When the Cat's Away

by Molly Fitz

  It is, to date, the hardest thing that has ever hit me in the face, and I’ve had run-ins with several hard objects in my lifetime. I’m clumsy. I can trip over my shadow. I’ve used my face to break a fall on more than one occasion, but this was a whole other level of ouch. Propelled by the force of the wave, the horizontal edge of the board rammed into my lower jaw, chin, and mouth.

  Tumbling through the surf, I spluttered to the surface, disorientated.

  “Are you okay?” Rory shouted.

  I spat out a mouthful of salty water and crimson froth. “I better still have all my teeth.”

  “Geez, you’re bleeding.” Rory paddled closer.

  “Do I still have them all?” I repeated, baring my teeth at him. He squinted, checking out my pearly whites.

  He nodded. “All present and correct. I think you’ve just cut your chin. Let’s go in and take a look.”

  Despite his reassurance, I ran a finger along my front teeth and sighed in relief. He was right. None missing. I began paddling back to shore with a nod, collecting my offending board and trying to avoid the waves as I went.

  Dragging my board through the sand toward the surf stand set up on the beach, I paused to spit out a mouthful of blood. I swished my tongue around my mouth, unable to feel anything because it was blessedly numb. I was slightly concerned because something was bleeding. A lot. Rory had said I might have a cut on my chin?

  He’d gone ahead, muttering about grabbing the first-aid kit, so when he didn’t return immediately, I was only mildly concerned and a little irritated. I huffed and puffed as I dragged my surfboard, which had inexplicably gained a hundred pounds, up the beach, dropping it on the sand in front of the surf stand. The surf stand was more of a lean-to, a rack of shelves for the boards, a clipboard pinned to the side of the much bigger diving hut.

  “Rory?” I called. “Where’d you get to?”

  “I’m here.” He stepped from behind the surf stand.

  “What’s up?” I asked, raising a hand to my chin. It came away covered in blood. “Can’t find the first-aid kit?”

  “It’s here.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “But I can’t seem to pick it up.”

  I snorted. “What? Is it the size of a fridge or something? Lemme see.” I followed him behind the diving hut. There was a giant plastic tub, about the size of a cooler, and through the clear plastic, I could make out a first-aid kit and a bunch of other stuff. But, more alarmingly, next to the plastic tub, I could see the body of Rory Carr, face down in the sand.

  His ghost turned to me. “It’s got me totally flummoxed why I can’t, for the life of me, open the tub.”

  My eyes widened. Rory Carr didn’t know he was dead. Slightly more horrifying was that I’d been out for a surfing lesson with a ghost. I could have drowned!

  “Er. You feeling okay, Rory?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. That cut on your chin is really bleeding.” His eyes wandered from my chin down to my chest, and at first, I thought he was perving, but a quick glance told me that wasn’t the case. The blood had trailed down my neck and was soaking into my hibiscus patterned surf shirt.

  “Let me get that first-aid kit,” I muttered, hoping the blood wouldn’t stain. The surf shirt was new. I’d bought it especially for the trip. After unclipping the lid on the tub, I opened the first-aid kit and pressed a wad of gauze to my chin. It stung. A lot.

  The blood soaked through the gauze, and Rory got all up in my business, peering at the cut, and that’s when I felt it. The icy chill now he was near. I cursed myself for not noticing before. But then, how could I? I mean, he’d been surfing. He’d had a surfboard with him. Ghosts, in my experience, did not take corporeal objects with them into the afterlife. This was new.

  “I think you might need stitches,” he said, turning to the first-aid kit to grab more gauze. Only, of course, he couldn’t. His hand passed right through the red box. “What is with that?” he muttered.

  Grabbing more gauze and pressing it to my face, I touched Rory’s arm, quickly snatching my hand away at the icy blast. “Rory. Haven’t you noticed?”

  “Noticed what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

  I pointed to his body. His dead body. “That.”

  He followed the direction of my finger and froze. It was as if he’d blocked it out, had refused to believe what his eyes must indeed have been telling him.

  He audibly swallowed. “Is that… me?”

  I nodded. “I’m afraid you’re dead, Rory.”

  Chapter Three

  Death—and rejection—rolled off Rory like water off a duck’s back. We walked side by side up to the resort, and all the while, Rory flirted as if nothing of consequence had just occurred farther down the beach.

  “You don’t seem concerned that you’re dead.”

  “Why be bothered?” he drawled. “There’s nothing I can do about it. But walking with a pretty lady on the beach? That’s something I can get behind.”

  I rolled my eyes. I’d hardly classify myself as a pretty lady, not with blood dribbling down my chin. Rory’s priorities were definitely off. Instead of trying to hit on me, he should be worrying about how he died. He was a young man. Fit and healthy. I’d find it surprising if he’d died of natural causes. Which meant Rory Carr was most likely murdered. My mind spun with possibilities.

  Rory cut into my thoughts. “Aside from being gorgeous, what do you do for a living, Audrey?”

  I barked out a laugh at his outrageous flirting. “I’m a private investigator,” I told him. “I run my own business.”

  “Mmmm,” he drawled. “Powerful woman bosses excite me.”

  “Not sure I needed to know that, Rory, but thank you. Now seems like a good time to mention my boyfriend is a detective—”

  “Ah, but he’s not here with you now!” Rory declared as if it were some sort of divine revelation.

  “He’s scuba diving.” I jerked my thumb back toward the dive hut and surf stand. “He shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “He should know better than to let you roam around by yourself. A pretty girl like you could wind up in all sorts of…trouble.”

  Like smacking yourself in the face with your own surfboard? “Yeah, you’re laying it on a bit thick now, Rory. Most woman bosses don’t take kindly to men telling us we shouldn’t roam around by ourselves. We are human beings, not pieces of meat for men to ogle. Plus, it may come as a surprise, but we women? We’ve got brains of our own. We don’t need a man to tell us what to do.”

  “I’ve offended you, and I apologize.” He executed a little bow curtsey type maneuver as he kept pace beside me. “I just find your beauty—well, to be honest—breathtaking.”

  I stopped and turned to him. “Here’s the thing, Rory. I need you to quit with the flirting. It’s making me uncomfortable. Also, you’re a ghost. And as far as I’m aware, only I can see you. Or hear you. So, to avoid looking like a total nutjob, I’m not going to be able to carry on a conversation with you once we reach the resort. Maybe you could focus your energies on working out who would want to kill you?”

  “Kill me? Why, no one! Everyone loves me.”

  My eyes widened. Was he delusional as well as egotistical? “Clearly not, Rory. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Did you have a medical condition?”

  “Nope, fit as a fiddle.” He rapped his knuckles against his chest.

  “So, there’s no reason for you to drop down dead?”

  “None whatsoever.” He actually sounded cheerful, as if it were a good thing.

  We approached the resort, a sweeping concrete staircase curved in an arc across the rear of the building bridging the expanse from sand to five-star resort. Climbing the stairs, I attracted attention with my blood-stained surf shirt and soggy gauze pressed to my chin. A headache was starting to throb, along with my jaw. I may not have lost any teeth, but I was pretty sure I’d rattled a few loose.

  “Remember. I can’t t
alk to you in front of other people, okay?” I muttered out the side of my mouth. I needn’t have worried. Rory immediately abandoned me upon seeing a group of bikini-clad women sashaying through the foyer.

  “Oh my goodness, you’re hurt!” A woman wearing one of the resort's polo shirt uniforms hurried to my side. Placing an arm around my shoulders, she guided me across the foyer. “Let’s get you to medical. What happened?”

  “Hit in the face with a surfboard,” I said. “But listen, we have bigger problems.”

  “Nonsense. Let’s get you seen to. That looks nasty.”

  “No, seriously. Your surfing instructor? He’s dead. I just found him behind the surf stand.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. “What? Rory?”

  I nodded. “You need to call the police. Does the island even have police?”

  Because we’d stopped in the middle of the foyer and I was dripping blood, we’d attracted quite the crowd. I recognized Lauren and David Walsh, who I’d met at breakfast. The couple was celebrating their twentieth anniversary with a romantic second honeymoon.

  “Oh my goodness, Audrey, are you okay?” Lauren approached, face full of concern.

  “I’m fine. Just a scratch.” I glanced at the woman who’d been taking me to medical, the one who was now looking stunned. Her name tag said Tana. “Maybe you should get the manager?” I suggested.

  “Yes. Right. Of course.” She hurried off, my injury forgotten, but then I couldn’t blame her. The death of a work colleague trumped my cut chin.

  “What happened?” Lauren asked, fussing over me.

  “Run-in with a surfboard,” I explained, waving away the concern. “It’s just a scratch. It probably looks worse than it is.”

  I watched Tana at the reception desk gesture toward me and then the beach. The receptionist was immediately on the phone and simultaneously typing into her computer. Moments later, a middle-aged man approached wearing a white polo shirt with the resort's logo.

  “Hey there.” His smile was warm. “I’m Seth Turner. I’m one of the medics at Wild Haven Lagoon Resort. Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll get you fixed up?”

  “Sounds good,” I muttered. My chin was no longer numb. In fact, my whole jaw was starting to throb.

  “Take care,” Lauren called after me. I waved without looking back.

  “Are you a doctor?” I asked Seth, following him to a suite of rooms behind reception.

  “No. I’m an advanced care paramedic. I can handle most things that crop up at the resort, but if it's anything requiring a doctor, then we’d either arrange transport to the doctor's clinic or have him drop by here.”

  “Right. How long have you worked here?”

  He ignored my question and indicated I should sit on the gurney. I did, watching as he pulled a trolley over and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “Let’s take a look at the damage, hmm?”

  I dropped my hand from where it had been holding the soaked gauze to my face and winced as he slowly peeled it away. “I’ve been here about eighteen months now,” he finally answered, poking at my chin. “Coral?”

  “Audrey.” I corrected.

  He chuckled. “No, did you do this on coral?”

  Oh! “Surfboard,” I clarified, feeling myself blush.

  “Uh-huh. I think what you’ve done here is actually pushed your teeth through the skin.”

  I blinked. I’d bitten myself? “Say what now?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, it looks like the force of the blow has pushed your top two teeth through the skin. And your bottom teeth…” He pulled my lower lip out and peered in my mouth, blotting with more gauze. “Ah, good. Your bottom teeth haven’t done too much damage. A small cut. For a minute, I’d thought you’d bitten all the way through.”

  “Well, that sounds horrible.”

  He smiled and patted my shoulder. “Actually, despite all the blood, it’s not that bad. I don’t even think I need to suture it. I’m pretty sure Steri-Strips will hold—just try not to get them wet.”

  I was a fan of not having stitches. “Sounds great. I guess I can deal with not getting them wet.”

  He busied himself at the sink. “I’ll put a waterproof dressing over them, and if they do get wet, just come on back here, and I’ll re-dress them for you. Won’t be much fun on your vacation if you can’t go swimming.”

  “Let’s just say I’m not in a hurry to go surfing again.”

  “First time?”

  “Yup. Bit off more than I could chew.” I laughed at my own pun.

  “You’re not the first rookie surfer who’s come afoul of their board,” he said conversationally as he cleaned my chin. “And you won’t be the last. Although we don’t get a lot of cuts from surfboards, more bruises and soft tissue injuries.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t talk,” he ordered, concentrating on taping my chin back together. “Most cuts are due to the reef.”

  “Mhmm?”

  “Yeah, mostly tourists who don’t realize how shallow it gets over the reef when the tide is out. And coral is sharp.”

  Ahhh, now it made sense when he’d said coral, and I thought he was asking if it was my name.

  After he’d finished dressing my chin, Seth examined my neck and shoulders. “Any pain here?” he pressed at the top of my neck, where my skull met my spine. I winced.

  “A little.”

  “The impact of the board has snapped your head back. Like whiplash,” he explained. “You may feel a bit stiff and sore for a few days.”

  He snapped off his gloves, tossed them in the trash, then rummaged in a cupboard before returning with a box of pain killers. “Take two of these every six hours.” The phone on his desk rang, and he held up his finger, indicating I should wait, then answered it.

  Watching his face, I suspected the call was about Rory Carr's death.

  “Right. Will do.” He hung up. “You found Rory?” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me in what I could only describe as a suspicious manner. Surely, he didn’t think I’d killed the man.

  “I did. I’d come ashore after nailing myself with my surfboard and was searching for a first-aid kit,” I explained.

  “So, you went out surfing, alone? I thought you said you were a first-timer?”

  Crapadoodle. I could hardly say I’d had my first surfing lesson with a ghost. “First time here. I’ve had a surfing lesson before.” The lie flew from my lips. “Pretty sure I’m done with surfing now,” I added, gingerly touching my face.

  “That was the resort manager, Reneé Crevier. She’s asked that you not leave the resort. The police will need to speak with you.”

  I inclined my head. “Of course.”

  Chapter Four

  “Babe, are you okay? What happened?” Galloway came tearing into the dining room where I was nursing a much-needed coffee half an hour later. I was still in my blood-stained surf shirt, but the painkillers had subdued the ache in my chin and jaw.

  “This,” I pointed at my chin, “is a surfing accident. But I’m being kept here because I found the body of Rory Carr this morning. The resort's surfing instructor,” I added, just in case Galloway didn’t remember who Rory was. Although, given Rory’s personality, he was pretty memorable.

  Galloway knelt, eyes running over me for further signs of injury. Aside from the cut on my chin and the bruise along my jaw, I was fine. He exhaled then dropped a kiss on my lips, gently cupping my face in his hands.

  Closing my eyes, I leaned into him. I had a terrible feeling. Not about Galloway’s kiss! His kiss was warmth, and comfort, and home. He made me feel safe. But the suspicious glances the staff had been throwing my way? The way they’d kept me isolated in the dining room, unable to leave, yet no-one had spoken to me? I had a sinking feeling I was a suspect.

  “Tell me what happened.” Galloway eased out of the embrace. Dragging up a chair, he sat so close our knees touched.

  I sighed. “This will sound stupid.”

  “Try me.” />
  “I went for my surfing lesson this morning with Rory. Only it wasn’t with Rory exactly.”

  “Who was it with?”

  “His ghost. Only I didn’t realize it was his ghost! He had a surfboard. He came out into the ocean with me and was riding waves with me. I’ve never had a ghost do anything like that before. It wasn’t until I got dumped and my surfboard hit me in the face that we came to shore, and that’s when I found him. Well… his body.”

  Galloway mulled over my words. “And I take it Rory didn’t know he was dead either?”

  I shook my head. It had been the same when my best friend Ben had died. Neither of us had known until I realized he didn’t have a shadow and his footsteps made no sound. That hadn’t been a fun day either.

  I leaned forward. “This is going to look bad for me,” I hissed. “I was out there, apparently surfing on my own. A novice who hasn’t surfed before. I’ve already lied to the medic—told him I’d had lessons somewhere else.”

  “It’ll be fine. We both know you didn’t do this. Come on, let’s go see what’s happening. They’ve got no authority to hold you here.” He held out his hand, and I slipped mine into it, already feeling better now that he was here.

  No one stopped us when we left the dining room. We approached the reception desk where Galloway asked to see the manager.

  “She’s over there.” The receptionist pointed to a group of people gathered outside the door of Yasmin’s, a boutique fashion store in the hotel's lobby.

  We crossed the foyer, and as we approached, heads swiveled, and the conversation hushed.

  “I’m after the manager,” Galloway said, voice ringing with authority. I shivered in delight. I loved it when he put his cop voice on.

  “Oui. That is me. How can I help you?” A woman with an adorable French accent and dressed in a navy pencil skirt with a matching blazer stepped forward. Her dark hair was pulled up into a bun, and black-framed glasses perched on her nose. Her skin, like that of most people I’d seen so far on the island, was beautifully tanned. And despite wearing a button-down and a jacket, she wasn’t sweating. Unlike me. Despite wearing my swimsuit and surf shirt, I could still feel a bead of sweat make its way down my spine.