Murder Comes Ashore Page 9

  I ducked around the popcorn and Sebastian’s hands fell from my waist. Seeing me confront my mom probably wasn’t on the top of his to-do list. She’d acted funny all week. Maybe whatever had happened between her and Minnie was the reason. I moved faster through the press of birders and locals. The Purple Pony display twinkled in the evening light. Christmas lights outlined their stand.

  “Mom?” My voice drowned in the wake of a local barbershop quartet. Beyond my parents’ booth, Mom stood toe-to-toe with Minnie. The women moved their palms animatedly in the space between them. Mom’s head tipped back in frustration.

  Dad sat at the booth pulling quarters from kids’ ears as I passed. A tray of his famous sugar-in-tap-water sat beside him with a Free Serenity Sample sign. The crowd loved him. He smiled when he saw me.

  “Mom.” I scooted around Dad’s chair and he popped up.

  Mom stiffened. Finally she’d heard me. Minnie, the florist, inched into view and waved. She looked from me to Mom.

  “Hi, Minnie. Everything okay?” I asked.

  She scurried away without answering, her giant crocheted purse clutched to her middle.

  “Where’s Claire?” Dad arrived beside me. “I made her a shirt.”

  Oh boy. “She cancelled. Her crush from SWAT finally asked her out.”

  Sebastian laughed. I jumped. He tipped a bag of caramel corn my way. “Derek with the bald head?” He tossed a clump into his mouth, amused. “That guy’s a marshmallow. She’s too tough for him.”

  “He’s SWAT.”

  Sebastian shrugged. I lost a measure of respect for the SWAT team.

  “What do you think?” Dad fanned a little pink shirt over his belly. FBIs Do It Under Cover, it read.

  “Cute, right? You get it? Like under the covers.” Dad executed the worst stage wink in history. I wanted to point out employees from the Federal Bureau of Investigation weren’t collectively called FBIs, but the gleam in his eye said he didn’t care. I shook my head, defeated. Claire would probably put it on immediately.

  I caught Sebastian smiling between bites. My life was amusing him. Only him.

  “Mom. Why is Karen Holsten tracking me down? She said you were scaring her florist.”

  “I was not.” Mom swept past me and lowered gracefully into the folding chair at her table. She tucked her long gauze skirt against her thighs and crossed her ankles.

  “Minnie looked a little freaked. What did you say to her?” I asked. We followed Mom in a row like ducklings. Dad first. Sebastian last.

  Dad stuffed Claire’s new shirt into a gift bag and handed it to Sebastian. He held a cup of sugar water in my direction.

  I flicked my wrist, warning him away, and stepped into Mom’s line of sight. “Karen’s planning Beau’s victory dinner following the election. Minnie’s doing her flowers. Why did Karen think you were scaring her?”

  “Heaven knows.” Mom puffed air into her bangs. “It’s silly of her to think Beau can beat Adrian. She should save her money for something more realistic, like an aura cleanse or levitation lessons.”

  “Oh my goodness.” I looked exactly like my mom, but I didn’t understand her. I counted to ten, thinking of what I’d tell another daughter struggling to connect with her mother. The problem was, we didn’t have a damaged relationship. I adored her. I didn’t understand half of her motivations or her general train of thought, but we loved each other. So, whatever advice I’d give in counseling wouldn’t apply. Sometimes I wondered if she used such over-the-top craziness to change the subject. I asked about why she’d scared Minnie, and she suggested Karen take levitation lessons. Craziness. I spun on Sebastian. “Let’s go.”

  I waved an overhead goodbye to my parents and tugged Sebastian into the crowded street.

  “You’re quite the little interrogator. I think she almost cracked.” He tipped the bag of caramel corn to his mouth like a cup and shook some in.

  I refused to look at him. I didn’t need to hear I sucked at questioning people. This wasn’t new information. No one ever gave me straight answers. Maybe I was a marshmallow too.

  “Tell me about the levitation lessons.” He nudged me with his elbow.

  I laced our fingers back together and kept moving. If I focused on him holding my hand in public, my quirky parentage seemed less important. “My parents have their own drummer. You can’t indulge them.”

  Sebastian stopped short and I stumbled midstep like Thor on Missy’s leash. Sebastian pulled me in a new direction and stopped behind the mailbox outside Sophisticakes. A little cupcake display in the window made my mouth water. Bacon and banana breakfast cupcakes. The Closed sign on the door said they opened at seven. I squinted into the dark shop. Too bad they weren’t open like everyone else.

  “I saw a Sophisticakes display across the street with the couple from Half-Baked.” He steered me by my shoulders to stand in front of him. “Look.”

  I didn’t see the Half-Baked display or Sophisticakes. A few cowboys twirled women in over-the-top square dance gear around the intersection. Sheriff Doofus had set up white sawhorse barricades in the morning to stop traffic. White and pink petticoats blurred together under cones of light cast from the streetlamps. The banjos murmured and twanged under the louder screech of karaoke outside Adrian’s mom’s tanning salon.

  My mouth popped open. A man belted out the Kenny Rogers lines to Islands in the Stream. The little blonde pathologist butchered her role as Dolly in the duet. The two looked like long lost friends, clinging to one another and laughing like they’d had one too many island cocktails.

  “What do you think of that?” Sebastian whispered into my hair.

  I liked it.

  “The marine biologist and the local pathologist are chummy, yes?” His breath, sweet from caramel corn, was hot against my cheek.

  So, that was James Trent. First thing in the morning, I’d pay Mr. Trent a visit. From the looks of him, he’d sleep in later than me. Ambushes helped me get answers. Catch people by surprise and they said all kinds of things they wouldn’t with a little forethought.

  “Is the hospital pathologist like the medical examiner?” I asked, squinting through the crowd. She came to collect the cooler with the ear from the police station but didn’t speak to me. “I saw her on the beach with Doofus and his posse collecting parts.”

  “She runs the morgue. Yes. And she headed the team on the beach.”

  “Have you spoken to her yet?”

  Sebastian made a crazy face.

  Right. This wasn’t his first rodeo. Mine either. I wanted a crack at her too.

  “Enjoying the dancers?” A man in overalls and a straw hat motioned to the square dance in progress.

  “Absolutely.” I nodded enthusiastically, hoping he hadn’t overheard my conversation with Sebastian.

  “You know, I’d love your input on the choreography sometime.” His eager expression and obvious insanity warned me this was a setup for another secret counseling session. The only thing I’d ever choreographed was a pee-pee dance and that was twenty-eight years ago. Why couldn’t people admit they needed help?

  “Sure.” I dug a business card from my pocket and passed it to him in my palm when we shook hands. He tipped his hat and left.

  His spot on the sidewalk filled immediately with a woman I recognized from the local Dress Barn. “Hi, Patience.” She avoided eye contact, checking for something in the crowd. “I thought you might want to have dinner sometime.”

  “Okay.” I looked at Sebastian.

  He stood motionless beside me, blending into the crowd.

  “Maybe we can double.” She looked to Sebastian.

  He didn’t move.

  “Sure. We can set something up. Is your boyfriend here tonight?” I scanned the area around us for a guy her age without a date.

  “No. I think
he’s cheating on me. I have a habit of picking deadbeats, cheats and losers, you know? I like the bad boys, but they’re always...bad. I need you to analyze him over dinner. Let me know if I should drop him and run or hold on and enjoy the ride.” She blushed. “You know what I mean.”

  “Um.” Words stuck on my tongue. In private, I had plenty to say on this subject. Surrounded by a couple hundred people, I choked on the advice. “That’s not really what I do.” I held a card out to her.

  “Thanks!” She stuffed it into her pocket and darted away.

  “I like your job.” Sebastian didn’t move when he spoke.

  “This is not my job.” Frustration bubbled in my chest. “My job is...”

  “One more.” He cut me off.

  “Patience?” A lady in culottes and a cardigan sweater smiled at me. Her opaque panty hose covered varicose veins by the dozen. My thighs itched. “I wanted to introduce myself to you. I’m Pamela Runshaw. I see you at the Tasty Cream so often, I thought Pammy, that girl needs a cooking lesson.”

  I accepted the card she presented with a smile. The card was shaped like a tiny oven mitt with her name and number across the center. Domestic Diva lined the bottom edge. Oh boy. “Thanks.”

  “You come see me and we’ll hook this one long-term, sweetie.” She nodded to Sebastian and clucked her tongue. “Call me.”

  “How do you stand there with a straight face?” I stared into Sebastian’s eyes. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “It is.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can’t hook me long-term with food.” His lips twitched, almost forming a smile. Almost.

  My tummy flopped hard. Disappointment and anger coiled in my gut. I never said I wanted him hooked at all, long-term or otherwise. The Domestic Diva assumed things she shouldn’t have. And what did he mean I couldn’t hook him long-term? What was so wrong with that concept?

  Sebastian barked a laugh. A line of straight white teeth illuminated his face. For one moment he was a regular guy enjoying a joke at my expense. The usual. His smile vanished too soon, though, and heavy-lidded eyes replaced his jovial look as a group of women walked past. He grunted. They stared and giggled. Each of them wore a bright red Team Adrian shirt.

  “Ha.” I snorted.

  Sebastian looked at me without speaking.

  “What? Those shirts are perfect tonight. I hope Karen saw them. In fact, we should get some.” I ignored the other idea taking root. Adrian wouldn’t print shirts to win me over, would he? That’d be insane. Childish. Deplorable.

  Confusion crossed Sebastian’s brow. It wasn’t a look I knew what to do with.

  I swung our adjoined hands. “Have you had enough fun for one night?” I had. All the odd looks and conversations had exhausted me. My mom had lied to my face. Again. Plus, I needed a decent night’s sleep before questioning James Trent and possibly the pathologist in the morning.

  He nodded.

  We weaved our way through the crowd to my apartment. Sebastian surveyed the big picture. I wished I knew what he saw when he looked into the crowd. Aside from too many birders, cowboys and tipsy locals, probably nothing noteworthy. If only the creeper who’d written me the threatening note wore a shirt identifying himself like Adrian’s fans. Dad needed a line of custom Confess Your Sins shirts at the Purple Pony. I cringed at the image of what mine would look like.

  As much as I wanted to tell Sebastian about the note left on my door earlier, I didn’t want to ruin the first date we’d had in far too long. He’d be mad at me for nosing around. He’d get overprotective and the vein in his neck would throb. I’d tell him later.

  I stopped at the bottom of my stairs. If I invited him up, would I be awake all night? I needed sleep, but I wanted Sebastian. He waited silently as I worked though the options in my head. Torn, I snuck a look into those dark brown eyes. Sebastian stepped forward and I moved back on instinct. My heels hit the bottom step. I caught the railing under one arm and braced myself. Sebastian eased into my personal space, claiming it as his. Those dreamy bedroom eyes hypnotized me.

  “I’m sorry I’m so distracted lately.” He kissed my jawline below one ear.

  I sucked in a sharp breath. “S’okay.”

  “I wanted more time with you.” He kissed my earlobe. His warm breath tickled everything it touched. My thoughts snowballed out of control in a hurry.

  “I hoped moving here would mean more time with you.” Giant hands rode up my waist. His thumbs slid over my ribs and into nipple territory. I huffed out a breath and pulled in another.

  Sebastian bent his knees and caught my chin in a kiss. He pulled my bottom lip between his teeth. I heated and softened under his touch. If he did this to me on a crowded street, what was he capable of in my apartment? Alone. At night.

  His lips explored the tender flesh of my throat. They stopped at my collarbone, leaving a trail of need. A hot swipe of his tongue burned me to the core. Pulling my torso against the hard length of his body, he kissed me with purpose until every thread of restraint in me unraveled.

  I clung to him. Tugging against his nape, I kissed him back and let myself go. This was it.

  “Patience.”

  I shivered at the low gravelly sound of his voice. He didn’t call me Boss. This was serious.

  I groaned and stepped onto the first step, bringing me a few inches closer to his height. He straightened, kissing me again. His warm wet tongue slid against mine. I stepped up again, gaining a few inches on him. He didn’t follow.

  He caught my red-hot face in his palms and pulled me down for another kiss. This was happening. Excitement coursed through me. A tremor slid down my thighs.

  “Invite me in.” He kissed my neck. My jaw. My ear.

  My body shut down, overpowered by my infuriating brain. He’d invited himself in. I wanted to invite him in, but if he came inside now, he might think he schmoozed me, like I didn’t make the decision on my own. Like I was trapped in his haze of pheromones and lust. As far as he needed to know, I wasn’t that girl.

  “I can’t.”

  He pulled back. Shock stuck to his face.

  “Not tonight.” My voice was barely audible in the air between us. Banjos, laughter and bad karaoke came crashing back into my bubble.

  He pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he nodded.

  I turned for the door, jogging up the steps. I unlocked the door and smiled. Not tonight. Gah!

  “If I invited you in, you’d be hooked long-term for sure.” I blew him a kiss filled with faux confidence and sexual frustration. “Good night.”

  He stared.

  I locked the door behind me and dove onto the couch to watch him through the window. He looked up the stairs a long while before turning away. I pressed a pillow against my face and counted to ten. I needed ice cream therapy.

  I headed to the freezer, feeling icy in places that had been burning hot five minutes before. I stopped. Beside the refrigerator was the gift for Freud from the cat lady I’d met the day I’d found the penis. Why not? I leaned one hip against the counter and unwrapped the box. A folded piece of parchment popped up as the lid slid off. I unfolded the paper and read the pretty purple script.

  Us ladies with kitties have to stick together. We should have tea soon with our little ones. Princess loves entertaining gentlemen. I enjoy a good friend and make a mean cucumber sandwich. Let us know if you and Freud are interested.

  She left her number below the signature and paw print. Under the invitation to cat tea lay a feather toy and a one hundred dollar bill. I presumed the former was meant for Freud and the latter for me. I wasn’t entirely certain about the cash, so I added canned cat food to my grocery list.

  Chapter Eight

  I was out the door in plenty of time to confront a few
fishermen the next morning. Cotton shorts, an old softball shirt from the FBI league, sandals and sunglasses. I had all the makings for a perfect day. The fishermen, however, had to wait their turn. The marine biologist was my first stop. Better to catch him off guard, hungover and possibly mid-scandal than approach a group of wide awake, highly caffeinated fishermen. James Trent was far more likely to answer my questions, especially if the pathologist had slept over. The way they behaved during karaoke suggested there was a good chance. In my experience, people answered all sorts of things to make an uncomfortable situations go away. In most of those cases, I was on the make-it-go-away side of the conversation.

  Salty air from the marsh billowed in through my open windows, tossing hair against my sunglasses. I ran through a mental list of questions as I drove to the seashore. Why would Mr. Trent argue with local fishermen? Conservation? Some junk about the ecosystem? I had no idea what worked up a scientist and, after watching this one as Kenny Rogers last night, it was impossible to imagine him angry. I drummed my thumbs against the warm leather steering wheel, ordering my thoughts.

  A cluster of wild ponies caught my eye as I rolled across the long narrow bridge that joined my town to the national forest. The marsh twinkled around them in morning light. Every shade of brown was represented in the snapshot outside. Photographers loved opportunities like the one I drove past a little faster than necessary. Ponies, with their giant teeth and twitchy skin, creeped me out. They ran in packs and had black beady eyes. I dragged my focus back to the road before images of stampeding ponies ruined my concentration.

  I showed my pass at the national forest guard gate and rolled in beneath the red-and-white-striped lever as it rose. My foot grew heavy against the pedal, putting distance between the ponies and me, drawing me closer to Mr. Trent and the answers I craved. Why were the sharks here? Why didn’t they eat the pieces we found? How long could flesh stay in the water without falling apart or whatever happened to all the dead sea creatures out there. Decomposition?