Murder in Real Time Read online

  Chapter Eleven

  My apartment seemed smaller than when I’d left to visit Island Comforts with Sebastian. Five adults filled the limited space in my living room-kitchen combo area. I pulled a blanket around my shoulders and curled in on my cup of tea, both feet tucked beneath me on the couch. Adrian and Sebastian rehashed the moments prior to the shooting with quiet vigor. Adrian hadn’t seen the shooter. He’d chased a man dressed in all black, who had a sixty-second lead on him. The guy vanished into a crowd of others dressed in black. Sebastian was increasingly dissatisfied with this explanation.

  Fargas crouched before me with a notepad. “Anything at all you can remember about the man’s face, or perhaps his size compared to others near him?”

  I shook my head. The right thing to think about would be identifying the shooter. As usual, my brain ran in another direction. “Someone shot Rick and Anna this week. Someone shot at Adrian and me tonight. That’s not a coincidence.”

  Claire eased onto the couch beside me with a fresh cup of tea. “Maybe the shooter saw the article about you on HollywoodWatchers.com. The piece said you solve local crimes. What if the killer noticed you going back to the scene of his crime and wanted to squash that possibility?”

  Maybe. I ran my thumb over beads of condensation on the rim of my cup. “What if Rick and Anna were accidental murders?”

  The room stilled. Tea, honey and anxiety scented the air. I inhaled steam from my cup, trying to warm my fear-chilled heart. I peeked at Sebastian. “It was your room and it was dark.”

  Fargas dropped his notepad on the coffee table and rubbed his face with both palms. “She’s got a point. You could’ve been the intended target as easily as Rick or Anna.”

  Sebastian’s naturally olive skin turned a sick shade of green. His brows crowded together and his jaw twitched.

  Adrian glared at him.

  Sebastian paced the silent room. He widened his stance and clenched his teeth.

  Claire cleared her throat. “I think there are lots of interesting possibilities for this, but a wise woman told me not to make up theories. She said follow the evidence. So, before we start pointing fingers, let’s stay focused on what we know.” She rubbed my knee.

  Fargas smiled. “Well said. We also don’t know it was the same shooter. We’ll compare the bullets in the truck to the bullets from the B&B. Forensics should have that information back tonight. With this many people on the island, two separate culprits isn’t unthinkable. Until we know otherwise, these are still two unrelated shootings.”

  Adrian piped up, rubbing the scruff on his cheeks. “The ghost hunters are hyping our local legends to boost validity for their work, and The Watchers are capitalizing on the folklore for their Halloween special. Think about it. No prints in the room. No killer in the video.” He paused. “Maybe there’s something to our legends.”

  Fargas stood and stretched his legs. “I’d like to know where the shots came from. The room is small and no one else is on camera.”

  Adrian’s voice dropped half an octave. “Our Island Comforts is really haunted?”

  “Oh.” I sloughed the blanket from my shoulders and set the cup on the table. Adrenaline spiked in my system. “I know what happened.”

  Claire tugged my wrist. “Honey, you’ve had an awful night.”

  I wiggled free of her grip and took Adrian by the hand. Sebastian’s mouth dropped open and snapped into a firm line. I looked pointedly at Adrian, willing him to understand and give me a sign of his approval somehow. I needed to share our secret. “I know why the killer didn’t show up on camera. I think Adrian’s right. Island Comforts might be haunted. Like my place.” I emphasized the final three words.

  Adrian’s stormy blue eyes widened a fraction. He looked over my head, presumably to Sebastian and back to me. “He doesn’t know?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “You didn’t show him?”

  I averted my gaze. “It never came up.”

  Sebastian took a step toward me. “What never came up? What’s he talking about?”

  Adrian smiled. “Come on, big guy.” He motioned to Sebastian and turned for my room.

  Fargas and Claire followed Sebastian. I brought up the rear.

  Once we were all crammed in my too-small room, Adrian opened my closet, ducked under the clothes and slid the panel away.

  Sebastian pressed his hands over his hips and scowled. “You have a secret passage to her bedroom?”

  “Yes.” Adrian’s wide smile revealed his dimple.

  Sebastian held a palm out to Claire and Fargas. He swung his hand toward the closet and Adrian, then to me. His expression darkened. I could only imagine the thoughts running through his head.

  Fargas was motionless. Claire’s smirk was priceless.

  I took Sebastian’s hand, but he didn’t grip mine back. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s not what it seems, but it is the reason so many people think my place is haunted. This house was probably built around the same time as Mrs. Moore’s. Maybe she had a second staircase, too, and it was covered over.”

  Fargas pressed his sheriff hat onto his head. “I’ll go look.” He took a few steps before turning back. “Good work, Patience.”

  I bit my lip. If there was a covered staircase, hope of finding the killer multiplied. The likelihood of finding evidence in an old staircase where the killer had hidden was much better than in a room he never entered. Detectives and forensics could wrap up a murder investigation with a single print or a few lost fibers.

  Sebastian followed Fargas into my living room. “I’ll ride along.”

  Fargas stilled at the front door. “You’ve got shotgun. Your Range Rover’s being towed in as an official crime scene.”

  Sebastian swore under his breath and crossed the room to me in three long strides. I braced for something bad. A scolding? Dirty looks? A lecture? He backed me against the wall and stared down the ten inches of distance between us. Heat radiated off his body. His dark eyes burned with emotion.

  “You could’ve been killed,” he whispered into my hair. “I left you alone for five minutes and someone nearly killed you.”

  I stretched onto my toes and kissed his chin. “You had nothing to do with that.”

  “What if I had everything to do with that? You said what I’ve been thinking. That was my room. My truck. You could be in danger because of me.” His jaw ticked.

  I rested shaky fingertips on his chest and squared my shoulders. “I’m fine. You can’t follow me everywhere, worrying about Jimmy the Judge’s vendetta. If you start that crap, I’ll kill you myself.”

  His lips twitched, but the smile didn’t stick. “Tell your marshmallow I forgive him. Protecting you is a big job. I should’ve started him smaller.”

  “It wasn’t his fault. He chased the gunman, for crying out loud.”

  Adrian and Claire wandered past us, looking uncomfortable.

  Sebastian pressed a kiss against my forehead and straightened to his full height. “Next time, Claire’s in charge of you.”

  Claire held up her hand for a high five. “That’s right. Finally some recognition. Nothing gets past this girl.”

  Sebastian tapped her hand and followed Fargas out the door.

  I went after him but stopped on my stoop. Heat scorched my face. “I don’t need a babysitter,” I called down the steps. “I’m the only one in charge of me. I’m a grown, educated woman who does not need to be looked after.”

  Sebastian smiled as they drove away.

  I locked the front door and went to the kitchen. I’d been shot at an hour ago. Tea didn’t cover that. “Where are the comfort foods?” I opened bags and boxes of whole grain rolls and wheat flatbread. My refrigerator was stocked with Greek yogurt, low-fat string cheese and produce.

  Claire t
urned on the television. “If you won’t run the marathon with me, I thought you could still get healthy by eating better.”

  I pressed a finger against my eyelid to stop the twitch. “What happened to the Sophisticakes and fried butter?”

  She pretended to gag. “They’re where they belong.”

  I flipped the lid on my trash. Empty.

  “Did you just look in the trash for your junk food? What if you’d found some? Was there a plan in place or were you just curious?”

  I blinked and pressed my eyelid hard enough to form fresh spots in my vision.

  Adrian opened his laptop bag and pulled out a three-pack of cookies. “Mrs. Freeman gave me these when I visited her yesterday.”

  I accepted the cookies and snuggled on the couch under my blanket. “Thanks.”

  Claire flipped the television channel to coverage of the memorial and our shooting. “They always interview the wild-looking ones.”

  The man on camera had a tall green Mohawk and better smoky eyes than Maybelline and I had ever managed. His big blues were slightly alien, probably from contacts. He had a gadget belt around his waist and pointed into the air. “I saw the whole thing from that tree. The gunman appeared out of nowhere, struck a shooter’s pose and bang, bang, bang!” The witness posed for the camera.

  I tugged the blanket lower on my shoulders. I didn’t see the shooter’s face, but I’d never forget his emergence through a line of identically dressed people and then the pose.

  Adrian wiggled his fingers in a gimme sign. “You think I could pull off a Mohawk?”

  I broke one cookie in half for him. “No.”

  He shoved the cookie in his mouth. “I think I’ll advertise my final election rally as a costume party in honor of The Watchers’ filming and all the ghost hunters around here. I need a high turnout to catch voters’ attention. Plus, who doesn’t like to dress up?”

  “I’ll go.” Claire kicked her shoes off and rotated her ankles. “I’m here all week. Where are you having it?”

  “Outside Patience’s new office building. There’s a nice open area there by Misty Park.”

  I would support Adrian’s campaign no matter what level of crazy happened on the island. “Me, too, but no costume.”

  Adrian frowned. “What I heard was that you’re both coming and you’ll be in amazing costumes I’ll never forget.”

  I looked at Claire. “How did he hear that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s right about me.”

  My phone vibrated on the table and I grabbed it. “Hello?”

  Sebastian’s voice rang through the speaker. “We’re here. You were right. There’s a covered staircase to this room. Good work, boss.”

  I disconnected and looked at my smiling friends. Now we just needed to figure out who else knew those stairs existed.

  Chapter Twelve

  I rubbed sleep from my eyes and peered at the clock on my nightstand. Six-thirty was a terrible time to wake up. Claire’s voice mingled with two others in the next room. I knew the other voices well. I grabbed my phone from under the pillow and shuffled toward my door. I stubbed my toe in the dark. Jeez.

  I squinted at my parents in the kitchen, working over a little bowl, and Claire doing calf raises in her cross trainers. “Why do you people hate sleep?”

  Claire stretched her arms overhead. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  “There’s no sunshine. It’s too early for sunshine. Is there coffee?”

  Dad poured contents from his thermos into my favorite mug and passed it over the little island to me. “I’ll make a pot. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Mom carried the bowl and a tiny roll of dried herbs into the living room. She lit the little bundle, puffed it out and waved the stream of smoke in the air.

  “Mom.” I sank onto the couch. “Stop cleansing my apartment. It’s not haunted.”

  Claire sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. “That stuff scares ghosts?”

  “No,” Mom and I answered.

  Mom’s reassuring smile irritated me. I sipped coffee and kept quiet. She could explain. If I tried, I would rant.

  Mom streamed tendrils of smoke around the room, concentrating on corners and windows. “The burning sage cleanses negativity. It’s a wonderful, holistic way to reinstate calm in our environment and bring positive energy into the home.”

  I gulped hot coffee to busy my mouth, but it didn’t work. “She burned sage in my room by the bale during high school. Everyone thought I was a pothead because the stink lingered in my clothes.”

  Mom kept moving in her methodical pattern. “We did it while you were at school so it wouldn’t bother you.”

  “You closed the door and trapped the stink. My room still smells like burnt sage. It permeated the walls.”

  Dad chuckled.

  Claire smiled. “But it worked so well.”

  I stuck out my tongue and Claire laughed.

  Dad refilled my cup from his thermos as the coffeepot chugged to life on the counter. “We brought breakfast. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, please.” I turned my focus on Claire. “Did Sebastian come back last night? Is there any new news?”

  Mom snuffed out her sage. “He’s busy today. We saw him on our way in and he borrowed the love bus. He’s worried about you. That reminds me. I can’t believe we had to hear about our only daughter getting shot from Maple Shuster.”

  “I wasn’t shot, and you hear everything from Maple Shuster. She’s omniscient.”

  “It’d be nice to get a call.” Mom lifted her flowing cotton skirt and walked into the hall to start her sage routine again on the other half of my apartment.

  Sebastian took my parents’ forty-year-old hippie bus to work? They’d bought it new before I was born and refused to let it go. The bus blew smoke at forty-five miles an hour and threatened to shake apart at fifty. Neither mattered on an island with maximum posted speeds of thirty-five, but Sebastian probably had business on the mainland, which meant highway travel.

  “That was dumb. He could’ve taken my new Prius after we pick it up today.”

  Dad carried a tray of fruit and yogurt to me. “Bon appétit.”

  Mom responded to me through the wall. “He wanted you to have the Prius. It’s no bother for us. We’ll drive the pony cart.” The pony cart was what we called my parents’ other mode of transportation. The pony cart was a lavender golf cart with plum leather seats and the insignia of their store, The Purple Pony, painted across the hood and down both sides. Shockingly, it was more appealing than the blue-and-white love bus with oversized hippie flowers.

  I positioned the breakfast tray on my lap. “Thanks, Dad.” I examined the healthy fare and resigned myself to enjoy it. I’d make a trip to Tasty Cream once I was dressed.

  The thump of my morning paper hitting the steps jolted me, jostling my tiny pile of grapes into the yogurt.

  My phone buzzed and I check my messages. Be safe. I’ll be late. Call if you need me. Don’t wait up.—Sebastian.

  Dad opened the front door with a saucer of milk. “Kitty, kitty, kitty.” He called for Freud, set the saucer on the stoop, and then returned with the daily newspaper tucked under one arm. “Let’s see what’s going on around town today.” Dad shook the paper open. “Hey, you made the front page, Peepee!”

  I dropped my fork.

  He sat beside me, and Claire crowded in behind him. “Ohhh.”

  Patience Price, an island local and the rumored face of Extreme Island Makeovers, was involved in a shooting last night at approximately nine o’clock. Price was the passenger in FBI Special Agent Sebastian Clark’s vehicle, with ex-boyfriend and current mayoral candidate Adrian Davis at the wheel. The former lovers came under fire by an unidentified shooter. The suspect was not apprehended. Las
t night’s shooting was the most recent in a series of unrelated crimes directed at Price. No one was harmed in the shooting. No statements were made available. An investigation is underway.

  “Unbelievable.” I was not the face of Extreme Island Makeovers. Reporters were my nemesis. They frequently goofed up stories, to my detriment. If Sebastian wasn’t ready to burst after driving two hours to work at fifty miles an hour, he’d be agent confetti when he saw me referred to as Adrian’s former lover on the front page of the Island Gazette. The Gazette was admittedly more island tabloid than the official Chincoteague Chronicle, but that was why everyone read it.

  Mom motioned from the hallway. Her hands fluttered, urging me to meet with her.

  “Excuse me.” I set breakfast aside and went to the hall.

  Claire took my seat and Dad spread the paper between them.

  Mom pulled me into my bathroom and shut the door. Panic strained her face. My heart rate sped at the sight. Mom was always the picture of calm. It was her thing. Even when locked in a jail cell for murder, she’d been all yoga and meditation.

  On my best day, I was still a tightly wound type A. Seeing her this way set off a dozen red flags.

  “Take this.” She pressed a weird cell phone into my palm. It was pink and too chunky for current technology. “It’s a stun gun.”

  “What?” I squeaked.

  She pressed soft fingers to my lips. “It’s a decoy. It looks like a cell phone so you have the advantage of surprise. Your dad bought it on eBay. It works.” She grimaced and shut her eyes. “Don’t ask.”

  “Mmm-kay.” I turned the little weapon over in my palm. “I don’t know what to say.”

  She shook her hands at the wrists and inhaled. “I don’t condone violence, but I support protecting my daughter who refuses to get a nice safe lifestyle. When you came home from the FBI, I thought my heart would spill over from joy. When you decided to open a counseling practice for islanders, I knew you’d be safe, plant roots and thrive.”