“And you look like my feet after a sweaty day of walking,” I shot back. Seriously, why does he irritate me so much? It’s as if he knows every button to push. “I’m not embarrassed by anything. I’m also not rattled. I don’t get rattled.”
“Fine.” Augie rolled his eyes and raised his hands in defeat. “Excuse me for trying to offer you a shoulder to lean on in your moment of turmoil. I knew it was a mistake when I decided to head over here, but I did it anyway. You don’t have to worry about it happening again.”
Oh, geez. Drama. He was worse than a teenage girl who lost access to Cosmogirl and her mother’s Sephora credit card. I could almost hear him internally crying. “While I’m sure you had good intentions, I am not rattled or embarrassed. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Then I won’t worry about you.”
“Great.”
“Good.”
We eyed each other for a long beat, the silence serving as a stifling blanket as the heat ratcheted up for the day. Unlike other islands, Eternal Springs didn’t suffer through seasons. It had multiple climates to choose from – tropical, winter, lush forest in spring, etc. – and I opted to remain in the hottest locale. That was for several reasons, but the main one was that I needed to be close to the only metropolitan area on the island. I’m one of those people who complain about weather no matter what – I essentially hate being too hot and too cold – so I never lacked for something to grouse about.
Augie, as usual, was the first to break the silence. I thought he’d offer up a pithy goodbye, maybe another stab at my courage upon finding a body, but instead he went the absolute worst route. “Is this some leftover nun thing?”
My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“St. Joan of Arc. The school you were at until it burned down. You were there to be a nun, right? It would make sense that you were trying to cover your feelings if you were going to become a nun because you believe death is a good thing.”
He was simply talking out of his rear end now. He’d always been fascinated by the cover story for the school. St. Joan of Arc, a woman burned at the stake for heresy and later canonized, a woman many people believed was a witch, was supposed to be our patron saint. The name actually made sense, but Augie could only focus on the nun part. He wouldn’t let it go.
“I’m not a nun,” I reminded him.
“You were going to school to be a nun before everything turned up red and you ended up at school with me,” Augie pointed out. “You might not be a nun – and I’ve often wondered why you just let that go if it was your true calling – but there was a time when you chose that as your path.”
Not really. I was never going to be a nun. The town founders were against the idea of the school, even though it was necessary because of the gate that rested underneath it. The original school benefactors had to come up with a cover story, and they went with a convent. I was still furious, even though the decision was made long before I was born.
“How did we even get on this topic?” I let my irritation out to play. “I’m not a nun. I’m not masking my emotions because I was going to be a nun. I’m not upset about tripping over a body. I’m most certainly not embarrassed.”
Augie didn’t initially react other than to scan my face for a long moment. Then, finally, he heaved out a sigh and ran a hand through his overgrown black hair. “Fine. I’m sorry I asked.”
“You should be.” I moved to step away from him and then stilled. “Your hair is too long. You need to get it cut.”
“I haven’t had a chance.”
“Well, you should find time.” I licked my lips. “As for the other stuff, I know you were simply trying to make me feel better, but it’s really not necessary. I’m not suffering because I tripped over a body. It was an accident, simply one of those things that happens.”
“I know. But for a second I thought you looked upset.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
“Good to know.”
He’d turned snarky, which meant I had no choice but to react with sarcasm. “Yeah. Thanks for taking a moment to ask about my emotional wellbeing. It means a lot.”
Augie made a face. “You’re just messing with me now, aren’t you?”
I nodded without hesitation. “That’s my way.”
“Yeah. I’m well aware of that.”
I WAITED AT THE SCENE long enough for Augie to become distracted and then I slipped away. There was nothing more that I could do there – not that I was offering much help – and I wanted a chance to glean information about Blair Whitney before Augie realized what I was up to and derailed the information train.
Dylan Potter, a twenty-year-old walking hormone who grew up on the island and developed a weird crush on all the former witches of St. Joan of Arc, stood behind the reception counter, his eyes focused on a computer screen. His presence was a good sign. With all the bigwigs outside he’d have a chance to answer questions without getting in trouble.
This was exactly what I needed.
I pasted a flirty smile on my face as I approached the desk, adding an extra swing to my step as I cleared my throat. Dylan’s bland expression turned to overt glee when he realized who was heading his way.
“Hey, Skye.” He practically purred when he said my name. “I didn’t know you were here today.”
“I was out in the lot to cover the ceremony for the addition.” I leaned against the counter and offered Dylan a wink. “I wanted to stop in and see you before I left because I was disappointed when I realized you weren’t outside. You would’ve made a long ceremony full of boring speeches tolerable.”
Dylan preened under the compliment. He wasn’t a bad kid. He was a horn dog of sorts, but all kids that age have the same problem so I didn’t take it personally. He wasn’t a groper or anything, kept his hands to himself. He was more of a dreamer. Dreams never hurt anyone.
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Dylan’s smile was so wide it threatened to swallow his entire face, which remained boyish and round. If he ever managed to mature a bit, he’d probably be good looking. It simply hadn’t happened for him yet. “Someone had to stay inside and work the desk while everyone else was outside. I’m fifth in line when it comes to being in charge of the reception desk, so it only made sense for me to be the one to remain inside.”
“Fifth in line, huh?” I barely managed to swallow a smirk. “How many candidates are in the running for that position?”
“Seven.”
“Seven?”
“Well, actually six.” Dylan’s smile was sweet. “It’s seven if you include Janice Thompson, but most people don’t include her.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Isn’t Janice Thompson dead?”
“Yes, but she’s still on the employee rolls.”
“Oh, well … hmm.” I had no idea what to say to that. It was probably best I move the conversation along. “I need some information about one of your guests.”
Dylan’s previously amiable expression shifted to something I couldn’t quite identify. “You know I’m not supposed to give you information about the guests,” he groused. “After the last time … .”
I cut him off before he could finish. No one needed to be reminded about the last time. I was still suffering from the last time, in fact. I had nightmares. I mean … who knew that a back waxing sounded like someone was dying? For that matter, who knew that backs could grow that much hair?
“This isn’t like last time.” I adopted my best “I’m an angel and you can trust me” smile. “That was a tragic accident.”
Dylan was stern as he stared me down. “That guy demanded a full refund.”
“I didn’t mean to scream. I seriously did think that pile of used wax strips was a dead animal.”
“He also got comped robes and slippers as an apology,” Dylan pointed out.
Ugh. He wasn’t going to make it easy. “I swear this time won’t be the same as last time.” I honestly meant it. “The woman I need information about won’t complain about me butting into h
er business. I can absolutely guarantee that won’t happen.” Sure, I could only do that because Blair Whitney was dead on the lawn, but Dylan didn’t know that.
Dylan heaved a sigh. He wouldn’t deny me. He didn’t have the strength. “Fine. Who do you need information about?”
“Blair Whitney.” I risked a glance over my shoulder to make sure we remained isolated. “I need any information you have on her.”
“Blair Whitney?” Dylan furrowed his brow as he typed the name into the computer. He was all business as he scanned the file, although I didn’t miss the moment when he stumbled across something of interest … and that was before he let loose a low whistle.
“What did you find?”
“There’re a lot of notes in here about her,” Dylan replied. “I mean … a lot.”
“Is that normal?”
“No, and I’m guessing these notes are here so everyone is well aware that she likes things a certain way during her stays.”
Hmm. That sounded like code for being difficult. If there were a lot of notes, that most likely meant that Blair made a lot of demands. If she made a lot of demands, that meant she probably complained a lot. If she complained a lot, she probably ticked off a lot of people – both people who worked at the resort and those in her personal life. If she ticked off a lot of people … you can see where I’m going with this.
“What do the notes say?”
Dylan looked over both shoulders, uncomfortable. “I could get in trouble for this.”
“I won’t tell a soul.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Did I tell anyone you shared information about Mr. Barton with me?”
“No.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that we were all called into an all-day meeting where we had to learn about being sympathetic and caring to the guests,” Dylan answered. “You called him fat and said that the hair probably helped hide the rolls. We all had to pay for that.”
I didn’t remember saying that. No, really. I’ve done my best to block that incident from my mind. “Just tell me, Dylan. I promise that what happened last time won’t happen again. You can trust me.” I batted my eyelashes. “I swear it.”
“Fine.” Dylan blew out an exaggerated sigh and I swear I heard him mutter something like “come back to bite me” under his breath. He focused on the computer screen, though, and seemed resigned to his fate. “Mrs. Whitney comes here four times a year. She’s one of our seasonal sprucers.”
I could figure out what that meant. “Yeah. She’s had a lot of work done, right?”
“Oh, I can’t even go through the entire list of things she’s had done. It says one of four pages right at the bottom here. I didn’t know we had patient reports that long.”
Hmm. “Is she here alone? I mean … is her husband with her?”
“No. I don’t see where her husband has ever visited with her. In fact, some of the notes in her file seem to indicate that something else was going on.”
He was being purposely cagey. He knew that drove me crazy. “Just lay it out for me, Dylan. You know you want to.”
Dylan looked as if that was the last thing he wanted, but he started talking all the same. “Okay, but you didn’t get this from me.”
“Of course not.”
“Mrs. Whitney is here with her daughter, her daughter’s best friend, the friend’s mother and some sort of personal assistant.”
I had no idea why Dylan seemed to think that was important information. “And?”
“And there’s a note in here to make sure that Mrs. Whitney and the best friend are never left alone together.”
“And why is that?”
“Because apparently the best friend is having sex with Mrs. Whitney’s husband.”
I couldn’t hide my shock. “Seriously?”
Dylan nodded, solemn. “There’s a big notation in here. I mean … there’s like two pages of warnings and explanations about how everybody knows one another.”
That was too much information to coax Dylan into reading aloud. “I don’t suppose you’d print that for me, would you?”
Dylan balked. “That’s going too far.”
It was. I didn’t feel good about putting him in this position. I might need to refer back to the notes, though, and I couldn’t risk walking away without them. Once word spread that Blair Whitney was dead there was no chance I’d get a gander at those notes. “It’s really important.”
“But … I could lose my job.”
I took pity on him. “I’ll dance with you at karaoke this week if you print those records for me.”
Dylan was caught. We both knew it. “Oh, well … .”
“It can be a slow song.”
Dylan must have realized he had negotiating power because he took control of the situation. “Will you wear a short dress?”
Ugh. “Sure.”
“Something blue to match your eyes.”
“Yes.”
“That tie-dye dress with the low-cut top.”
Hmm. Exactly how much attention had he been paying to my wardrobe? “I’ll wear the dress, Dylan. I’ll even let you pick the song that we dance to.”
Dylan beamed and I thought he was done with his demands. I wasn’t that lucky. “And no bra!”
Good grief. “Don’t push your luck.” I narrowed my eyes and extended a finger. “I’ll hurt you if you ever demand that again.”
Dylan’s expression turned sheepish. “I never know when to stop from going too far.”
That was a trait we shared. “Just print what you’ve got. I promise to make the rest of it happen on Friday. You have my word.”
Dylan was back to being happy as he extended his hand for me to shake. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Four
I ran into Augie when I was leaving. In my haste to stuff the records into my messenger bag – a must when driving a Vespa – I had my head down and didn’t notice him until I was already crashing into his solid chest.
“Whoa!” Augie grabbed my arms to keep me from tumbling as I bounced back. “Where’s the fire?”
Crappity crap crap crap! “Nowhere.” I shoved the printed sheets into the bag and adopted an innocent expression. “I was simply looking down and didn’t see you.”
“Uh-huh.” Augie didn’t look convinced. “Why are you in here?”
Good question. It deserved a good lie. Thankfully I was good at thinking them up on the fly. “I needed a bottle of water because I was feeling a little shaky. I didn’t want to bother anyone inside so I grabbed one from Dylan.”
Augie leaned to the right slightly so he could look over my shoulder. I resisted the urge to follow his gaze because I feared the increased attention would be enough to make Dylan crack. I fully expected him to crack, of course, but as long as it happened after I was safely away I was fine with it. Unlike me, Dylan didn’t do well under pressure, and he was the absolute worst when it came to thinking up lies.
“Water, huh?” Augie made a loud throat-clearing sound to get Dylan’s attention. “Hey, Dylan, do you know why Ms. Thornton was here today?”
Well, great. Augie always was the suspicious sort, even when I manufactured a perfectly good lie that almost anyone else would believe. “I just told you.”
“I want to hear what Dylan has to say.” Augie’s expression told me he was determined to figure out exactly what I was up to. That wouldn’t bode well for me. I needed to distract him for thirty seconds, just long enough for me to slip out the door and get to my Vespa.
“Dylan is a busy boy,” I argued, taking a careful step to the left to increase the distance between Augie and me. “He doesn’t need you harassing him.”
“I’m not harassing him.” Augie’s full attention was on Dylan, which allowed me to take another four steps. I was almost through the door. I was going to make it. “I simply want to know what Ms. Thornton was doing here,
Dylan. It’s an easy question.”
I flicked my eyes to Dylan and found his face red with effort as he struggled to come up with something to say. He really was a moron sometimes. I couldn’t believe I had to dance with him Friday … and I was sure he would pick some monstrous power ballad that would make me want to retch. That was the kid’s way. Still, a deal was a deal.
“She was … looking for something to drink,” Dylan supplied.
For one brief moment I thought the kid was going to come through for me. I couldn’t believe it. He came up with a lie and it was the same one I’d already told. What were the odds?
“She wanted whiskey, but I told her we didn’t have any,” Dylan continued. “She should know better because we’re a health spa, and I’m not allowed to serve drinks because I’m not twenty-one yet.”
And then it all came crashing down. Son of a … !
“Whiskey, Skye?” Augie turned as I bolted out the door and scurried toward the parking lot. I heard Augie scrambling after me, but I refused to turn around. “Skye!” He sounded furious.
I offered up a half-hearted wave over my shoulder but kept my eyes on my Vespa, keys already in hand. “It was great seeing you, Augie. I’m sure we’ll meet up again.”
“You can count on it.”
I DIDN’T BREATHE EASY until I was back in town and free of Augie’s evil determination. I had no doubt he’d find me later – curiosity was often to blame for killing more than cats and Augie was blessed with an overabundance of it – but that was a problem for future Skye to tackle. Present Skye only cared about getting some green tea and going through the notes Dylan supplied.
I headed for the closest coffee shop. Despite its size, Eternal Springs has more than one to keep the tourists happy. I was an everyday customer at this one. It was still early, so the shop was mostly empty. Except for Zola Meadows, the owner of Cackleberries plant shop, who sat at a central table with her auburn hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.
“Hey.” I dropped my stack of papers on the table and signaled the girl behind the counter for my drink of choice. “What are you doing here?”
Bat Out of Spell Page 3
