"Sally wasn't your fault, Jake. Well, I suppose technically she was as it was you she was in love with. It was because of you she became obsessed with being me, and because of you she killed people to do it. But what happened isn't your fault. She's insane."
He reached out and put his hand on my leg, squeezing gently. He then leaned over and gently kissed my forehead. Familiarity swept over me. But that was all I felt. As he pulled away, I looked up at him in the early morning light and smiled. Jake was finally out of my system, and I was out of his. "Go and find your wife. Have a good life with her. She may be psycho, but she loves you."
"I love her too."
"Good. Be happy, Jake."
"You too," he said, pushing himself to standing.
"I'll do my best."
As he walked away toward the main building and his wife, the sun broke the horizon, orange beams shooting across the sky. I felt the warmth touch my skin as Sam moved to sit next to me.
"What happened?" I asked, referring to the police.
"Well, Sally has been arrested and is now in handcuffs, and they've called for a medivac chopper to come and get Stuart. He's okay, but he needs a hospital. When it gets here, they'll stretcher him out and then probably come looking for you. Dawn's down there with them at the moment, ordering everyone around and telling them what they should be doing." Sam smiled.
"I guess it's her way of doing something."
"Yeah."
Silence filled the air between us.
"That's some wall down there," said Sam finally, referring to Sally's artwork.
"Yep. Creepy, hey?"
"That's quite a history of you and Jake."
"Sure is."
Sam shifted uncomfortably, pushing his back to the wall of the old house. "So. You and Jake."
I waited for the rest of the sentence. When it didn't come, I said, "What about us?"
"Are you…you know?"
I took a deep breath. "No." I wanted to you know with Sam, but I wasn't sure if he wanted the same thing. "Jake and Faith love each other. She's a bit messed up, but he promised me he would get her help. Hopefully then, they'll sort their crap out."
Sam nodded as the sun rose an inch higher, bathing his face in soft light. I sucked in my breath at the beauty. I'm not sure whether that was the sunrise or Sam. Both were stunning in my eyes.
The cool, crisp morning air soaked through my thin jacket as the morning dew glittered in the light, and not for the first time, I wished I'd brought a warmer one with me.
Sam saw me shiver and reached out, putting his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close. His warmth seeped into me, and I knew there and then I'd found my happy place.
"I've been thinking," he said. "Would you like to go out for a meal?"
I pulled back and looked up into his eyes. They twinkled back at me.
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, my heart beating an erratic tune.
"I was thinking of breakfast." He smiled a super-wicked smile, his dimple flashing.
I thought about that for a second
"Sorry. But no." I shook my head.
I saw the disappointment flicker in his eyes. As the super-cute creases around the edges disappeared, so did his dimple.
"Oh. Okay. No worries," he said, his hold on me loosening. He removed his arm from its place on my shoulder.
"I have blood all over my clothes. I think my nose is broken. My ankle is twisted. I smell of beer, and I have bad morning breath. I need a shower and a doctor. How does lunch tomorrow sound?"
He grinned, making my heart miss a beat as he leaned down and kissed me. Light flashed through my brain the second he touched me. I wasn't sure if that was from the pain shooting through my nose or the shock as his feather-light kiss grazed my lips. Whichever it was, it took my breath away.
"You're right," he said, ending the kiss with a smile. "You definitely need to clean your teeth."
EPILOGUE
I watched the medivac chopper lift off, taking Stuart to the city hospital. After a lot of fussing, Dawn agreed to accompany him, even though she didn't like flying. I guessed her love of him outweighed any fears. The paramedics had already looked me over and agreed that the chopper could come back for me and Jake once Stuart had been dropped at the ER. As much as my nose and my ankle were both throbbing, I was more than happy that Stuart was getting the attention that he needed.
Georgie walked over to me and pulled me in for a careful hug.
"What a night!" she said, her large eyes puffy from all the crying she'd done.
"Yeah, that's one way to describe it." I grimaced in pain as I attempted a smile. Georgie and I needed to talk about what happened all those years ago and why she made those decisions for me. But right now wasn't the time. And I figured she only had my best interests at heart anyway. Jake wasn't the man for me.
"The police are with Wes," she said quietly. "I'm not sure what happens next."
"They'll take good care of him… Well, you know what I mean."
Georgie nodded. "Poor Wes. He was a good guy. He didn't deserve it."
"No, he didn't. None of Sally's victims did."
"But the police will sort it now, won't they? They'll see that justice is served."
I nodded and linked my arm through hers.
"How's the nose?" she asked.
"Painful," I replied.
Georgie's eyes filled with tears again. "I love you, bestie," she said to me, pulling my arm tight against hers.
"I love you too, bestie," I replied, smiling. To be honest, smiling hurt, but it was the thing I felt like doing the most. I looked over at Sam. He seemed to be the reason for that.
"There's some food left over from last night if you're hungry. Katie is setting up inside."
Katie may have been a bit strange, but it seemed she was a good person.
"Thanks," I said as my stomach gave a timely growl.
I wasn't sure how I would manage eating with my nose two sizes bigger than normal, but I'd be giving it a try. I linked my arm through Georgie's and turned toward the main building as Baxter ran up and joined us. I reached down and rubbed his ear, thinking how I would find him something special to eat before asking Sam to find his home.
We stopped at the ladies' on our way in, to give me some time to clean myself up. I gently washed the dried blood off my face and looked at the large purple rings growing around my eyes. My ankle still hurt, and I wanted to cry at the sight of my face, but I'd done enough of that in the last twelve hours, so I took a deep breath and walked out of the room before I changed my mind. Georgie searched her bag and found me some pain relief.
Entering the studio, I noticed the tired faces of the fifty people who had been stuck here last night. Every single one of them wanted to go home.
"Hey, who was the fake murderer?" I asked Georgie.
"Brent's girlfriend, Deanne. The story goes that his character had an affair with Rachel, and his girlfriend killed her."
Apparently, fiction was pretty close to fact.
"Humph. Did anyone solve it?"
"Yeah, Arthur's team."
"Ah, the wise ones."
"Rachel wasn't too happy. Deanne slapped her because she thought Rachel really did have an affair with Brent."
"Did he?"
"No, apparently he has standards, and Rachel didn't meet them."
Good to know Brent had a cut-off point.
"Did we ever find out what happened with Rachel?"
"What do you mean?"
"The bruise and the fact that she changed her clothes. I also found her acting very mysterious in the boardroom."
"Ah, well, it seems Kelly and Rachel had a catfight. That was before you found Wes. And she was arguing with Bernie in the boardroom."
I was impressed at how quickly Georgie found out gossip. "So Bernie definitely was here?"
"Yep, he didn't plan on being here for long. He had to pack for a plane trip."
"Yeah, I found the itinerary."
&n
bsp; "Uh-huh, well," said Georgie, her eyes lighting up, "it turns out that Bernie had been embezzling company money to fund his gambling problem. Rachel found out and wanted a cut of the money. When he said no, she threatened to tell the police."
"How did she find out about it?"
"Wes told her. He'd been a bit suspicious of Bernie for a while and decided to look into what he was up to."
So that's what Wes had been doing.
"Wes wanted to go to the police immediately, but Rachel had other plans. When Wes turned up dead, Rachel panicked and hid. That was until the police turned up, and then she squealed like a little pig."
"I bet she didn't squeal about wanting a cut though."
"No, I only found that out because Kelly told me. Wes had confided in her earlier this evening."
Wow, what a night. "So where's Bernie now?"
Georgie shrugged. "Probably on his way to the airport?"
I suddenly realized why the family photo on Bernie's desk was missing. I bet he'd come back for it, not wanting to leave it behind.
"But that's not all," continued Georgie. "Rachel has been a very busy girl." She winked at me, suggesting Rachel was up to her old tricks. "Blake seems to be very chummy with her at the moment. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink." Georgie laughed.
"So it wasn't a computer Blake was sleeping on. It was Rachel."
"Ha!" said Georgie, laughing again. "Apparently Rachel said the next reunion mystery wouldn't be so easy to solve."
"There's another reunion?"
"In another five years."
"Sorry, I don't care what the prize is," I said, frowning. "I am never, ever going to reunion again."
* * * * *
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* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Beth was born in Manchester, England, but after moving backwards and forwards across the world 13 times in 14 years she decided at the age of 18 that Australia was to be her home. She now lives on the beautiful Sunshine Coast in Queensland, Australia where every day is a good one. She is the lucky mother of two grown-up children, and, along with her ever-patient husband, she is the proud but sometimes flustered owner of four dogs, a cat, and a canary. She has always had a love of reading, and even though her background is in accounting, she has now discovered her love of writing. Her main wish is to write books you can sit back, relax with, and escape from your everyday life…and ones that you walk away from with a smile! When she's not writing you will usually find her at the beach with a coffee in hand, pursuing her favorite pastime—people watching!
To learn more about Beth Prentice, visit her online at: http://www.bethprentice.com/
* * * * *
BOOKS BY BETH PRENTICE
Invitation to Murder
Killer Unleashed
Other works:
It Started with a House
It Started with a Christmas Tree
It Started on Halloween
Give Murder a Hand
* * * * *
SNEAK PEEK
If you enjoyed Invitation to Murder, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:
PASSION, POISON & PUPPY DOGS
A DANGER COVE
PET SITTER MYSTERY
by
ELIZABETH ASHBY, SALLY J. SMITH
& JEAN STEFFENS
CHAPTER ONE
"Hey, little girl, need a ride?" The stubbly-faced older man leaned over and peered up at me out of the pickup truck window.
But I wasn't worried—pervs were few and far between in my hometown of Danger Cove, and besides, it was just my grandfather giving me a hard time. He'd always been pretty good at teasing me, and I at teasing him back—part of the reason we'd never had the kind of problems a lot of young people and their guardians dealt with. I'd gone to live with him eleven years ago at the age of sixteen, and my parents had sold everything and moved to the Himalayas to start a school for Sherpas. I hadn't wanted to go. They hadn't wanted to stay. So my granddad had taken me in.
"So what do you think?" I kidded. "Just because you were a big deal back in the day? The famous Jimmy John Jones—international network field correspondent—that you can just pick up girls off the street?"
He grinned and ran a hand across his bristly jaw.
"Now you listen to me, Lizzie Jones. Your old granddad's retired now. Show an old man some respect, would you? And anyway, I seem to remember some young lady calling me up and begging me to come pick her up because her silly little scooter crapped out on her."
"Crapped out? What a way with words. You're a regular Dan Rather."
"Yep," he said. "That's me all right."
I began to push Jasper, my 1990 fire-engine-red Vespa that I'd bought secondhand (or maybe even third or fourth hand) my first year of college, toward the back of his truck. The poor thing was old and not as reliable as it used to be. Also poor Jasper was slow. Really, really slow.
Jimmy John got out of the truck, let down the tailgate, and pulled a two-by-eight board from the bed. "Heck, my thirty-year-old Craftsman power mower's got more get-up-and-go these days than that motorized roller skate. When are you planning on getting yourself some real transportation?"
"That would be when I win the lottery, unless you have it in mind to spot me the price of a new car."
"Hmm, wonder if I have anything in my Rulebook to cover that one?" he said.
"You can take a look while I put poor old Jasper up in the truck."
Jimmy John—which was what he'd insisted I call him from the time I could speak. Not Grandpa or Granddad or even Grandfather, not for this macho dude—lived by his own set of rules that he periodically had quoted to me as part of his "Rulebook." It had been a way for him to present values, life lessons, and moral codes to me while I was growing up. It always seemed like an excellent way to keep track of such things, so I began a so-called tome of my own and adopted it as Lizzie's Rulebook for a virtual place to store my philosophies.
I rolled Jasper up into the bed. Jimmy John hopped up—agile for a guy in his seventies—strapped it down, and we both got into the cab.
I glanced at my watch. "Seriously," I said, "thank you so much for coming to my rescue. I'm already late meeting Caroline." It really wasn't much of a big deal. My best friend was nothing if not patient.
"You know me," he said, "at your beck and call, m'lady."
"Right. Not."
He just laughed.
From the pictures and footage I'd seen of Jimmy John in action back in the seventies, he'd cut quite the figure reporting from the jungles in Nam—young and virile, down and dirty with the troops, camera slung around his neck, bent over and running for cover while never missing a word of his report.
That was years ago. But that needle-sharp brain of his still worked just fine, and every once in a while he'd get bored and scratch the itch that made him want to jump back into the thick of it all and do some research or legwork for his friends at the Cove Chronicles.
He turned the engine over and shifted into gear, but before he took his foot off the brake, he turned and asked, "You sign up for school yet?"
My grandfather was even more anxious than I for me to achieve my doctorate in veterinary sciences. I'd been picking away at it for what seemed like an eternity. My first four years had been financed by scholarship funds, which went the way of the dodo after my BS (that was the degree, not my attitude), and even though he offered to pay my ticket in full, I couldn't in good conscience let Jimmy John cash in his IRA to fund what was left of my education.
"I haven't gotten around to it yet," I said. "But I will. And yes, I know other twenty-seven-year-old veterinary students are finishing up and getting ready to make their contribution to the animal world. But I want to do this on my own, and taking off time between semesters to e
arn enough money to pay my way is what I have to do."
"I know," he said. "I get it."
"According to Lizzie's Rulebook—It's a pity to enter a career weighed down with over a hundred thousand dollars in college loans." I reminded him of a philosophy I'd adopted early on in my college years.
He grimaced, and I figured he was going to offer to pay my way again, since my absentee parents couldn't afford it and I certainly couldn't just write out a check, but instead he just said, "Well, girl, you come from a long list of diehards. Our family motto's always been the same as Gloria Gaynor's: 'I Will Survive.'"
"I know." I reached across the cab and took hold of his wrist. "It'll be worth it."
"Sure it will." He hesitated a moment before adding, "But you know there's already a darn good vet in Danger Cove, and my guess is Doc Whitaker isn't in the market for a partner."
"You're worried I'll move away." It seemed obvious.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."
"Aw, Jimmy John, I'm racking up credits at a snail's pace. We won't have to worry about where I'm going to practice for a long, long time."
* * *
It was a gorgeous March day. Temps in the midsixties. A light breeze carried the outdoors with it—salty ocean and woody, earthy scents of surrounding ancient forest. Light-jacket weather. The fog had burned off earlier, leaving clear blue skies. My grandfather dropped me off, and I walked down the pier to meet Caroline.
Ever since she got married and moved out of our shared apartment, Caroline and I had arranged to meet for lunch once a week at the Lobster Pot at the pier. Being married to one of Danger Cove's most famous residents, bodybuilder Brodie McDougal, better known as Mr. Jupiter, Caroline was always given the primo table by the deck railing.
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