Before he went to spectate with Claire and half the island, Adrian had promised to talk to his mom for me. First, I’d had to drudge through an argument wherein he wondered why I was so stubborn and what was so bad about a makeover? Finally, he left.
For the first time in days, I had the apartment to myself. I turned the television on and switched the channel to Rick and Anna’s memorial. Claire made me promise to record it in case she was caught on camera. I muted the sound and flopped onto the couch. Having my life and death recorded sounded awful to me. People like Elisa took it a step further and blogged their feelings.
I sat up. Sebastian’s laptop stared at me from the coffee table.
I dragged his laptop onto my legs and opened a browser. Marie and Todd both mentioned HollywoodWatcher.com. I typed the address in the search bar and hit Enter. Bright green-and-black print scrolled beneath the header. HollywoodWatcher.com was an online magazine touting the latest The Watchers news and updates. A line of tabs across the top divided the site into seasons, characters and specials. I did a search for my name. Marie from Fork in the Road said she’d read about me on the site, but that was silliness. I didn’t know the show existed until this week.
“How is this possible?” I asked the computer. My name appeared seven times. I scrolled and skimmed the articles. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Patience Price, a homegrown island princess and former government-agent-turned-rogue investigator, has tilted the sleepy Virginia town of Chincoteague on its head. Her official business is family therapy, but her claim to fame is crime solving, served with multiple attempted murders and a side dish of exploding buildings. Destruction has never been so sexy.
A snapshot of Todd Ramone, the reporter I kept bumping into, nestled in the bottom corner of the article. The byline identified him as Lou Pole. Very funny. Apparently online reporters considered their form of media one giant loophole because the only fact in his article was my name.
I shut the browser to settle my thoughts before I stormed out in search of Lou Pole to set him straight. He was probably at the memorial service. Unwise. I tapped my fingers on the edge of Sebastian’s laptop. Laptops said a lot about their owners, and Sebastian’s desktop was navy with white letters commanding, Never Quit, the portion of the Navy SEALs’ motto that Sebastian lived by. I traced the letters with my fingertips. Standing in a line of icons on the screen’s edge was a little disc symbol dated earlier this week. The night of Rick and Anna’s murder. I bit the insides of my cheeks. On the one hand, I had no business peeking at Sebastian’s files. On the other hand, he never told me he’d kept a copy of the video, and I was technically the one who had found it. At least, I’d suggested its existence was possible, which totally counted toward finding it. I double-clicked the icon.
Keys jingled in my front door lock, and I put the laptop down. Sebastian walked in and froze with one hand on the door. “What’s going on? You look like you saw a ghost.” He smirked. “I guess living here, that’s possible.”
“How was your day? What are you doing back?” I sidestepped in front of his laptop.
Sebastian shut the door and invaded my personal space. “You’re up to something, but before we fight...” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.
Frustration burned my chest. I pulled back. “Why do you assume we’re going to fight?”
“Because you’re going through the files on my laptop?”
“No, I’m not.”
He sighed. His huge hands wrapped around my hips and moved me a few steps to the side.
“I can explain,” I said.
Several moments passed. He didn’t speak.
Okay. “One of the food truck ladies said there’s an article about me on HollywoodWatchers.com, so I used your laptop to check it out. Mine’s all the way in my room and shut down.”
“What’d the article say?”
I rolled my eyes. “That I’m a sexy disaster.”
The side of Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “What about that?” He motioned to the video footage playing silently on his laptop.
“Gee. I’m not really sure what that is...”
He crossed broad arms over his chest. His trademark blank expression warned me there was no lying to him. He probably read half my thoughts based on my heart rate and body language alone. I relaxed my posture. “Fine. I saw the file when I shut the internet, and I wanted to see what was on it. Besides, what are you doing with it? You said you were giving it to Fargas.”
“I did give it to Fargas. I kept a copy for myself. Habit. It’s been my experience that hanging on to things comes in handy.”
I turned my attention to the laptop as murky shadows moved on screen. “Wow. This really is dark. I can’t tell who’s who.”
Sebastian pointed as long hair swung through the dim green light from a digital clock on the nightstand. “Anna’s on top.”
Anna fell over. The figure beneath her sat up and then fell back. Both their bodies appeared to bounce twice and were still. A lump clogged my throat. I swallowed and forced my mind to concentrate. We needed to find whoever did this.
“Did you see that? Did the bodies move again or did the video jump?”
Sebastian crouched beside the coffee table and touched the screen with one finger. “There’s the time of death. We can confirm the coroner’s estimation with the alarm clock.”
Something else bugged me. “It’s really dark in the room for seven in the evening.”
“Blackout shades. I put them up with Mrs. Moore’s blessing. I worked nights and slept days a lot in August when the sun was up till ten. Hey, play this again from the beginning.”
I restarted the video. The image appeared and ended quickly, but there was no one in the shot and the bed was made. Then the video began again with the door open. The light snapped on. Rick and Anna walked inside, holding hands. Clothes came off quickly, and Rick hit the light switch again. Shadowy figures moved through the darkness to the bed. We’d seen the rest.
Sebastian touched my shoulder. “We see Rick and Anna come in, but no one else. I’m still wondering when the killer got there.”
I bit my lip. My foot tapped. I sat on the couch and crossed my legs, but my knee bounced. I restarted the video. When did the killer get there? “Could he have been there waiting? Maybe in the closet or under the bed?”
Sebastian rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck side to side. “One way to find out.”
I grabbed my purse and keys. “I’ll come with you. I’m smaller. If you can’t fit under the bed, I can try. The killer might be smaller than you. The victims weren’t overpowered, they were shot. With shootings you should keep an open mind. I could have easily killed them.”
“Please never repeat that statement.”
“Right. I meant to say that even someone little could have pulled the trigger.”
* * *
Sebastian led the way into Mrs. Moore’s bed-and-breakfast. The home was replete with Victorian charms, from the gentle color palette to the scent of rosemary in the air.
“Mrs. Moore? It’s Sebastian Clark. Are you home?” He moved silently down the hall from kitchen to dining room to parlor. Wide wooden beams shined beneath a line of throw rugs.
“Come in, dear. I’m watching my favorite cooking show.”
I peeked around Sebastian in the narrow hallway. “Hi, Mrs. Moore.”
“Oh, hello, Patience.”
Mrs. Moore sat on a mauve wingback chair with knitting needles and yarn in her lap. An empty teacup stood on the table beside her. She emptied her tools into a white basket, pushed onto her feet and swayed. “Can I get you two something to drink? Tea or perhaps a hot toddy?”
Heavy burgundy drapes split the floral wallpaper from floor to ceiling, inviting limited light into her space. Gilded mirrors and pictur
e frames adorned the busy walls. Clusters of dried flower arrangements and needlepoint creations worked as accents.
Sebastian motioned for her to sit. “No. We’re going to take one more look around upstairs. We won’t be long. Is there anything you need? Can I do something for you?”
“No. No. No.” She shuffled to the table beside her television and searched through a stack of papers. “I’m fine. Here you are. Your friend stopped by and asked me to give you this.” She handed Sebastian a note. He shoved it into his pocket without reading it.
We climbed the creaky steps to Sebastian’s room in single file.
“Which friend stopped by to see you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t look at the note.”
I followed close on his heels. “Why not take a look and see then?”
“I’m working.” He handed me a set of medical gloves before turning the doorknob.
Shivers rode up and down my spine upon entering the room. Rick and Anna’s deaths no longer seemed abstract, like tragedies you heard about on the news. My feet rooted at the foot of the bed and a lifetime of island legends rushed through me like icy apparitions. Thirty minutes ago I watched two shadows die on that bed.
Sebastian dropped to his knees and lifted the bed skirt. “The bed’s tall enough to hide under, but there’s a half inch of dust under here.”
I scowled. “Mrs. Moore is old. You think she should clean under the beds?”
He dropped the material and gave me the same crazy face I made. “I didn’t say that. I said it’s dirty under here. Therefore, it’s evident no one lay under there in wait. If someone had been under there, there would be a break in the dust.” He reached under the bed and held his fingers up. Gray fuzz as thick as dryer lint clung to his gloves.
“Ew.”
He brushed his palms together and stood. “No one’s hid under there in the last ten years.”
I opened the closet and gasped. “Claire would have a stroke if she saw this.” I pressed my palm to the wall inside the closet. “This closet isn’t even deep enough for shelves.” I shut the door. “How did people live like that?”
“Maybe they didn’t have as many clothes.”
I disagreed. “I watch movies. Those turn-of-the-century dresses were enormous. They practically stood on their own. Where’d they store them with closets like that?”
“Armoires.”
“Oh.” My parents had an armoire, but it had shelves and a flat screen television inside.
Sebastian examined the window, slid his fingers around the frame and looked outside.
Mrs. Moore knocked on the wall just beyond the door. “Find everything you need?”
I met her in the hallway. “Are you sure you didn’t see anyone else come in that evening? You didn’t hear anything?”
Her eyes glistened. “Nothing.”
We said our goodbyes and left her to her hot toddy. Sebastian gunned the Range Rover to life and angled away from the curb. The memorial was in full gear at Adrian’s house and people filled the streets. The food trucks had relocated closer to the action, too, slowing our progress.
I pointed to a small alley with fewer people. “Try that one.” Traffic was jammed. We needed to move three car lengths before we had a chance at turning into the alley. He shifted into park on the street.
“This must make you bananas.” He drummed his thumbs against the wheel.
“Nah.” I silently cursed Adrian and the mayor for inviting this chaos to our town and for exploiting our legends and stories for profit. What were they thinking? “Maybe a little.”
A group of guys on the lawn across the street called each other names and waved beer cans at one another in belligerence. Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck and turned to watch the argument escalate from name calling to shoving and swearing. A big guy in a red shirt plowed into a short guy in black and they tumbled onto the sidewalk. Fists flew. Sebastian muttered an expletive and released his seat belt.
On the opposite side of the street, somber music floated from speakers apparently hidden in trees and mounted on telephone poles. Women in black dresses sobbed into tissues. Pictures of Anna and Rick appeared on a billboard-sized screen erected in Adrian’s yard.
Sebastian powered down his window and whistled loudly beside me. He waved his hand at Adrian.
“Ah!” I covered my left ear. “What are you doing? Calling your horse?”
Adrian jogged across the street toward us.
Sebastian opened his door and hopped out. “I’m getting you a new driver.”
Adrian slowed. He faced the brawl, which now included approximately five guys rolling on the ground.
Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder. “Can you take her home? I’ll handle this before it gets out of hand.” He left before Adrian answered.
“What’s that about?” Adrian slid into Sebastian’s seat. “Why were you sitting here?”
“Traffic.” Did he not see every car parked in the street?
Adrian shifted into drive and forced the nose of Sebastian’s Range Rover into oncoming traffic, which luckily wasn’t moving either.
“What are you doing?” I gripped the dashboard.
“I don’t want to sit here. I want to drop you off and come back before I miss everything.” He pulled the gearshift into reverse and hit the gas.
People honked.
He waved at the angry drivers. “Sorry. Excuse me.” A few more back-and-forths and Adrian crossed the street, cut through a side yard and the beauty shop’s parking lot. Sebastian’s face was pale as we cruised past him where he knelt on the red shirt guy. Red Shirt’s hands were pinned to his back and he sported shiny silver bracelets, courtesy of public intoxication and Sebastian’s lack of patience for street fighting.
I slouched against the seat. “I could’ve driven myself.”
Adrian smiled and pushed buttons on the dash. “You have bad luck with cars. How many Priuses did you replace this summer?”
Three. One was shot, one was car bombed and one was T-boned.
I crossed my arms and looked out the window. “I get my new one tomorrow.” Thanks to a mainland dealership with zero percent down and generous financing plans, I’d have some wheels again soon.
We passed a colony of tents in the park and turned onto Mrs. Moore’s street again, back where we started. “We just left here.”
He craned his neck out the window frowning at traffic. “Why? Did you get a new lead?”
“No. Sebastian and I were testing a theory. We tried to see if someone might’ve hidden in the room and waited for Rick and Anna to come in.”
Adrian looked surprised. “That’s a good idea. Did you find any evidence?”
“No.” We slowed at the stop sign on the corner. A flash caught my eye. Several tourists with cameras snapped photos of one another and a line of ghost watchers waved video cameras in the air. One stepped through the line and struck a pose.
My eyes widened and my throat thickened. “Gun!”
“What?”
Pop! Pop! Pop!
My window shattered and someone screamed. Probably me. My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. I turned to Adrian in a fog of fear and confusion.
“Holy hell!” Adrian punched the gas pedal and the Range Rover rocketed through the intersection. “Are you hurt?”
I patted my chest and torso. “No. No. No.” I stammered. “No blood. No holes.” Pain ripped through my chest. My throat thickened and my periphery shimmered. “You. You. You?”
“I’m mad as hell. Does that count?” He mashed the horn a few times and jumped out from behind the wheel. “Call nine-one-one!”
“Where are you going?” I leapt out and chased him a few steps in the direction of the shooter before running back to the Range Rover and clim
bing into the driver’s side. People honked and screamed at me for leaving the car in the road, where traffic still had a chance.
Knots of bystanders stared silently, holding cell phones in my direction. I ran shaky hands over my body again in case I’d missed something. Adrenaline and shock blurred my vision and apparently impeded my speech. Someone shot at me! I dialed Sebastian.
Eventually, a few cars made room for me to pull the Range Rover to the curb and park. Sebastian arrived two minutes later.
Adrian lagged behind him, looking anguished. “I’m sorry, man.”
Sebastian didn’t look back. “You had one job. One.”
“I chased him,” Adrian said.
Sebastian stopped. “Did you catch him? Did you get a good look at him? See which way he went? Could you identify him in a line-up of two people?”
“Hey.” I met them on the sidewalk. “Don’t blame Adrian. He was shot at, too. We’re the victims.”
Sebastian hugged me to his chest and leaned one cheek on my head. Ten seconds later he released me and circled his truck. He stopped at the passenger door and dragged fingers roughly through his hair.
I reached for his hand. “Say something.”
He looked at Adrian. “Who were they shooting at?” He touched a bullet hole in the passenger door then pointed through the broken window to another hole inside. The second hole was in the doorframe on the driver’s side near the sun visor.
I sat down and put my head between my knees on the ground. Someone wanted to kill Adrian or me. My tummy flopped, threatening to expel my dinner. The other possibility was worse. It was Sebastian’s Range Rover and a mob boss was looking for him. Black dots danced in my vision. Or maybe Jimmy the Judge would start with everyone Sebastian cared about and remove a few members of his circle, the way Sebastian did to Jimmy.
It didn’t matter who the intended target had been. I hated every possibility equally.
Murder in Real Time Page 11
