I was still reeling from the sheer number of his manipulations and lies. "Because I trusted George, and I still wasn't sure about you. Thank God," I ground out.
Luke smiled. "Yep, that little bit of info could've been a real game changer. But I did my best with the information I had once I knew they were George's. I admit it was a long shot saying I was here to watch George, but hey, so was faking amnesia, right?"
I would've given him the finger if Gram hadn't been standing there.
Big Ron and Tucker went out to see the police caravan pull away, and Gram went into the kitchen to tell Dolly what had happened, leaving George, Mr. VanSant, and myself with the remains of the dinner party.
"That was cutting it a little close, don't you think?" I asked as George came over and hugged me. I was a little miffed he hadn't clued me in on more of what was going on.
"I believe I can say the same to you. I expected Luke would show up but not that he'd get in touch with you. Thanks for not switching sides on me," George said with a grin, looking down at me.
"It wasn't easy," I replied. "Luke made a pretty convincing case when he found me in my bedroom."
George made a face and stepped back. "I don't think I like the sound of that."
"You're lucky I didn't tell him the diamonds were yours," I said, taking a step back as well. "You don't make it easy to trust you, but for some reason I do. I still don't know what brought you to Danger Cove or any of the other details surrounding your life."
Mr. VanSant cleared his throat. "She has a point, George. If you want to have a real life here, you're going to have to start opening up to the people you're close to."
George looked over at Mr. VanSant in surprise. "You're the one who told me to lay low in my new surroundings."
Mr. VanSant nodded. "I did, but maybe it's time to start thinking about laying down some roots. Ms. Jordan's definitely proved her mettle tonight. If I were a young man, I'd start with her." He gave me flirtatious wink.
This dress must have magical powers or something.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I pulled out the Open House sign from the front lawn of Marlton House and tucked it under the porch stairs. This was my fourth open house without an offer. Oh, there'd been plenty of traffic. My Realtor said I should've been charging admission instead of trying to sell the place. The secret passageway in the master bedroom closet was the biggest attraction, next to the bathroom where the body was found, of course. Seemed like everyone wanted to see the scene of the crime.
I sighed and wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. It was a glorious June day, and the temperature was over eighty. The birds were singing, the bees buzzing—summer in all its glory was finally here. But I wasn't in the mood to celebrate. My first payment on Marlton House was due next week, without a buyer in sight. I had enough in the bank to make payments for a few months, but without a sale I didn't have the capital to start another flip.
Things had gone back to normal once the press left town. Alice's rap sheet had been strewn across the local news stations for a couple of weeks. But once she was diagnosed with early-stage dementia and Frank had dropped the charges in exchange for voluntary inpatient care, interest died down quickly. There were certainly enough of us he could've charged with interfering with an investigation, but if he charged one, he'd have had to charge us all, and that would have included Condor, his biggest contributor. So I went back to work on Marlton House. Luke disappeared back into the shady world of PI work, and Condor did whatever it was he did, hopefully scraping up bat poop with a big shovel.
I had decided that Condor was the real man of mystery in all this. How he managed to stay just this side of legal boggled my mind. During the investigation into Alice's background, it came out that Condor's relationship with Alice's family had begun when Alice had been sent to Danger Cove. Condor had been her Realtor, and the family had found Condor more than willing to assist with Alice's transition to Danger Cove, which included getting her out of several sticky situations due to her propensity toward shoplifting. In exchange, the family became investors in several of his real estate schemes. Condor got in over his head when Alice brought in Reggie to fence the diamonds for her. The family had been livid he'd let it get so far. And when Reggie ended up dead, Condor did his best to extricate himself from the situation without completely ticking off Alice's family. I was amazed he'd gotten out of it without a bullet in his own head.
I stood in the shade of the porch and stared out at the walkway lined with roses. The sound of whistling drew my attention to the street. A flash of white linen caught my eye. It was George in his summer suit, carrying a bouquet of red roses. What did he want? Our last conversation over two weeks ago had not gone well.
Despite Mr. VanSant's advice, George had not been able to share anything about his past with me. He said he needed to take care of some loose ends before he told his story, since it didn't concern just him. We'd had dinner a few times, but I was tired of intrigue and busy with the Marlton House renovations. The last time he'd asked me out, I'd told him I wasn't interested. We could be friends, but I wouldn't date anyone who couldn't tell me about his past. At least he'd started keeping his uncut diamonds in a safety-deposit box.
"Lovely day," he said, presenting me with the bouquet of flowers.
My phone buzzed at the same moment. "Um, thanks. Hey, that's my Realtor. I really need to take this."
"Hey, Jessica," I said, watching George walk toward the front door. "What's up?"
"Amazing news, Alex!" she gushed. "I've had a full-price offer on the house."
"What!" I cried. "That's wonderful. I can't believe it." I was so relieved I wanted to cry. I watched George fumble with the front door. I put my hand over the phone. "It's locked," I said.
"And the buyer has requested immediate occupancy until settlement. He'll pay the mortgage until we can settle. Isn't that great?" she asked.
I turned toward George and watched as he put a heavy iron key into the lock.
"Alex? Can you hear me?"
I hung up the phone.
"You bought the house?" I asked in surprise.
George nodded. "I told you I was sick of living in the apartment above the shop. I'm going to rent it out."
"This is ridiculous, George. You just bought an eight-thousand-square-foot house with five bedrooms. What do you need all that space for?"
He swung the door open. "I like it roomy," he said, moving his elbows. "Hate to feel caged in."
I shook my head as I followed him inside. "I don't believe this. I don't need your charity." I slammed the flowers down on a table and glared at him.
George whistled. "You do flatter yourself, don't you? I just spent a small fortune on this place, and you think it's because I want to score points with you?"
I blushed. "Then why?"
He looked around the restored grand entrance, which I had staged with antiques from Rockgrove. I followed his eye, pride swelling in my chest as the hours of labor and attention to detail were displayed in the bright afternoon sunshine. "Because this is simply the most amazing house I've ever seen."
Tears pricked my eyes. I croaked, "Really?"
He nodded. "I grew up in large homes all over Europe. Each was wonderfully unique in its own way. Almost with a life of its own. I always felt sad when I'd see the crumbling plaster or the warped, stained floors. Like no one cared anymore. But this," he said, raising his hands, "is what art really is. At least to me. Thank you for this masterpiece, Alex."
I walked over and hugged him. His lips found mine, and I lost myself in the moment.
The kiss ended, and he whispered, "And don't worry about the money, I'll make more."
I knew he meant it as a joke, but I pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "This doesn't change anything between us. Our relationship is staying firmly in the friend zone until you can be honest with me."
George nodded. "I understand and respect your decision." He let his hands drop and took a step back. "This concerns
more than just me though. It has to do with my parents. They are something of an eccentric couple and haven't always stuck to the letter of the law. I can say that—despite distancing myself from them as soon as I was old enough—I still got caught up in a nasty mess a couple of years ago. That's why I know Mr. VanSant. He represented my parents."
Wow, definitely tough to talk about having criminal parents. And I thought it was hard to talk about my parents dying so young in a car accident. "So you weren't facing charges?"
"No, but because of my parents' actions, I had to leave my old life. It wasn't safe anymore. They ticked off some really undesirable characters who wouldn't hesitate coming to me for restitution."
I shook my head. "I don't know what to say, George."
He slipped his arms back around my waist. "Say it's a start. Say you trust me. Say you'll have dinner with me tonight."
I liked George a lot, but I couldn't help thinking about how I'd been completely duped by Luke. I still felt like an idiot over that. "Okay," I said. "I can say it's a start, if you agree to start off slow." He nodded happily and twirled me around a turn. "And," I said sternly, "you continue to share things about yourself. If not, it's back to the friend zone."
He looked at me keenly. "I can do that, but there are some things I just can't get into right now."
"Deal. If you can answer one question now," I said, staring into his eyes.
George took a deep breath. "Okay."
"What did you do for a living before you came to Danger Cove? 'Cause I know you weren't a florist, despite your fancy pants." I laughed.
He hesitated for a second and then said, "I was a fine art appraiser. A very good one," he added ruefully. "So you see, we have even more in common than our love for beer and Painted Ladies."
It certainly made sense, but I was still a little shocked. "Where did you train?" I asked curiously.
"I had a lot of on-the-job training," he replied evasively.
"I take it we're moving into dangerous territory?" I asked.
"Something like that, Mrs. Charles," he said, drawing me into his arms.
* * * * *
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* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Christina A. Burke wrote her first novel, a time-travel romance, more than twenty years ago. Writing fell by the wayside as family and career obligations took over. She earned advanced degrees in business, taught for colleges, managed staffing agencies, and started several entrepreneurial ventures, until she found her way back to fiction writing through the unlikely avenue of metastatic breast cancer. She believes laughter is the best medicine and hopes her readers find a cure for what ails them following the wacky antics of the characters she creates. Christina, her husband, Jim, and their two children live in Dover, Delaware with the family sidekick, a shitzu-poodle mix named Max.
To learn more about Christina, visit her online at: http://caburke.com/
Elizabeth Ashby was born and raised in Danger Cove and now uses her literary talent to tell stories about the town she knows and loves. Ms. Ashby has penned several Danger Cove Mysteries, which are published by Gemma Halliday Publishing. While she does admit to taking some poetic license in her storytelling, she loves to incorporate the real people and places of her hometown into her stories. She says anyone who visits Danger Cove is fair game for her poisoned pen, so tourists beware! When she's not writing, Ms. Ashby enjoys gardening, taking long walks along the Pacific coastline, and curling up with a hot cup of tea, her cat, Sherlock, and a thrilling novel.
* * * * *
BOOKS BY CHRISTINA A. BURKE
Danger Cove Renovation Mysteries:
Secret of the Painted Lady
Queenie Baby novels:
Queenie Baby: On Assignment
Queenie Baby: Out of Office
Queenie Baby: Pass the Eggnog (a holiday novella)
Queenie Baby: On Tour
DANGER COVE BOOKS
Secret of the Painted Lady
Murder and Mai Tais
Death by Scones
Four-Patch of Trouble
Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai
Killer Closet Case
* * * * *
SNEAK PEEK
of the next
DANGER COVE MYSTERY
MURDER AND MAI TAIS
A DANGER COVE COCKTAIL MYSTERY
BY
SIBEL HODGE & ELIZABETH ASHBY
CHAPTER ONE
When I was nine, I swore I'd never set foot in a bar. Having an alcoholic for a mother was enough to put me off drink for life. But I've learned a few things in the twenty-one years since I made that promise to myself. One: I'm not like my mom. At all. Which is kind of lucky, I guess, considering I'm now working as a bartender. Two: never say never. And three: there's always a back-up plan. Even when nothing's going the way you want it to, a plan B will always show itself if you just trust things will work out right in the end. Who was I to argue with the plan B that the Universe had picked out for me? It's all about the journey, you see. And what a journey I'd been on for the last twelve years traveling the world.
I stumbled into Danger Cove by accident. Although, no, that's not quite right. It was the Universe again. Fate. Karma. Whatever you want to call it. I was in India, staying at a yoga retreat, working at the center to earn enough for my board and food, and learning the art of kundalini yoga and meditation at the same time. On the second week I was there, Ruby Fournier, international yoga guru, arrived to teach some of the classes. I didn't know who she was at first. I didn't follow new trends, and I was sometimes in such remote places of the world that there wasn't even a TV or newspaper service, let alone an Internet connection.
I liked Ruby immediately, and we had a special connection from day one. If I could have handpicked my mom, she would've been it. No contest. It was Ruby who told me about Danger Cove where she lived. Not far from Seattle, Danger Cove was a quaint and pretty coastal town. It had plenty to keep both the locals and tourists happy—stretches of golden sandy beaches nestled between areas of spectacular jagged coastline, mom-and-pop stores, and tourist-orientated specialty shops, along with plenty of bookstores, cafes, and boutiques. The harbor was home to an array of seafood restaurants, diving stores, and, of course, plenty of boats. Ruby described it to me as, "A little piece of magic on earth." So with my twenty-ninth birthday approaching, and a growing ache inside to actually find somewhere to call home and put down roots for once in my life, I knew fate was telling me exactly where I had to go.
I was just putting the finishing touches on a mai tai cocktail at the bar when a tall, heavy guy staggered in, stinking of too many cheap shots. I'd never seen him before, but that wasn't unusual around here. The Smugglers' Tavern attracted a combination of locals and tourists all year round. He plonked himself down on a bar stool in a slumpy way and hiccupped. Or burped. I don't know which. It was some icky noise, anyway, that produced an equally icky aroma.
"Ja Niels," he slurred, and banged his fist on the bar, causing other patrons to look over.
"I'm sorry, but I can't serve you any more alcohol." I straightened up my spine, trying to appear taller than my mere five foot three inches. I'd had to eject a few drunks in the year I'd been working at the Smugglers' Tavern, and most of them had been on the friendly side. This guy, though, was giving me some nasty vibes.
"Wa Jake Niels," the man insisted, narrowing his dark brown eyes, his voice thick with menace.
"He says he wants Jack Daniel's," translated Vernon, a regular customer in his early sixties, who was propping up one corner of the bar as usual, in his permanent state of being pleasantly tipsy.
"Yeah, well he can want all he likes. He's had
enough to drink," I said to Vernon, before turning back to the guy. "You'll have to leave, now, please. I can't serve you any more alcohol." I pointed to the door he'd just walked in through.
He cocked his head to one side. "Ma keme."
"Huh?" I asked.
"I can do drunk-speak so I know what he's saying," Vernon interjected. "He said 'Make me.'"
What was this guy, a ten-year-old in a playground?
"Want me to physically throw him out?" Vernon asked, sitting upright now and suddenly sounding a lot more sober than he did five minutes ago when he was telling me a story about something that happened to one of his students in his school-teaching days.
"No, it's OK. I can handle this." I waved a hand at Vernon. The last thing I needed was for a bar fight to erupt. "Let's just deal with this nice and calmly, OK?" I said to the guy in a soothing tone. "You need to go home and sleep it off."
The guy swept his hand across the bar and knocked the coasters to the floor.
Right. Not so calmly, then? "Have you ever tried meditating?" I asked. "It works wonders for getting rid of inner anger. You should give it a go some—" But I never got to finish my sentence because the Tavern's owner, Bob, appeared behind the bar from his office and interrupted me.
"Stop giving the lady hassle. She's told you to leave, now leave." Bob stood next to me. Hands on hips. Not glaring at the man exactly, but letting him know with no-nonsense eye contact that the guy was wasting his time.
The drunk slid off his bar stool and landed on the floor with a loud crash.
I winced. Ouch. Right on his coccyx. That was going to hurt in the morning. Probably not as much as his head, though.
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