by Emmy Grace
“Why not? It’s made me the woman I am today.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
That hurts more than I care to admit. “I…I didn’t realize you thought that was so bad.”
Momma smiles kindly and comes to take my hands in hers. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just mean that if it weren’t for all that stuff in your head, you wouldn’t be in danger right now.”
“You don’t know that. Gavin might still have followed me. Whoever killed him might still have killed him. And I might be right where I am, only without the knowledge to do anything about it.”
She grins in amazement. “Whoever would think you could actually learn something useful from watching reruns of Matlock?”
“God bless Andy Griffith.”
Everyone nods at the same time. Because everyone loved Andy Griffith.
“You know they could recognize me if they see me, too, right?” Regina asks.
My lips curve into a big smile. “Not by the time I get done with you.” Before she can argue, I grab her hand and pull her toward my bedroom. “To the bat cave!”
“What’s in the bat cave?” Beebee asks.
“My mystery kit,” I explain.
“What’s that?”
Regina answers her. “Basically, every Halloween costume she’s had for the last ten years, all stuffed into a plastic trunk.”
“Oh,” Beebee says. “I see why you call it the mystery kit. That sounds much better.”
I stick my tongue out at Regina and give her a cheeky grin before I push her into my bedroom and close the door behind us.
No one will recognize her by the time I get finished.
Two and a half hours later, we are all leaving my house. Beebee, Momma Leona, and I are carrying three pans of casserole that have already been cut into small squares, two long platters, and a huge box of toothpicks. I’m dressed in an elf costume I had in the mystery kit. Beebee and Momma Leona are dressed as themselves, primarily because their only task is to enjoy the festival.
Regina is the last to come out. She’s wearing hip hugger jeans, a thick tie-dyed sweater, and a beanie over her hair, which I separated and braided into two long pig tails. A pair of sunglasses complete the look. If I didn’t know who she was, I’m not sure I’d even recognize her.
She’s muttering under her breath as she shuffles out onto the porch so I can lock up.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she grumbles.
I can’t help giggling. She might not always have the most enthusiastic attitude, but she’s almost always willing to participate. That counts for a lot in my book.
Before we can all climb into our respective vehicles and go our separate ways, a giant truck comes roaring into the driveway. My belly flutters.
We all stop and await Liam as he exits his enormous vehicle and makes his way toward us. I’m content to just appreciate his masculine beauty and the strong, confident way he walks, all without being detected. And I can because his eyes are fixed on Regina.
He stops a couple of feet in front of us and crosses his arms over his chest. His tone is as exasperated as his expression would indicate. “Do I even want to know why you’re dressed like a hippie?”
Regina doesn’t reply. She just raises an arm and points an accusing finger back at me.
Liam snorts. “Like I didn’t know that. But…why?”
Now his eyes shift to me. They’re suspicious, like they so often are, but they’re also warm. And appreciative. And full of pale sparkles that make my insides squirm.
“She’s going to pass out flyers at the Inn and I didn’t want her to be recognized.”
“Flyers for what?”
“Flyers to announce the sampling of Beebee’s Famous French Toast Casserole.” I say the name of the delicious treat with an echo and with all the panache of a ringleader announcing the next act at the circus.
And I would know.
I actually spent time under cover working in a circus a couple of months ago.
“Famous?” he questions dubiously.
“Yep.”
“It’s actually famous?”
“Well, maybe not actually famous, but it should be,” I defend.
“Uh-huh.” His eyes go from one of us to another until he’s intimidated pretty much everyone except me. “And what is this supposed to accomplish?”
“Gavin’s dad loves this casserole, so I hope he can’t resist. And if he comes, I’m assuming Sassy will come, too. And I need to ask her some questions.”
“That’s a lot of hoping and assuming.”
I lift one shoulder. “I’m an optimist.”
“That you are,” he concurs. I see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath. “I might regret asking this, but what can I do to help?”
“Not a thing. Just sit back and let the pros handle this.”
“Pros.” He rolls his eyes comically. “Right.”
“Well, if you really want to help, you could always break into the parents’ room and see what you can find.”
“Unlawfully break and enter. In the bright light of day. Is that all?”
“I didn’t say you had to. It was just a suggestion.”
“I’ll think about it.”
That surprises me. As an ex law enforcement official, he usually frowns upon breaking it. “Really?”
“If I’m there visiting my friend and there just happens to be another fire alarm, I’d be willing to help make sure all the rooms are clear. I’m a good citizen like that.”
“Ooooo, momma like,” I say with a maniacal cackle.
“There are usually better ways to do the things you do. You know that, right?”
I wave him off. “My way’s more fun.”
“And illegal.”
“My way’s usually more effective, too.”
“And illegal,” he reiterates.
“But I don’t really mind, so you stick with what you’re good at. I’ll do the same.”
“Deal.”
He turns and we all start toward the various vehicles clogging up my little driveway.
Liam follows me to my beat-up Mustang, Misty. I lovingly rub her fender as I pass, like I always do. We’ve been through a lot, this car and me. Like my animals, she’s part of my non-human family.
“Please be careful,” Liam says softly, slipping his hand around my waist when I stop in front of the driver’s side door.
I beam up at him. “Careful is my middle name.”
“We both know it’s trouble. With a capital T.”
“Maybe. Either way, you love it.”
“I do. Love…it,” he says enigmatically just before he dips his head and brushes his lips over mine.
As always, the simplest of touches from him ignites a wildfire. While it’s not always convenient to be on fire, I revel in it and I hope it never goes away. It makes me wonder if others feel this way, or if it’s just me.
“What are you thinking?” Liam is staring down into my eyes.
“I wonder if other people feel this way.”
“What way?”
“Like every touch is…is…” I pause, suddenly embarrassed.
“Sizzling?” he provides in a silky tone.
I suppress a groan. “Uh-huh.”
“Are you complaining?” One side of his mouth curls up into a little half grin.
“Good Lord, no! I’m thinking this might be the way I want to die.”
At that, he laughs outright. “If I’m to be the cause of your death, give me a little more time. I can do better than this. I promise.”
“God help me,” I whisper, resisting the urge to press my body toward his.
Liam backs away. “You’d better go. Get this over with and clear your name. I’ve got plans for you after the case is solved, remember?”
How could I forget?
There’s just the little matter of figuring out if Gavin’s dad did, in fact, kill him. And proving it.
No big deal.
> Yeah right.
18
I don’t have to ask if Regina passed out the flyers and I don’t have to wonder if my plan will work. Within twenty minutes of getting to the festival at the center of town, setting up a platter of samples, and plastering on a smile for the good folk of Salty Springs, South Carolina, I spot Gavin’s parents and fiancée meandering through the crowd.
I make a beeline for them.
The closer I get and the more the crowd parts, the more of their bodies I can see. I notice that Mr. Rossdale is using a cane. I don’t remember him using one before I left, which makes me wonder if he was in some sort of accident that cause his limp.
Maybe even a drunk driving one.
I add that to my list of things to find out.
No one in the trio looks pleased to see me when I approach. Gavin’s mother is the first to speak.
“I told you she’d be here,” she snarls to her husband. “But you just had to have some o’ that casserole. Like you’re not a diabetic.”
She looks pretty disgusted. For a second, I feel bad for the guy. Maybe he has a really good reason to drink.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Rossdale,” I greet pleasantly. I extend the platter. “Sample?”
Under the watchful glare of his wife, Gavin’s father takes a toothpick and pops the clump of confectionary goodness on the tip of it into his mouth.
Meanwhile, Helen and Sassy glare at me. I push the platter toward them.
“I’d rather eat a cow pie,” Helen Rossdale says.
Sassy says nothing, but, then again, she doesn’t have to. The pure hatred in her eyes says it all.
“Okie dokie,” I say quietly, lowering the plate. No one moves or speaks for a few seconds, so I set out my next lure. “There are cakes and pies for sale over by the cider stand,” I tell the Rossdales. To Sassy I say, “And there are some really cute shoes and wraps for sale over by the last-minute gifts stall.” I point in the opposite direction, which is the way I’m hoping she will go. I’m sure they all just want away from me.
There’s a short pause and then all three move wordlessly away from me. Gavin’s parents in one direction, Sassy in the other.
Score!
I give her a minute or two lead time before I go after her. When I catch up to her, I tap her lightly on the shoulder until she turns around.
I raise one hand in an I-come-in-peace way. “Look, I know you don’t like me, but I need to talk to you.”
“Why would I do anything you want?”
This chick is like rabid dog. She’s practically snarling at me.
“Because you loved Gavin and you want his murderer brought to justice, and I want the same thing. Only I’m not that person.”
“Isn’t that just what a guilty person would say?”
Her eyes are flashing at me in defiance.
“Probably, only I’m not guilty, so there’s that.”
She snorts. “Like I’d believe a word you said.”
“You don’t have to. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions. I’m not trying to convince you of anything.”
“What kinds of questions?”
I take a breath and try to calm myself. I probably only have a couple of minutes of her attention, and this is probably my only shot. I have to make the most of it. Keep a level head and get the information I need.
No pressure.
“Was Gavin having problems with his dad?”
Sassy is outraged. Understandably.
But the thing is, just before the outrage kicked in, there was a pause. A two-second pause during which there was nothing on her face except shock. Genuine surprise. A healthy touch of HOLY CRAP.
That tells me all I need to know.
There’s something here.
Something worth digging into.
“You’re trying to pin this on him?” she sputters.
“No. I’m trying to find the real killer. I know you don’t believe me, but maybe if you really think about things that have happened, you’ll see that someone else had more motive. Or motive at all. Because I didn’t.” I inject as much sincerity into my voice as possible. “Gavin was part of my past. I had no reason to kill him.”
“I’m not falling for that. I know what kind of person you are. Gavin told me all about you.” Her voice is cold, cold, cold.
I hate to bring this up, but…
“If I was so awful, why did he come here?”
“That’s a great question. One I’ve been trying to figure out. You did something to him. Or you had something on him. Something you were holding over his head.”
“I didn’t, Sassy. I just wanted to live my life.”
“So, did I. With Gavin. Only that won’t be happening now. And I blame you.”
“Look, I may have been the reason he came here, but I’m not the reason he’s dead. And if you loved him at all, which it seems like you did, you’ll want justice for him. You’ll want whoever took him from you to pay.”
I make a point to keep my voice low and calm and matter of fact. I’m building a valid case for her to work with me. I can’t force it; I have to convince her. And this is the type of woman who won’t respond well to bullying.
Not that I could bully someone if my life depended on it. I’m not the bullying kind of girl.
At all.
She stares at me long and hard for what feels like an eternity. I don’t move. I just hold her eyes. I want her to see that I’m telling the truth and that I’m not backing down.
Finally, she asks a very telling question. “You really think a father is capable of killing his son?”
“That depends on what kinds of thing happen between father and son. Tell me about the limp. How’d that happen?”
Sassy’s pupils swell, then her lips thin and her nostrils flare. She’s angry again. Angry at being backed into a corner. Angry at having to help me. Angry that I might be onto something that’s obviously at least crossed her mind.
“Gavin was at a bar in town, drinking. His dad showed up. He was drunk. He was with another woman. Gavin lost his mind.” Sassy sighs, raising a hand to rub at a spot between her eyebrows. “They fought. Victor tried to leave. Gavin pushed his way into the front seat. He was going to drive him home to confront Helen, but…they never made it.”
“What happened?”
“Gavin took the curve on Airport Road too fast. Hit a tree. Victor wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. He was thrown from the car. Broke his hip. He’s walked with a cane ever since.”
“I guess he was pretty mad at Gavin.”
“He lied to Helen about what happened. Gavin didn’t tell her either, but he told his dad that if he so much as looked at another woman again, he’d kill him.”
“Strong words.”
“I think he would’ve done it. He was…God, I’ve never seen him so mad.”
“So, Helen still doesn’t know?”
Sassy shakes her head. “No. Gavin took that to the grave with him, I suppose.”
“The question is: Who put him in that grave?”
“Do you really think Victor could do that?” Sassy asks.
“You tell me. How upset was he about Gavin’s threat?”
Sassy chews the inside of her cheek as she ponders. “I think there for a while, he hated Gavin.”
“Did anything else happen right before Gavin came here? Anything that would’ve caused things to escalate?”
“The woman Gavin caught his dad with, she was from South Carolina, I think. Maybe he thought Gavin was coming here for that, and just saying he was coming to see you.”
I squash the little thrill of excitement that rockets through me. I don’t need to be celebrating what could be a real break in the case in front of a grieving woman.
“This is starting to paint a pretty compelling picture, wouldn’t you say?”
Sassy doesn’t agree with me, and she’s still looking at me as though I’m something she found on the bottom of her shoe, but she at least she doesn’t argue. “If
you’re right, then how will you prove it?”
At this, I smile. “You just leave that to me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what Gavin could possibly see in someone like you.”
I let the comment pass. I don’t really care if she likes me. Just as long as she’s willing to help me find the real killer if I need her to, I’m good. “Temporary insanity.”
She just glares at me. Then she asks, “What now?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to think on it. I’ll let you know when I come up with something. If you want me to, that is.”
I know this part is hard for her. She looks like she’s passing a kidney stone when she says, “Yes. I do.”
I nod before turning around and walking away. No sense pressing my luck. I made much more headway than I expected. I’ll have to be satisfied with that as I try to think of my next step.
I’m mulling over possibilities as I head back in the general direction of the Rossdales when I get to the part of the festival where booths are set up around the big gazebo in the town square. What is a beautiful, lush grassy area in the summer is now trampled and sprinkled with spots of nothing but dirt.
It's in that dirt that I notice an impression. A hole that I’ve seen before.
On the trail that led to where the killer absconded with Gavin’s body.
Veering right, I follow it along to see where it leads. I see the holes stop where the dirt joins the paved area that leads to the Winter Wonderland Jewelry Shop.
I glance up, intent on scanning the area for what made the mark, but I don’t have to scan. I don’t have to look any further than where I’m looking right now.
There, standing a few feet in front of me, are Mr. and Mrs. Rossdale. He’s sifting through a collection of locally made earrings while his wife is staring off into space. I note her pale skin, the red-rimmed eyes. She and her husband both look different than when I saw them in the lot of the Inn. Mr. Rossdale looked positively haunted as he sat behind the wheel that morning. Mrs. Rossdale was just furious until I accidentally told her about Gavin’s death.
But now…now she looks like a grieving mother. Her husband, however… He actually looks better now that I think about it. Maybe because he thinks I’ll go down for the murder. Maybe the signs of his grief weren’t signs of grief after all, but merely concern that he’d be found out. But now that he thinks someone else will take the fall, he’s relaxing some.
