Hearing those words was music to my ears. I loved Sunrise almost as much as I loved Oh Buoy. “I am supposed to be working for the next two hour—”
“Oh, no. You go right ahead,” Dizzy said, waving her hand in the air flippantly. “I can handle things here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m more than sure. It’s the winter lull.” She smiled a little too brightly. She really wanted to see me with someone.
The next thing I knew she’d be happy to set me up with my stalker. As long as I was with someone.
Sheesh.
I nodded at Shawn. “How about if I meet you there in ten? I just need to finish up here.”
He smiled. “Great. I’ll see you then.”
As he left, I finished edging Jackson’s hair and brushed some powder on his neck.
Jackson gave me a look, and I smiled as if I hadn’t noticed.
“It’s been a pleasure,” I told him, resting a hand on his shoulder like I might any customer. Except, I became entirely too aware that I was touching him and quickly pulled my hand away. Instead, I took off his cape, ready to wrap this up and go talk to Shawn.
“Joey . . .” he warned.
“I’m just having coffee.”
“Sure.” He sounded unconvinced.
I expected nothing less.
After he paid, I grabbed my purse and walked with Jackson outside. Now was the time. The moment I’d apologize to him for assuming the worst. I was nervous, which was ridiculous, really. I’d apologized for stupid things a million times before, and I’d do it a million times again in the future. I just had to say I’m sorry and get it over with.
I slowed my steps in the gravel parking lot as we approached his unmarked sedan. “Jackson—”
Before I could finish, his phone rang.
“Hold that thought.” He answered and grunted into the mouthpiece before turning toward me. “Sorry, Joey, but I’ve got to run.”
“Of course. Duty calls. I’ll see you later.”
I smiled at Shawn when I walked inside Sunrise and tried to quell my curiosity as to why he wanted to meet and what he’d learned. I had to act like I had some manners, so I couldn’t just jump into my questions . . . right?
I paused beside him at the counter and looked up at the menu board, as if I didn’t know what I wanted.
“I think you’re a latte kind of girl, but I can’t decide between mocha or caramel.”
“Good guess. I’m actually both.”
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Soy?”
“You know it.”
“I figured it was a Hollywood thing.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Anything to make a drink sound fancy.”
“Well, you know . . . it makes all of us famous people feel special when we make all these demands.” I raised my nose in exaggerated snootiness. “We thrive off that.”
“I was going to say it makes you seem complicated.” He flashed a grin.
Before I could order, the barista thrust my drink into my hand. Yes, coffee and eating out were my vices. I was on a budget now, and I really needed to stop this indulgence.
“Here you go, Joey,” the barista said. “I started it as soon as I saw you pull in.”
“Thanks, Shannon.” I raised my cup and nodded at her.
“You must come here often,” Shawn said.
“Guilty as charged. Coffee Lovers Anonymous knows me on a first-name basis.” I was on a roll.
He chuckled again. “Let me order real quick. You get a table?”
I paid and found a seat in the corner, anxious to hear what he’d discovered.
As I waited, I scanned the quaint interior of the place. It wasn’t polished like most of the coffeehouses I’d enjoyed in Beverly Hills. No, Sunset Coffee Co. had mismatched chairs and tables and an old ratty couch. Goods by local craftsmen sat on shelves wherever there was room, mostly mugs and coasters. Even the menu board wasn’t nice or fancy. No, it was just a chalkboard that changed daily. I loved it here.
As I waited for Shawn, I pulled out my phone and scanned my emails. No angry messages from Rutherford or scary threats from stalkers. I could officially label this a good day.
“Anything good on there?” Shawn asked.
I slid my phone back into my pocket. “No, nothing. But checking it is addicting, unfortunately.”
“I’m surprised you don’t just hire a social media manager or something.” He sat down across from me and stretched out his bad leg on an extra chair.
“Oh, I’ve had those. Everything was going fine until I told her to post that Steven Spielberg was a public treasure.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, let’s just say she left a letter out of ‘public’ and changed the whole meaning of the sentence.”
He nearly spit out his coffee. “Are you serious?’
“All too serious.” I shifted.
“That’s awful. Hilarious, but awful.”
As the strands of “You Say Nothing at All” crooned overhead, Alfred the tabby cat tiptoed over and rubbed against my legs. I reached down and ran a hand behind his ears before clearing my throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your leg?”
“Iraq.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re a veteran.”
“That’s right. Army. On the ground. Stationed out of Fort Bragg.”
“Thank you for your service.”
“I’m glad I could fight for what I believe in. Life is too short not to.”
“I wholeheartedly agree. What do you do now?”
“I work in management. It’s not ideal, but it pays the bills.”
I waited a moment for him to take charge of the conversation. When he didn’t, I said, “So why did you want to have coffee with me, Shawn?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.
“Of course. What was I thinking. You’re fascinated with women who cut hair.”
“You’re funny. I thought you’d be more intense. Kind of like—”
“Raven?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Sorry. I know you probably hate that.”
“Yeah, a little. But it is what it is.” And what was with that saying? I really hated it. Like we had no control.
“I guess you want to know what I found out.”
I leaned closer, curious now. “What’s that?”
“I’ve been playing armchair detective, and I found out something about that Douglas guy. Someone came by at his condo yesterday.”
My blood spiked. “Did you recognize this someone?”
He shook his head. “No, I’ve never seen her before. But she looked . . . I don’t know. Professional, for lack of a better word.”
“What do you mean?” My mind went to so many places with that.
“Military-ish. You know, she wore utility pants, combat boots, a plain shirt. Her hair was pulled into a bun, and she carried herself like someone disciplined and tough.”
“What did she do?”
“She knocked at his door. When he didn’t answer, she tried to look into his windows. Then she left.”
I chewed on that for a minute. Interesting. Very interesting.
“One other thing. Last night a few of us were playing horseshoes. I talked to one of the guys who happened to be staying next to Douglas. He said that Douglas told him he ran into someone he’d worked with before. It’s probably nothing, but the man was from Pennsylvania also. What are the chances?”
“Slim.”
“The interesting part was this guy seemed to have a grudge of some sort against Douglas.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Apparently Douglas was upset after seeing him. He went on and on about what a jerk the guy was.”
“Really? Where did Douglas see him?”
“He was playing pool over at Willie Wahoo’s.”
I nodded slowly, letting that sink in. “Did he give any indication what the man looked like?”
“He had
hair so blond it was almost white.”
I stored that information away. Because it could prove to be very, very helpful.
Chapter Twelve
I pulled into my driveway just as Zane walked from the shore in a wet suit, carrying his surfboard. He blogged for a local surf company, and because of that, he’d had a special wet suit made with a blue fin on the back. The suit fit him to a T, figuratively and literally.
“Isn’t it cold to be in the ocean?” I yelled as I stepped from my car. Flashbacks from the Polar Plunge hit me, and I shuddered.
“There’s no bad time to catch a wave.” He bounded over the sand dune like a boss, set his board near the outdoor shower, and met me. Water dripped off his hair, yet he looked invigorated. “What are you up to?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. To say I’m stressed would be an understatement.” I had no answers, I half expected Mark Hamill’s killer to show up and silence me for good after my on-air threat, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my stalkers suddenly appeared and let me know they’d been watching, critiquing, and plotting their own episode of Relentless. Yet, so far, all had been quiet. Eerily quiet.
“Stressed?” Zane said. “Being stressed is no fun. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. I have an idea that might be the perfect solution. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Want to come? Think: Days of Thunder.”
I was intrigued. “Can I be Nicole Kidman?”
“Only if I can be Tom Cruise.”
I tapped my foot in thought. Something not involving the mysteries plaguing me? Could I even consider it? I was enthralled. Maybe clearing my head would be good. “Tom and Nicole. You got it!”
He grinned. “Meet me out here in ten? You won’t regret it. Hashtag: bucketlistsarefun!”
I shrugged, figuring I didn’t have anything to lose. “Sounds good.”
I drove, but Zane took me to a little go-carting place owned by one of his friends. It seemed like such a waste of time to have fun when so many things were pressing at me, but Zane’s friend offered to let us take a spin around the track.
So we did. And there was something exhilarating about zooming around the little circle in the go-carts in fifty-degree weather.
Maybe it was just the stress reliever I needed.
Maybe Zane was just the stress reliever I needed. He was always so laid back and happy, like he didn’t have a care in the world. He lived for the moment and made the most of each day. There was a lot to be said for that, and April was apparently very understanding.
When we finished go-carting, we went to Willie Wahoo’s for an early dinner. It wasn’t my favorite place, and I didn’t trust Billy, the owner. But Zane was a regular around here, and he was a karaoke king. Besides, the white-blond man had been seen in here. What were the odds he’d be here again?
They had a decent vegan menu, and it was one of the few restaurants still open in the area at this time of the year. But I also knew a lot of trouble came out of this place. Fights. Back-alley drug deals. Inappropriate groping on the dance floor.
Jackson had gone through the list with me a few weeks ago.
“Racing builds up an appetite,” Zane said. “I’m starving!”
“Then by all means, let’s eat.”
Inside the dimly lit windowless restaurant, Zane and I grabbed a high-top table and ordered a few appetizers. I let out a contented sigh and surveyed the place as I waited for our food. I’d eat a little and then get back home to prep for my big interview on Thursday. Rutherford had sent me some questions to review, and he wanted me to squeeze in a mention of Family Secrets if at all possible.
Zane called out hello to several friends. There was a steady flow of regulars, and the hum of chattering patrons intermingled with someone crooning “Blue Moon” on a stage in the corner. If you liked watching people, this was the place to be.
“So where’s April tonight?” I asked, twirling my cucumber-and-mint seltzer water. I didn’t drink. Not anymore. I’d made too many mistakes with alcohol in my system.
“Working.” Zane didn’t seem to think too much of it.
“Bummer.”
“Yep.”
Zane and I had a lot of fun together today, but suddenly guilt hit me. How would I feel if my boyfriend took his “friend” go-carting and went out to eat? My Best Friend’s Wedding came to mind. I did not want to be Julia Roberts in that flick. I’d told myself that Zane and I could still hang out because we were pals, but maybe I needed to think a little more deeply about the subject.
Zane stood and held out his hand as “Blue Moon” ended. “Want to sing? We were a hit last time.”
I stared as a basket of french fries was placed in the center of our table, along with some steamed shrimp, and veggies with hummus. What I really wanted was to eat. And watch people. And think deep thoughts. None of which was really like me.
“Maybe next time. I need to take a breather right now.”
“Your loss.”
I grabbed a fry and watched as Zane took the stage. A moment later he started singing “Little Red Riding Hood.” The lyrics had never bothered me before, but right now they made me think of a stalker hunting his prey. I shivered, suddenly anxious for Zane to be done.
As I sat there, the hair on my neck prickled. I glanced around, and my breath caught. A man with white-blond hair sat at the bar, chatting away with Billy. The boisterous man didn’t seem to have a shortage of words.
I stood and edged closer, ordering more cucumber-and-mint seltzer. As I waited for it, I listened carefully to his conversation.
“Yeah, I was injured on the job and got an insurance payout,” White Blond said. “I won’t be working again for a while. In fact, my work is paying for me to be here right now. Got a great deal on one of the nicest houses on the beach.”
“Which one is that?” Billy asked, drying a glass.
“The Sandblaster. It’s the yellow one with the huge anchor in the front yard and an elevator on the side. If I’d known life could be so good after an injury, I would have injured myself a lot sooner.” He laughed a little too loudly.
Interesting. This man didn’t sound like a killer. And what kind of business had surveyor Mark Hamill had with him in the past?
The conversation veered to sports, and my water was delivered, so I went back to the table. Zane had finished singing. Everyone applauded, and he strode back toward me. I kept an eye on White Blond, ready to follow him when he left.
“Sounded good,” I told Zane.
He shrugged. “What can I say? I try.”
We ate for a few minutes in silence. Across the restaurant, I saw Hal from Hal’s World. He was eating with Flakey White from the pawnshop. Interesting. I had no reason to suspect either of them, yet I couldn’t help but feel neither was a star citizen.
Just then, White Blond stood and headed toward the door.
I dropped some cash on the table and turned to Zane. “I’m ready to go.”
“But we just got here.” His breath smelled like alcohol. How much had he drunk?
I glanced back at the door. This man was quickly disappearing. “I know, but I have to get ready for my interview. I have some prep work to do.”
He didn’t move.
“Do you want to get another ride home?” I asked.
He sighed. “Nah, I’m good. Let’s go.”
But as he stood, I could already tell he’d been drinking too much. I didn’t love alcohol for this very reason. It made people act stupid.
The skin on my neck stood again. I glanced around. It wasn’t White Blond who’d caused the reaction. He was gone. So far gone that I’d lost any hope of catching up. Hal and Flaky White were immersed in a game of cards.
I didn’t see anyone else. Strange. Because my gut told me someone was watching me.
I slipped my arm around Zane’s waist as we walked to my car. Before I closed the door, I gave one last glance back. No one suspicious caught my eye.
But I was certain so
meone in the crowd had been watching me.
My stalker? A fan? The killer? I had no idea.
And I’d lost White Blond. Double fail.
I stayed quiet for the short drive home, but Zane yammered beside me. At the house, I helped him to do the door.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Zane asked.
“I’m sure.” Alcohol always seemed to be liquid courage for people. Zane had definitely dropped some inhibitions, and I didn’t want to see where that would lead. Nowhere good.
He looked down at me, that dopey smile on his face. “I like you, Joey Darling.”
I squirmed. “Thanks, Zane. I like you too.”
His gaze looked steamy as he leaned toward me.
Leaned toward me? Oh no.
He was about to do something he’d regret, I realized.
I scooted back, my conscience whamming to the forefront of my awareness. Zane was dating someone. I couldn’t do the very thing to Zane that I’d accused Jackson of doing with Claire. I couldn’t be that woman. I needed to put some distance between the two of us, no matter how much that pained me, especially when considering he was one of my only friends in this area.
“You should call April,” I told him, my voice hoarse.
Zane stepped back, his eyes still glazed but not nearly as warm now. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s probably home by now.”
“Have fun at the wedding with her this weekend.”
He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. When he opened them, a new emotion had taken residence inside. Anger? Disappointment? Resignation? I didn’t know.
“I’m sure I will.” His voice sounded flat and unconvincing.
Before anything else awkward could develop, I slipped inside my duplex, wondering why everything always had to change. Especially my relationships.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I needed to figure out what White Blond was up to. I needed to know if he was involved in Mark Hamill’s murder or not. I might have to take drastic measures for that to happen.
Just as I climbed into my car, a Jeep pulled in beside me, and Phoebe rolled down her window. I did the same.
Reign of Error (The Worst Detective Ever Book 2) Page 8
