Knocking on Death's Door

by Lucy Quinn

  “Ah—”

  Cookie jumped in before Dylan could find out that she was exaggerating when she told him about the group text alerting women of the town to where Dylan and his bare chest were. “The point is, there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of, Mindy. Let us help.”

  The hairdresser let out a big sigh. “Okay.” She got up from her chair and walked toward the counter. “I have an appointment in a few minutes, but if you want to go to my apartment I’ll give you a key.”

  Cookie liked that idea, because it would it be hard for Mindy to watch them read the letters, and it would allow Dylan and her to have a frank discussion about what they discovered. She didn’t sense that Mindy was the one who killed Simon, but Cookie had seen a lot of things in her days with the bureau and was not about to rule out the possibility.

  The contents of Mindy’s purse rattled as she searched it, and then she extended a ring of jingling keys toward Cookie. “The shoebox is on the top shelf of my bedroom closet.”

  “Thank you. Dylan and I will be careful with them.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “It’s going to be okay, Mindy,” Dylan said. “You’re doing the right thing by letting us help you with this.”

  The woman nodded before Cookie and Dylan stepped out of the salon and back onto Main Street.

  16

  “Whoa,” Dylan said as they walked down through town toward the old Victorian where Mindy lived. “What do you think? It’s a little crazy to be dating multiple inmates, isn’t it?”

  “A little,” Cookie agreed. “But that doesn’t mean she killed anyone.”

  Dylan glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised. “You weren’t that generous with Johnny.”

  Cookie’s stomach clenched. He was right. She was giving Mindy the benefit of the doubt when she didn’t exactly deserve it, and she’d remained skeptical of Johnny even after it was clear he was just a kid trying to get his life in order. “Fair point. Mindy probably did do it.” She gave him a bright smile as she slipped her arm through his. “Let’s go rummage through her mail and find us some evidence.”

  He chuckled as he shook his head. “You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”

  Cookie shrugged. “Mindy’s not exactly my favorite person. And the idea of slapping cuffs on her sounds weirdly satisfying.”

  Narrowing his eyes as he studied her, he said, “You’re scary when you’re in detective mode, you know that?”

  “I might’ve heard that before.” She winked at him and then laughed. “This way,” she added, guiding him up the walkway to a weathered Victorian that had peeling white paint. “Mindy lives in the second-floor apartment.”

  Dylan followed her up the stairs. “Is there some sort of protocol? Do I need to be wearing gloves or anything?”

  Cookie paused at the door and glanced back, giving him a pleased smile. She loved that he knew to ask that question. If she’d been with Scarlett or Rain, either of them would’ve just barreled right in and contaminated any potential evidence without another thought. Cookie reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves. She handed one to Dylan and kept one for herself.

  “Do you have those things everywhere?” he asked with one eyebrow raised.

  “Something like that.” She used the key Mindy had given them and unlocked the door. “Just try to use your gloved hand if you need to touch anything.”

  “Got it, boss,” he said, his teasing tone making her smile widen.

  “It’s really fun working with you, you know that?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve gotta be better than dealing with June Loon.”

  Cookie laughed and nodded as she stepped into the apartment. Light filtered in through the sheer curtains covering the large window to the left of the door. The place was neat and tastefully furnished with what appeared to be refinished early-1900s furniture. An ornate curio cabinet was filled with cut crystal bowls, vases, and wine glasses. And in the middle of the living room two white and lavender striped armchairs sat facing a purple velvet, tufted couch that looked like it would have been better suited for a queen’s sitting room.

  “Whoa,” Dylan said. “I guess she’s a fan of French provincial décor.”

  Cookie cast him a sidelong glance.

  “What? Don’t look at me like that. I refinish furniture sometimes,” he said defensively.

  She held both hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He scanned the small kitchen directly in front of them and then turned left into the open bedroom door.

  Cookie chuckled to herself and followed him. They both stood just inside, staring at the giant four-poster canopy bed, complete with purple velvet privacy panels.

  “I think it’s fair to say Mindy is a fan of purple,” Dylan said.

  “I think it’s fair to say Mindy’s trying to live in another century.” Cookie shook her head. The bed took up almost the entire room, save the small bedside table that had a lamp, an old-fashioned round alarm clock, and a small silver pistol. “Peaches was right about the gun.”

  Dylan glanced over at the nightstand. “Not exactly big on gun safety, is she?”

  “Guess not.” Cookie made a beeline for the closet and retrieved the pink keepsake box from the top shelf.

  “She’s a little over the top, isn’t she?” Dylan asked as he followed Cookie back into the other room.

  Cookie set the box on the kitchen island and eyed the faux leather box. It was stenciled with fallen rose petals and had the word love scrawled across the top. She was seeing a side of Mindy that most people didn’t know, and Cookie wasn’t sure if she should feel worry or pity that the woman lived in a fantasy world. Nodding, she said, “Just a little.”

  Using his gloved hand, Dylan undid the latch and pulled out a handful of letters. But before he handed any to Cookie, he started to scan the one on top. “What the hell? This one details a bank robbery and a…” He cleared his throat. “Clyde here wants to get it on in the bank’s vault.”

  “What?” Cookie said, her eyes wide as she moved to read over his shoulder.

  My dearest Bonnie,

  I dreamed about you again last night. It was so real I could feel your warm sweet ass pressed up against me on one side and the cool metal of my rifle on the other. When I finally get out of this hole, I’m taking you to the beach. You like to skinny dip in the ocean, right, baby?

  The letter went on to describe exactly what he wanted to do to her once he had her in the bank vault as well as a variety of other lewd acts to be performed in public.

  “He’s quite detailed,” Dylan said.

  “This is a role-play letter.” Cookie waved it in the air. “He’s addressed it to Bonnie and signed it ‘your partner in crime, Clyde.’ Get it? Bonnie and Clyde?”

  Dylan scanned the letter one more time. Then he laughed. “Of course. He even talks about robbing a bank. I don’t know how I didn’t catch it right away.”

  “You were just too caught up in the dirty details to catch on,” Cookie said with a mock-judgmental look.

  He grinned. “I guess so.”

  Cookie turned the letter over, seeing no identifying information. Then she glanced in the box and frowned. “There aren’t any envelopes. There’s no way to tell who sent this.”

  Paper rustled as Dylan dug in the box for the next letter. After scanning it, he shook his head. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?” She picked up another letter, but had her eyes trained on Dylan.

  “This one is addressed to Miss Bennet and is signed Mr. Darcy. Different boyfriend. I can tell by the handwriting. Who knew convicts were so educated?”

  “It’s not unusual for some of them to do a lot of reading. One of them must’ve taken a liking to Jane Austen,” she said with a laugh. “It appears Mindy has a bit of a fetish, doesn’t she?” Cookie scanned the paper in her hand. “This one is in different handwriting as well. Neater than the first. And it’s addressed to Miss S
carlett. Guess who it’s from?”

  Dylan let out a bark of laughter. “Rhett?”

  She glanced up. “Gone With the Wind fan?”

  “No, but my mother used to watch it every year on Valentine’s Day. It was torture on a freezing-cold day during a blizzard.”

  “I bet.” Cookie took a moment to scan the rest of the letters. Out of the dozen or so in the box, only two more had unique penmanship. One was to Juliet from Romeo and the other was to Cleopatra from Antony. None of them had the inmate’s real names.

  “Now what?” Dylan asked, his eyes glued to one of the letters.

  “We’ll have to ask Mindy for their real names.” Cookie grabbed what he was reading out of his hand and stuffed it back into the box.

  “Hey! I was reading that,” he said with a sheepish grin.

  “I’m pretty sure you can find better sources for soft porn,” Cookie called over her shoulder and quickly swept through the room looking for any envelopes with a return address from the federal prison in New York. When she came up empty, she disappeared into the bedroom to return the keepsake box.

  Dylan followed her and stood leaning in the bedroom doorway. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we try that thing Mr. Darcy wanted to do to Miss Bennet? All we need is a corset, a length of silk, and a hunting knife.”

  “Who do you think I am? Rain?” Cookie chuckled and returned the box, then retreated back to Dylan. She used one hand to push him into the living room. “Nice try, but I’m not doing anything that leaves me naked and tied to a porch railing.”

  His eyes gleamed. “What if I’m the one tied to a porch railing?”

  She paused just before opening Mindy’s door to leave. “Now that has potential. I do have a history of restraining people.”

  Dylan put his hand on her lower back and whispered, “Your place or mine?”

  “Yours. But first we have to return Mindy’s key.”

  “Lead the way, Lizzy. Lead the way.”

  “Anything you say, Mr. Darcy. Anything you say.”

  Dylan and Cookie were still laughing when they stumbled back into the Clip, Dip, and Rip.

  “Well, it sounds like you two are having a good time,” Peaches said from behind the register. She was busy checking out the freshly-waxed Hale who’d failed to put his shirt back on.

  The man looked like he could use a little sun with his pasty white, skin, but he had his chest out, clearly proud of his newly-hairless body. “I can’t wait to get Rain in that love nest of hers under the stairs.”

  “Stop. I don’t need to know this.” Cookie grimaced and quickly glanced away, uncomfortable seeing so much of her mother’s boyfriend’s flesh.

  Hale just laughed, finished paying and said, “Blake, ready to head to the inn?”

  “Nah. I’ve got work to do, and then I’m meeting Winter later. You go on ahead,” the older man said.

  “Suit yourself.” Hale draped his T-shirt over his shoulder and sauntered out of the shop.

  Blake chuckled and shook his head. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

  “You can say that again,” Cookie said and leaned on the counter. “Hey, Peaches, is Mindy around?”

  Peaches shook her head, making her pretty blond curls bounce around her face. “She left to run an errand. Probably needed to pay her dues to Bitches R Us. You wouldn’t believe what she said after you left earlier today.”

  Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?”

  Peaches slapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head. “Yikes. I shouldn’t have said anything. She was just being hateful about your relationship with Dylan.” She gave them both an apologetic smile. “Jealously will do that to people.”

  Cookie let out a grunt and shrugged one shoulder. “I guess if my dating prospects looked as grim as hers, I might be less than pleasant too.”

  “Less than pleasant is being far too charitable, Cookie,” Peaches said.

  “Maybe, but I can afford to be.” She glanced at Dylan and gave him a secret smile, wondering if he really was game to be tied up later. Cookie turned back to Peaches and placed Mindy’s keys on the counter. “Can you give these back to her? We’re done with them.”

  “Sure. Find what you needed?” she asked as she sat up straighter, clearly ready for the dirty details.

  As much as Cookie would’ve loved to delve into the gossip, she refrained. She was a professional after all. “Enough to get started.” She smiled at Peaches. “Thanks for your help.”

  Peaches slumped in her chair, clearly disappointed. “Sure. If there’s anything else I can do to help…”

  “If we think of anything, we’ll be in touch,” Dylan said. He grabbed Cookie’s hand, and the pair of them slipped out the door.

  Once they got outside Cookie’s phone rang, and she picked up the call when she saw it was from Morgan Black, the forensic accountant in Philly who was reviewing The Tipsy Seagull’s financials. The woman was not one for chit chat, and Cookie didn’t have time to get a word out before Morgan started talking.

  “Charlie, I just finished going over those books you asked me to look at.”

  Cookie plugged her left ear to block out all noise and gave Morgan her full attention. “I’m listening. What did you find?”

  “It appears that Alex is indeed embezzling money from the company. There are unexplained payroll checks going to someone who isn’t on the employee roster. Someone named Aimee Cozens.”

  “Cozens?” Cookie repeated, knowing she’d heard that name before. “From somewhere around Philly?”

  “The address is in New Jersey,” she said.

  “Son of a…” Cookie frowned at Dylan. “Thanks, Morgan. You’ve been more than helpful.”

  “You’re welcome.” The call ended before Cookie could say goodbye.

  Cookie immediately pulled out her phone and hit Hunter’s name. “I need to confirm something,” she said to Dylan and gestured for him to fall into step beside her as she headed back to the inn. Playtime was definitely on hold for the foreseeable future. They’d just gotten their first major break in the case.

  “O’Neil,” Hunter said into the phone, sounding distracted. Voices and ringing phones chimed in the background. There was no doubt he was at the FBI office. She’d know those sounds anywhere.

  “It’s Charlie,” Cookie said. “Do you know a woman by the name of Aimee Cozens?”

  “Should I?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking if it rings a bell,” she said, slightly irritated.

  A door slammed, and the background noise disappeared. A second later Hunter said, “Spell the last name.”

  She rattled off the letters.

  “Cozens? As in DeMasi’s little brother’s in-laws? That Cozens?”

  “Yes!” Cookie said, pumping her fist in the air. “I knew I recognized the name. They play more under the radar, but are still mob, right?”

  “Yes. Why? Where did the name come up?” he asked.

  “Alex over at the Tipsy Seagull has been embezzling money and sending it Aimee Cozens.”

  Hunter snorted. “Figures. You think she had something to do with the murder?”

  “It certainly looks like it to me,” Cookie said. “Can you run a check on Aimee for me?”

  “Sure, give me a minute.”

  She heard the tapping of keys on his computer and turned to Dylan, giving him a thumbs-up.

  “Okay, got her. Looks like Aimee here is Alex’s granddaughter,” Hunter said. “She’s married to one of the Cozens boys who has a rap sheet about a mile long. Billy Cozens has been arrested for everything from drug possession to armed robbery. He recently spent two years behind bars for grand theft auto. Looks like he’s currently out on parole.

  “Got it,” Cookie said. “Thanks. Very helpful. One more thing?” While she knew she could ask Mindy for the names of the prisoners she was communicating with, it didn’t guarantee she’d get the truth.

  He sighed. “It’s not like I don’t
have cases to deal with, Charlie.”

  She ignored his complaint. He was an extremely dedicated agent. If he could help solve a crime, any crime, she knew he would. “Can you check on mail being sent to and from Mindy Tremaine from the federal prison up in upstate New York?”

  “Why?” he asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Because I asked,” she shot back. Why did he always have to question everything she did? But she already knew the answer to that. He was an investigator. Asking questions was just second nature. Before he could say anything else, she added, “And Because Mindy appears to be corresponding five different inmates, but the letters don’t have any clues on who the inmates are. If one of them is Simon Gallo, then there is a strong possibility Mindy could be our killer.”

  “But I thought you’d already settled on Alex?” he said.

  She pulled the phone away from her ear, stared at it a moment, then shook her head before pressing it to her ear again. “What is wrong with you? Since when is it okay to drop leads for circumstantial evidence? Yes, Alex just made it to the top of my list of suspects, but I’m hunting down everything until this case is solved.”

  “Right,” he said. “Okay. I’ll check. Gotta go. I’ll get back to you when I can.” The line went dead, and Cookie shoved her phone back into her pocket.

  “That sounds like it was… productive,” Dylan said.

  Cookie chuckled. “I guess. I swear he gets more and more prickly with each day that goes by.”

  “Can you blame him?” Dylan said, pressing a hand to the small of her back. “It was a huge blow to his ego to not get the girl. Then add in the fact that she chose the handyman, and that’s gotta sting.”

  Cookie paused and pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re so much more than just a handyman.”

  He was a former Navy SEAL with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. And he still had active contacts in the branch. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. Just because his job meant he spent most of his days with a hammer in his hand, it didn’t mean he didn’t have skills. He’d proven that on more than one occasion.

  “Not anymore,” he said, covering her hand with his. “At least not in the eyes of Hunter O’Neil.”