Murder in Real Time

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  Dad nudged me. “I want to run some ideas past you. I’m running for Mr. T-shirt, so the ideas have to be good. I need input.”

  I turned my back on Mom. I couldn’t stop her, but I didn’t have to watch.

  “Okay. Go.”

  Dad fanned a white shirt over his chest. Special Agents Use Handcuffs.

  Sebastian snorted and coughed behind me. “Hey, Mr. Price. I saw someone on the stairs, so I got out of the way. I never know if company comes for a few private minutes of counseling or if they’re here to visit.”

  Him and me both.

  Wait. Was he explaining himself to my dad? I looked at Dad. He could care less that Sebastian came from my room or that Adrian was stoned on my couch.

  “You like the shirt?” Dad shook it at arms’ length, displaying his product to Sebastian, who looked uncomfortable.

  Sebastian’s mouth opened and shut.

  “Well?” I enjoyed the sight of such an intimidating guy rocking on his heels. “Do you like that?”

  Mom interrupted. “Leave the poor boy alone.” Only my mother would address a thirty-five-year-old federal agent and former navy SEAL as “boy.”

  I stepped closer to Sebastian, unable to stop taunting him. “You do use handcuffs, right? What’s so hard about this question?”

  Dad giggled. “It means in bed.” He tousled my hair. “It’s a double entendre.”

  My jaw fell open and snapped shut. Really. Why did anything surprise me anymore?

  I looked at Dad’s eager eyes, Adrian petting my shag carpet and Mom scrubbing a lemon against my counter top, then I leaned against Sebastian’s chest. “These are my people.”

  He wrapped strong arms around my waist and kissed my head. “I like your people.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mom was back first thing the next morning, buzzing around my apartment, wiping already clean counters and singing a seventies rock ballad. “How’d he do last night?” She motioned to Adrian on my couch.

  “Adrian hasn’t moved this morning. Claire had to sleep on the cot in his office. She didn’t love it.”

  Mom shoved her bottom lip forward. “How’d the filming go for her? She looked adorable in her ghost-hunting gear.”

  I smiled. “She’s ecstatic. She came home on a cloud. I didn’t know being an extra was so exciting, but she kept me up until midnight talking about how good it felt to be back in the spotlight. Apparently she’s a versatile actress. From princess to ghost hunter.”

  Blueberry syrup slid over the short stack in front of me. Dad had brought breakfast from the Baby Cakes food truck. The rich buttery aroma of hotcakes and flavored coffee made my little apartment feel homey. Sebastian forked sausage and eggs in silence. The bureau had nicknamed him the chameleon for his ability to blend in, but sitting with my parents and me, he might as well have been a six-foot dancing polar bear.

  When Mom finished cleaning my apartment, both physically and spiritually, she made tea from a container of leaves she kept in her purse and poured four glasses. Sebastian tipped his cup, eyeballing the little leaves swirling in the mix.

  Mom stirred her tea more often than she sipped. She kept watch on Sebastian and me, probably waiting to snag our empty cups and read the leaves. “Patience.”

  Dad, Sebastian and I stilled.

  Mom smoothed her long gauzy skirt. “Have you made a list of all the people who might want to hurt you? I know you think the danger is focused on Adrian or Sebastian, but as your mother, I think it’s wise to give this some thought. Is there any chance you were the intended victim in any of these crimes? With so many people in town, there could be more than one shooter.”

  “Mom.” I relaxed my shoulders, hoping to convey a calm, peaceful demeanor. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I don’t think any of this was directed at me. Last time, the gunman aimed for Adrian. I was nowhere near him.”

  Dad made strange clucking sounds.

  “What?” I lifted both eyebrows, daring him to argue.

  “Well, you have a hefty list of people who might like to see you sleeping with the fishes. Also, stop looking so peaceful. It’s eerie.”

  I stiffened my spine. “That’s not true. My biggest nemesis is Karen Holsten Thompson and she’s not a murderer.”

  Sebastian lifted his teacup to his crooked lips. “She did burn your eyebrows off.”

  I lifted fingers to the stubble growing on my brow bone.

  Not long ago, Karen snuck over to my new office and filled a hibachi with lighter fluid, hoping to make a scene. I arrived later and added some more fluid, unknowingly. I lit a match and FOOM. No eyebrows. Though, they were growing back nicely.

  Dad clucked some more. “She could easily dodge a murder charge with all those pregnancy hormones flowing through her. Temporary insanity. If I ever planned a murder, I’d wait for a pregnancy, or afterward. Makes some people do crazy things.”

  Mom nodded in agreement.

  “No. Stop it.” I wrinkled my nose.

  Of course they’d heard about Karen’s pregnancy. Maple spent her spare time with my parents. The idea of Karen as a mother faltered in my head. How could she be a mom? I graduated from high school with her. The logical portion of my brain understood women had babies much younger than thirty, but this was a woman I’d known in pigtails. If she was old enough for motherhood, so was I. The idea both thrilled and horrified me.

  “What about Mark Mathers’s wife?” Dad added. “You sent her sick husband to jail. She’s surviving on money from homemade jewelry now, and who knows how they’re treating him in the big house.”

  My mouth popped open to defend Mary Mathers, but I couldn’t argue. People had killed for less.

  Mom set her teacup aside. “What about Mrs. Flick’s family, or a member of Sheriff Murray’s family? Someone you haven’t met might hold a grudge about something that happened to their loved one at your hand.”

  My voice hitched. “Those people tried to kill me.”

  Dad patted my hand. “Sheriff Murray worked with some dangerous people this summer who might blame you for foiling their trafficking scheme. I think your mother’s right. You should make a list.”

  I looked to Sebastian for help. Aside from the clenching of his jaw, he sat motionless beside me.

  “Fine. I’ll make a list, but first, can I get anyone a cupcake?” I hustled to the kitchen and loaded a plate with cupcakes. “Did you guys happen to order these for me?” I set the plate on the table, and Mom gaped.

  “Heavens no.” She leaned away from the bloody knife cupcakes. “Those are filled with processed sugar and look at the blood drizzle. Red Dye #40 is the main ingredient in that. Completely toxic. You shouldn’t eat those.”

  I lifted one to my mouth and took a bite.

  Mom sighed. “No wonder you don’t sleep.”

  Sure. Red dye. That was the reason.

  I focused my attention on Sebastian and swallowed. “They could be right. This could be about me.”

  He stared for several beats. “Maybe.”

  Dad pulled a knife off one cupcake and made little stabbing motions in the air. “Adrian was the target this time. We can’t argue about that. They shot him twice.”

  “Who shot me?” Adrian rolled over on the couch and winced. “Damn. Someone shot me.” He rubbed his chest and arm. His face crunched in pain. “Are those cupcakes?”

  I carried one to the coffee table and left it with a cup of fresh tea. “You had one yesterday. Don’t you remember?”

  He pulled the knife from the top and made stabbing motions like Dad.

  Dad laughed.

  “Not really. Thanks. Yesterday’s fuzzy. Whatever Becky gave me for pain was powerful. I dreamed of lollipops and butterflies.” He moved in slow motion to an upright position.

&n
bsp; His expression pained me. “Did they give you pills for today? It looks like you’re in pain.”

  Deep purple bruises stretched and marred his lips where he’d hit the microphone with his face.

  “Front pocket.” He leaned back to allow me access.

  I stopped to stare. The distinct bulge worried me. If I reached in there, would I find a pill bottle? I leaned forward, fingertips hovering at his hip.

  He cracked a smile, winked and slid the prescription bottle from his pocket. “Stay out of my pants,” he whispered.

  I straightened. “You’re a dork.” Even in pain, his mission in life was to irk me. I considered swiping his pain pills in exchange for an apology, but something else came to mind. “I need to call Melinda and see if she or Missy sent these cupcakes.” I turned toward the table where I’d left my phone. Sebastian handed me the phone and I scrolled through my contacts.

  A knock on my door stopped me dialing. Sebastian moved toward the door. I let him take the lead. Who knew what lurked outside? I had enough trouble in my living room.

  Sebastian swung the door wide. Irritation creased his brow. “Yeah?”

  “I’m looking for Patience.” Todd Ramone’s easy Alabama accent filtered past the guard at my door.

  “It’s okay. Let him in.” I waved at Todd. “I know him.”

  Sebastian moved to the kitchen, giving me space but staying near enough to intervene if necessary.

  “Todd, this is my family. Mom, Dad, Adrian, and you met Sebastian.” I pointed to each face as I announced their names.

  Mom fluttered to my side. “It’s nice to meet you, Todd. Can I make you some tea?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Price.” Todd nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

  Mom cleared the empty cups from my table and took her time looking inside each one. She frowned into my cup longer than I liked.

  “Mom?” I cleared my throat. “Still making more tea?” I sent her a telepathic message to knock it off, but I hadn’t quite mastered the process.

  She lifted worried eyes to me and busied herself heating more water.

  Todd sauntered to Adrian’s side and greeted him with a complicated handshake.

  What on earth? “You two know each other?”

  Adrian tossed pills into his mouth and chewed them. Gross. “Ramone and I played ball together junior year at Miami.” He looked at Todd with questioning eyes. “How do you know Patience?”

  “We had lunch together yesterday.”

  My brain hurt. “You know each other?”

  Adrian cocked an eyebrow. “You had lunch together?”

  Awkward. I averted my eyes and admired my wall’s wooden paneling. We didn’t need to talk about lunch.

  Todd broke the silence. “How’re you doing, man?” Todd asked Adrian.

  “Shot and sore, but I’m alive. Sore sounds pretty good, considering the alternative.” Adrian’s gaze traveled to me.

  Why wouldn’t Todd have told me he knew Adrian? My skin burned with irritation. He knew all about Adrian. He called him my ex-lover. My foot itched to kick Todd’s shins. Lying by omission was still lying. He probably thought he could get more candid information from me if he feigned ignorance. Sneaky reporters.

  I baby-stepped closer to the couch. “What brings you to my place at eight in the morning?”

  Todd looked around the room. His expression was tighter than I’d seen before. Either he had bad news or Sebastian had him rethinking his visit. “I checked out the lead you gave me.”

  Sebastian’s heavy lids drooped lower.

  I growled. What was Todd trying to do to me? “I don’t know what you mean. I’m not looking into anything. No leads here.” I exposed my palms in proof.

  “Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot.” He looked at my folks and announced in the world’s worst acting debut. “I was confused, thinking of someone else entirely.”

  “Go on.” Sebastian closed in on him from the kitchen. “You said a lead?”

  “There’s a reporter on the island who Patience...or someone...thought dressed a little too nicely for mere paparazzi. He has expensive shoes.”

  All gazes slid in my direction.

  I could’ve claimed innocence before the shoe comment. Now, I was stuck. “They’re John Lobbs.” I looked from face to face for recognition. “Never mind.”

  “What do you know about the guy?” Sebastian asked Todd.

  “Not much, except that Patience was right. His press badge is a fake. I looked for the Massachusetts Messenger last night. It doesn’t exist. I called a few contacts in the Boston area. No one has ever heard of that paper. No web presence, blog, website or anything.”

  Sebastian moved to stand between Todd and me. “Did you tail him?”

  Todd widened his eyes. “Yeah. How’d you know? I’ve been on him since we finished lunch yesterday.”

  “And?” A chorus of voices sang out. Mine included.

  Todd looked at me. “He set up camp across the street in a Cadillac, watching your place all night. I stayed on him until a few minutes ago when he headed over the mainland bridge. I figured this was a good time to stop over and tell you about him.”

  Sebastian’s thumbs darted over the face of his phone. “Can you identify him?”

  “Yes.” Todd and I answered.

  Sebastian headed for the door. “Davis, keep an eye on...” He stopped to stare at Adrian, who was gripping his bruised ribs. Sebastian swore under his breath. “Don’t leave.”

  Adrian gave him a weird two-finger salute.

  I grabbed Sebastian’s elbow. “Wait. Where are you going? What does this mean to you?”

  “It means someone’s following you.” His phone rang and he stepped through the open door to answer.

  Mom delivered fresh tea to Todd. “Thanks,” he said.

  I huffed out a breath and made plans to interrogate Todd further once Sebastian was gone. “Cupcake?” I shoved the plate of Halloween cakes in his direction. My strategy? Butter him up. Use a sugar-induced euphoria as truth serum.

  Todd scowled. “Wow. Those look ominous.”

  I turned the cupcake plate, no longer craving the creamy frosting. What if these sweet treats were never intended as gifts? They could be threats. But what sort of twisted person threatened a woman with cupcakes? I pulled my phone free from my pocket. Missy could set this straight. Who ordered these for me? I scrolled to her cell number.

  The bark of sirens from the street outside split the morning air, balking and bleating.

  Sebastian took the steps two at a time. I ran onto the stoop. Ambulances, fire trucks and police cruisers blew past my apartment, driving on the curb as needed to pass halted traffic near the intersection. In the rescue vehicles’ wake, a black, government-issue SUV slid into the space at the curb where the Range Rover usually stood. Sebastian ducked inside with a warning look over his shoulder.

  I lifted my fingers waist high. Yeah, yeah. Stay put.

  Not going to happen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I kissed my dad’s cheek, waved to mom and grabbed my keys. “I’ll be back. Stay as long as you like.”

  Adrian blocked the doorframe with one hand across his ribs. “You’re supposed to stay here.”

  I hated to cause him trouble, but I didn’t have time to argue, and it was his idea to snoop into this. “I’m not staying here.”

  I poked the area beneath his arm and he groaned.

  “Mean.”

  “Yep. Are you coming? You can ride shotgun.”

  “Don’t say shotgun.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Where’s Todd?” I turned in a little circle. That guy was like a ninja, popping up and disappearing all over town.

  Adrian gave me an angry face and moped out the door. “Todd passed yo
u on the stoop. He’s probably already at the scene of whatever’s happening.”

  “Be safe,” Mom called from behind us. “Remember, use your phone if you need to.” She dragged the word phone into three syllables. Right. The Taser phone Dad bought on eBay. How could I forget? I’d been afraid to touch it since she assured me it worked but wouldn’t say how she knew.

  I swung the passenger door of my car open before rounding the hood to the driver’s side. The world outside my apartment smelled like a county fair, minus the animal barns. It was a wonder I didn’t need stretch pants. A family of five carrying bucket-sized lemonades and caramel-covered apples meandered past. The apples were the size of softballs and one was covered in broken pretzel pieces and M&Ms. I mean, come on. These food trucks were killing me. I started the engine and tapped my toes, waiting for Adrian to cram his body into the seat beside mine. He winced a few times fastening his seat belt.

  Finally.

  I pulled into traffic and turned to Adrian, avoiding another look at the caramel apples. “How do you feel?”

  “Like balls.”

  I fixed my eyes on the road, refusing to consider what that meant or what Freud would say about the reference. Freud, the father of psychology, not my cat.

  Adrian groaned as I accelerated. “Nice car. Green this time. Funny.”

  I thought so. Fuel efficient. Clean running. A Prius was as “green” as cars got in my price bracket.

  The closest parking space to the fire trucks and ambulances was two blocks from Adrian’s house on the marsh. Wooden sawhorses blocked the street and federal agents polka dotted Adrian’s yard. When we arrived in the mix, Fargas stood at the open front door talking with big hand gestures.

  An agent I recognized from the bureau blocked our path. I put on my hey-there-old-buddy face and used my most professional voice. “What’s going on here, Agent Fellows?”

  He looked me over. No sign of recognition.

  I extended a hand. “Patience Price. Human resources. We were on the same softball team. We kicked John’s Gyros’ butts in the playoffs last fall. Remember?”