by Winnie Reed
Too bad everything falls to pieces when a body’s discovered in a chest in the attic. Even worse, that Detective McHottie shows up in the middle of the investigation.
Can Emma figure out who is in the attic before the killer finds out she’s looking into the matter?
He’s got one question. How does she keep getting mixed up in these matters?
Chapter 1
“Okay. It’s time for you and me to have a little talk. I hate to do this, but you don’t leave me any choice.”
I looked her in the eye, forcing myself not to cave. This was too important to allow emotion to get in the way. If I didn’t grow a spine and stick up for myself now, I’d be lost. Finished. There would be no hope of coming back from this.
“I should’ve done this before,” I admitted, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. God, it was so hard to look into those cocoa-brown pools of light without whimpering like the weak-willed coward I was. I wanted to look away. I wanted to brush this latest transgression off as a mistake, or a misunderstanding.
She looked back at me, silent. Eyes wide, undoing me with their innocence. She couldn’t possibly think she was in the right, could she? There was no excuse for her latest crime.
“Maybe it’s my fault,” I hedged, my voice cracking a little. I was no good, no good at all. There was no hope for me.
Glancing from the kitchen to the bedroom through the open door, I strengthened my resolve. All it took was a reminder of everything I’d lost.
“I should’ve made sure you knew how important they were to me,” I allowed, “and I didn’t. But that doesn’t give you the right to destroy my property. I shouldn’t have to tell you, should I? You should just respect what’s mine because it’s mine. You don’t see me going around, destroying your belongings. If I’m bored, I do something constructive. I don’t tear things to pieces.”
I held up one of the two ruined sandals, waving it in front of her face. The other one was still on the floor at the foot of the bed, the leather straps chewed to pieces.
“This is no good, young lady. No good at all. I never even had the chance to wear them!” I looked at it, still as disappointed as I’d been when I first found the carnage. “I scored a huge clearance deal and was gonna wear them this weekend and pretend I paid full price, but now that’s out the window.”
Lola blinked up at me, her little puppy head tilting to the side in that way that absolutely killed me. I mean, it reduced me to a puddle. She owned me, and she knew it.
“I know you don’t know what you did, but you’re still a bad girl. Bad girl.” I waved the sandal in her face, hoping to stir memories of her crime. To her credit, she ducked her head a little.
“Darn right, you’re sorry and you’ll never do it again.” Did I sound stern enough? I hoped so. “And you’d better not act up while you’re with Grandmom this weekend. It’s one thing to ruin my brand-new Steve Maddens, but another thing to ruin anything of hers. She’ll start in on the whole If this were an actual grandchild and not a ten-pound dog, we wouldn’t be having these issues thing, and my head might explode.”
I picked her up, nuzzling the top of her cotton fluff head. “And then who would give you treats, huh?”
At the mention of the t-word, Lola scrambled out of my grasp and turned rapid circles on the floor, her ears flopping, her mouth open in what I tried to tell myself was a smile.
Truly, the dog owned me. All I could do at that sort of reaction was shrug, reach into the bag and toss a treat her way. Who was I to deny that sort of joy? I wasn’t a monster.
While she feasted—and, as such, received the message that her bad behavior was something worth being rewarded for, God I was a dope for that dog—I went back to my room and kicked the ruin sandal aside in favor of checking my bags. It was only a weekend away with Raina, but anything was possible while traveling with her. She had a way of throwing a wrench into the works.
But in a nice way. In a I found the most amazing four-star restaurant where lots of rich people like me go to eat and drink champagne and chuckle over how wonderful we are sort of way.
As such, I’d packed a Little Black Dress and pumps for the occasion, with a small purse to match. Otherwise, my two carry-on size suitcases were full of jeans, t-shirts, sundresses and jammies. I’d even packed a bathing suit and coverup in case Raina had scored a hotel with a nice pool.
Which I assumed she had, because this was Raina. The girl traveled in style, even if she was only staying near an old friend’s farmhouse in Maryland.
“Come on,” I called out to my outlaw puppy, whose mother I’d been for all of a month. “Time to go visit with Granny, so she can spoil you with goodies she’s not supposed to give you and then call me and complain when you go on a sugar-fueled reign of terror.”
I wished I was making that part up, but I wasn’t.
I strapped Lola into her little harness—everything was so little, the cuteness killed me—and slung the bag full of toys, treats and puppy food over one shoulder before walking her down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Mr. Angelo was busy tossing dough behind the window of his pizza shop, but he always took time to wave to the dog and me as we passed.
I had the feeling he liked Lola better than he liked me, but that was okay. I liked her better than some people, too.
Besides, it wasn’t like Lola could shove cash his way whenever she’d had a trying day or a long week. She wasn’t the one who’d been consuming his pizzas for years and probably putting his kids through college with the profits.
It was a glorious May morning, only two weeks shy of Memorial Day. Already there was a great deal more activity around Cape Hope which was poised to explode at the start of the summer season. I took in the fresh awnings, smartly-painted trim along the storefronts, pretty flowers in brand-new planters flanking entrances. Everybody put their best foot forward at this time of year, looking forward to months of healthy profits.
Including my mother, though business never exactly slowed down. Sweet Nothings was the meeting place for those in Cape Hope who called it home all year long, just as it had been since I was barely out of the womb.
As such, everybody who walked through the door felt like they had a vested interest in my life. Lucky me.
“There’s Lola!” Breanna Schultz stood at the counter in Mom’s café when I strode through the door with my dog, waiting for a cup of green tea or whatever yoga enthusiasts drank after a class. I wouldn’t have known since I stopped practicing maybe three minutes after I started.
“And me,” I added with a smirk. “I feel like my only purpose in life now is to take my Maltese from place to place so people can adore her.”
“You do such a good job of it.” Breanna winked my way before crouching in front of Lola, scratching her behind the ears. And what did my beloved puppy do in response? She rolled over onto her back, belly exposed, her brown eyes silently beseeching.
“She’ll do anything for a belly scratch,” I scowled indulgently.
Breanna did as she was told, since after all, we were merely there for the dog’s enjoyment, before standing with a mile-wide smile. “When am I gonna see you at the studio again?” she asked, all glowy and dewy after exercising her body in a way I rarely did.
Nothing like that deer-in-headlights feeling. “Uh, soon. I think.”
She laughed. “You know I’m only teasing. I love watching you squirm.”
“Thanks.”
My mother turned to face us, holding a cup filled with ice and fresh tea, just like I’d guessed. “She’s too busy jet-setting all over the place for her job,” she practically crowed.
“I wouldn’t call it that,” I blushed. “I was only in Fort Lauderdale last week.”
“And Chicago the week before that,” she prompted. “Writing about restaurants, getting paid to travel and eat well. Can you imagine how much fun that would be?”
Sometimes she laid it on a little too thick. “Breanna knows what I do, Mom. Everybody does. You make a
point of telling them.”
Breanna laughed. “It’s nice, seeing a mom being so proud of her daughter. At least she doesn’t get on your case about only owning a yoga studio and not doing something more substantial with your life.”
“Now, if only I could have a grandchild and not a grand-doggie, my life would be complete,” Mom sighed in her usual dramatic fashion before turning her attention to a new customer I didn’t recognize. A tourist, in other words.
“My mother,” I whispered, waving a hand her way with a flourish.
Breanna giggled. “Where are you headed this weekend? Another assignment?”
“Not this time. My friend Raina is bringing me along to visit an old family friend. He’s renovating a farmhouse that’s been in the family for centuries, turning it into a bed and breakfast down in Maryland. I was thinking of pitching the place as a potential assignment later, once it’s open.”
“Ooh, that sounds lovely. I haven’t had a vacation in so long. I need a B&B weekend.”
“You’ll have to come with me when it opens,” I offered. She was a nice person, and she’d been probably the only saving grace at the disastrous book club meeting at Mom’s during the Riviera Resort Murder Case, as the newspapers had taken to calling it in the weeks afterward.
That, and all the sangria my sister kept pouring for me while I was grilled on the details of the case by half the women in town.
Meanwhile, Mom was deep in conversation with a tourist who could not have cared less about my personal life. “There was a very handsome photographer in her life for roughly five minutes, but she managed to frighten him away.”
I wanted to die, which seeing as how I’d been in the café for maybe three minutes was par for the course. “Mom. Please. I didn’t scare anybody away,” I hissed, ushering Lola into the kitchen and away from the sympathetic and bewildered gaze of a middle-aged man who just wanted a cup of coffee.
“Then why hasn’t he called in weeks?” she asked, shrugging. The very picture of motherly innocence, only concerned for her daughter’s happiness—despite the fact that she’d just finished complaining about having no grandchildren.
“He has a life. Work. So do I.” The fact was, I had no idea why Deke Bellingham had dropped off the face of the earth, but I hardly felt like discussing it either with my mother or with a dozen patrons listening in on every word.
Maybe I’d dodged a bullet. He could be hopelessly annoying and remote and sarcastic, and I didn’t need that in my life. So what if he could wear a pair of jeans better than any man I’d ever known? And so what if he’d called the police and arrived at the Riviera in time to save me from being murdered by Aubrey Klein?
For that matter, so what if I’d consumed my weight in Mr. Angelo’s pizza and my mother’s blueberry muffins in the weeks since Deke decided he didn’t have time to return a phone call?
Life went on, and I was about to embark on a weekend getaway with my best friend. Things could be worse.
Even so…
I dropped to a crouch in front of Lola, who waited patiently for me to set up her doggie bed in one corner of the kitchen. “Be on your best behavior this weekend, young lady,” I whispered, kissing her fluffy head. “If she starts squawking at me about you not being an acceptable replacement for a grandbaby, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
I hope you enjoyed Stiff in the Sand!
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Copyright © 2019 by Winnie Reed
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