by Quinn Avery
"None of the psychotic things you're suggesting, but thanks for the vote of confidence." I glanced around the bar. "Is Smith around?"
Molly stage-whispered, "He's 'taking inventory'."
The term was Smith's not-so-secret code for "nap time." The former rock and roll frontman hated to admit that he was old enough for a snowbird discount. He would rather brag how he had toured dozens of countries in the 80s, sometimes staying awake for days in a row to party. Since turning sixty, he required a short nap by noon and was often in bed by ten.
"I'll bring him out," I offered. Without thinking, I wrapped my fingers around Grayson's forearm. The one with the engaging tattoo. "I'll be right back." Before I headed inside, I shot Molly a stern look, warning her to behave.
She flashed an innocent smile. "Don't worry. I'll keep him entertained."
That's what I'm afraid of, I huffed to myself. I was a handful of yards from the building when Beckett darted in alongside me. "Who's Mister Tall, Dark, and Hella Handsome?"
"His name is Grayson Rivers, and he drives the coolest truck you've ever seen." A coy smile curled my lips. "He's the new police detective on the island."
Beckett hummed in a skeptical noise. "Since when does the island need a detective?"
"I have no idea, but you won't hear any complaints from me."
He let out a loud gasp. "Does this mean you're finally going to break your dry spell?"
"It means I have no clue how to act around him." Inside the resort's lobby, I stopped to fist the front of my friend's work shirt. "The guy is crazy gorgeous, and lightyears out of my league, Beck! You would've been so disappointed the way I spazzed out when I first met him. I've never rambled on like that before. You'd think someone had fed me a handful of quarters."
"Breathe, Zo." He pried my hands off his blue button-down and gave me a condescending pat. "I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you're imagining. What's he doing here?"
"Last night, while I was doing your job for you, I found a skull out back."
His emerald eyes bulged. "Like a human skull?"
"No, a parrot skull," I retorted. "He's here to investigate whether or not Polly choked on a cracker."
Beckett clicked his tongue. "Someone had a bowl of snark for breakfast."
I was ready to correct him by saying I'd in fact had the Dee Dee's he had promised me when Smith materialized behind us.
"What's this snark?" his gruff voice interjected. "That some kind of new drug you kids are doing nowadays?"
Even though Smith hid behind his favorite pair of mirrored aviator glasses, it was evident the Ohio native had lived a hard life. Graying stubble around his dimpled chin, deep creases untanned in his leather-like skin, vintage Pink Floyd t-shirt worn thin, and a crackled voice from years of screaming into a microphone were only the beginning traits of an ancient rocker who'd seen and done it all. Though he'd given up the lifestyle of groupies and drugs, I was convinced "party like a rockstar" was a term coined from his adventures. I fondly regarded him as my zany surrogate grandfather.
I hooked my hand beneath his armpit, and steered him out of the lobby. "I need you outside."
He palmed his short brown hair with hesitation as he often did, as if expecting it to be shoulder-length as it was in his younger days. “What—”
"Zoey found a skull on the property last night," Beckett blurted, rushing back in beside us. "She brought her future husband to investigate."
I elbowed him in the ribcage. "Stop."
"Always something with you two." Smith grunted in a half humored, half irritated sound. "You're talking about what...a human skull?"
"Yes, human," I confirmed with a huff.
"It's a little early for that kind of thing," Smith said. He pulled a cigarette from his back pocket. Although he had given up smoking over a decade prior, he often held one between his lips, unlit. I’d long since decided it was either to complete his image, or because it gave him comfort. "I'm gonna need one of your blueberry mules, Beckett. Heavy on the vodka."
Beckett promptly veered toward the bar. "Consider it made."
I continued to guide Smith to where Grayson occupied one of the larger tables in Molly's section. My traitorous best friend leaned over him with her elbows on the table, giggling excessively. Grayson was making an obvious attempt to avert his gaze anywhere other than the twinned melons thrust into his face.
Maybe stabbing my roommate in her sleep wasn't too far outside of the realm of possibility, I thought bitterly.
Grayson caught his reflection in Smith's sunglasses and stood. "Detective Grayson Rivers, sir. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."
Smith took his time sizing the detective up and down before shaking his hand with one pump. "Smith Dillon."
"Smith bought this property twenty years ago and turned it into the most popular and successful destination spot on the Gulf side," I informed Grayson. I couldn't explain why I was so eager for the two men to hit it off, but the need gnawed at me like a hungry beaver. I turned to my boss. ”Detective Rivers recently moved here from California."
"California, huh?" Smith sniggered. "I'll give it two weeks tops before you're ready to move back. This island couldn't be any more different from Hollywood, son."
"That's exactly why I transferred here," Grayson replied, lowering to his chair. "Go ahead and have a seat, Mr. Dillon. I have a few questions pertaining to the skull found by your employee."
"What?" Molly yelped, slapping a hand over her chest. "Like, a real one?"
"What's with you people?" I challenged. One would think I had included the fact that I originally thought it had been laughing. "Yes, a real human skull."
Smith leaned back on the chair across from Grayson, tonguing the unlit cigarette while glancing at me. "Where'd you find it? In the ice machine?"
"Why would you think she found it there?" asked Molly. Her eyes narrowed. "Seems oddly specific."
I claimed the open seat next to Smith. "It was by the dumpster. I found it while taking the trash out last night, but now it's gone."
"Don't look at me." Smith lifted his hands in a surrendering pose. "I haven't thrown anyone in the trash."
"This isn't an official investigation as of now," Grayson explained. "I merely wanted to ask if it's possible to trace one of your employee's security cards back to its owner."
"What does an employee card have to do with the skull?" Smith asked.
"I found one underneath the skull," I told him with a shiver. "It seems logical it belonged to someone who worked here."
Smith's jaw tightened as Beckett handed him a copper mug embellished with blueberries and a lime wedge. He spat the cigarette out. "The skull or the card?"
"Both," Grayson and I chorused.
"My employees lose their cards all the damn time," Smith's scratchy voice rumbled. He side-eyed Molly and me. "There must be hundreds of them all over the island." We both briefly averted our gazes away as he took a sip of his blueberry mule.
Grayson retrieved the bagged card from his pocket. "Zoey thought this one looked old. And based on her description, the human remains could be anywhere from five to ten years old."
Smith let out a deep hmph and set his mug on the table. He removed his sunglasses to inspect the card closer. In their nests of wrinkles, his gray eyes rolled over to Grayson. "In that case, there's a good chance I know who they both belong to."
Four
"I knew it!" Beckett howled, slapping Smith’s back. "You totally fit the stereotype of a serial killer! I'll bet you're always reminiscing about your 'world tour' because you spent it murdering unsuspecting fans in every city!"
"It's always the ones you least expect," Molly agreed. She draped her enormous melons on Smith and patted the top of his head.
"Would you two fools pipe down?" Smith snapped, jerking away from her. "I haven't murdered anyone. At least not yet."
My legs jiggled beneath the table. “Quit drawing it out,” I told him. “I need to know.”
"
I've only had one employee up and leave without any explanation, and she never returned her card." He took a deep breath while scratching his stubble. "Five or six years ago, a girl by the name of Ginny Jones didn't show up for her shift. I didn't think much of it at the time. She was a young, pretty thing, and a little on the wild side. I just figured she'd moved on. Didn't give it much thought until now."
"That name totally sounds made up.” Molly rolled her eyes. "She was probably on the lam."
"Can you guess a more specific time frame?" Grayson asked, eyebrows lifted. "Was it summer? Winter?"
Smith chuckled and took a long pull of his mule. "Son, it's always summertime around here."
Grayson briefly glanced away while scratching his chin. "Did you try to contact anyone from her emergency list? Her parents? Friends?"
Taking another sip, Smith shrugged one shoulder. "She never listed anyone. Didn't talk about family or friends either, so I assumed she didn't have any. She was a drifter...didn't have references and didn’t give me her social security number. I gave her a trial run before telling her she was hired. If she up and died, it would explain why I never heard from her again."
Beckett paced back and forth with an intense look. ”It doesn't explain how her head ended up on the property," he pointed out. "Unless someone who worked here whacked her."
"Or someone who owned the place," Molly added, throwing Smith a suspicious glare.
I shook my head. "It could've been anyone on the island."
"The skull or the murderer?" Smith asked.
"Both," Grayson and I answered together.
"Let's not jump to any conclusions," Grayson instructed my crew, holding the palm of one hand up. "If Smith can somehow confirm the card belonged to this Miss Jones, we can make an attempt to locate her."
"Only active employees are still programmed into the system," Smith told him. With a weighted sigh, he ruffled his short hair. "I'd have to send it into the security company."
Excitement from finding the missing skull and wanting to solve the mystery behind it fizzled. What if that process took weeks, or even months? I had expected a full-on Law & Order type of investigation to be launched—the kind where Olivia Benson solves the crime in just one episode. "What do we do until then?" I asked Grayson.
His expression became stern. "We try to locate the remainder of the body."
I reported to work an hour early that afternoon to watch as Grayson, along with Chief Shaw and Deputy Hughes, secured the scene with yellow police tape, and began to dig around the dumpster.
Chief Shaw was several inches shorter than Grayson, and built like an Army tank. With icy blue eyes, buzzed strawberry blond hair, and a gruff demeanor, he would've made an excellent drill sergeant. He even made the standard police uniform of black pants, a white button-down, and black tie look military issued. But he had recently celebrated his 30th birthday at a surprise party his wife had thrown at Beach Bummers, so I knew he could occasionally let loose and have a good time.
Deputy Hughes was closer to Grayson's height, and could've blown straight into the Gulf with a light breeze. The waistline of his pants sagged and the button-down uniform hung from his shoulders the way it would on an actual skeleton. The lifelong local's narrow face and friendly hazel eyes projected a "cute little brother next door" kind of vibe.
With time, a crowd began to gather. Molly did her best to assure gawking guests that everything was okay. I was more interested in watching Grayson, and hoped it wouldn't be long before he ditched his shirt spotted with sweat marks. In the unforgiving heat, his complexion had taken on the shade of a beet.
"We're a little short on waitresses, ladies," Beckett sang, stepping in between us. He draped his arms over our shoulders. "Suppose I could interest you in doing your job instead of leering at the new detective?"
When Grayson leaned on his shovel and wiped his sweaty head with his tattooed forearm, both Molly and I let out quiet hums.
"He looks hot," I commented.
With a repetitive nod, Molly fanned herself. "He sure does."
I slid out from beneath Beckett's arm. "I'm going to get them a pitcher of lemonade."
"You're not on the clock yet." Molly clicked her tongue and pushed me aside. "I'll do it."
"Don't even think about sinking your hooks into that one, Molly McGregor," Beckett scolded, stopping her with one hand. "Zoey's destined to bear that man's beautiful babies. Why else would God have put a skull back here for her to find at the exact same time as a new detective moved to the island?"
"You have a point," I agreed, facing Molly with my arms crossed. "You're always on my case about finding a man. If he is in fact single and would even entertain the idea of going on a date with me, will you please stop trying to seduce him?"
Beckett released a scandalous gasp. "Hold on. You don't know whether or not he's spoken for?"
With a snort, I waved my hands through the air. "I just met him a few hours ago!"
"And here I'd already picked out names for your children." Beckett rolled his eyes with dramatic flair. "Wait here. I'll get the lemonade and glasses. Then you're going to take your cute little butt over there and ask him if he's single. If he's unattached, you'll proceed to ask him to take you out dancing."
"In front of his coworkers?" My eyes grew wide. "While he's digging for a body?"
With a silent confirmation reflected in his stare, Beckett marched away.
Molly yanked my purple floral shirt out from my shorts.
"What are you doing?" I spat, glancing between the crime scene and my friend. "I'm not going to fight you for this guy, Mol. We both know you'd win anyway."
"Stop being so dramatic. I'm increasing your odds." She tied the fabric into a knot in the same fashion she wore her own shirt. "There's no question this man will be interested once he gets a proper preview of your abs. You have a great body, girlfriend. I'll never understand why you don't flaunt it."
By the time Molly was done fussing with my hair and uniform, Beckett had returned with the refreshments. He passed the tray into my sweaty grip. "Have at it, baby girl. Don't forget to bat your eyelashes while giving him your best smile."
"And sway your hips back and forth when you walk," Molly added, nudging me in the direction of the police crew. "Go get 'im, Temptress!"
Because my flirting skills were on the rusty side, I took their advice to heart. By the time I reached the line of yellow tape, I feared Grayson would think I had spent the earlier part of the afternoon getting hammered based on the exaggerated way I was moving my hips and blinking my eyes.
A handful of feet away, the toe of my sneaker caught on a pile of dirt. As I imagined myself landing face first in the grave they'd dug, I shrieked.
Grayson caught my elbow just in time, keeping both me and the tray upright. "Whoa! Careful!"
Looking into his chocolatey eyes, my cheeks warmed. "I thought maybe...uh...you look a little overheated."
"His thin California skin can't handle this humidity," Chief Shaw commented with a deep chuckle. His bear-like grip reached for one of the glasses on the tray and he smiled as I filled it with lemonade. "Thanks, Zoey. That's mighty thoughtful of you."
"Yeah, thanks, Zoey," Deputy Hughes parroted with a broad smile as he retrieved a glass and waited for it to be filled. "Sure is good to see you again."
"No luck?" I asked Grayson as I filled the glass he'd retrieved.
He glanced back at the piles of dirt behind them. "We haven't found anything to suggest a body was ever buried here. Not a single scrap of clothing or other human remains."
With a rush of disappointment, I returned the pitcher to the tray. "I still don't understand why I only found that poor soul's skull. Where's the rest of their body?"
"Are you certain it was a real skull?" Chief Shaw asked with a deep frown. "You kids have been known to indulge in a few cocktails during your shift."
"Yes, it was real, and no I wasn't drinking." My insides vibrated with irritation. "Why doesn't anyone ar
ound here believe me? I swear a human skull was right where we're standing only hours ago!"
Grayson's warm fingers wrapped around my forearm. "I believe you."
With a steady breath, I squeezed my eyes shut. "There's no way it was fake." Again, I met Grayson's kind gaze. "When you work for someone convinced they were a pirate in another life, you see a lot of plastic replicas. There were way too many flawed details on this one, and it was rock hard."
Deputy Hughes sniggered. "You touched it?"
"I knocked on it," I confirmed through clenched teeth.
The waif-like deputy laughed. "You knocked on it?"
"Have you ever knocked on a real skull?" I asked. "Bone is incredibly dense, Deputy." Like your head, I wanted to add.
"She says it was real," Grayson told the deputy. "No reason not to believe her."
Chief Shaw squinted beyond them to the crowd. "There's not a whole lot we can do without that skull or any other evidence to prove a crime was committed."
I blew a loose red curl away from my face. "I just know something bad happened here, Chief. Doesn't intuition count for anything?"
"Not in this situation.” He paused to guzzle the last of his drink. "We'll give it another hour or so. After that, I can't spare any more of my men's time on a fool's errand." He gave Grayson a pointed look. "We can't waste taxpayers' money by investigating intuitions."
My shoulders sagged as I watched the chief return his empty glass. Deputy Hughes gulped his down a moment later, throwing me an uncoordinated wink that included both eyes when he set his glass beside the chief's. The two men turned to reclaim their shovels and resume digging.
Behind Grayson, Beckett and Molly motioned to me like a pair of lunatics with identical impatient, wide-eyed expressions. My pulse sped as I gently nudged Grayson's elbow. Certainly I was about to humiliate myself.
