A kid with bushy red hair and a finger up one nostril walked onto the porch when I slid out of the Range Rover.
“You drive the white car?” He twisted his finger knuckle-deep.
“Yep.” I squeezed a dollop of hand sanitizer onto my palm in preparation for entering the facility. Who knew what this child had already touched. “I got a text saying my tire was on.”
“We never had a car come here that was shot before.” He examined his finger and then wiped it on his overalls.
“Hey there, Patience.” A bigger version of the kid ambled over the gravel driveway toward us. He tugged the kid against his side. “This here is my oldest, Mills Jr. Shake her hand, son.”
Yikes. I shoved my fingers into my back pockets. “I’ve had a cold.” I turned my head and coughed against my shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to get you sick.”
Mills Jr. shrugged.
“Sorry I had to charge you so much,” Mike said. “We made a trip over to the mainland last night to pick up the tire. It would’ve cost more to have it delivered. Taken longer, too.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to go out of your way for me. I didn’t realize.”
He rubbed his grease-black hands onto a rag. “It’s no problem. Not too often I get vehicles in here involved in crimes. You sure do have the town talking.”
“Right. I’m back for five minutes and things fall apart. I was hoping to be useful when I got here.”
He turned for the office area inside the pole barn, and I followed. Everything smelled of WD-40 and motor oil. A card table with a metal money box sat beside a receipt book. My car shined beside the table.
“I hear you’re helping people around here already.”
“If you count buying the boathouse and keeping the hardware store in business.” I handed him the rest of the cash in my wallet.
Mills followed my gaze to the Prius. “I hope you don’t mind I washed it. The kids were playing in the water and I thought, What the heck.”
“Thanks.”
I rubbed a ready wipe around my steering wheel before pulling away. Without making a conscious decision, I drove to the boathouse and pulled the Prius into the spot out front. There was no one on the street, no unusual sounds, no traffic. My thumbs drummed against the wheel.
Something big was going on. Sebastian knew it. I knew it. I needed to find a way to convince Sheriff Murray to look into the case further. Only one problem, I didn’t have any evidence yet. I had a sleazy partner who saw Brady fighting with his girlfriend and a girlfriend who said his partner was pinching him for more money. Also, I couldn’t forget the wife with high-class taste who knew about the girlfriend. It was all very dramatic, but none of what I found so far equated to a smoking gun. The sheriff already hated me. I couldn’t approach him until I had proof for my theories.
The facts whirled inside my head, trying and failing to fit together. Maybe a walk through the office would shake something loose. I looked around again and weighed the odds someone would be back so soon after a drive-by. No one had bothered the place earlier when I stopped in. Sure, the glass guys and Hank arrived right after I did, but a bad guy wouldn’t have known they were coming. I shook my head. I’d only be a minute.
I unlocked the office door and checked for rats. The door frame didn’t budge when I walked in. A nice improvement. I shut the door so no one would walk in on me. At the sink, I wet some paper towels for the windows. I’d clean and think. The blue tape peeled easily off the new glass. It was nice of Adrian to send windows. He didn’t have to.
I smiled as I worked. Seeing Mills Jr. was kind of fun. He was his father’s son. If I had kids, I imagined they’d be more like my mom than me. She never worried, never stressed, didn’t make lists and plan everything until she wanted to scream. I hoped my kids would be like her.
The island did things to my brain. Thinking about children when I hadn’t had a date in two years was ridiculous.
I took a step back to admire my work. Not a single sign of the tape. Gorgeous. I almost hated to hang curtains. The view through the park and up Park Street was magnificent. Bright green leaves on two-hundred-year-old trees lined the park’s edge, and a circle of sunflowers taller than me stood near the old slide. I used to play inside a circle just like it, weaving flowers into head wreaths for my mother. A punch of color from wildflowers accented the lawn where the wind had planted them. The park air was sweet with fresh blossoms and tangy with the briny harbor so near. A red convertible crawled past. The woman in the passenger seat snapped a picture of the man in the driver’s seat. They both smiled, mouths open, heads thrown back. Their bumper had a Virginia Is for Lovers sticker on it.
I turned away from the disappearing car and caught sight of a white van headed my way. This vehicle pulled up beside my car and stopped.
Panic rushed through my chest, saturating me in endorphins. Abductors drove vans like that. Raper vans. I grabbed my keys and hunkered down. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What was I thinking? I touched the phone in my pocket. Who to call? Sebastian? My mom? On instinct, I dropped to the floor and army-crawled around the piles of my old windows. If someone came here to hurt me, I’d slip out the rat door for a quick escape. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn’t boarded it up.
I held still and listened. No car doors. No squealing tires. Were they waiting for me to leave? My car was sitting out front. Maybe keeping the dock was a good idea. I could walk to the beach every morning and paddle a raft to work every day. Good exercise, and I’d live longer.
I waited a few more minutes for footsteps that didn’t come. Feigning brave, I scooted on my knees toward the window and lifted my head. No van, and no gunslingers in sight.
Then, a shock of red hair across the park caught my attention. I rolled my eyes in relief. Mrs. Davis’s lurking might have scared the van away. Excitement rolled over me. Maybe she’d gotten a license plate number. Sebastian could run it for me, just to be sure it didn’t belong to a convicted manic. I dusted off my knees and walked to the door. With one strong tug, I got a good look at the wild expression on her face.
Fear.
She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. I took a step toward her, watching my back, scanning the area. She waved her hands in front of her, and made the sign of the cross over her chest. Something awful was happening, but I didn’t see what it was. I took off at a sprint down the cement walk toward her.
“No!” she wailed.
My heart spiked. What was happening? My feet pounded the ground beneath me, closing the space, needing to make sure she was all right. I yanked my cell free from my shorts. I knew who I needed to call. Whatever was happening on this island was bigger than a mistaken murder charge. I needed Sebastian—fast. Hopefully his brush with the Mob had nothing to do with my office in the crosshairs, but one way or the other, I’d landed myself in the middle of something huge. I doubted the island sheriff could help me.
KABOOM!
Pain shot through my ears. Air forced me back a few steps and heat washed over my skin. My car exploded at the end of the path, thirty feet away. The new windows behind me shook and burst. Shards of glass filled the air and sliced through my skin. Flames shot out of my car windows, and acrid smells of burnt upholstery assaulted my nose. I choked on black billows of smoke rolling in the air. Melted rubber brought tears to my eyes. Every breath I pulled in seared my throat and lungs. I couldn’t see Mrs. Davis anymore.
“Help.” I coughed until my chest ached. My head swam. “Help.” I pressed my cheek to the cold cement sidewalk. Tears blurred my vision. It hurt to shut my eyes, but it hurt more to keep them open. My ears popped. It was as if someone threw a blanket over the world.
“She’s cut up. A few burns, I think. No. She wasn’t in the car. She wasn’t far...” Mrs. Davis’s voice filled the hollow space around my clogged-up head.
“What happened?” I chok
ed the words through burning lungs.
“The white van.” Mrs. Davis’s face was six shades paler than I’d ever seen it. If she looked in a mirror, she’d climb back in her tanning booth for a year. “They shoved something under your car and took off. I was afraid to get too close, so I stayed to warn you, but you went running toward the road. Why would you do that?”
“Ugh.” Blood whooshed between my ears. Everything I had hurt, and it smelled like my flat iron when I forgot to clean the loose hairs away.
Sirens approached. I hated that I was going to die and hadn’t even had a shower. Who knew what sort of underwear I had on. My poor psychic mother would be devastated she didn’t see this coming. Red flashed over my eyelids, and fatigue swept through me. Adrian would go to jail for murder.
I hated leaving things the way they were, but darkness stronger than any determination I had left overtook me.
Chapter Nine
A steady rhythm lulled me. I could make out a few voices nearby, but I couldn’t understand the words. My body felt both light enough to float and also made of sand. Drugs. I hated the woozy tingle over my body and the muddled thoughts pain relievers delivered. I took a mental inventory of my faculties and appendages. Everything seemed to be where it belonged, but my face burned despite the goose bumps on my arms.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Beep. Whoosh. Whoosh. Beep.
The scent of rubbing alcohol hung in the air with a side kick of iodine and Band-Aids.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Beep.
Crap.
Memories of Mrs. Davis’s face popped into my mind. I felt around with a heavy hand. Metal guardrails. Stiff sheets. My eyelids peeled open, and I sighed as relief and frustration beat me back against the pillow. Good news. I was safe in a hospital. Bad news. Someone had tried to kill me—again.
“Honey.” Mom’s face hovered over mine. She swept hair from my forehead.
I grimaced.
“Oh, Patience.” Her voice croaked. “You were so lucky. Your burns are minor.”
Burns. I swallowed. My throat felt like knives scraping across hot ash. “What happened?”
“Someone blew up your car.” Mom pushed her bottom lip out. “Your father’s helping clean things up over there. We assume that’s what you were doing. You never could leave a mess alone.”
“Mrs. Davis?” I rasped.
“We hear she called nine-one-one, but she wasn’t at the scene when the sheriff arrived. He’s been looking everywhere for her. You don’t think something happened to her?”
Tears blurred my vision. She’d seen everything. She would’ve told the sheriff if she could have. “She saw.” I tugged Mom down to me. “What if...”
“Shhh.” She placed a finger to her lips. “We’ll talk about this in two minutes. Save your voice for the doctor.”
“Miss Price?” A chipper voice arrived on the clickety-clack of heels. “I’m Dr. Marshall.” She extended a hand to me.
Mom excused herself from my side. “I’ll be right outside.”
“You are one lucky lady.” Dr. Marshall worked methodically checking my pulse and bandages. Her fingers traced the line of my scalp beneath my hair. She looked into my eyes with a penlight. Touching beneath my chin, she began to make small talk.
“I admire you moving here to start over. It takes real tenacity to start a new business on a small island.” She gave me a warm smile. Probably she wanted to take my mind off the fact that I could’ve been killed, but I couldn’t stop wondering where Mrs. Davis ran off to or what she saw.
“I’m a workaholic,” she continued. “I understand the drive it takes. The way it pushes you to stay longer, work harder, accomplish more. There’s never a point where it’s enough, is there?”
She sighed and set the stethoscope to her ears. Listening to my chest, she pressed on with her soliloquy. I wasn’t even certain she was talking to me any longer, but we were alone in the room. “I had a husband in medical school. He gave me an ultimatum. What could I do? Choose a man over a future? I had a life to live. Who wants to be so-and-so’s wife? Or Jr’s mom? I mean, I want those things, but why can’t I be something and so-and-so is my husband. Why couldn’t my kid be Dr. Marshall’s son?”
I scooted up in bed, willing the cotton in my head to dissolve. “We have to find someone who gets us, I think.”
“Exactly.” She moved the IV stand away from the bed and unplugged the drip from my hand. “When I find the right guy, he should understand my work is important to me.”
“He should. Wouldn’t you?” I rubbed the mark left by the needle.
“Of course. I’d never expect anyone to stop doing something they love for me. Our careers are part of who we are. It’s like saying, ‘I only like the left side of you. Please remove the rest.’”
I laughed and it hurt. My hand went to my throat on instinct.
“Here.” Dr. Marshall handed me a Dixie cup of lukewarm water and a prescription. “These are for pain. Your burns are minor but they’ll hurt, and so will your head and throat from the smoke. I don’t see a reason to admit you, so I suggest you head home and get some rest. You were really lucky today. Apply cool compresses to the burns on your arms and face if they bother you and stay out of the sun for a few days while the burns heal. Drink plenty of fluids.”
I swung my legs over the edge and braced my hands beside my hips. No dizziness. With my feet firmly on the ground, she led me by an elbow to my parents outside the door. Dad had a sports bottle with him. Dr. Marshall motored to the front desk without a formal good-bye. Just when I thought I might make a girlfriend on Chincoteague, she ducked out.
“Good bedside manner,” I told my mom.
She petted my head and took me to the desk to pay. My heart spiked. I’d never had a medical bill without insurance before. According to research, medical bills, not credit card debt, were the number-one reason for bankruptcy in the United States.
“You’re all set, Miss Price.” The girl behind the counter pushed a piece of paper my way. “Sign here for discharge.”
I scribbled my name. “You’ll bill me?” I hadn’t given my address. Sure, it was a small island, but that was no way to do business.
“No charge.”
I narrowed my eyes at the girl, prepared for a fight. If she handed me money, I’d lose it. “No charge?”
“Pro bono.”
I frowned. “I can pay my own medical bills.” Maybe. Hopefully. Pro bono was for people without insurance or a steady income. People...exactly like me. My eyes slid shut a moment in frustration. I used to have a dull, predictable life complete with paycheck, and government health care benefits were exceptional. I had no idea what an emergency room visit cost without insurance. Further protest dissolved on my tongue. My head hurt.
“Sorry.” The receptionist gave me a wide, toothy smile. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Come on, honey. You need to rest.” Mom steered me out the door while I fumed. I used to have a steady and predictable life. Last week. I rubbed my forehead. Somewhere across the bridge life made sense.
* * *
Dad slid into the backseat of the VW bus. Mom buckled me in like an infant and drove me home.
“Guess that new tire was a wasted two hundred bucks,” Dad joked.
Mom glanced at me.
My tire. I let my head fall back against the headrest. “My car.”
“Yep. Those brand-new windows were a bust, too.” Dad snickered.
“Marvin,” Mom scolded.
“Too soon?”
“Yes.” We groaned in unison.
“Can we talk about something else right now?” I asked. “I need time to process.”
“Well, I could use some more flyers at the Pony,” Mom said as she pulled up to my apartment and shifted into Park.
“You want me
to make flyers for the store? For pony week?”
“No. I need more of your flyers. They’re all gone. Went like hotcakes.” She tipped her head back and forth. “I was wrong. It happens.”
“They literally disappeared.” Dad leaned forward, resting his elbows against our seats. “The stack kept getting smaller—then, poof.”
“Gone.” Mom nodded.
“Poof?” It might’ve been the smoke inhalation, but I didn’t know what they meant by poof.
“Word around town is you’re the best thing going since Dr. Phil.” Pride erased the worry on Mom’s face.
“What?”
“You’re all the rave. Having a flexible meeting place so islanders can be at ease was smart, Patience. You’re finally thinking outside the box. The anonymity is priceless.”
“People stop me at random, tell me things and leave money behind.” I barked a laugh and grabbed my throat.
“They were paying you for your time. We’re really impressed with your ingenuity. Way to take what you love and fit it to your circumstances. Very well done, honey.”
My phone buzzed with a text. I didn’t recognize the number.
You shouldn’t have sent the FBI guy away.
Dad pulled my door open and leant me a hand. “Everything okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
My knees wobbled a bit. I moved toward the stairs. Kitty waited outside the door at the top of the steps. Whispers floated around from behind the house.
“Who’s there?” My gravelly voice cracked as though I’d smoked a pack a day since kindergarten. Dad jumped beside me. The pepper spray was locked and loaded in my grip.
“No one.” A foursome of teens rolled into view. Two boys and two girls shuffled from the backyard to face us. The girls looked sheepish, arms wrapped around their tummies. One smirk-faced boy raised his palms as if I might arrest him. The other shoved his hands into his back pockets and avoided eye contact.
“What are you doing lurking around this building?” I asked.
“We heard the place was haunted.” The blondest girl shot me a pleading look.
Murder by the Seaside Page 10
