Janet still wore her hair as I remembered, perfectly silvered at one of Chicago's premier salons and in a shoulder-length smooth pageboy. Back in the day when she'd been my boss at Corporate Worldwide Travel, I'd always joked I wanted to grow up to be like her.
At thirty-two, I still had a couple of decades to get myself together, although my B-cups and the rest of my boyish shape would never compare to her womanly curves. Maybe if I took care of my skin, let my short-cropped blonde hair grow long and silvered it, I might come close to her elegance. I could always buy blue contact lenses to disguise my brown eyes. What's that song about making my brown eyes blue? Anyway, my friend was stunning.
The aspiration to emulate Janet in personality and career had ended with my divorce and my intense need to uncoil the tight spiral I'd wound myself into. That Gabby had slowly begun to take life at a less intense pace than a strict goosestep. And I was ever so thankful she had.
I pushed open the door when Janet was just a few feet away, and she stumbled at the threshold, practically falling into my arms, the skirt and heels finally getting the better of her.
We hugged and laughed, and when we pulled away, while I was smiling, I was a little surprised to see tears in her eyes.
"Oh, Gabby. I've missed you."
"Me too." My happiness at seeing her bubbled up in me like fizzy champagne. "It's been way too long."
Taking a few deep breaths and yanking off her hat, she turned with a huge smile to greet the others who were now approaching the concourse.
The twelve were made up of five couples, Janet, and another woman traveling by herself. They seemed to range in age from mid-thirties to fifties with the exception of the Bobbsey Twins couple who were still outside and were obviously younger than the others. The twins stopped halfway from the plane to the door where they stood looking at the terminal—well, more like looking at the roof, pointing and discussing something with so much animation, I almost went outside to see what that was all about.
The two were laughing—well, snorting, really—as they finally came to the concourse. I held open the door for them.
"Holy extinction!" The young man's eyes were open wide as he grabbed my hand and pumped it. "That's a honeycreeper out there. Do you have any idea how rare it is to see a honeycreeper these days, why, Miss…"
"LeClair. Gabby."
"…Miss LeClair, professional ornithologists can go months without seeing one these days."
The woman with him joined in, gushing, "And we spot one within five minutes of our arrival?"
They high-fived and said in unison, "Whaaaat?"
I pasted a smile on my face. "Orinthol…?"
"Chasers," he said. "Bird chasers or watchers."
"Oh. I see." Actually, I didn't. But they sure made it sound exciting.
He'd just seemed to realize he was still pumping my hand and let it drop. It was clammy, and I had to fight the urge to wipe it on my skirt.
"I'm Freddy Lancaster." He tipped back the brim of the bushman's hat and pushed the heavy glasses back up on his nose.
His companion stepped forward and offered her hand. "Dolly. Lancaster, too. We're married."
There was a brief moment of the two gazing into each other's eyes before Freddy grinned back at me. "Gonna be a super time on this island, Miss LeClair. I feel it in my bones. Just super."
"Yes." Dolly was just as enthusiastic. "Superdooper."
"If it's birds you're after, the environs around Aloha Lagoon are rich with them." I followed them inside then double-timed it up to the front of the group. "Aloha and welcome to the island. If you all will just follow me outside to the shuttle, we'll be on our way as soon as…"
Janet finished. "As soon as I make sure your luggage is being taken care of."
I pointed Janet in the direction where the baggage would be brought in then turned and led the group through the terminal outside where my gorgeous shuttle bus was parked at the curb.
Standing by the door, I did my usual head count as they all boarded.
These eleven comprised the consortium that Janet now worked for, overseeing the string of international travel agencies they owned. Evidently Janet had recommended that they investigate the plausibility of buying out my agency, Gabby's Island Adventures, to add to their list of companies. She hadn't consulted me before making that recommendation, and I truly wished she had. The thought of selling hadn't occurred to me, but I figured I might as well hear what they had to say.
After scrutinizing my little company—in what I was sure would be in both broad-spectrum and minute detail—they would decide if it met their standards and if they wanted to make me an offer.
Problem with the whole scenario was that ever since that day three weeks ago when I'd spoken to Janet on the phone and she'd said they were coming, I'd been vacillating.
Yes. You could have just called me Prince Hamlet. To sell or not to sell. That is the question. What if they offered me a lot of money? It would be nice to have money, sure, but then what would I do with myself? Would I be able to make up my mind by the time the consortium had made up theirs?
BEACHBOY MURDER
available now!