by Gina LaManna
“Fair enough.” I hesitated. “And do you know where this Darren Whiting might be?”
His eyes twinkled, and we both knew he had me right in his crosshairs. “There’s a catch. I also have a request.”
“What do you want from me?” I raised an eyebrow. “I already bring my scooter to you at least seven times a year. Any more and I’ll go broke.”
“This isn’t of the professional variety,” he said. “In fact, it’s quite personal. I’d like you to agree to have dinner with me.”
“We just had tacos the other day. Sort of.”
“If I remember correctly, you had tacos. And you hadn’t planned to meet me there. That was a lucky coincidence.”
“Either way, consider dinner had.”
Mason stepped forward to close the gap between us. “Come on, Evian. You don’t really think I’m responsible for Mary’s death, do you?”
I shifted further away. “I thought you were upset with me for considering it.”
“I was upset — I am upset. Wouldn’t it upset you if someone — especially someone you thought a friend — accused you of murder?”
“I suppose,” I said uneasily. “But you have to look at things from my point of view, too. We’re friends, sort of, but I don’t know you that well. I’m trying to be objective and follow the facts.”
“I understand, and that’s why I’m here with this awkward sort of apology,” he said. “Or shall we call it a truce?”
“I just feel —.”
“Let me guess. You feel uncomfortable agreeing to anything because the murderer is not locked up yet. So long as the killer’s still free, you have to keep your eye out and not let anything — or anyone — get in your way.”
I shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
“I can work with that. I’ll trade you information if you agree to a date with me. I won’t redeem the date card until this case is closed.” He hesitated, then scowled. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I’m not blackmailing you, Evian. That sounded stupid. Darren Whiting is on his way to the ferry as we speak. There, now you have it. That’s all I know, and there’s no catch.”
“Thank you,” I said, oddly touched that he’d come to freely offer the information.
Unless … he was guilty, and this was his way of sending me on a goose chase. Ugh.
“I’m going to head out now,” he said. “But consider the offer. I swear to you, Evian, I told you the truth. I had nothing to do with Mary’s murder.”
“I-I think I believe you.” As soon as the words left my mouth his face fell, and I knew it wasn’t enough. “I’m sorry, Mason. But why did you come here in the first place? Why did you tell me all of this?”
The gears in his brain were churning as he watched me, his eyes filled with complex sentiments. I could see the moment he decided that any argument he gave wouldn’t be good enough.
“I won’t prove myself to you forever,” he said, “but I’m willing to earn your trust. And the faster the killer is found and locked up, the sooner you might give me a chance. That’s why I’m here.”
Before I could respond, Mason gave me a tentative nod and a ridiculously stiff, but adorable, sort of wave and let himself out through the front gate. I watched him stride away, looking too good in clothes that appeared to have seen better decades. His jeans were worn, molded to him, and his T-shirt was almost threadbare. He’d probably come straight from the garage.
When I turned back to check on Paul, I nearly had a heart attack. I wasn’t the only one watching Mason walk away. Bertha had her nose pressed to the window, binoculars pointed directly at me.
“Jeez, Bertha! You need a warning on those things,” I called to her. “Do you not believe in privacy?”
“Nope,” she said cheerily. “No such thing when you live on the same block as Bertha Broomer.”
“Paul, you okay?” I asked, gritting my teeth as I turned away from my Peeping Bertha. “That woman needs to get a life.”
So does Mason, Paul said. Because you just crushed him.
“I didn’t crush him! I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. I have to consider all of my options.”
Are you still upset because you didn’t consider him right away?
“Maybe,” I hedged. “But that’s fair. I missed a totally viable suspect.”
Or, you just knew him enough to know he hadn’t done it.
“That’s impossible. I’ve barely spoken with him.”
You’ve talked every day for the last ... oh, I don’t know, month? You have a feel for him.
“Maybe he has a creepy side he hasn’t shown yet.”
“Or,” Paul said, “maybe you’re just afraid to let someone in.”
“You’re not Oprah. Leave me alone,” I said. “I’m going after Darren. Don’t let the slug monster in the house.”
I felt a little bad for leaving Paul trembling behind, but his comments had burned. Maybe he had a point. Maybe I wanted to believe Mason was a good man. A man still interested in me, who wanted to take me to dinner.
Still, I couldn’t quite believe it — why me? Mason might not be incredibly rich, but he was well enough off and obviously handsome. He’d dated a slew of the most beautiful women on the island. It was much easier to believe that he was a psychotic murder schmoozing up to me to throw off suspicion.
The trek to the ferry dock wasn’t long. I made the trip in less than twenty minutes at full speed. Despite the bright sun baking my shoulders with warmth, a distant dark cloud loomed on the horizon and I suspected a late afternoon storm. Every watery gene in my body could feel the rain pelting down on the Jersey shore just across the water.
I wondered if this was Skye blowing in another storm just to prove she could. Or, if the trees were right, it might be something more — it might be drawn to the island by a creature that attracted death and decay, thunder and storms, rain and sludge. I sighed. My to-do list had grown exponentially in the last few hours, and not by my choice.
When I reached the ticket kiosk for the ferry, I realized my one crucial error. I hadn’t asked anyone for a description of Darren. I’d also not seen a photo of him, and the internet was far too spotty to hope for a window of service that would pull up the image I needed.
Luckily, the pier wasn’t crowded. Eternal Springs would be awash with visitors the next few days. If the popularity of this morning’s radio segment was anything to go by, tourists would flock to the island to digest the latest gossip and attend the pageant. Ferries would bring far more people than they were taking away until the pageant wrapped. Kenna should pay me for that interview. Her tourism duties would be astronomical and she’d be able to organize to her little heart’s content.
After searching the pier from one end to the other and coming up empty, I sighed and hopped in line for the coffee cart. There was no way I had made the trek all the way over here for nothing. I refused to accept anything more than a piping hot latte for my efforts.
The line moved quickly. After ordering, I ran my hands over my arms in a shiver and felt goosebumps prickle my skin. The storm was moving in quickly, a crisp breeze with it.
“Oops, sorry,” I said, as I bumped someone. “Didn’t see you there.”
When I looked up to give the man an apologetic smile, my expression froze. My eyes fixed on the briefcase he held in his hands. It was a clear, plastic sort of thing that was probably supposed to be trendy, though to me it looked silly. However, it was the lettering along the edge that caught my eye.
“Watch where you’re going,” he scowled. “Bloody hot coffee.”
His British accent seeped out as he balanced the Styrofoam cup in his hands and dodged me. I put a hand out, forced the smile, and apologized again.
“Do you work for Elemental Beauty?” I asked, pointing to his bag. “Love the products.”
His frown tilted into a more horizontal line. “Yes, they’re great.”
“Is your name — you’re Darren, aren’t you?” I tried to keep my voice light, h
oping that a bit of goodwill would earn me a few points when I asked the harder questions. “The girls from the Beauty Cottage were raving about you and the products. You’re the vendor, right?”
“I am for this contest, yes.”
“Latte’s ready,” the coffee cart guy interrupted. “Here you are, lady.”
I reached for the cup and snatched it, turning back before Darren had a chance to move away. “Say, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the products? I work in radio,” I said in a stroke of genius. “And I love to review beauty products.”
He looked me over with heavy skepticism. “You know about beauty products?”
“I was working in the yard today,” I said, trying to excuse my appearance. “I didn’t really get dressed.”
“Oh.” He seemed to buy my excuse, which didn’t say much for my fashion sense. “Wait, are you the woman who interviewed Tarryn?”
“Er … .” I realized my error as quickly as his face morphed into fury. Tarryn’s huge anti-Elemental Beauty rant would not be earning me any brownie points.
Darren’s eyebrows knit together in a frustration that was probably justified, even if the product line deserved it. “Get out of here! I don’t want to say a word to you — you sabotaged our new line!”
“That wasn’t me! My name is ... .” I hesitated, thought quickly. “Skye. And I just want to get the facts straight.”
“What facts?”
“About the beauty line. I work with a woman who could get a story published to counteract the radio segment. I mean, nobody listens to that show anyway, right? Everybody reads the newspaper. Skye — er, I can get a piece in the Town Croaker if you answer a few questions.”
He surveyed me. “I suppose so. That deejay was very unprofessional.”
“I don’t know about that —.”
“She clearly didn’t have control over her interview subject.”
“Maybe she was taken by surprise,” I said, sounding waspish. “But you’re right. What do you say — a minute to chat?”
“Fine.”
We walked to the nearest bench, but neither of us sat. Eventually I leaned forward against the pier railing and watched the oncoming ferry, calculating I had about five minutes before it docked and began the pre-loading process for passengers.
“I’m not actually here to focus on your beauty products,” I said. “I wanted to ask you about the morning you were at the Beauty Cottage. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the products.”
His eyes flickered with unease. He reached for the railing and steadied himself. “What about it?”
“What time did you arrive?”
“Seven thirty.”
“I thought most vendors weren’t scheduled until later.”
“They weren’t, but as you might have heard, we are introducing a new line of high-end products. I had scheduled a few consults one on one with the girls and I wanted to get set up early.”
“Two and a half hours early?”
“One hour early. The first client was for eight thirty,” he said, snippiness creeping into his voice. “It’s quite usual for me to arrive an hour early for appointments. I have my case to set up, accessories to spread out. Certain services require hot water, towels, etc. Beauty is not a simple thing, Miss —.”
“Skye,” I said again, flinching. “Just call me Skye.”
“Fine, Skye. Who’d you say you work for again?”
“A radio station. I also have a friend who is a newspaper reporter,” I said. “Together, we’re sort of covering the beauty pageant.”
“And what do the vendors have to do with anything?”
I fastened onto the information I’d gathered from the contestants and did my best to regurgitate it. “Obviously, Elemental Beauty is breaking onto the scene to compete with Loreen — the super high end of beauty products — and we want to cover it. A positive quote from you will go a long way in helping to counteract Tarryn’s bad public relations. I’m sure the line is fabulous. Tarryn was probably just upset. After all, she’d just lost a dear friend.”
Flattery tended to work for me, and it worked on Darren. He nodded, wary, though attentive.
“As I said, we could get a quick quote from you about the line in the paper. It’ll make you and the product line look great.”
“Fine. All of that mess about the face cream giving Mary hives — if any of that shows up in your article I will take legal action.”
“I understand.” I gave him my most sincere expression. “I also hope you understand that I’ll need to ask if it was true. Did the cream give Mary issues?”
“Nobody knows!” His face grew red. “She complained to me, but it could have been any of her products. She used a slew of beauty supplies every day.”
“And a false claim could ruin your business,” I said sympathetically, “especially if Mary was projected to win the pageant.”
“Exactly.” He smacked his hand so hard against the railing that a metallic clank rang out and several bystanders turned to stare at us. “Ticks me off, you know? All that hard work goes to waste for one stupid girl.”
My eyebrows shot up. “And it’d be much easier to make the problem disappear, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course it would. What sort of question is that?” Darren turned to stare at me, still lost in a cloud of rage. “Oh, crap. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean literally disappear — it came out wrong. You’re not here to talk about beauty products at all, are you, Skye?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Darren. My name isn’t Skye, and I don’t care about face creams.”
“You should. You’re getting wrinkles, and you can’t be much over thirty.”
“I’m here to talk about murder.”
Darren’s face went pale. “I didn’t kill Mary.”
“Why’d you show up so early two days ago?” I asked him. “That morning was a special occasion, wasn’t it? Mary had a meeting marked in her calendar — was it a beauty consultation with you that went horribly wrong?”
That last part was a fib, but he didn’t need to know that. I had no access to Mary’s phone or calendar, but I needed to push Darren far enough to see if he’d crack.
“Did you go to see Mary the morning she died?” I pressed, as Darren’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you suggested you head out back for natural light while you demonstrated a new foundation. Then, while you were out at the pool, maybe she started complaining about the last sample you gave her. Did she still have hives? That would be pretty tragic for a beauty queen. She must have been fuming.”
“No, no! That’s not how things went.”
“Did you find your opportunity and take it? I don’t think you meant to strangle her, Darren. I think you just got upset, maybe reached out to give her a push, and things escalated. Is that what happened?”
I gave the railing a light tap with my hand and a soft reverb filtered out through the ocean. Overhead, the sky darkened. Darren’s face grew as white as the caps licking the ocean waves. We stood, facing one another, the dark waters slapping against the rocks.
A chill wracked my body and I felt suddenly grateful for the coffee cart just feet away. A family played nearby on a picnic blanket, and a romantic couple leaned against a lamppost in the throes of kissing and giggles. All were within screaming distance, just in case.
“That’s not what happened,” Darren said finally in a choked voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Skye — or whatever your name is. You’re not a cop, and I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“I’m Evian Brooks of HEX 66.6, and I was the one who interviewed Tarryn this morning,” I said. “I’m covering the murder investigation of Marilyn Johnson, and right now you’re not exactly looking innocent. You had motive, access, opportunity. Heck you were at the crime scene at the time of the murder.”
“I wasn’t, okay? I wasn’t there!”
I blinked. “Then where were you?”
“I don’t owe you anythin
g.”
“No, but I can have the police here in a second. Or, now that my show is actually popular, I could broadcast my theories about your involvement to all of Eternal Springs. That would make things a whole lot worse for you than a short blip about a batch of bad face cream.”
“Give me some good exposure for the face cream and I’ll talk to you.”
“No deals just yet,” I said. “Talk first, then I’ll discuss.”
“I showed up late that day. I didn’t want to tell anyone because my boss has been on my case,” Darren said, scratching his head as his face flushed. “I didn’t arrive until almost eight thirty, even though I was supposed to be there at seven thirty. I snuck in, set up shop and I didn’t talk to anyone.”
“Convenient.”
“Sometime closer to nine — I don’t know the exact moment — the screams began when the girls saw the body. I packed up and headed out the front door.”
“Again, a clear sign of innocence,” I said sarcastically. “You didn’t want to see what it was about?”
“Lady, I’m already in enough trouble with my boss. I didn’t need to add another thing to the mix, I swear. The only person I saw was some guy headed out the back door when I arrived. I didn’t get close enough to recognize him because I was in a hurry. Other than that, I stayed in the dining room — alone. I was setting up my station. The other vendors hadn’t arrived yet. Most of the girls were still asleep. The door was unlocked when I got there.”
I blew out a disgruntled sigh. “Let me get this straight: You not only accidentally arrived at the scene of the crime just after the Mary was killed but well before she was found, and you saw a mystery man you can’t describe running away.”
“I swear it. Ask the girls. I’m sure one of them will have seen me. And they probably saw the other man, too.”
“You were running late. Why?”
“Why does anyone run late?” Darren asked. “I’m never on time. I’ve been written up three times in the last month. You can definitely check that. My boss has been kind enough to document every little one of my screw-ups.”
“Oh, I will,” I said, though I believed him. Darren had started to perspire and his hands nervously beat against the railing. “What else happened that morning?”
