by Quinn Avery
“It’s a bit much to take in without your eyes crossing.” I slid my fingertips over a mermaid sculpture. “That sweet old widow probably last decorated it back in the nineties when obscene colors were trendy.” I eyed the lime green paint and decided the house had a lot of potential. “I’d probably start by cleaning out any decorations you don’t want, then giving the place a new coat of paint—or several coats if you’re going with something lighter.”
“Any suggestions for color? I’m planning to replace the appliances and furniture as soon as humanly possible.” He started for the outdated refrigerator. “Margarita in a bottle okay?”
“I’ll take a margarita any way I can get it.” I slowly whirled around the room. “If this was my place, I’d paint everything white. Walls included. Maybe add a touch of gray and navy blue here and there to give it a more masculine feel.” I plopped down on the couch and tested the springs while studying the pink wicker chairs and kitchen table. “I don’t think you need all new furniture. Maybe a new couch that isn’t so lumpy. The rest of it appears to be in excellent shape. That table and these chairs would look great if painted a different color.”
“This is why I wanted you to come over.” He approached me with two bottles of pre-mixed margaritas and a charming smile. He popped the top on one of the bottles and handed it over. “Know anyone on the island who hires out for painting?”
I bit my lip. I had never actually painted a room on my own, but I had once run a roller as part of a community project in high school, and I could really use the extra cash to save up for my own place and work on a new wardrobe. Painting can’t be too hard, I decided. “I could do it,” I said, shrugging.
Grayson’s eyes popped wide. “You really want to spend all day painting before work?”
“Other than watching Lucky, my weekdays are wide open.” Shrugging, I took a sip of the ice cold drink. “Besides, I adore extreme transformations. I’m hooked on those renovation shows.” I was also eager to prove to Beckett that I wasn’t decoratively challenged. I peered past Grayson to a set of doors beyond the kitchen. “Wait. Where is Lucky?”
“Inside his new kennel. The vet suggested I buy one to keep him safe whenever I’m not keeping a close eye on him.” Grayson shuffled toward the set of doors. “He’s been pretty groggy from the meds.” He cracked the left door open and peered inside. The dog’s quiet snores drifted from the room. “Out like a light,” he confirmed, gently closing the door behind him.
“So much for seeing if he likes his new name…poor guy.”
Grayson sat across from me in one of the wicker chairs. “Fair warning, the site of his amputation looks brutal. They gave him one of those pillow cones so he won’t try to lick the stitches.” He tilted his head back and eyed me thoughtfully. “If you’re serious about painting, I’d pay you well. It’d be worth it so I’m not stuck doing it on my down time. I could pick you up in the morning to grab paint from the hardware store before I walk you through the routine of care the vet tech suggested.”
“You don’t have to be my personal chauffeur,” I scolded. “I’m used to taking the Gorilla Bus.”
Blowing out a long breath, he ruffled his dark hair. “Truth be told, it makes me uneasy knowing someone might’ve been murdered only yards from where you work. I don’t know the island well enough to agree it’s as safe as you say.”
“You’re starting to sound like Teenie. Besides, I’m sure whoever did it is long gone by now.”
His jaw hardened. “Or they’re living in plain sight somewhere on the island, knowing they can easily get by with doing it again.”
I shivered with the thought.
He started for the kitchen and rifled through the cupboards. “Why don’t you go ahead and enjoy the ‘wicked patio’ while I grab my computer and some snacks?” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Can I help carry something?”
“You’ve been waiting on people all day.” He shooed me away with a flick of his wrist. “Go. I’ve got it.”
I slipped back out the front door, grumbling to myself, “Of course you do.” I had finally met a considerate man, and he wanted me to regard him as a brother.
Before rounding the side of the house toward the patio, I froze with the sight of headlights. A dark sports car idled farther down the lane, its engine making a soft purr. I wasn’t sure of the make or model, but it was low to the ground with a curved hood and smooth lines. Although I couldn’t make out the shadowed profile of the driver, I felt a set of eyes on me.
A lump rose in my throat as Grayson’s words repeated in my head. “Or they’re living in plain sight somewhere on the island, knowing they can easily get by with doing it again.”
“Can I help you?” I called out, taking a few hesitant steps into the road.
The car quickly reversed down the lane. I continued to watch as it reached the end and abruptly spun around, squealing its tires. The taillights quickly disappeared into the darkness.
“Maybe they were lost,” I said aloud to no one.
Deep down, I knew that wasn’t true.
Eight
As promised, Grayson came by early Tuesday morning. We picked out several gallons of paint at the hardware store before he dropped me at his house with the supplies I would need. Between boxing decorations for donations, watching videos online that explained the painting process to beginners, giving Lucky the affection he deserved with his gruesome wound, and prepping the walls, I hadn’t so much as picked up a brush before Grayson returned from work.
“It’s looking better already,” he declared, tossing his keys and a small plastic bag onto the counter.
Sighing, I studied my progress and tucked a wayward curl behind the bandana knotted over my head. “It doesn’t feel like I accomplished much. Lucky was a little distracting.” With the sound of his new name, the dog rose from his resting place nearby and ambled close enough to lovingly lick my hand. “You’re still a good boy.” I bent down to scratch behind his ears. “Oh yes you are!”
Grayson chuckled. “Glad to see you two have bonded. He’s already moving better, too.”
“That’s all on him,” I declared. “He’s a natural when it comes to balancing on three legs.”
Grayson scratched the dog behind a floppy ear. “I brought you a stun gun and pepper spray. They’re in the bag I brought in with me. Let me know if you have questions on how to use them.”
I regarded the bag as if it contained a bomb. I was more afraid I’d accidentally hurt myself before I’d have the courage to turn them on someone else. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”
He headed into the kitchen and plucked a bottled craft beer from the ancient fridge. “Do you have time for a drink before you go?”
“I’ll never turn down a margarita.” I stood with an eyebrow lifted. “Besides, I was hoping to run an idea by you before I head out.”
“I’m all ears.” Winking, he popped the top on another pre-mixed margarita and handed it to me.
“What if I posted something about Ginny in one of those local online groups where people sell things? I could ask if anyone who knew her would be willing to meet with me. Maybe she made some friends on the island that kept in touch with her after she left.”
After taking a drink of his dark beer, Grayson nodded. “That could work.” His expression hardened. “Except for the part where you meet with them in person.”
I crinkled my nose. “I hate talking to strangers online. It’s so easy to misunderstand typed messages without seeing their expression or hearing the changes in their voice.”
“That may be true, but anyone who knew Ginny could be a suspect.”
“Good point.” I paused to take a swig of the margarita. As I swallowed, my eyes widened. “I know! I could ask them to meet me at Beach Bummers after one of my shifts!”
Grayson nodded half-heartedly. “Only if I’m there too.”
With a little laugh, I crossed my arms with my margarita held ag
ainst my elbow. “Are you sure you don’t have any younger siblings? You sure have the role of a bossy big brother perfected.”
Grayson chuckled as his phone buzzed inside his pocket. He retrieved it and frowned at the screen. “It’s the chief. Hold on, I’ll be back in a second.” He answered the phone and stepped into his bedroom, closing the door.
I plopped down on the floor beside Lucky, scratching his neck beneath the pillow cone while taking a long pull of the cold margarita. I glanced around the house, admittedly a bit nervous about starting the paint job.
From inside my handbag, my phone chirped with a new text. I crawled across the floor to snatch it from the table. Once I fished my phone out, my skin pricked with the message stretched across its screen.
She has been dead a long time. Let her rest in peace.
With a shaking hand, I opened the text. It came from a blocked number.
“Zoey?” Grayson asked, all at once standing beside me. “What’s wrong?”
“I…uh…just realized I lost track of time,” I lied, slipping my phone into my shorts’ pocket. There was a good chance Grayson wouldn’t let me out of his sight if he saw the text. I snatched the bag from the counter and shot him an apologetic look. “I’m going to be late for work.”
Someone out there knew something about the skull that they didn’t want me to discover.
I dove deep into the renovation of Grayson’s home, painting nearly everything in sight over the following days. But it didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped. The first day I knocked over a gallon of paint and spent hours cleaning it off the floor before returning to the hardware store to purchase a new gallon. I considered myself luckier than the dog when Grayson didn’t comment on my lack of progress. The second day there was soon more paint on my body than the walls, and Lucky happened to hobble through a full roller tray. By the time I’d taken the extra time to wash the dog without disturbing the site of his amputation, and scrubbed the paint off myself in Grayson’s pink shower, I had hardly been any more productive than the day before.
Grayson agreed to come to Beach Bummers on Friday night to meet with anyone who’d answered my post about Ginny on social media. On my breaks, I messaged the Ginny Joneses that had made my list, and corresponded with several men who had responded to my post. Although I was excited to gather more information on Ginny, I knew we may never find out if the skull had been Ginny’s unless it resurfaced.
Grayson came for dinner at the tiki bar both nights with Lucky in tow. My friends instantly fell in love with the dog. The second night Sasha presented him with a bandana she’d sewn that matched their uniforms, and we declared Lucky to be the bar’s unofficial mascot. Even Smith took a liking to the dog. I was convinced it was only because Lucky drew in a swarm of female guests who fussed over the injured pet.
Late Friday morning, I finished the last wall to remain between Grayson’s kitchen and living room. Aside from the outdated appliances that were still awaiting replacements, the rooms were a crisp contrast of white and gray with one contrasting wall in navy. While it dried, I ran downtown to the secondhand store to snag a few canvas paintings of sea shells that added a tasteful pop of color.
I stood in the center of the adjoining rooms to admire my work once it was done, wiping the exhaustion from my face with a dried paint-splattered hand. Lucky hobbled around me in circles.
“Eat your heart out, Beckett Barnett!” I declared with a prideful smile. “I do have a good eye for decorating!”
Lucky agreed with two excited barks.
Since I had an earlier shift that afternoon, I showered in Grayson’s bathroom and took the Gorilla Bus to Beach Bummers. Although I tipped Stewy, the driver who never failed to stink like bong residue, extra to allow Lucky to ride along, I suspected it hadn’t been necessary the way the young driver had treated Lucky like royalty.
The moment I set my handbag behind the tiki bar, Molly came rushing toward me. “Don’t freak out,” she pleaded, blue eyes more rounded than usual. “Just know we all think it’s kind of weird, but we’re here for you. There’s no need to panic.”
“Telling me not to panic is making me panic.” I pursed my lips while securing my apron around my waist. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you talking about, Mol? Did someone die?” Lucky let out a lazy yawn and laid on his back, waiting to be scratched by someone.
Molly’s blue eyes remained somber. She swallowed hard when she pulled a folded white envelope from her back pocket. “This was sitting on the bar when Smith opened up this morning.” She handed it to me before lowering to rub Lucky’s stomach, eyes still on me.
With slightly trembling hands, I unfolded the blank envelope and pulled out a ripped piece of notebook paper. One sentence was scrawled in black permanent marker.
Tell that nosy redhead to stop looking for Ginny Jones
My heart thumped against my ribs. “Oh.” I was officially panicked. “Has anyone else seen this note?”
“Smith wanted to call the cops, but I told him you’d tell Grayson.” Molly stood, twisting her thin fingers through the ends of her dark ponytail. “He’ll know what to do, right?”
Releasing a deep breath, I tucked the note back inside the envelope and stuffed it inside my apron pocket. “I’m not telling Grayson. You and Smith aren’t going to either.”
“But, Zo,” Molly insisted, clutching my arm. “It could be a note from that woman’s killer.”
“I hope it is. It would mean I’m on the right track.”
“I really don’t think you should keep this from Grayson. Maybe he could find the person that wrote this by analyzing the handwriting or whatever.” Running her teeth over her bottom lip, Molly scanned the busy bar. “They could be here right now, watching you.”
The thought sent a chill racing down my spine. I eyed my handbag, wondering if I should slip the pepper spray inside my pocket. Just in case. Instead, I lifted my chin defiantly before my friend could sense my fear. “Good. Maybe they’ll be here when I interview everyone about Ginny, and get irritated enough to expose themselves.”
I grabbed a stack of menus and hurried past my worried friend to a table of newcomers. I convinced myself that if I stayed busy over the next couple of hours, I wouldn’t have time to fret over the fact that someone had been watching me at Grayson’s, somehow obtained my phone number, and now they had located me at my place of employment.
“You have an interesting line up of suitors, baby girl,” Beckett informed me as he rounded the corner of the tiki bar with a full tray in hand. “Number six just checked in.”
Excitement fluttered in my chest as I peered past Beckett in search of the newcomer. In my post about Ginny, I had asked anyone who knew her to arrive around eight when I was done with my shift, and they’d started arriving as early as seven. I watched as Grayson rose from a table where the other five men sat to shake the hand of a short, forty-something man with a patch of dark hair in the middle of his wide forehead, and a doughy gut that hung over his zipper. He was nothing like the other twenty to thirty year olds donning respectable collections of tattoos and piercings.
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Nancy Drew,” Beckett grumbled as he started for a table of boisterous college-aged guys.
Molly moved in next to me, shoving her notepad into her apron as she stared at the group of men. She curled her dark ponytail around a finger. “What if one of them turns out to be Ginny’s murderer?”
“That’s why Grayson insisted on being here,” I told her with a little shrug. “It’s not like they’re going to murder me with dozens of witnesses.”
“No, but they might follow you home, and murder us both.”
“With Grayson around? Highly unlikely.”
As if hearing his name, Grayson turned in my direction and gave a simultaneous grin and nod of his head before returning to the table with the older guy.
“I cannot believe you’ve been spending all this time helping that beautiful man transform his house, an
d he hasn’t made any kind of move yet.” With a dramatic sigh, Molly turned away from where Grayson sat with Ginny’s assumed lovers, and started for the bar. “Such a travesty.”
“It’s not like I asked him to pay me with sexual favors,” I scolded, hurrying after her. “Besides, I don’t expect him to be making the moves anytime soon. He’s made it crystal clear that he sees me as someone young—naive—and in need of his protection.” I pulled the string on the small waitress apron tied around my waist and removed it. “I know it’s not quite eight, but I don’t want to miss out on whatever it is they’re telling Grayson about Ginny.” I shoved the apron into Molly’s hands and flashed a nervous smile. “With any luck, maybe we’ll find out whether or not Ginny could still be alive.”
“Be careful!” Molly warned as I started for the group of men. “Tell them you’re shacking up with a Navy SEAL or something so they won’t mess with us!”
Before I could reach Grayson, Finn snuck in next to me. I couldn’t deny he was handsome in a dark button down and slim gray khakis, sandy hair gelled back. “Hey, Zo!” He slung an arm around my neck. “What’s poppin’, cutie? Busy night?”
“Hey, Finn.” He reeked of expensive men’s cologne. Enough that I wondered if he had literally bathed in it. I willed my eyes not to roll to the darkening sky. “What are you doing here on your night off? Don’t you have a hot date?”
Two middle-aged brunettes in bikini tops and jean shorts strolled past, giggling. Their laughter died on their lips when Finn grinned in their direction. He always had that effect on women.
“Good evening, ladies.” His voice was syrupy sweet as he tipped an imaginary hat.
The taller of the two batted her dark lashes. “Well, hello there, handsome.”
When they hurried off, giggling and whispering, he turned back to me. “I wanted to stop by because someone online asked for information about Ginny Jones. I figured I could at least let them know she’s a dinosaur doctor.”
