Deadly Summer (Darling Investigations Book 1)

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Teddy!”

  He moved closer and looked down at me. “It doesn’t concern you, Summer.”

  “You said Ryker was a drug dealer. Is that how you were gettin’ money to help with the farm? Did you get involved in his mess too?”

  His eyes were hard, and for a moment I could almost see him as Luke clearly did, but his gaze softened, and he gave me a bittersweet smile. “Listen to me. You need to stay out of this. Don’t worry so much. I’ve got it covered.”

  “That’s not an answer, Teddy.”

  “It’s the best I can do.”

  Tears of frustration swam in my eyes.

  His voice softened. “Summer. I’m askin’ you to trust me. When I have things taken care of, I promise to tell you everything, but in the meantime, I’d feel a lot better if you steered clear of Luke.”

  “I’m not gonna tell him anything about what we discussed,” I said. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

  He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I know, otherwise I wouldn’t have told you, but I think it would be safer for you to just avoid him for a while.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Something’s brewin’, and I don’t want you to get caught in the middle of it.” Then he put his arm around my shoulders. “It’s nearly eight thirty, and you’re about to turn into a pumpkin. Go in and get to bed.”

  “Aren’t you comin” in?”

  He opened his truck door. “I’ve got some business to take care of.” Then he hopped in and turned over the engine.

  Dixie came out of the back door as I made my way toward it.

  “Where’s Teddy goin’?”

  “He said he had business to take care of.”

  “We need to tell him about what Maybelline said.”

  Should I confess that I’d already quizzed him? I made a split-second decision. “You and I both know Teddy wouldn’t have anything to do with any nonsense.”

  She watched him drive off, lifting her hand in a wave. He gave her a wave back, and I prayed that I was right. Dixie couldn’t deal with another loss. Neither could I.

  When I woke up the next morning, I felt like a heavy blanket had been lifted off my head. Everything was clearer, and my headache had tuned down to a dull ache. I even had a bit of an appetite.

  I hadn’t brought very many dresses, so I dug through Dixie’s closet, grateful she had a few church outfits that could double as fancy detective wear. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered. “What PI gets all dressed up to investigate cases?”

  “We’ll make it work,” Dixie said.

  I was glad one of us was optimistic.

  We spent the morning canvasing the Hintons’ neighborhood, looking for the dog who had dared to impregnate little Fifi, although we were striking out since it was Sunday morning and most people were at church.

  “I have an idea,” Dixie said after one of the few neighbors at home slammed a door in our faces. “Why doesn’t Mallory Hinton just wait until her dog has her puppies and then see what they look like?”

  “Or have one of those DNA tests,” I said as we walked toward the next house.

  “DNA test for a dog?”

  “They’re all the rage in LA,” I said. “You can find out your dog’s breed and if they have any hereditary issues.”

  “Do they make those dogs have DNA tests before they get married?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen videos of dogs gettin’ married out there. Didn’t one of your dogs get married? I bet you got her a cake made of dog bones and decorated your house with water fountains in the shape of fire hydrants. Did you wear a mother-of-the-bride dress? Or was it a groom?”

  I looked at her like an alien had just popped out of her chest. Was my head injury causing me to hallucinate? “What? No, I never did. And I would hope my dog wouldn’t get married before me.”

  “I want to have a little purse puppy. Maybe two of ’em. I’ll have them get married, but not when they’re puppies because that would be gross. They have to be old enough to consent.” She glanced over at me. “How’s that dog-age thing work? One people year to four dog years?”

  What was she doing? “Uh . . . I think it’s seven.”

  “Huh,” she said, looking lost in thought. “Maybe I’ll wait until they turn two, then they can get married when they’re fourteen. You know, like they used to do it in the olden days.”

  “Yeah . . . ,” I murmured. There was a twinkle in her eye, and I suddenly realized she was trying to give this stupid show some sort of entertainment value. So far, everything we’d done seemed dull as dirt.

  We finally found someone who was willing to talk . . . or, based on the way Lauren seemed prepared when we rang the doorbell, someone who had been prepped to talk to us. A woman answered the door with a dachshund at her heels who seemed pretty frisky for looking like a bratwurst. She said he’d gotten out about a month ago—and confirmed that he did indeed seem to have a thing for the Yorkie down the street.

  We filmed the neighbor opening the door five or six times because Lauren wanted the dog to walk up behind her, but the dog wasn’t following any cues. (Go figure.) On one of the takes, Lauren suggested we break the news to the woman that she was expecting grandpuppies.

  We started a new take with Dixie and me on the porch, looking extra serious—as directed by Lauren. The woman stood in the front door with the barking dog at her feet.

  “Mrs. Fisk,” Dixie said, clasping her hands in front of her, “I’m afraid we have some good news and some bad news.”

  My gaze drifted to the end of the street out of boredom, but the white van parked there caught my attention. At first glance, it looked like it was parked on the street, but someone was sitting inside the vehicle. It looked like a man, and he was watching us.

  I might have ignored it, but I remembered seeing a white van the afternoon I’d found that money in the parking lot. Oh! And then it hit me—I’d seen it leaving the parking lot after I’d been attacked at the lake. Was he a paparazzo? The way he was watching us sent shivers down my back.

  I pulled out my phone while Dixie was delivering the bad news. “Ms. Hinton would like you to share the cost of Fifi’s medical bills as well as provide puppy support.”

  I pulled up Luke’s name, but Teddy had just asked me to steer clear of him. After a moment’s consideration, I decided that while I didn’t trust Luke to treat Teddy fairly, I did trust that he’d protect me. I started to send him a text.

  “Puppy support? Is that like giving them toys?” Mrs. Fisk asked in confusion as the dog continued to yap at her feet.

  “More like provide a monthly payment to help with the cost of raising them.”

  “What?” the woman gasped while Dixie handed her the paper Mallory had provided that broke down the various monthly costs. I’d seen the total at the bottom, and I had a sneaking suspicion the amount equaled the lease payment on their brand-new Lexus.

  I finished typing my text.

  We’re filming on Monaco and Troost. There’s a van parked at the curb, and the man inside is watching us. I think I saw the van at the lake after I was attacked.

  Lauren called “Cut,” then leveled a furious look at me. “Summer? Care to join us, or is what’s happening on your phone too important?”

  “Sorry.” But I could see that Luke was typing something, so I didn’t put it away.

  “Summer!”

  The text appeared on the screen.

  Stay put but keep out of danger. If you feel threatened, do what you need to do to stay safe. I’m on my way.

  “Sorry,” I said again, stuffing the phone into my dress pocket.

  Five minutes later, a police cruiser turned the corner.

  We were still filming, but I was doing a good job of staying focused as I took my turn at breaking the bad news to Mrs. Fisk, which took some effort since the dog was now barking in earnest. His owner kept moving her legs to keep him inside.

  Mrs. Fisk was the one
who stopped midsentence and stepped out onto the porch. She lifted her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. “What’s Luke doin’ down there with that van?”

  Lauren whipped around as Luke walked up to the van parked on the street. After motioning for the cameras to turn around to film the new action, Lauren pointed to her mouth and opened and closed it. She was telling me to narrate.

  Luke was likely to hate this.

  But Dixie was quick to pick up on the cue. “Would you look at that hot policeman . . .”

  “Looks like he’s gonna arrest that man,” Mrs. Fisk said, her sole focus now on Luke. “Would you look at the way he fills out that uniform shirt? I hear he works out at the yoga fitness place downtown.”

  Dixie’s eyes danced with mischief as she smirked at me. “I’d love to see his downward dog.”

  “Dixie!” I admonished.

  Mrs. Fisk looked at me in a new light. “You used to date him, didn’t you?”

  “A long, long time ago . . .”

  “Not that long,” Dixie added.

  A knowing smile spread across Mrs. Fisk’s face, but at that moment, her dog decided to make his move.

  He bolted between our legs and nearly tumbled down the steps, but he reached the bottom safely and began waddling across the yard like one of those cheap wind-up toys.

  “Mr. Hot Stuff!” Mrs. Fisk shouted, pushing us out of the way to go after him.

  “Mr. Hot Stuff?” Dixie said. “Are you kidding me?”

  Lauren gave us a look that suggested she was pissed and motioned for us to follow.

  I held back a groan as I tromped down the steps, but Dixie felt no such compulsion.

  “Next thing you know,” she grumbled, “we’ll be traipsing across fields, lookin’ for lost dogs.”

  Good Lord, I hoped not.

  But now that Mr. Hot Stuff had escaped, he was not turning back. He ignored the cries of his owner and did his hobble-sprint straight for Luke, who appeared to be looking at the driver’s license of the creepy guy in the van.

  “What are you doin’, Summer?” Dixie asked with an impish grin. “Aren’t you gonna call after it? I bet he responds to his name. It’s gonna look like you don’t care about that poor little dog.”

  “Poor little dog, my eye.”

  Mrs. Fisk was doing her own jog-run, and her knees suddenly buckled. She fell to her side like the wind had blown her over.

  “Mrs. Fisk!” I said when I caught up and squatted next to her. “Are you okay?”

  “I just twisted my ankle.” She waved her hand toward Luke. “Go get Mr. Hot Stuff before he takes off down the street. I heard the Murphys’ collie is in heat.”

  Oh, good Lord.

  But Dixie was chuckling. “Go get Mr. Hot Stuff before he ends up on one of those trashy afternoon talk shows.” She pitched her voice lower, trying to sound like a talk-show host. “‘Mr. Hot Stuff, you are the father of two litters of puppies, born at the same time.’”

  The Murphys’ collie was currently safe, however, because the randy dog was now attached to Luke’s pant leg, and Luke was glaring at the animal like he was trying to decide what to do with it.

  “Mr. Hot Stuff!” I called out. “You stop that right now!”

  Luke glanced up with a mixture of amusement and irritation, as though he couldn’t decide how he felt, but he quickly settled on irritation when he saw the cameras and microphone boom in my entourage. “Did you just call me Mr. Hot Stuff?”

  “Seriously?” I asked, torn between moving closer to get the dog and edging away from the possible threat.

  “Summer, go wait at the corner.” He pointed to the street sign to emphasize his point. The guy’s driver’s license was still in his hand.

  I could tell he didn’t want me near the guy in the van—and I didn’t want to be anywhere near him either—but Mr. Hot Stuff had dug in his heels, and I was worried he’d be distracting enough to put Luke in danger.

  “Don’t you want me to get Mr. Hot Stuff?” I asked, cringing as I said it.

  Dixie was still just halfway down the street, letting me take point on this one.

  Luke lifted his leg slightly off the ground, and the dog’s front legs lifted with him.

  The van door opened, and a thirty-something man got out with an expensive-looking camera in his hand.

  So he was a paparazzo? I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

  But my answer came quickly enough—neither.

  “Summer?” the guy said. His eyes were wide, and his jaw had gone slack. He took several steps toward me, putting his free hand on his chest. “It’s me. Sebastian.” When I didn’t answer, he added, “Sebastian Jenkins.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you.”

  “I told you she wouldn’t know you,” Luke said in a firm voice, still trying to gently shake the dog loose. “Now get back in your vehicle, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “No,” the man said, taking several steps closer. “You do know me. We met at a shopping mall in Atlanta eleven years ago. You wrote me a note!”

  I shook my head. “At an event?” The network used to send us to shopping malls for mini-events, and afterward we’d do autographs. We’d meet hundreds of fans, but we signed our photographs so quickly there was no way I’d remember one of them individually.

  He nodded and moved closer as excitement lit up his eyes. “I knew you would remember me. I forgot to give you my last name, so you had no way to find me.”

  I took a step back, feeling majorly uncomfortable. “No. I just remember going to the Atlanta mall.”

  Luke’s face had hardened, and I was sure he was pissed that the dog was still firmly attached to him. He touched a button on his shirt and said, “Willy, I need backup at Troost and Monaco. I have a 10–66 with civilians present.”

  “A 10–66?” Willy’s voice cracked over the intercom. “Is that a vicious animal?”

  “A suspicious person, Willy. I need you stat.”

  Although Willy wasn’t too far off, there was a tenacious animal still clinging to Luke’s pant leg.

  Sebastian shot a glare at Luke. His body shook with anger. “I am not a suspicious person. I already told you I know Summer!”

  “Then why don’t you get back in your vehicle while we sort this out?” Luke asked calmly. “You can talk with Ms. Butler’s people about setting something up.”

  His eyes turned wild. “I’ve been trying to set something up with her people for years! That’s why I’m here. I heard she was in Sweet Briar, and I wanted to see her again.”

  Luke looked torn between dealing with the dog and tackling Sebastian Jenkins.

  The creepy guy took a step forward, and Luke blocked his path.

  “Summer,” Luke said in a direct tone, his full attention on the angry man in front of him, “go back to your truck.”

  “No!” Sebastian said with wild eyes. “I’m not hurting anyone! I only want to talk to her!”

  My heart was racing, and I struggled to not sound breathless when I held up my hands and said, “Sebastian, calm down. You’re talkin’ to me now, right?”

  “Summer!” Luke barked with his back still to me.

  Sebastian pointed his finger at Luke. “That cop is trying to make me leave.”

  “He’s only tryin’ to do his job, which is to make sure everyone’s safe—that includes me and you.”

  “Why would he think you’re unsafe? I don’t want to hurt you. I only wanted to see you again. Maybe spend some time together so you can see how perfect we are for each other. I can buy you lunch.”

  “That is a really sweet offer,” I said, forcing myself to smile. “But I’m a little busy right now.” I pointed with my thumb to the cameras behind me. “See? I’m filmin’ my new show.”

  “I know you are!” Anger filled his eyes again. “You think I don’t know? I know what you’re doing. I pay attention like any good boyfriend. And I know you dated this asshole.” He glanced at Luke’s chest. “Officer Mon
tgomery.”

  He knew about Luke? My publicist had tried to hide our relationship as much as possible, but it had leaked to a couple of gossip sites.

  “Summer.” Luke’s voice was tight. “Go to your truck.”

  And leave him to deal with this lunatic on his own? If I just talked to the guy, he might calm down.

  “I’m telling you, Summer,” Sebastian said in frustration, “I know you. And I’ll treat you better than this jerk”—he flung his hand to Luke—“or those stupid actors you date. Aiden Clay? What were you thinking with that guy?”

  I took a step back. This guy was obsessed. “You were the one callin’ my house last week. Only you always hung up after you said my name.”

  “I was shy,” he pleaded. “But I’ve been here, working up the courage to say something to you.”

  “Today?”

  “Since you got into town.”

  Sebastian took another step forward, and I backed up a few more paces.

  “Summer,” Luke said, backing up so that he was practically in front of me, dragging Mr. Hot Stuff with him. “For the last time, go get in your truck.”

  Suddenly sirens filled the air, coming closer, and panic filled Sebastian’s eyes. He ran back to his van, slammed the door shut, and tore away from the curb.

  “Dammit!” Luke shouted, still trying to remove the dog.

  Luke was close enough that I could bend down and pry the dog loose, but Mr. Hot Stuff wasn’t ready to let go yet. He obviously wasn’t going to respond to force, so I reached underneath him and began to scratch his belly. The dog let go of Luke’s now-ripped pants and began to lick my hand.

  Luke pointed a finger at me while shooting me a glare. “You and I need to talk later.”

  I didn’t respond—not that I had time to—because Luke took off running for his car, already barking orders at poor Willy through his intercom.

  “You saved Mr. Hot Stuff!” Mrs. Fisk cried out as she ran around the production crew to get her troublemaking dog.

  “Cut!” Lauren shouted as a smile stretched across her face. She punched her hand into the air. “That, my friends, is how reality TV is done!”

  But knowing that Lauren’s version of reality was almost entirely staged, I had to wonder if she had something to do with Sebastian Jenkins’s appearance.