Mission Inn-possible 02 - Strawberry Sin

by Rosie A. Point

  In the NSIB, identity was guarded closely. Only partners and the high-ups knew the true identities of agents. My grandmother had been a mystery to most. It was the reason Smulder was so shaky around her.

  “The net that article cast was small, like a butterfly net thrown into the ocean. If the search goes wide for me, if I become a fugitive and the FBI gets interested, that changes thing. The net will be as big as a trawler’s net in a small pond. We can’t have that happen. The only way is to solve this and solve it quick,” Gamma said.

  “And without the police knowing we solved it.”

  “Precisely.” Gamma took a bite of her pizza. “I love pineapple,” she said, offering me a smile. It was amazing how upbeat she could be even with all of this going on. “We have to consider our suspects.”

  “Abigail. Sebastian. Jenna? And then, of course, our arsonist, Matthew, who has an apparent alibi.” I couldn’t believe that.

  “Why Abigail?” Gamma asked.

  “She doesn’t need money, but her eulogy was so bitter. Maybe not her. And Jenna wouldn’t have real motivation to murder Hannah. She was jealous of Abigail. Killing her sister doesn’t make sense, especially since Abigail seems just fine without her sister around.”

  “And that leaves Sebastian,” Gamma said.

  “And the ring. The ring that was Grayson’s. It didn’t look like it could have fallen off his finger. Maybe that means that Sebastian stole it? Then while he was at the library, accidentally dropped it because it didn’t fit his finger?” I suggested.

  “You need to speak to him. Get a feel for the kind of person he is. Snoop around,” Gamma said. “I could come with you.”

  “No. It’s too dangerous,” I replied.

  “Fine,” she said. “Fine. But you’ll have to take the SUV. Everyone in Gossip knows my Mini. You’ll get no work down driving around in it.” Gamma dabbed her lips with a napkin and wiped grease off her fingers. She grabbed her keys off the wall and handed them to me. “Here. Look after it.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior. Only problem is, I have no idea where Sebastian Tombs lives.”

  “Oh. Right.” Gamma wriggled her nose. “Call Grayson. He’ll know.”

  “And you think he’ll offer up that information freely?”

  “Tell him that you’re going to speak to him about joining your book group,” she said.

  “There’s no way that will work.”

  Gamma’s blue eyes twinkled. “Trust me, it will work. Grayson wants his son to settle down—they’ve clearly had issues with each other. You’re an attractive young woman, and, if I’m not mistaken, he was grumbling about keeping Sebastian away from Abigail in the park the other day. He’ll jump at the opportunity to send another hot mama his son’s way. Especially one who wants to read books and seems innocent and sweet.”

  “Did you just say ‘hot mama’?” I wriggled a pinkie finger in my ear as if that would make it sound any better.

  “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

  I finished off the last of my pizza slice then got up. “I’ll contact Grayson. We’ve only got three days before Smulder calls Grant on us. We’ve got to make them count.”

  “I should be coming with you,” Gamma said.

  “No. I have to do this on my own. For both of us.”

  Gamma nodded, slowly. “All right. I trust you.”

  The weight of those words settled on my head.

  “But take some of the equipment with you in the SUV. A woman never knows when she might need a pair of night vision goggles.”

  28

  I rolled up outside Sebastian Tomb’s townhouse—nowhere near Loganville—and peered out of the tinted windows of Gamma’s SUV. I had brought a pair of night vision goggles with me, but I didn’t need them in this street. Lampposts lit the pathways, quiet at this time of night, and the curtains inside Sebastian’s downstairs living room were open. No movement.

  I circled the block once then parked further down the road.

  Do this for Gamma. For the inn.

  Tonight, I’d chosen a pleasantly pink dress with thick leggings. No black balaclava for me. I actually had to go in there and charm Sebastian so he’d tell me about the ring. Or let me use his bathroom—at which point I’d sneak through the house and find the evidence I needed.

  And that meant no one could see me getting out of the SUV. If they did, Gamma’s secret would be out. That or everyone would think I drove a black SUV with massive rims and illegal window tinting.

  I waited a few minutes, ensured the street was empty, then got out of the car and locked it. I hurried along the sidewalk, crossed the road and headed for Sebastian’s front door. He had a terraced double story, a porch with its light on, and garden that had seen better days.

  The open curtains drew my attention, and I walked over, trying not to hunch. I’d come with a book that I’d picked out of the library at the inn—thankfully, it hadn’t burned down. I peeked in the window, careful not to mark the soil with my footprints.

  Sebastian was in the living room on the sofa, his arms wrapped around a woman. They were kissing passionately while the TV played a romantic movie in the background. I couldn’t make out who the woman was, but my curiosity was through the roof.

  I crept out of the garden, hurried up the porch steps and rang the doorbell.

  A clatter came from inside. Sounded as if someone had bumped into a table or chair? Dropped something?

  I knocked on the door for good measure.

  The latch clicked. Sebastian stood on the threshold, tall and broody in a leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. All he needed was the slicked back hairstyle and he could’ve been an extra out of a Broadway rendition of Grease.

  “Hi,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Who are you?”

  I stopped myself from asking if he wanted me to ‘tell him more.’ “I’m Charlotte Smith,” I said, and put out my hand. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “I met you somewhere before, baby doll?”

  Baby doll? Was that his line? People in their twenties had changed since I’d been one of them. “I don’t think so, but I’ve been sort of, going door-to-door talking to people because, well, I’m just so lonely.” I scuffed my heel on the porch and looked down. I’d done a full face of makeup and spritzed on perfume for this.

  As a spy, I’d gone undercover in plenty of ways that’d made my skin crawl, but would I ever live down this magenta getup and mild flirting with a twenty-year-old John Travolta wannabe? Only time would tell.

  The thin sheen of shame would probably cling to me for a good week or so afterward.

  “You’re lonely, baby doll?” Sebastian said. “Why’s that?”

  “Sebastian?” A woman called inside.

  Here we go. The big reveal. Is it Abigail? That wouldn’t be a good thing. I needed Sebastian on his own so I could wring the truth out of him. Without strangling him. More was the pity.

  The woman rounded the corner and entered the hall. She spotted me, and it took all my energy not to raise my eyebrows at her.

  Jenna Sykes.

  Abigail’s best friend had been making out with Sebastian, who’d also sent Abigail Valentine’s Day gifts.

  Jenna froze up like someone had dipped her in a vat of ice cream. Or dry ice.

  “Hey, you mind going back in the living room, Jen? I’m just talking to this, uh, lady. She wanted help with something.”

  “I just wanted people to sign up for my book club,” I said, presenting a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. “Things have been quiet where I work, now, and I thought it might be a good time to start one.”

  “A book club,” Sebastian said, snorting and closing the door a couple inches.

  “Wait. Uh, just a second, Sebastian.” Jenna grabbed hold of the edge of the door. “I might be interested in that.”

  “You? A book club?” Sebastian smirked.

  “Yes. It sounds fun. Just, hold on, uh… a second, mkay? I’ll be right back.�
�� Jenna slipped out and shut the door in Sebastian’s face. She grabbed my arm—I let her, deciding not to break her fingers for touching me without permission—and led me down the pathway.

  We stopped near the gate, and Jenna let me go. She squeezed her hands together. “Look, it’s not what you think.”

  “You and Sebastian are an item?” I asked.

  “No, not technically. Look, you can’t tell Abigail about this. If she finds out I’ve been kissing her boyfriend, she’ll flip.” Jenna’s begging was marred only slightly by the glint of glee in her eyes. She was darn happy she’d kissed Sebastian.

  Hadn’t she told me how jealous she was of Abigail? Could that be motive for murder? But no, she’d hardly flinched at the mention of Hannah the last time we’d spoken.

  “I didn’t have a place to go after the fire at the inn,” Jenna said. “So, I came here. Sebastian was kind enough to give me a room to stay in for a while and food to eat. It’s not anything weird. He has a guest room, and Abigail wouldn’t let me stay with her… but the more we get to know each other… Look, I think I’m falling in love with him. You can’t tell her about this, OK?”

  “Are you going to tell her?” I asked.

  Jenna chewed on her lip. “Eventually,” she said. “When the time’s right. But not right away. I mean, her sister just got murdered. She’s probably still upset about that. And other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just please, don’t say anything?” Jenna walked backward up the path holding out her hands. “I’ll even join your book club.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Oh good. I hate reading.” She flounced up the stairs, opened Sebastian’s door, and entered without another word.

  Conversation over.

  And I’d gotten nothing out of it.

  BEING an agent had taught me to never give up. I wasn’t about to go back on that rule now.

  I headed to the truck, got inside, and grabbed the bag Gamma had given me to stash under the passenger seat. Inside I’d placed the night vision goggles, a change of clothes—all black—and a balaclava. I made short work of switching my clothes out. The makeup itched my skin, but I’d have to remove it later. Or maybe the balaclava would do that for me—like one giant makeup wipe.

  After I’d changed, I stashed everything under the passenger seat again then let myself out of the SUV and jogged back to the house. The curtains in the front window were drawn, now, and the TV was still on.

  I entered the breezeway between the house and garage and stood in the shadows, scanning the side and front of the building. The terrace above was just in reach if I climbed onto the garage roof and took a running jump. From there, I could jimmy the balcony doors and get into the rooms upstairs. Quietly.

  No problem. I’d broken into occupied homes before on a mission.

  Hopefully, all the strawberry cupcakes I’d been inhaling over the past week wouldn’t slow me down too much.

  I rubbed my gloved hands together and stretched my arms and legs, my back and neck. I jogged on the spot and did a few squats for good measure.

  Here we go.

  I crouched low into my optimal jumping position.

  The gentle click of high heels on the sidewalk stalled me. Abigail Rhodes strode into view, wearing a black mini-dress and a pair of red stilettos. She kicked Sebastian’s gate open and marched up the pathway, not so much as glancing my way.

  A good thing too—I was squatting half-in and half-out of the shadows. Heaven alone knew what she’d think I was up to if she spotted me.

  I waited until she’d reached the front porch before snapping myself upright and slinking back into the shadows. I pressed my back to the house, listening hard.

  Abigail thudded her fist against the door. No, no, wait, it wasn’t her fist, it was her foot—the clack of the stiletto was loud as she kicked the wood repeatedly. “Open up!” she yelled. “Sebastian, I know you’re in there! Open the door.”

  A lover’s spat?

  The door creaked. “Oh, hey, baby, what are you doing here?” Sebastian asked, in that oily tone. “I was just about to call you.”

  “Liar,” she hissed. “You haven’t called me in days. What’s your deal? Did you think you could just, like, ignore me? Did you think that was a thing? Because that’s not a thing, you idiot.”

  Nice woman.

  “Listen, chill. You know why I didn’t want to call you. I made that clear, OK?”

  “I’m coming inside,” Abigail said, and a scuffling clatter ensued. “Let me past!”

  “No.” The door slammed. “No, Abigail. You can’t just turn up here. I need some time to cool off.”

  “Oh whatever, you’re such a drama queen. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You stole from me!”

  “No, you refused to give me what I was owed,” Abigail replied. “And I always get what I am owed. Do you understand me? Now, stop being a baby and let me in. You’re going to make me dinner.”

  “No.”

  “You know, I can get loads of other guys to make me dinner. I can get any guy I want. You’re lucky I even came here tonight.”

  “I don’t want to see you anymore,” Sebastian said.

  A thick silence fell. Crickets chirped. The wind swooped along the breezeway, sending dry leaves skittering along.

  “What did you just say to me?” Abigail asked, her voice dangerously low. “What did you just say to me?”

  “You heard me. Go home, Abigail. It’s done.” The clap of a door closing came, followed by a furious screech.

  “Open this door!” Abigail hollered and kicked. “Open it right now.”

  But Sebastian didn’t cave. Likely, it was the first time anyone, including her parents, had ever said ‘no’ to Abigail. That had to sting.

  She let out another furious shriek to rival a bird of prey then stormed off down the path and grabbed hold of the gate. She warred with it for a second, kicked it, then tugged it open and marched off down the road.

  Upstairs, a bedroom light clicked on. So much for my grand plan to parkour into the building and snoop.

  But I’d gotten something, at least.

  Abigail had stolen from Sebastian.

  Now, why on earth would a woman who had everything she could ever want steal from her boyfriend? And what had she meant by her stolen goods or money having been ‘owed’ to her?

  29

  The kitchen table had never seemed as empty.

  It was 3 am. Smulder was upstairs asleep, thankfully, and Lauren hadn’t come into work because she was practically in mourning over Gamma being ‘on the run.’ And Gamma was asleep on her custom made bed in the basement. She’d predicted every eventuality. It was a miracle she didn’t have a walk-in closet and pantry down there.

  I brought the plate closer to myself, lifted the strawberry cupcake off it and peeled back the wrapper. My notepad lay open next to me, the pen resting atop the page, but there weren’t that many notes.

  My head was full of cotton-wool at this point.

  I took a bite of the cupcake, hoping against hope that it would somehow refresh me. The coffee sure hadn’t. Sweetness spread across my tongue, and I relished the flavor even though it didn’t do much to lift my mood.

  The clock above the doorway ticked ominously, reminding me that it was only two days now until Smulder would call Grant and rat on us. And then Gamma’s life here would be over for good, regardless of whether the police found her or not.

  “How morose.” I finished off my cupcake and dusted off my fingers over the plate.

  I picked up my pen and tapped the end of it against the page. I had written down Abigail’s name, connected it with a line to Sebastian’s, and put the word ‘theft’ over the top of them. Not that the theft was related to the murder.

  And it didn’t make sense that Abigail would’ve stolen money from Sebastian. My tired gaze wandered from the page of my notebook to a fresh copy of the Gossip Ra
g on the table. Did I want to know what the headlines were?

  I snatched it up, regardless. I coped better with things when I faced them head on, rather than avoided them.

  The paper crinkled under my fingertips, and I unfolded it, holding my breath.

  Another One Bites the Dust? Local Love-struck Arsonist Falls for Heiress.

  Here at the Gossip Rag we pride ourselves on bringing you the freshest takes on the hottest stories. Recently, we published a piece on the arrest of a local IT professional, Matthew Davis, who turned out to be, unmasked, the Swashbuckling Arsonist.

  “Swashbuckling Arsonist? Is that supposed to be catchy?” I straightened the page and read on.

  It’s come to our attention that the arsonist acted not out of revenge, but out of love. It’s a Valentine’s Day story for the ages, a tale of a lover spurned and a desperate quest for him to connect with the woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

  And who was the object of his affections?

  Apparently, the Swashbuckling Arsonist—

  “Seriously?”

  —committed all his dire and evil acts in the name of none other than Abigail Rhodes (see the obituary section to catch up on what happened to her sister)!

  These people were incorrigible. How could they write so tactlessly about a murder?

  Apparently, the heiress to the Rhodes fortune wanted nothing to do with the poor arsonist. And that’s not all there is to divulge about her… The heiress may not be an heiress any longer. According to sources close to the family, Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes had cut Abigail off from her millions because of reckless spending and her rude and aggressive attitude toward the family. And her inheritance? It doesn’t look like she’ll be benefiting from that either.

  I stopped reading.

  She had no money. She’d been cut off from her parents. And she’d said in that eulogy that her parents had always favored her sister. What did that mean? I scanned the rest of the page, searching for useful nuggets of information but there were none.

  I abandoned my coffee and plate, grabbed my notepad and the paper and tucked them both under my arm. I was out of the kitchen door and crunching down the path that led around the back of the inn in seconds.