by Danger Cove
With a few quick questions to the nice lady sitting behind the information desk, I made my way to the private room where Agnes was being kept. I slipped quietly into the room, not wanting to disturb her if she was sleeping. Okay, truth check. I wanted to see if she really was feeling as ill as she had sounded on the phone.
The room was dark, despite the early afternoon sun working valiantly to peek through the blinds. The hospital must use industrial-strength material in their window coverings. A pang of sympathy tugged on the sleeve of my blouse. I was used to a vibrant and vivacious Agnes. Instead of the vigor she usually tossed my way, her red curls lay flat against pale cheeks and caramel freckles faded into the hollows of her normally full cheeks.
"Agnes?" I whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open, and a small smile appeared. "Hi, Lilly. So nice of you to come."
The sweetness of her smile and the softness in her voice didn't sound like a woman capable of killing her husband and throwing one of her closest friends under the guilty bus even if she had known the ring was fake. Maybe I had this all wrong. I stepped a little closer and smiled. "Of course I came. I told you I would. How are you feeling?"
With no small amount of effort, Agnes managed to maneuver herself into a sitting position. She grabbed her stomach and exhaled slowly several times. "Still not well, though I haven't thrown up as much since I've been in the hospital. I miss my tea though."
"Don't they have tea here?"
Her eyes disappeared as she rolled them back into her head and waved dismissively with her hand. "You can't call that brown-colored water something as refined as tea. It's horrid, tepid, and undrinkable." Her tirade ended as quickly as it started as she sank back into the pillows. "Besides, the tea was a gift from Rico right after we got home from our trip. It makes me feel close to him."
It was times like these I wished, instead of an inner PLH barometer, I possessed a human lie detector. If the speaker laced their lies with some sugary words, I would inevitably fall into the sentimental sucker trap. Maybe I could get Officer Faria to teach me how to tell if someone was lying. I moved closer and took her hand. "I'll see if I can find you some decent tea and get it to you if you have to stay in here much longer."
One corner of her mouth quirked into a smile. "Don't suppose you'd smuggle some tequila in for me?"
I shook my head and chuckled. "Just because I work at Smugglers' Tavern doesn't mean I'm any good at smuggling. Besides, probably best to give your liver a bit of a break."
"You're right, of course. Plus, it helps me keep a clear head. I've been thinking…"
"About?"
"About who I might have seen lurking around the house when I came back from visiting Clara and Tara's parents."
This was interesting. Of course, I didn't know if she'd really seen someone or if, since I'd managed to roll out from under the guilty bus by not having possession of her stolen fake property, she was trying to find a new victim to serve as a speed bump. "Who did you see?"
She beckoned me closer. "That woman that crashed our brunch yesterday morning. The blonde…"
"Allyson Seavers?"
Agnes nodded. "I remembered the white blouse and dark jeans she had worn when she came into Charlie's restaurant."
"You think she had something to do with Rico's death?"
"I'm sure of it. She hated him and didn't have one nice word to say while she was there." She crossed her arms. "I know bad blood when I see it, and I'm telling you something happened in their past to cause it."
Though I didn't want to admit it, she had a point.
"Did Rico say anything about her when you got home?" Figured it couldn't hurt to ask. If she was lying, might as well make her keep spinning a solid story. She would either do just that or slip up and give me a thread to unravel her web of lies.
She closed her eyes, sending a few tears down her cheeks. If she was faking, I might have to relinquish my Academy Award to her for this performance.
"I asked him about her, but he pulled me into his strong arms and told me she was nothing but a blip on the radar of his past. I was his future."
There might be the tiniest bit of vomit in my mouth. I'd sensed from the beginning that Rico was a player when it came to the ladies. His handsome face, nice body, and Spanish accent slipping out phrases as sweet as honey ensured he didn't have to work hard to have women vying for his attention. My guess was Allyson had been more significant than Rico had let on. From the tension and hostility she fired his way yesterday morning, she was more like a minefield than a blip. "I don't doubt that. He didn't give her a second glance, but her reaction to his presence indicated that she thought they had some unfinished business. At least that's what it seemed like to me."
Agnes perked up at my statement. Great, not only was I no longer doubting her, I was helping her stitch together her potential quilt of lies. I bet Keely Fairchild, the expert quilt appraiser here in Danger Cove that Mandi had introduced me to recently, would have a field day with this.
"You're right, Lilly. If looks could kill, Rico would've been pushing up daisies."
At the familiar idiom, she stopped and covered her face with her hands. "Dear Lord in heaven, that's what he'll be doing now. Do you think she might have killed him?"
I didn't have a clue. It seemed risky for Allyson to come to the house on the off chance that Agnes had decided to visit her neighbors. And then she what? Stole the ring and killed him? There was no proof of murder…yet. Once I had confirmation he was killed and how, then I might be able to discern the truth from the lies. "I suppose anything's possible, Agnes. We don't even know the cause of death yet."
My words incited some dry heaves, and I decided it was time to take my leave. "I'll check on you later and bring the envelope of cash I found. I'm going to visit Bree and see if she has observed anything that might help us."
Agnes waved but kept her head over the plastic receptacle they'd left for her. Definitely not sticking around for any of that. I retrieved my bike and started the ride back to Danger Cove.
The Ocean View Bed & Breakfast was just down the road from the tavern. Bree was a regular at the tavern and shared the same knack as me for getting in the middle of sticky situations. Some people called it bad luck—we just called it life in Danger Cove. One thing became clear as I pushed my heart into a rhythm that would burn off all the calories I'd consumed that morning: Agnes might have appeared upset about Rico, but she'd never said the words aloud. It wasn't resounding proof of guilt, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was something.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bree was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch when I rode into the area designated for parking. The afternoon sun highlighted her red hair. I couldn't see her eyes due to the sunglasses perched perfectly on her nose, but the relaxed position of her body along with the gentle rocking indicated she was enjoying some much-deserved rest. Not wanting to alarm her, I called out from my position at the bike. "Hi, Bree. Want some company?"
Her body became alert, and she waved me closer. "Hi, Lilly. You caught me taking my afternoon siesta. See what a vacation in Mexico will do to you?"
I occupied the rocking chair closest to her. "Vacation? Tell me more of this mythical fantasy of which you speak."
Bree chuckled. "You'd love it. There are beaches, waitstaff, and fantastic food."
I gestured to the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs nearby. "Hmmm, other than the waitstaff, I think I can find all of that here in Danger Cove. No passport required."
"Don't get me wrong—I love Danger Cove. It's just nice to get away."
I didn't want to burden her with more details of my life, including the fact it had taken me a long time to discover a new sense of home after Gram had died a few years ago. I'd made my way across the country, stopping for a time in places like New Orleans, Dallas, and Denver before arriving at Danger Cove. As a result, getting away was the last thing I wanted to do. "I suppose you're right. We missed you at the tav
ern while you were gone."
Bree stopped rocking and turned to face me. "I hear there's been no shortage of excitement surrounding you lately."
"I'd ask how you heard, but the grapevine around here works faster than high-speed broadband."
"Faster than what? Since when do you speak gigabytes and techno babble?"
"Since Freddie started taking an online computer class."
"Good for him. Make sure he doesn't learn how to tap into my Wi-Fi or cable service," Bree teased as she stood to pour us both a glass of lemonade from a pitcher on a nearby table.
"I'll do my best."
She handed me the beverage, and I downed the liquid like I'd been stranded in a desert for days. Guess the bike ride made me thirstier than I had realized. Once I drained the last drop, I placed the glass carefully on the acrylic table next to my chair. "Speaking of the drama surrounding me, you have any megabytes of data on some of your guests that might help fill the current vacuum of information I'm being sucked into?"
Bree laughed and poured me some more lemonade. "If you're referring to our notable guest, Chef Jonathan, I don't have much to share. He's been pretty quiet and keeps to himself."
"What about Allyson Seavers?"
"Other than the fact she's got it bad for the chef, what do you want to know?"
If she happened to have confessed to killing Rico, that would be nice information to have…Since I was sure Bree didn't have that information, as said grapevine had not revealed any police visits to the B&B, I'd have to settle for what I hoped was a much easier question. "After she left yesterday morning, what time did she return?"
Bree rocked back and forth a few minutes with her eyes closed, concentration settling over her rosy cheeks. "I can't be sure. Late morning maybe? I had to run some errands, and then Mom and Dad called. You know how they are."
I did. Whereas my parents had been absent from my life up until last Thanksgiving, hers were very involved and a little overprotective. "I think it's sweet that they call you almost every day."
"Sweet is one way to look at it. Don't get me wrong—I love that they care and check up on me, but once a week is more than sufficient. I was in my room yesterday with the curtains pulled and a cold compress on my head for the call," Bree teased. "When I came downstairs around ten or so, Allyson was sitting in the living room. For what it's worth, she was upset, and from the red circles rimming her eyes, I'm pretty sure she'd been crying."
If Bree's timing was right, then Allyson could have had time to show up at Rico and Agnes's house and do whatever she'd planned on doing and still have been back to Ocean View when Bree saw her—especially if the timing was more toward the "or so…" part of the time frame. "Makes sense. She had been pretty upset. Though I'd say it was leaning more to the angry side of upset rather than the emotional basket case side when I saw her yesterday morning around eight thirty."
Bree frowned, and her gaze narrowed. "Crying doesn't make you an emotional basket case, just human. I'm sure you've cried a time or twelve before."
I remembered crying a few times in the past ten or fifteen years—Gram's funeral offered up a veritable and repeated emptying of my tear ducts. I'd felt the emotions were justified under the circumstances. Crying wasn't something that had happened often in our house. Gram said tears only watered the dirt of life and muddied the problems you were trying to move through. She'd been a pillar of strength that never wavered in my life, no matter how much the winds of anxiety blew around her. But not everyone had a gram like mine, so I'd defer to Bree's assessment. "You're right. That doesn't mean anything other than she was experiencing some emotion."
My friend's red curly hair swayed with the tilting of her head as she studied me closely. I was sure she wanted to delve into a personal question or two, but I needed to get going. "If you think of anything else or learn anything new, you'll let me know, right?"
"Of course. What do you think she did?"
"I'm not sure, just that she had a serious issue with Rico, and now he's dead."
"I thought that was an accident."
"We're still waiting on the final results of the autopsy. And my centi-senses tell me something is going on here that doesn't smell right."
Bree laughed. "It still cracks me up that you say centi-senses rather than spidey senses. I thought you'd made peace with your parents and their band, The Barking Spiders."
"I did, but it's hard to change a lifetime of expressions in just a few months." Thanks to my parents abandoning me all those years ago to pursue a life with their weird band name, I'd developed an aversion to spiders and any reference to them. As a result, my intuition preferred to be called centi-senses rather than the more common spidey senses. Possibly a bit petty, but we all have our coping mechanisms.
"True that. Speaking of smelling, have you noticed how amazing Chef Jonathan smells?"
I shook my head as I stood. "Can't say that I've paid any attention."
"Bet you know what Tan smells like…"
As a matter of fact, I did—a breath of fresh ocean with just a hint of spice. Instead of answering her, I simply smiled and shrugged. "What does Jonathan smell like?"
"Like freshly chopped herbs. I'm not sure which ones since my thumb doesn't register anywhere on the green scale."
I could relate, as my thumb would be considered dried, brown, and crumbly—same as any plants I'd tried to tend to throughout my life. "I can ask Tara or Clara. Bet they know."
"That would be great. It's been driving me crazy."
"Short trip…" I couldn't help but tease her. She and I both had in and out privileges for Crazy Town. Most days we took the express train straight there.
Bree gave me a hug, grabbed the tray of lemonade, and headed inside with a final warning. "Try not to get caught up in the mess of Agnes's life. You have a lot on your plate between Hope coming back and Tan graduating. Focus on those things." She winked. "It'll be the best way to keep me from having to rescue you."
I started to grace her with one of my witty comebacks, when I saw Allyson returning from a walk. "Catch ya later, Bree."
"Later, Lilly."
Passing my bike, I walked directly toward Allyson on an intercept course. I had no idea what I was going to say or even if she would talk to me, but I had to give it a try. She wasn't really walking, more like gliding—a model taking her victory lap on Project Runway with her long, blonde hair lifting gently in the afternoon breeze.
Meanwhile, my hair continued to perfect its escape act from my ponytail and plastered itself to my cheek, thanks to the humidity and residual sweat from my long bike ride. Maybe she'd take pity on my disheveled self and provide information and a few beauty tips. I squared my shoulders and put on my friendliest face. "Hi. Allyson, right?"
Her brows knitted together as her gaze narrowed. "Do I know you?"
My ponytail swished from side to side as I shook my head. "No, not really. My name is Lilly Waters. I saw you briefly yesterday morning at Charlie's Cove."
The red in her cheeks deepened a few shades. "Oh…I'm sorry about crashing your brunch like that."
I waved off her apology. "You don't owe me anything. Truthfully, I didn't want to be there in the first place, so you weren't interrupting."
Her cheeks performed another kaleidoscope change of color, still red but less embarrassed, more of an angry hue. She crossed her arms. "Why did you go then? Don't you think Jonathan's been through enough already? Are you just leading him on about the possibility of investing in his restaurant?"
Umm, not sure where that sharp left turn came from. My innocent attempt to help her save face backfired and apparently sparked a whole box of fireworks in her brain. I lifted my hands in the widely accepted gesture of defense. "I'm sorry. No disrespect to the chef, just the timing of his request. I have my own restaurant and bar to run." Technically, not my own, but close enough for the purpose of this conversation. I decided to leave out the detail that he and Agnes had cornered me and refused to concede until I agreed t
o go to breakfast. She wouldn't be interested in that detail at all.
She turned and looked in the direction of the ocean. The wind still blew her hair directly behind her as though someone were holding a fan at the perfect angle. Seriously, how was that fair or even possible? "You're right. I'm super sensitive when it comes to him. I hurt him in the past, so now I'm trying to make up for that by trying to prevent anyone else from hurting him ever again."
Depending on what way I took that statement, it could lead me down a path ending in a nice, shiny motive for her killing Rico. If she'd learned that Rico had every intention of keeping Jonathan from Agnes's money, her protective instincts could have kicked in, and who knew what she was capable of then.
"I understand what you're saying, but matters of the heart are different than the business of a person's pocketbook."
My statement quirked the side of her mouth that I could see into a smile…or at least a half one. "Pocketbook? Does anyone call it that anymore?"
My turn to blush. I shrugged. "My gram called it that. Guess it stuck."
She nodded. "Nice way to remember her. She's passed away, right?"
"Yes. But how—"
"You referenced her in the past tense. Said she called it that rather than calls. I drew my assumption from there."
Beautiful and smart. I could see why Jonathan would be attracted to her. He was handsome in a way, but definitely dated up the social strata when it came to women like Allyson.
"You assumed correctly. We lost her almost four years ago now."
"I'm sorry."
Dampness gathered in my eyes—must be sweat or the salty sea breeze irritating them. I blinked rapidly to send it back into my maxed-out tear ducts. "Thank you. I loved her very much." I paused for a moment before continuing. "It's obvious to me that you love Jonathan. May I ask what happened?" I knew what Clara had told me the tabloids said, but I'd prefer to get it straight from the source. We'd see if she caught my use of the present tense when mentioning her affection for him. He might be over her, but she definitely wasn't over him.
