by Bree Baker
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure my being locked in the archives and threatened with bees must’ve been terrifying for him.”
Wyatt laughed. “To hear him tell it, yes. That guy’s all about the science and the bees. This whole week has been a little too much for him, but he thinks your aunts are brilliant. I don’t think he’s too impressed with the lady doing the filming.”
“I get the same feeling,” I said, “and I don’t disagree. I actually think she might be trying to create a special on Mitzi’s death while making the Bee Loved documentary on the side. Aunt Clara and Aunt Fran said they barely did any filming until the last two days. Before then, all Rose wanted to do was interview the Mitzi Calgon fans.”
“You don’t like Rose either,” Wyatt said, stuffing the last of the sandwich between his lips.
“I don’t like that she’s my main suspect right now and spends a huge chunk of her time with my aunts every day.”
Wyatt frowned. “I assume you’ve told your detective about this. What does he say?”
I bit my tongue against the truth. Grady wasn’t mine, and he didn’t like it when I shared theories. “Mostly, he thinks I should stay out of his investigation,” I said.
Wyatt laughed. “He always says that.”
“Well, he doesn’t say much else on the matter, so I’m left making guesses.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Wyatt asked.
“Not unless you know anything about a middle-aged attorney and visiting Mitzi-fan named Burt Pendle. Short. Bald. White beard,” I said.
Wyatt shook his head. “Nope.”
“It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”
“You always do.” Wyatt finished his tea, and I refilled him without asking. He cocked an eyebrow. “Something else on your mind?”
I leaned my forearms on the counter and focused on his sincere, handsome face. “Are you really thinking about giving up the rodeo?”
He sighed. “Why? You worried about me, E?”
“Little bit,” I said. “I’ve never known you without it. It’s part of who you are, or at least it was.” My heart pinched as I voiced the concerns I’d been toiling with since he first mentioned quitting. “I don’t want you to give up on your dream.”
“People get new dreams,” he said, a lazy half-smile tilting his lips. “I like that you worry about me, but my life is good here.”
“But will it be enough?”
He nodded, slow and steady. “It is enough.”
I felt my smile return. “You’re sure?”
“Sure as I can be. Sure I haven’t been itching to get back in the saddle. I haven’t been re-watching my old tapes, looking for ways to improve my technique. Heck, I eat here more times a week than I work out, and it feels good.”
I bit my tongue against a comment on his physique, which looked good.
“Feels like freedom,” Wyatt said. “You know what I do these days?”
“You laugh more,” I said, enjoying the gleam in his eye.
“I do, and I watch sunrises and sunsets. I track the wild mustangs and teach folks about them. I hang out with my buddies from work. I got my lifeguard certification last week. For the first time in my life, my world’s about more than bulls and blood. I haven’t been to the emergency room in a year. I might actually pay off all my hospital bills if I keep this up.”
I laughed, and he lifted his tea in cheers and took a long drink.
“I’m happy, Everly.”
“Then you’ll stay in Charm?” I asked, realizing I’d been a little worried he might leave. “You’re not going to get bored and run off?”
“Nah.” He locked his fingers behind his head, elbows pointing out. “I’m thinking of buying a house.”
I took a minute to let that sink in. He was planting real roots, and he was doing it in Charm. “I can absolutely get behind that. Where are you looking?”
“Up the beach.” He tipped his chin and dropped his hands to his lap. “Four-by-four country.”
“Four-by-four-country,” I repeated, feeling the perfection of his choice in my marrow. Locals lovingly referred to the narrowest strip of our island, at the northernmost tip, as “four-by-four country.” It was the least modernized and most secluded. The roads were bad to nonexistent, and folks needed a four-wheel drive vehicle to access it. Homes were short and stout, built on pillars in the surf because the sea at high tide didn’t leave much dry. Four-by-four country was also quite possibly the most peaceful, natural, beautiful land on earth, definitely in all of North Carolina. The maritime forest curved along the tip and ran down the eastern side. The bulk of Charm’s wild mustangs lived there. Wyatt and I used to picnic there. It was fitting that it would be his home. “That sounds perfect.”
He winked, then stretched onto his feet and pulled me into a hug. “You asked what I’ll do instead of rodeo. I’m thinking of starting a weekend school for little cowboys. Maybe kindergarten through middle school or whatever age boys discover girls and start thinking it’s not cool to attend a school for little cowboys.”
He laughed, and I joined him. “All right,” I said. “I love it.”
“I’d teach basic care of horses. Feeding. Grooming. Stall cleaning. Offer beginner riding lessons. Maybe teach some roping. Go hiking. Talk to them about respecting their folks, neighbors, friends, animals, and nature.” He shrugged. “That’s if the nature center accepts my program proposal. If so, we’ll put out some flyers, see if any local kids bite.”
I pressed my cheek to his solid chest and squeezed. “That sounds amazing.”
There was pride and satisfaction in Wyatt’s eyes when I stepped back to take a closer look at the man before me. He seemed lit with hope and enthusiasm, and I loved it. “Will I see you at the memorial tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah. Me and some of the nature center employees volunteered to help. Management asked us to hang out, just be present in case anyone has questions or gets rowdy. That sort of thing.”
I walked him out, then went through my evening routine in the café. I left a few minutes later, hoping to catch my aunts at home and walk with them. I had questions for Rose and possibly Mr. Pendle, if they were together. If not, I’d ask my aunts for feedback and opinions on my theories. Aunt Clara and Aunt Fran were never short on either.
I cut across town, internally gagging at the upcropping of Mary Grace for Mayor signs. I considered pulling them down or drawing mustaches on her image, but I decided to be the bigger woman. I also wondered briefly if I’d been too quick to dismiss her as a suspect. Would Mary Grace really kill to make Aunt Fran look bad at election time? She was certainly using the Mitzi commotion to her full advantage, saving the town from unlawfully parked food trucks and news vans. Anything to keep herself in the spotlight.
“Everly!” Mr. Waters waved from his post outside Molly’s Market, where he swept the sidewalk.
“Hi, Mr. Waters,” I called, crossing the street to greet him.
He stilled his broom and cupped his hands over the handle’s top. “Beautiful day.”
I took in the soft evening light, the sun dipping lower in the sky with each passing hour and the majestic amber and apricot hues coating our world. “It really is.”
“Are you attending the memorial on the bay?” he asked. “A real shame what happened to that poor lady.”
“I am,” I said. “I’m trying to catch my aunts so we can walk together.”
Rose and Quinn appeared at the mouth of the alley, drenched in the waning sunlight and clearly at odds over something. She flung her hands wide, then let them flop to her sides before walking away. Her conservative black suit and heels were a drastic departure from the usual jeans and T-shirt—an ensemble presumably chosen for her appearance at Mitzi’s memorial, the unexpected joint effort between Bee Loved and Mary Grace Chatsworth.
Quinn shook his head at h
er retreating form.
“Evening, Quinn,” Mr. Waters called.
Quinn blanched when he saw us watching him. A moment later a smile formed and he headed our way. “What are the two of you up to?”
“Sweeping.” Mr. Waters smiled, facetiously stating the obvious. “How are your arms and back?”
Quinn blushed. “Better. Thanks.” He turned his eyes on me. “You’re not sweeping?”
“No.” I chuckled. “I’m going to catch my aunts before the memorial. You?”
“I’m headed back to my rental.” He looked at his blue-striped button-down and chinos. “I have to change.”
I nodded, trying not to wonder how my outfit stacked up. The black walking shorts and gray silk blouse had felt fancy until I’d seen Rose’s suit. “Which way are you headed?” I asked.
Quinn pointed, and I swooped a hand through the air, indicating he should join me. “See you later, Mr. Waters.”
Quinn and I moved through town in the awkward silence I was beginning to associate with him. When the buildings and traffic faded into the background, I turned to him, multiple questions jockeying for position in my mind.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Sure,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been looking into what happened to the Canary,” I said gently. “You were the last person I know that he talked to, and I’m still trying to understand why he ran from me on the boardwalk that day only to call later and request that we meet up.” I looked both ways before stepping off the curb into the crosswalk. With some luck, Quinn wouldn’t shut me down or be upset when I told him what I thought about Rose. They’d gone to college together and they were partners now, but I needed him to be willing to share information and hear me out. “I have a theory about who killed the Canary and Mitzi,” I said, finally finding my nerve.
“Me too,” Quinn said softly, raising a hand to my neck. “Sorry,” he whispered as the sting of metal buried deep into my skin.
Chapter Twenty-Five
My knees went weak, and Quinn hooked an arm around mine to steady me. His long sleeve rode up a few inches to reveal a set of deep red scratches. “How about we take a walk on the beach?” he suggested as I struggled to keep up, both physically and mentally. “Tide’s coming in, and I found an easily accessible, but quite private, little cave not far from here.”
“Your arm,” I said, clearing my throat several times before I could form the words. “Cat scratches.”
He peered at me with a sour expression. “Your psychotic cat should be euthanized. She chased me relentlessly through the marsh and down alleys. She tore up my arm and my back when I finally refused to run anymore. I dropped the file twice and half of it was ruined by marsh muck. If I had time, I’d find that cat before I go home and throw her in the ocean.”
My hackles raised. “That’s why you’re always dressed like this. To cover your wounds.”
“It’s not as if I can go around in shorts and sandals with long sleeves, now can I?”
“I hope they hurt,” I said, feeling spiteful for Maggie’s sake. “Why’d you care what was in the file?” I snapped. “It had nothing to do with you.”
“I didn’t know that,” he said. “Skeet collected information about the documentary because it related to Mitzi. I needed to know if he had information about me because I was involved in the documentary. I couldn’t risk the cops tracking her death back to me through the sedative I used. It’s produced at a lab in my office building. Probably at a hundred other sites across the country too, but the fact I had access to this one could have been my undoing. I needed to know.”
“There wasn’t anything like that in the file,” I said, my mouth growing pastier by the second.
“I know now,” he snapped. “And I didn’t hurt you to get that file. I covered your head gently with a clean pillowcase and ran away. I never meant to hurt anyone,” he said with a crushing squeeze of my arm. “Everything has gotten completely out of control, thanks to you.”
“Me?” I blinked to clear my vision as Quinn looked both ways before steering me across the street, toward the beach. “You pushed the Canary out of the lighthouse window,” I accused, my addled mind fitting pieces together one by one. “You wrote the fake suicide note to wrap things up and save your hide. He ran from me when he was with you because you’d threatened him. You probably forbade him to talk to me.”
“He ran from me when you saw us because I’d just threatened his life and you became a witness. He took the opportunity to escape.”
My tingling jaw dropped. “You’ve been behind all of this. You sent that creepy poem and those island stalker photos. I’ll bet you even sent the letters to Mitzi back in California.” My ears rang and my speech began to slur. “You befriended the Canary so you could use him. You wanted him to use his blog and influence to lead people down the paths you created. You wanted him dead because he could point the finger at you for all of that!” A bit of drool slid over my bottom lip, and my eyelids drooped.
“Smart girl,” he said. “But so, so dumb.”
As Quinn checked for nonexistent traffic, I willed my numbing hands to free my phone from my back pocket, opposite him. We’d moved too far away from the action to be noticed at this hour, and the setting sun was quickly replacing light with shadow.
I stole fleeting blurry glances at my phone each time Quinn’s head jerked in the opposite direction, drawn by distant sounds or his own paranoia. My scrambled mind struggled to remember how to dial for help, and my buzzing hand was losing strength. With hope and a prayer, I aimed my heavy, uncoordinated thumb at the little icon Ryan had put on my home screen and gave it a thump. My arm fell limp at my side a half heartbeat later, and I begged my fingers not to let go.
“What are you doing?” he asked, tugging me forward as he scanned the area for witnesses to his crime. “Hurry up.”
“You drugged me,” I said, the words falling from my prickly tongue in slow, thick slurs. “What did you think would happen? Why did you do that?”
“Quiet,” he snapped, his voice low and controlled. “You’re going to draw attention.”
“Are you working with Rose?” I asked. “Did she put you up to this?” Each word came loud and messy. Had I imagined the wrong homicidal duo all along? I’d suspected Odette and her father when the real killers were Quinn and Rose? “What did you do to me? Are you going to kill me too?”
Quinn tightened his grip on my arm until I squeaked in pain. “I said shut up. I gave you the same sedative I gave Skeet and Mitzi. They didn’t feel a thing and neither will you in a few minutes. Now, keep moving before I have to carry you.” He paused when our feet left solid ground and sunk deep into mounds of dry sand at the beach’s edge. The ominous crash and roll of waves was suddenly clear and unhindered. “I doubt I can carry you in this,” he said, scrutinizing my body. “Or at all.” He jerked me back into motion. “Just keep moving.”
My muddled mind was stupidly hurt by his words. Clearly spoken by someone who’d never struggled with his weight. Did he think I wanted to be this size? That I wanted to get winded running up my stairs? A tear slid over my cheek, and I hated myself for caring about my dress size when I was obviously being taken to my death. It was all just too much.
“Get up!” Quinn yelled.
I puzzled over the order. Up where? I opened my eyes, not realizing they’d closed, and the warm caress of sand on my skin finally registered. My legs had buckled, and I was lying on the beach. A perfect twilight sky stretched overhead, streaking shades of violet and periwinkle across the heavens.
Quinn cursed.
I strained to see him past my feet, where he’d taken position and begun to pull.
My lifeless arms went over my head behind me as he dragged me from the dry sand to the heavy-packed and painful stuff near the water’s edge. My phone was gone, and so was my lifelin
e, if I’d ever really had one.
“You just couldn’t let this go,” Quinn complained as he grunted and pulled. “Neither of those people meant anything to you, and you still had to take up a personal crusade over a gossip blogger and a washed-up movie star. Ridiculous. I didn’t even mean to kill her. Should I spend the rest of my life in jail for an accident? A mistake? Everyone makes mistakes. I’m not a doctor. I took syringes from the lab across the hall so I could drug Mitzi and embarrass her. I just wanted her to leave Rose’s precious project. How was I supposed to know the old lady was allergic to bees? What kind of lunatic attaches herself to a save the bees project when their stings will literally kill her?”
Quinn stopped to catch his breath at the edge of the water, and the cool tide licked my face and hair.
Panic welled in me. I couldn’t swim in my condition, but maybe I could float if I could stay awake. The sea and I were kindred spirits. She wouldn’t kill me if I could just keep my eyes open and not float so far away that a wave knocked me under. Maybe I could even float into someone’s view down the beach. Surely there were couples still walking along the surf at this hour. The entire island wasn’t attending the memorial.
When the water retreated, it pulled a large portion of sand from beneath me, and the next rush of tide crashed against my ear, flooding my face and choking me.
“Come on,” Quinn said. “You can’t drown there. Someone will find you before I get off this wretched island.” He repositioned his grip under my arms and dragged me into a shallow earthen cave, worn into the side of a small hill. The space was nothing special and it smelled of dirt and mud. The hill protruded above us and curved out a few feet on each side, just enough to conceal me as I drowned.
Quinn propped me against the back of the cave and stripped the tie from around his neck.
He tied my wrists together with the silken accessory, then released me with a grunt.
The jagged mud-and-stone wall held me upright, legs sticking out before me, bound hands lying uselessly on my lap.