by Lucy Quinn
Rain opened her mouth, but closed it again when Cookie shot her a pointed look. “What happened then?” Cookie urged.
The blonde chuckled. “Oh, I told him ew, no thanks, and that I’d rather look at the dick pics random guys keep sending me on social media. He wasn’t too happy about that.” She shook her head, her blond ponytail whipping around behind her. “Stormed out without paying. Can you believe that? Talk about nerve.”
“That sucks,” Cookie agreed. “So you haven’t seen him since?”
“No, but when I do, he’s gonna get a very loud piece of my mind. No one skips out on paying, especially after all the work I did on him. Do you know how much work it is to strip off fifty years of body hair?” Peaches replied, crossing her tanned arms over her impressive chest. “He can forget his regular ear hair trims until he pays up. And apologizes.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” Rain muttered but stopped when Cookie glanced her way again. Rain cleared her throat. “So, about those dick pics…”
But Peaches didn’t answer Rain and frowned at Cookie instead. “Why all the questions about Fleet?” she asked. “Is something wrong?” She gasped. “Did he file a report against me or something? Are you here to arrest me? I swear, he’s the one who asked for a full on Hollywood. Most guys just go for the Manzilian!”
“The Hollywood is when they go for the hardwood floors,” Rain explained to Cookie. “You know, when they get everything downtown waxed. Completely bare. Smooth as a--”
“I think I’ve got it mother,” Cookie said, then turned to the aesthetician. “It’s nothing like that. We’re just trying to gather some information, and thought you might be of help. Turns out, his visit here doesn’t seem to be connected at all though, so no worries.” She patted Peaches on the shoulder. “Thanks. I really appreciate the… ah, information.”
“Oh. Sure.” Peaches’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she nodded and waved as Cookie herded her mother back toward the door. “See you later, then.”
“Wait.” Rain paused and called back to Peaches, “About those social media pics… forward those to me on Twitter at handle sexkitten420, and I’ll send you my considerable collection in return.” Rain waggled her eyebrows. “Lucky for me, those tweeps on the internet sure do like to show off their junk. Of course, most of them could use a good Manzilian. You have no idea how many I’d like to get my hands on.”
“Mother, seriously?” Cookie asked. But before Rain could say anything else, Mindy Tremaine strolled through. As usual, the elegant, raven-haired girl looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine, complete with a cold, disinterested smile plastered across her pretty features—a smile that vanished when she caught sight of Cookie.
“Well, well,” Mindy drawled, staring Cookie up and down like she was something one might find on the bottom of their shoe. “Look what the cat dragged in. Finally admitted you need help to make yourself look like a real person?” Her eyes flicked to Rain, and her wintery expression thawed just a little. “Rain.”
“Mindy.” Cookie’s mother was good at verbal cut-downs, and that one word held a very clear warning for the hair stylist to hold her tongue. “We were just leaving,” Rain continued, pulling the door open and letting Cookie walk out ahead of her.
“Probably for the best,” Mindy called after them. “I don’t work on livestock!”
Cookie’s hands tightened into fists and she almost turned back around, but Rain was in her path, blocking the way. “Come on,” her mother said. “She’s not worth it.”
“Maybe not,” Cookie agreed. “But it’d sure feel good.” Still, she let Rain lead her across the street.
“That girl’s as mean as a wasp,” Rain said once they were well away from the salon. “She doesn’t like you because she knows that without even trying, you’re way prettier than she’ll ever be, despite her fancy treatments.”
Cookie sighed, unclenching her hands as she finally let the anger go. “Thanks.” She reached out and gave her mom a quick hug. No matter what else happened, Rain always had her back.
Unfortunately, Rain couldn’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut, which was a problem when dealing with an investigation. Rain had very nearly told Peaches that Fleet was dead, and that was the kind of detail you kept quiet about for as long as possible when interviewing a potential witness or suspect. Listening to what someone has to say before they learn of a death was usually highly informative.
Cookie was going to have to find a way to ditch Rain before the next interview. She turned to her mother. “You should probably head back home.”
Rain gave her daughter a look that implied she thought Cookie had three heads. “What? What do you mean? What’re you going to do?”
“I have work to do, Ma,” Cookie answered. “And I can’t have you giving away key details to people just because it’s good gossip.”
A wounded look flashed through her mother’s eyes, but after a second she nodded. “Fair enough,” she stated. “You’re right. I won’t say anything about anything, okay?”
Cookie started to argue, but her mother cut her off.
“Where are you going next?” Rain asked, her fists balled and resting on her hips. The mother and daughter duo stared each other down, and after a second, Cookie sighed and gave in.
“I need to talk with Stone,” she said. “If he was supplying Fleet with weed, he might know something.”
“Sure, sure.” Rain frowned. “But aren’t you the one who busted him for murder right after we got here?”
“Involuntary manslaughter,” Cookie corrected automatically, but otherwise it was true. That had been the first case she’d handled here on Secret Seal Isle, and the first time she’d contacted Hunter since she and Rain had fled Philly. A man had turned up dead, and Stone had been one of the obvious suspects. And, as it turned out, the killer, though not deliberately. They had been fighting and he had pushed the other guy, who had fallen and hit his head on a deck cleat, caving in his skull. Stone had gotten a reduced sentence and house arrest, but it wasn’t unreasonable to think that he might still bear a grudge.
“Let me come along,” Rain said. “I can help, you know I can. Stone likes me. He’ll talk to me. You however… maybe not so much.”
Cookie bowed her head, because Rain was right. Stone wasn’t going to open up to her. Accepting the inevitable she said, “Fine, you can come. But no saying anything about Fleet being dead, okay?”
Her mom mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key, and Cookie had to force herself to not laugh. If only it were that easy.
6
Cookie led the way, but as she started to turn off the main street her mother stopped her.
“Where’re you going, sweetie?” Rain asked.
“To see Stone.” Cookie frowned. “We talked about this, remember?”
Her mother laughed at her. “Yes, I know that, dear. But I meant where exactly?”
“To Stone’s apartment?” Cookie tried again.
Rain shook her head. “He won’t be there,” she explained. “Not at this hour.”
Cookie studied her mother, narrowing her gaze. “And how would you know that?” Stone wasn’t exactly someone she wanted her mother hanging out with.
“Oh, we chat sometimes,” she answered blithely, ignoring Cookie’s obvious disapproval. “He’ll be at work right now. It’s this way.” She headed off down the street, forcing Cookie to hurry after her.
“Work?” Cookie asked as they walked. “He can’t work. He’s on house arrest.” Stone had gotten off lightly—a little too lightly, if you asked her, but his father was a pillar of the community and the judge had taken pity on them. But you still had to serve time when you killed someone. Even if you were allowed to do the time in your own place.
“Well, yes, of course, but he petitioned the court to allow him to work,” Rain argued. “Otherwise, how would he survive? It’s not like the prison system is going to ship him his meals.” Which was true, Cookie w
as forced to admit. Prisoners under house arrest had to provide for their own lodging and meals. Of course, the criminal in question had usually been sentenced for some white-collar crime like embezzlement and had plenty of funds they could still access. But Stone had gotten by primarily through small-time drug deals and his father’s support, and under the circumstances, that line of work was certainly out of the question.
Or was it? Cookie wondered. After all, Rain and Winter were old hippies and all too familiar with pot and other mind-altering substances. Stone had been the island’s local supplier for years. What if he was back in business—and her mother was one of his best customers?
Cookie stifled a sigh, hoping her overactive suspicions were wrong.
They found Stone in a little shop called Ship It. The sign showed an old-time sailing ship on a stamp. Clever. The place looked like every other shipping company Cookie had ever seen, with mailing boxes and tubes and envelopes of various sizes displayed along both walls and a counter set near the back.
Stone was behind the counter, bent over a box. He looked much as he had when Cookie had first met him—average height, rail thin, dark messy hair. The only difference was that now he wore a short-sleeved button-down over his T-shirt and jeans, and it bore the company logo on the front left pocket and across the back.
“Morning, Stone,” Rain called out as she marched toward the counter.
“Hey!” he replied, smiling as he glanced up and saw her. “Check this out. You’re never gonna believe all these—” Then he spotted Cookie, and his eyes grew wide, his words drying up midstream.
“Hello, Stone,” Cookie said as she followed her mother. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah? Not long enough,” he grumbled, closing the box and shoving it under the counter. “What can I do for you, Ms. James?” he asked, tugging on his work shirt as if to draw attention to its logo. “Did you need to mail something?”
Cookie leaned over the counter, and watched as his gaze flicked down the front of her shirt, then zoomed back up to her face. At least he has manners, she thought as she straightened and cleared her throat, reminding herself to keep her assets covered from now on.
“It’s Deputy James, actually,” she answered, pulling the badge from her belt and setting it on the counter between them. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Stone protested, his voice rising in a whine as he took a step back. “I come to work. I go home. I get to go over to my dad’s and the Salty Dog once a week. That’s it. I’m totally clean!” He said that last bit like a man desperate to be believed, but his emphatic protests only deepened Cookie’s suspicions that he was a man far too likely to be up to something shady.
Still, that wasn’t the point, at least not right now. “This isn’t about you,” she told him, cutting through his rising panic. “It’s about Fleet Defoe.”
“Fleet? What about him?” Stone’s demeanor changed at once, his whiny voice gone as he straightened up, looking a good bit more serious. “Is he okay?” He studied her, and frowned when she didn’t respond. But then he turned his eyes toward Rain, who looked as wide-eyed as if she’d seen a ghost. She shook her head before Cookie could stop her, and Stone paled.
“Aw, man,” he whispered. “Fleet’s dead?” He hung his head. “Dude’s seriously cool, especially for an old fart, you know?”
There wasn’t much point denying it now, so Cookie decided to charge ahead with the tougher questions. She didn’t have a time of death from Jared yet, but she had a decent guess, since the the rigor mortis in the body had started to fade. “Where were you this past Saturday and Sunday?”
“Where was I?” Stone laughed. Then he leaned back and swung his left leg up onto the counter with a thud. Once his heel was placed there he tugged back the hem of his pants leg, revealing the slim metal bracelet around his ankle, with its flickering lights. “That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”
It was true that Cookie could subpoena the records for Stone’s anklet and see exactly where he’d been and when. But she didn’t really need to. Fleet’s place and the boathouse were well outside Stone’s prescribed travel limit, and she was certain he’d been telling the truth about only traveling between work, home, and his dad’s place. Besides, his reaction to the news of Fleet’s death had been perfectly normal. He’d even spoken of the old man in the present tense.
Still, none of that meant he couldn’t have useful information. “You used to do business with Fleet, didn’t you?” she asked. “You’d sell him—”
“Alternative medical supplies,” Rain offered, cutting her off. When Cookie looked her way, her mother grinned and winked at her.
Stone nodded, enthusiastically agreeing with Rain and evidently relieved to have even the flimsiest fiction to hide behind. “Yeah, I supplied him with those,” he agreed. Then he frowned. “Wait, it wasn’t the melanoma that got him, was it? I remember he was crazy worried about that. And I was no longer able to supply him with the… ah, supplies he needed while he was completing his treatment.” He gave Cookie an irritated look, but she just stared flatly back.
Rain, on the other hand prattled out, “Nope. It wasn’t the cancer. It was some other crap at the boathouse.” She giggled. “Right by the toilet, so that fits together nicely.”
“Hopefully he was higher than a kite when the shi—uh crap went down,” Stone said with a chuckle. “I mean, the boathouse is known as the go-to place to chill out with a—ah, supplies.” He grimaced when he noticed Cookie watching him, and he straightened up. “I mean, not that I would do anything like that ever again,” he announced, puffing out his chest. “I’m totally clean now.”
“Good to know,” she answered dryly. “So you haven’t been there in a while.”
“Naw.” The aptly named stoner shook his head. “Not since right before… all this.” Shaking his leg, he gave it a light slap, causing a dull jingle to drift up from the monitoring bracelet. He shrugged. “But hey, it’s not like I’m the only one around here who has ever used that place. Everybody knows that’s where you go if you wanna get high without having to worry about getting caught. Cops never go out that far, so you can relax and be yourself.”
Cookie wanted to point out that if breaking the law was who you really were, you probably had some sort of deviant personality. But she didn’t. Instead she did her best to ignore Stone’s acknowledgment of additional wrongdoing and focused on the particulars of the case. “So you’re saying the boathouse was a known getaway and drug den,” she repeated. “Have you seen anyone besides Fleet using it recently?”
Stone shook his head. “Nope, not with my own two eyes.” He pointed to his ankle. “House arrest, remember?”
“But you do know something,” Cookie guessed, reading between the lines.
Stone gave her a self-satisfied smile. “Yeah. I know things.”
“Stone,” Cookie said, losing her patience. “If Fleet was murdered and you know something, you don’t want to put yourself in the position of obstructing justice, do you?” It was a bluff, but an effective one that made Stone pale and grip the counter, shaking his head.
“I don’t really know anything. I just meant that Fleet came in here last week, asking about those… alternative medical supplies. You know… the ones I’m no longer handling.”
“Go on,” Cookie said.
“Like I’ve already told you, I’m clean now. Have been for months, but when I heard my buddy had a new stash, I called Fleet to let him know. Figured I could put them in touch with each other. And when he came by to get my buddy’s address, some guy I’d never seen before came with him. Only he waited outside. I thought that was a little strange, considering it was bitterly cold out.”
“That is unusual,” Cookie said, leaning her hip against the counter. “What’d he look like?”
Stone shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly checking him out.”
Cookie bit back a curse. She wasn’t sure if Stone was being deliberately vague or
if he’d just smoked so much he’d fried his brain.
“As long as he wasn’t a cop,” Stone continued, “I didn’t really care.” He frowned. “I remember his wacked out hair, though. Bright orange, like he was a giant carrot. Craziest thing, right?”
Cookie sighed. That wasn’t a lot to go on, but at least it was distinctive. “Yeah, crazy,” she agreed. “Did Fleet say anything about him? Like who he was or why they were together?”
“Nope. I didn’t ask either,” Stone said.
She’d have to check around and see if anyone else in town knew of anyone who fit that description. If nothing else, she’d like to interview the stranger. If he’d been with Fleet last week, he might’ve been the last one to see him alive. “One more thing,” she added. “I’m going to need your buddy’s name and address.”
Stone sucked in a sharp breath and started to shake his head again. “I can’t—”
“I have it,” Rain interjected, coming to Stone’s rescue. “That’s a dead end though. Guy’s been out of town the last week and a half. Something about a last-minute invitation to a Grateful Dead tribute concert down in the Keys. He won’t be back until next week. If Fleet was looking for him last week, it’s a certainty he missed him.” Her lips formed a small pout. “Poor Fleet. If he was here last week, it doesn’t sound like he got his… medical supplies.”
“Guy skipped town?” Stone asked, envy dripping from his tone as he glanced again at his ankle. “Lucky bastard.”
“Yeah. He’s down there getting a tan while the rest of us are freezing our nips off,” Rain said, strumming her fingers on the counter.
“Oh, cripes,” Cookie muttered, trying not to think about her mother’s chilled chest. Turning to Stone, she stared him in the eye. “Anything else you can remember that might be relevant here?”
As she expected, though, Stone shook his head again. “Wish I could,” he said, his brow furrowed in concentration. And when he glanced back up at her, there was real sorrow in his gaze. “Fleet was a good dude. Sucks that he’s gone.”
