by Winnie Reed
Maybe because she’d looked like she wanted to grind me into the sand outside the resort for jostling her. People had a tendency to show their true colors in those little moments when they thought nobody noticed.
Robbie raised his glass, too. “I can’t tell you what it means to see you all here.” Unlike James, whose speech rang out with a bit of showmanship, a bit of polish, Robbie was speaking from the heart. “This is the culmination of a lifelong dream, and I admit I’m a bit overwhelmed. I owe so much to my wife, Aubrey, who’s stood by my side through this crazy process.”
Aubrey kissed his cheek to rapturous applause. Cameras flashed, making her hair shine like copper and her gold dress sparkle and flash. She was a star tonight, and she knew it.
I had to applaud, too, but not for Aubrey. Robbie deserved this. I was so stinking proud.
Deke caught sight of my goofy smile and wisely held his tongue, choosing to do his job instead. He caught James shaking Robbie’s hand, the two of them posing together, before James headed back to the kitchen. I guessed it was too busy a night to hang around making speeches for long.
I wanted to catch him, maybe get a few decent quotes for the piece which was already taking shape in my head. The entire thing couldn’t be about Robbie, even if I was there technically to talk about the restaurant and the food. James was a huge part of this, the money behind the operation, and it was only right to include him.
“I’ll be back,” I muttered in Deke’s general direction before weaving my way through the crowd.
His golden head bobbed just in front of me, leading me to the still-busy kitchen.
Only it wasn’t the chatter and madness of the staff that brought me to a dead stop not two paces inside the kitchen.
It was James’s voice raised in what could only be called a bark. “What are these people supposed to do?” he demanded, and something crashed to the floor. A metal bowl rolled over the tile, coming to a noisy stop.
He didn’t wait for an answer. “If you can’t get your act together, you’re out. I don’t care who you know. You are out of here!” Except for James’s screaming, the kitchen had gone silent. Nobody dared move.
Except for me. I craned my neck, peering around an ice dispenser.
James had gone from tan to red, practically purple. He thrust a finger toward a man in a white jacket. “I mean it. Do you wanna leave now? You can leave now, friend, or you can speed things up and get more food out there!”
“What is this?” Robbie hurried in through another door, pushing his way through the staff who stood in mute horror and embarrassment. “What do you think you’re doing, screaming at my sous chef while there’s so much work to be done?”
“Maybe if your sous chef knew what he was doing, there wouldn’t be empty trays out there as we speak,” James spat, running hands over his head to smooth his hair into place. “Do you know how it makes us look?”
“You’re making us look worse by screaming the place down back here. Do you realize you can be heard in the dining room?” Robbie was beside himself, but at least he managed to keep his voice low. “This is an embarrassment, but I don’t know why I should be surprised.”
He looked around. “Get to work, everyone. And see to it that the empty platters are replaced.” He made it a point to correct his partner’s misuse of the word trays.
The staff was more than happy to get back to work. Anything to get past that terribly awkward moment. I noticed the sous chef throwing a filthy look James’s way, muttering something to himself as he turned back to his work.
Robbie, meanwhile, pulled James aside, which meant they came closer to where I stood. I cowered behind the ice machine, wincing at the thought of being discovered.
“How many times do I have to remind you?” Robbie hissed. “This is my kitchen. You can be the genius behind the resort all you want, but the kitchen is my domain. Mine. Understood? That means you don’t throw your temper around my kitchen, and especially not toward my staff.”
“Your staff is making us look like amateurs.”
“No. That would be all your doing. Get out of my face. And out of my kitchen.” Robbie stalked away, past me.
He was too angry to notice I was standing there, and I silently thanked my lucky stars while wondering if everything between the two business partners was as good as they tried to make it look on the surface.
It was probably nerves over the opening. That and James seemed like a bear to work with. A man with his sort of reputation didn’t get that way by being easygoing, I guessed.
I slipped from the kitchen, looking around to see if anybody lingering near the door seemed aware of what had just taken place. If they were, they’d gone back to enjoying themselves, sipping champagne and eating everything in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief for Robbie.
“Visiting your boyfriend?” I jumped a little when Deke spoke up from beside me. He had a way of sneaking up on a person.
I turned to him with a hand over my chest. “He’s not my boyfriend and he never was. I don’t appreciate the remarks. There was a fight in there. I was trying to get a word with James Flynn and I walked into a pretty tense situation.”
“You wouldn’t wanna talk about that in your piece, though,” he mused, faux-casual, examining his lens. “Wouldn’t be the right look for your boyfriend.”
“I swear, I will slap you,” I whispered through clenched teeth as I walked away. Whether or not he heard was his business.
I pretty much stomped to the seafood table and popped a few crab cakes into my mouth because why not, then went out to the pool area to get a little air. There was a chill now, like I’d expected, and I wrapped my shawl a little tighter as I walked around and willed away the irritation mixing around with the crab in my stomach.
It was a beautiful location, for sure, and the fact that a person could walk straight from the sand to the patio surrounding the pool was nice. This stretch of beach was private, for resort guests only. I kept walking, enjoying the scent of the salt air and the crashing waves further ahead. It drew me closer.
I passed the dunes and tripped over something in the sand, then cursed myself for being so clumsy once I regained my footing. The swinging floodlights only provided so much actual light, which made walking a challenge. Especially when one didn’t stop to take their heels off.
I looked down, ready to curse out whatever I had tripped over the way a person does in a situation like that.
And realized what had tripped me up.
Or, rather, who had.
“James? Mr. Flynn?” I crouched beside him, where he was sprawled on his back, half-hidden in the dune. “Mr. Flynn? Are you okay?”
That was when one of the floodlights swung in our direction and illuminated him for a split second. But that was long enough for me to take in everything.
Wide eyes, staring at the starry sky.
Blood trickling from his mouth.
And the shiny butcher’s knife sticking out of his chest. I reached for it before I could stop myself, grasping the handle like there was anything I could do for the guy. But that was what a person did when they were in a situation like that, right? They tried to help, even when it made no sense.
“Emma?”
My head snapped around at the sound of Deke’s voice. His eyes were just as wide as the dead man’s as he took in the sight of me grasping the handle of the murder weapon.
He looked from the knife to me. “What have you done?”
Chapter Five
“I didn’t kill him.” I glanced at Deke, catching him from the corner of my eye. “I didn’t.”
We sat side-by-side against the wall in molded plastic chairs. I still had sand stuck between my feet and my shoes. Somebody had cranked up the air conditioning to the point where I felt like I was in a fridge. Or maybe that was just me, frozen inside after what I’d discovered.
I pulled my shawl around me, like that would help. Deke finally noticed how I shivered and removed his suit jacket. “Here,”
he offered, draping it over my shoulders.
“For the record, I don’t think you did it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He looked around us. “Save it for the cops.”
The cops. Because we were in a police station, after all.
Nobody had talked to us yet, but I had the feeling that would change soon enough. There was a ton of information for them to process, and probably a million people to question. Deke’s jacket helped, but that was maybe the only positive aspect of the situation so far.
“Tell me again. What happened?” he murmured, always watching the cops and detectives who hurried around.
“I told you. I walked out onto the sand because somebody was on my last nerve and wanted to get some air. I tripped over him. This all happened maybe ten seconds before you showed up. He was just lying there, staring up at the sky.”
“And you didn’t see anybody?”
“No. It was dark. I didn’t even see him before I tripped. But no, there was nobody. Not even on the patio. Maybe it was too chilly, I don’t know.”
“That’s a shame.” When I turned to look at him, he shrugged. “Witnesses. No witnesses.”
“It must’ve happened right before I got there, right? He was just in the kitchen now a few minutes before then. Making a scene.” I elbowed Deke. Hard. “Making a scene!”
“Ow.”
“He made a big scene in there,” I whispered. “He was freaking out. Anybody would’ve been pretty mad at him after that. I’m telling you, I got a bad feeling when I was in there.”
“It’s easy to say that now.”
“I thought it then, too. Remember? Before you got all sarcastic with me? I told you there was a fight. It was tense. I told you so.”
“Okay, okay, there was a fight. Between him and Chef Robert, right?”
Whoops. That didn’t sound good for Robbie. “Yeah. I mean, James was screaming his head off at the entire kitchen staff before that. So everybody was upset. Especially the sous chef.”
“Well, the cops will figure it out. That’s what they do.”
“Yeah, but what if—”
He looked at me. “What if what?”
I couldn’t speak. Not when a certain tall, striking older man stepped into the police station and started asking questions of the front desk cop. I didn’t have to hear his voice to know how it sounded. Deep, rumbling, assertive. The sort of voice a person didn’t ignore unless they wanted to get grounded.
If they happened to be the man’s daughter. Which I was.
“Who is that?” Deke asked, following my gaze.
“My father.”
“Your father? You called your father?”
I glared at him. “Why not? Is that so bizarre?”
“How old are you?”
I wanted to kick him. So help me. “He’s a detective, genius. In Cape Hope. I wanted him here for moral support and to maybe speak up on my behalf. I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“I see. That makes sense.”
“Thanks for the approval.”
“I’m trying to be nice.”
“It’s a shame you have to try. It really is.” I stood when my father approached, taking his usual giant strides. He was the sort of guy people got out of the way for.
“Baby.” He enfolded me in his arms in a brief, tight hug. “You okay?”
“Fine. I’m not the one who had a knife sticking out of their chest.” I tried to sound cheerful but failed miserably.
“Who’s this guy?” He was never one for sugarcoating things, my dad. Especially not when his daughter had discovered a dead body.
“Deke Bellingham,” I explained. “The photographer I was working with tonight. He came with me for moral support. And, you know, he discovered me discovering the body, so…”
“They asked me to come.” He stood, shaking Dad’s hand.
“Detective George Harmon.”
I wondered if he would give Deke his resume next.
He returned his attention to me, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t worry about a thing. They’ll ask you a few questions, but don’t let them rattle you. Okay?”
“Should I have a lawyer with me? It seems I should have a lawyer. They always have lawyers on TV.”
He snickered. “This isn’t TV, baby. And you’re innocent. You have nothing to worry about.”
He was right, obviously. I hadn’t killed anybody. If I managed to let Landon get off with nothing but a lot of screaming and maybe a thrown coffee cup—it was sort of a blur—I certainly wasn’t going to kill James Flynn.
Deke offered to get coffee, leaving me alone with my dad. I sat, but he chose to stand. It was easier for him to be intimidating that way, even if he didn’t consciously intend to be.
“I wonder where Robbie is,” I mused.
“Robbie?”
“Robert Klein. Remember? He was Mom’s apprentice. It was his restaurant opening tonight.”
Understanding dawned. “Oh, right. Nice kid.”
“James Flynn was his business partner.”
Just like that, the clouds descended again and he looked confused. “James Flynn?”
“The dead guy.”
“It was James Flynn who got killed tonight?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know you were familiar with him.”
“Plenty of people are. He owns—owned—property in Cape Hope, too.”
“I didn’t know that. Well, he was pretty wealthy and connected.”
“Yes, he was.” Why did he sound suspicious? Deke showed up with coffee before I had the chance to ask.
“Wow, real coffee from a police station?” I asked with a grateful smile.
“No, there’s a shop two doors down,” he explained, offering my dad a cup which he took with a grunt of thanks.
“Extra sugar, like I asked?”
He provided a handful of sugar packets from his pants pocket. Something told me, based on his smirk, that if my father wasn’t there he would’ve had an unwelcome opinion on my sugar habit.
A plainclothes cop approached just as I finished stirring in the last packet. “I assume you’re Emma Harmon, not these two,” he grunted, looking down at a sheet on a clipboard and nodded to Dad and Deke.
“That’s right.” My stomach turned to ice all of a sudden, and I couldn’t understand why. I hadn’t killed anybody. I just happened to be the idiot who tripped over the body.
The cop glanced at me. “Okay. In here.” He pointed to what was little more than a cubby, the door open to reveal how cramped the room was. A metal table, three chairs. Nothing more.
I wondered how many perps had been questioned in there. How many cold-blooded killers. And here I was, about to be questioned in there, too.
Was I morbid for being slightly excited? Or was it just the fact that my Criminal Justice minor was about to be put to use for the first time since graduation? I stood on shaky legs, then had a second thought. “Can my dad come in?”
“Your dad?” The cop looked Dad up and down.
“Detective George Harmon.” Dad handed the cop a business card which he perused before tucking it into a pocket of his extremely well-fitting dress slacks. Yes, the last thing I needed to be thinking about was how well this cop’s pants fit, but I’d just found my first dead body. My brain needed other things to focus on for a second.
“I’m Detective Joe Sullivan.” He shook Dad’s hand before nodding to Deke, then to me. “This way, Miss Harmon. I guess your father can join us for this preliminary questioning, so long as he promises to leave the work to me.”
Gulp.
Chapter Six
“Preliminary?” I asked, glancing up at Dad before following the detective to the interrogation room.
“We don’t have all our ducks in a row yet, so to speak.” Joe took a seat at the table, hands folded on top. Nice hands. I was always a sucker for hands. No ring. Interesting.
Get it together, Emma. This was not the time t
o go shopping for a Landon replacement.
“All right, Miss Harmon. Help me understand.” His eyes (jade green under sooty lashes and heavy brows, it wasn’t fair for a boy to have such nice eyes) narrowed as he studied what I guessed was a set of notes taken during my first statement, on the beach.
“Whatever I can do,” I promised with a glance at my dad, whose face was unfortunately expressionless. I needed to know I was doing the right thing.
“You were at the event because…” Joe looked up at me, waiting.
“Like I said, I was there to write about the opening.” I nodded to the notes. “It should be there.”
“Emma,” Dad whispered.
“No, it’s all right.” Joe stared at me. “Please answer my questions without additional commentary, Miss Harmon. This isn’t my first questioning. You were there for work, then. Did you have a personal relationship with anyone present?”
I wished I didn’t have a habit of blushing whenever somebody chastised me. I used to do it in school and it never went away. “Yes. Chef Robbie—Robert,” I corrected myself, blushing harder. “We knew each other a long time ago.”
“And the nature of that relationship?”
“He worked for my mother, and so did I. One summer. Him, not me. I’ve always worked at the café, off and on. I hadn’t seen him since then, not until tonight.” I also had a tendency to talk too much when I was nervous.
“And you were out on the beach because…?” He glanced up again, and I noticed how tired his voice was. How much of this had he already done that night?
“Because I needed a breath of air. It was crowded in there, so many people.”
“And how did you happen upon the body?”
“I tripped over his leg.” I looked to Dad again, shrugging. “It was dark out there.”
“You didn’t see a body lying in the sand?” Joe asked with a smirk.
“It was dark,” I repeated. “And I wasn’t expecting a body to be lying in my path.”
“Emma.” He didn’t whisper this time. Dad’s voice was tight.
