Murder in Real Time Read online

  Claire pulled her feet onto the couch beside her, shuffling posters and campaign buttons as she moved. “If you eat another cupcake, you might need to reconsider the marathon.”

  I sucked icing off my finger and put the Sophisticake down.

  Adrian rubbed his palms together. “Let’s investigate together. I’ve got a head start on you two, but you’re smart girls. You can catch up.”

  Claire bounced a Vote for Davis button off his chest. “Don’t call us girls. We are women, and you’re darn skippy we’re smart. Who do you think you’re talking to? Your overconfidence is unappealing, you know that? You’re a hottie until you talk.”

  Adrian beamed.

  I moved closer to my friends before anything else was thrown. “Sweetie, that was an insult.”

  Adrian kept his eyes on Claire. “She said I’m sexy and confident. That’s two compliments.”

  Claire guffawed. “Fine. I’m in. I bet I can figure out what happened to Rick and Anna before you.”

  “Deal. I know you have an advantage with Fargas, but I like a challenge.” He waved off the point in her favor.

  “You’re obnoxious.” Claire stood, hands braced over her hips. “How does Fargas give me an advantage in that pinhead of yours?” Her coy smile said she had an idea.

  I’d like those details, but this wasn’t the time.

  Adrian tipped his head back and laughed. He walked to her side and wrapped an arm over her shoulders. “How about we work this case together.” He held a fist in front of her, waiting for a bump.

  She bumped her tiny fist against his giant one and looked at me. “Get over here, Patience. We know The Watchers, and you know how people think. Let’s find out what really happened last night.”

  I took a baby step back. “No thanks.” I had a horrendous track record where my curiosity was concerned. In other words, I found dead bodies and got abducted and or shot at.

  I posed an alternative. “What if you meet back here to exchange information and bounce ideas off one another after work?” A double win for me. I didn’t want to be alone so soon after a double homicide, and Sebastian had a history of working all-nighters. Plus, I was a little curious what they’d uncover.

  Claire dropped back onto the couch and patted the space beside her for Adrian. “I took the rest of the week off. I have until Monday to dig up the details. Let’s make a plan.”

  Adrian swung his keys around a pointed finger. “I have a cot at my house. I’ll go get it first. You can take the couch and I’ll sleep on the cot in my office downstairs. You two want to come with me? We can set up our theories on the way.”

  “Sure.” Claire and I agreed.

  I opened the door. “You know a real investigator isn’t supposed to have a theory. They’re supposed to follow the clues. Theories can bias the investigation.”

  “No. You’re supposed to make a hypothesis and try to prove it.”

  Claire grabbed her clutch and walked outside. “You’re thinking of scientists, except they try to disprove the theory.”

  Adrian passed her on the steps. “Why would I want to prove myself wrong?”

  I locked up behind them.

  “Because you can’t prove a theory. You can only support it.” Claire crossed the short lawn at the bottom of my steps. “It’s science.”

  Adrian caught up to her. “That’s dumb. That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “I know. That’s what I said.”

  I paced my strides behind them, enjoying the beautiful fall day and the joy of amazing friends. The horn honking had died to a minimum. Most cars were parked, their owners probably having given up on using the streets. Why wait at the town’s only stoplight when there were plenty of bicycles and feet for transportation. If I concentrated, I could still smell brine and salt in the air. Some things were unshakable.

  The walk to Adrian’s house was short, like the walk to anything in Chincoteague. He lived in an outrageously oversized house on the marsh, with seven bedrooms, two fireplaces and a fancy marble shower I dreamed about. His family owned and operated one of the largest frozen seafood operations in the country. Adrian was the only heir, but that didn’t stop him from working hard and choosing a simple life on Chincoteague when he could easily live anywhere.

  Before Adrian’s big wraparound porch came into view, a cluster of men in shirts with The Watchers logo stopped us in the street. They were carrying boom mics and cameras.

  A guy no taller than Claire, sporting a blue Mohawk, stopped us. “Sorry. We’re filming. You can take the alley to the next main road and head back to Front Street that way.”

  Adrian pulled out his identification. “I’m Adrian Davis. This is my house. We won’t be long. I just need to grab something from storage.”

  I leaned against Claire to whisper, “When did all these workers get here?”

  The little guy radioed in our request to enter, and we waited in awkward silence for approval to disturb “the set” with our civilian presence. The walkie-talkie chirped on his hip a few minutes later.

  A voice buzzed across the line. “All clear. Send him in, Noah.”

  I’d always liked the name Noah, but I’d never imagined meeting a Noah with a blue Mohawk.

  We followed Adrian to his front door and slipped inside. A woman with a clipboard shushed us in the entranceway. In the next room, a pair of women in black cargo pants and matching shirts crept across the carpet with their backs to an enormous green screen. Their images projected onto several monitors behind the camera, where a man sat, rubbing his mustache, in a chair marked Short. On the monitors, the women weren’t inching through Adrian’s living room. They were in a dark cave with black glistening walls, where water dripped from the ceiling. I shivered and willed the cupcakes to stay put. My last visit to a cave hadn’t gone well.

  “I don’t understand.” Why were they taping? It was as if no one cared about Rick and Anna. Not a single face showed concern for their deaths.

  A round of hushes rose behind me.

  One of the women on screen stopped to don a pair of night vision goggles and recount the island legend of the ghost pony. The ghost pony was a children’s story meant to endear local children to the wild ponies roaming our island, but it had backfired on me. It terrified me. I was thirty and the ponies still scared the bejesus out of me.

  I turned to the clipboard lady. “Why would the ghost pony be in a cave?”

  “Shh.”

  “Isn’t the point of being a wild pony that you can run free?”

  Several people turned our way. “Shh.”

  On the monitors, a wavy image appeared behind the women. The waves morphed into a translucent white pony, and the hair on my arms stood on end.

  I moved to Adrian’s kitchen for a drink of water. That green screen was creepy. I wasn’t waiting to see what other horrors it conjured. My throat thickened and heat rose up my neck. My phone rang and I jumped. Dumb ghost pony.

  The screen announced the caller—Camo, my code name for Sebastian. “Hello?” I fanned my face. The bureau called him a chameleon because he could blend in anywhere. He’d closed more undercover cases than anyone else while I worked there.

  “Hey, boss. Everything okay?” His familiar tenor sent goose bumps over my arms.

  “Yeah. We’re at Adrian’s. Can you believe The Watchers are still here? The house is full, and they’re taping a scene in the living room. It’s disgusting. How can they just pretend those deaths never happened?”

  “I don’t know. Money, probably.”

  “Sick.” Money motivated everything.

  “Are you going to be okay if I’m out late? You sound upset. If Adrian tries to comfort you, don’t let him. That’s a politician move.”

  I smiled. “Don’t worry. Claire took the rest of the week off work to stay with
me. She’s dying to know what happened.” I cringed. Terrible word choice. “Adrian brought us here to get a cot. Claire’s going to sleep on the couch. He’s going to stay downstairs in his office.”

  “My day just got brighter.”

  “Were you having a bad day?”

  He groaned. “I haven’t slept. We can’t get a finger on Jimmy the Judge’s whereabouts. We receive rumors and anonymous tips, but nothing pans out.” Fatigue saturated his words. “The longer he’s out of our sight, the more likely he won’t be back anytime soon. When he does come around again, it’ll be on his terms and not in cuffs like he deserves. It’s like trying to catch vapor.”

  “Come to my place tonight. Get some rest. Start again tomorrow with a fresh mind. He won’t know you took the night off.”

  “I can’t take that chance. Listen, I’ve got to go. Hang in there. Tell Claire I’m glad she chased the politician off your couch.”

  “Sebastian.” I pulled in a breath to settle my thoughts. “Sebastian?” I turned the phone in my hand for a look at the screen. Disconnected. He was gone.

  I stuffed the phone into my pocket and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. Adrian’s sink was perfect, like the rest of the house. Shiny, new and cleaner than a real Hollywood set. I tested the water temperature with a finger and shoved my glass under the faucet. Outside the window, a line of people laughed and kicked a beanbag. They wore ghost hunter shirts and giant crucifixes. Most had a line of strange-looking apparatuses hooked to oversized tool belts.

  A voice bellowed, “Cut,” from the living room.

  Cast and crew moved down the hall toward me. The rolling cloud of black shirts filled every inch of space around Adrian’s kitchen island. They flipped open a stack of pizza boxes on the counter and hauled slices of leftovers to their lips. Claire and Adrian rode on the heels of the man from the chair marked Short.

  “How many episodes will you tape? Claire asked. “Will you stay for Halloween?”

  The man chuckled, basking in the attention. “Four or five episodes, I think, and two specials. The Halloween party will be the event of the century. We’ll go out with a bang for the midseason break.”

  I set the glass in Adrian’s sink and met the trio near the archway to the dining room.

  “Patience Price.” I extended a hand.

  He wrapped his clammy fingers around mine and pumped gently. “Jesse Short. I’m the show’s producer.”

  I frowned. “You’re staying here after what happened? Why aren’t you packing up and going home? What about the funerals? Doesn’t the cast need time to mourn? Two of their friends died last night.”

  Jesse placed a palm over my shoulder and tilted his head like a puppy trying to understand humanspeak. “Honey, this is show business. The show always goes on. Besides, Rick would want it this way. He taped every aspect of his life. That man lived on camera. This is for him.” He lifted one hand into the air. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to run lines with Elisa.” He ducked through the archway and took the back stairs to the second floor.

  Excitement rolled off Claire in waves. “I can’t believe we’re on set at The Watchers.” She smacked Adrian’s chest. “The Watchers live at your house.”

  Adrian watched me. “You don’t look well. Was it the ghost pony?”

  My gaze snapped to his. “No.”

  Claire edged closer. “Is it Sebastian? Everything okay with him?”

  I leaned against the wall, processing. “He’s trying to find Jimmy the Judge. He didn’t sound like he planned on coming back tonight.”

  Claire rubbed my back. She worried about him too. Jimmy the Judge was notorious and landing on his hit list usually ended with a funeral.

  Adrian snaked an arm around my waist. “I know what will cheer you up. Let’s go see the Halloween decorations in the trailer outside.”

  “Okay.” We moved through the rooms together, with Claire leading the way. I didn’t care about Halloween decorations, but I needed a distraction. Whatever was in the trailer, it was nowhere near as scary as the thought of Jimmy the Judge finding Sebastian.

  Chapter Six

  Adrian and Claire borrowed a black logoed golf cart from a line of The Watchers vehicles in his drive. Claire drove and Adrian did his best to keep the folded cot from bouncing off. Even folded, the cot was much too large for the little cart. Claire honked on her way past. I waved them off and walked home, taking side streets to avoid most of the food trucks and ghost hunters. From the corner of Colt Court, a banner became visible over Main Street, only a few blocks away. Another black canvas with The Watchers logo and a pair of giant creepy white eyes. The eyes were everywhere. Something moved in my periphery, and I looked over my shoulder. A man across the street turned his head away when our eyes met. As if on cue, cool wind whipped through my shirt and I picked up the pace. Living on an island had never seemed so much like living in a fishbowl.

  I darted across the street, eager for anonymity in the crowd. Pretty fall displays adorned the storefronts on Main Street. Shop owners had anchored Vote for Davis and Vote for Thompson signs in scarecrow hands and hay bales outside their windows. Giant pumpkins and cornstalks gave our island a fun Midwestern touch, despite waves breaking in the distance. I examined the signs. The election was ten days away, and most islanders were keeping their votes a secret. No one dared display one sign without the other. No favoritism among family. Except me. I displayed my Vote for Davis poster in every window and wore my button anytime I suspected I might run into his competition, or the competition’s fiancé, my high school nemesis, Karen Holsten. Karen and I were both planning big victory dinners for our candidates. Unfortunately, Karen’s dinner would be a consolation dinner but, in case that made her sad, I had invitations to Adrian’s dinner printed for her and her fiancé.

  If Adrian somehow lost to Beau Thompson, Karen would gloat for eternity, so that couldn’t happen. I rolled my shoulders and stretched my neck from side to side. I had campaign stress, too.

  “Patience.”

  I turned in search of the voice.

  “Patience Price.”

  Adrian’s mom shoved her way through a cluster of people carrying shopping bags and food truck food. She waved her hands overhead and puffed clouds of steam into the chilled autumn air. Whoa. I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them. Her hair had tripled in length since last week, and she’d pinned and sprayed the lot of it into a giant pageant-perfect bouffant. The wigs from Hairspray came to mind. Instead of her usual too-tight tops and skinny jeans, she’d squeezed her curvy woman-sized figure into a tiny junior-sized sequin minidress. Her ankles wobbled with every hurried step on four-inch heels.

  “Hi, Mrs. Davis.” I ran through a mental list of what she could possibly want. Historically, she only sought me out to yell at me, and she’d never looked so happy to see me. Also, why on earth was she blond?

  “How are you, sweetie?”

  Uh-oh. Sweetie?

  “Good.” I dragged the word out a few syllables, still calculating her angle.

  “I’m so glad I found you. Did Adrian have a chance to talk with you?” Her eager eyes widened, shoving the tips of giant false eyelashes into her eyebrows.

  “No. What’s going on? Why are you dressed for prom?”

  She swatted my arm. “Silly. I had an Extreme Island Makeover.” She placed her hands on her waist and turned on her heels, giving me a three-sixty view.

  “Pretty.” I scanned the street for help. A hundred faces, and I didn’t recognize a single one.

  “It’s my new business. Extreme Island Makeovers.” She moved her palms from shoulders to hips, outlining her body. Her congenial smile vanished. “Well?”

  “Um. Cool?” She wanted something from me. I just hadn’t put my finger on it yet. I shifted my weight foot to foot.

  She huffed. “Adrian was
supposed to talk to you for me. I want you to be the face of my business. You’re still young. Well, you look young and everyone loves you. If you get an Extreme Island Makeover, people will be lining up for theirs. You’re a marketer’s dream. With the island princess as the face of my business, I can’t lose.”

  I took a big step sideways, clearing a path for my escape. “I don’t know, Mrs. Davis. I’m not a princess, and I’m not sure I’m an Extreme Island Makeover kind of girl. I’ve got the whole girl-next-door thing working for me. I like cute shoes and casual wear. I can’t...” I motioned to her dress, which reflected rainbows of sunlight onto the sidewalk. “I’m...” Sweating. I tugged my shirt collar. Did it get hot outside? “I’m not sure that look is something I can pull off.”

  “What if I offer packages? I could have a girl-next-door option.”

  I had a strong feeling all options would come with a spray tan, too much rouge and a Bumpit. “How about I promise to think about it, have that talk with Adrian and get back with you?” Never-ever.

  “Yes! Thank you so much. You won’t regret it.” She put her arms in the air and shouted. “The new face of Extreme Island Makeovers!”

  I shook my head behind her back and moved into the throngs of sidewalk shoppers. Good grief. I hid in the nook between the bay windows at Half Baked and texted Adrian a hate mail.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  “Gah!” I spun around, clutching the phone to my body. My friend and sometime client, Missy, waved cheerfully through the window. She shoved the door open and pulled me inside. “What’re you doing out there? You look like you’re hiding.”

  “I was.”

  She giggled and pulled out a chair at the nearest table. “Sit. Can I get you something?”

  “Water.” My throat was thick and dry from the scary sequined encounter. Her offer was generous, but also an Extreme Island Nightmare. She hated me already, so I shouldn’t care if she finally had a reason to be unhappy with me, but I was torn. If I had a way to please her for the first time in my life, I kind of wanted it.