Death at First Sight

by Lena Gregory

  “Hmm . . . next time I say ‘Don’t look now’ . . . you might want to listen.” Stephanie’s laughter seeped through Cass’s rigid muscles, releasing some of the tension.

  She reached up to massage the back of her neck. “Oh, is that what you said? Next time speak up a little.” She laughed, but without any real humor. Sure, Cass had been publicly humiliated, but there wasn’t much Marge could do to her. Cass hadn’t done anything wrong, and Ellie was a grown, married woman. That didn’t stop the chill from racing up Cass’s spine at the memory of the dark shadow that had crossed her vision while Ellie had been with her. Ugh . . . She was going to have to call Ellie and give her a warning. No way would she be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t at least try to tell Ellie to be careful.

  “Come on, move up.” Stephanie took her arm and turned her toward the register. “If we don’t get going soon, Bee’s fit is going to make Marge’s tantrum look tame.”

  As Cass turned, she glanced at the stranger. His slight smirk and deep blue eyes seemed to hold only curiosity, though he stared at her with an intensity that made her shiver. She allowed her gaze to linger for only a second or two, pulling away when heat began to creep up her cheeks.

  2

  “No. Wait. You’re going to be wearing evening gowns and stiletto heels, not sneakers. You have to slow down. Start again.” Bee turned as Cass and Stephanie entered the auditorium. “Okay, take a break.” He waved his hands at the group of teenagers, who quickly dispersed, most pulling out cell phones and water bottles as they went. It was hard to believe these same kids, who were dressed in a various assortment of battered jeans, cutoff shorts, and flip-flops, would be the height of glamour in less than a month.

  “Where have you two been?” Bee Maxwell strutted toward them, six feet of muscle packed between bleached blond hair and platform shoes—in full-on diva mode. He flung one end of a multicolored scarf around his neck.

  Cass snatched one of the to-go cups from the holder in Stephanie’s hand. “I come bearing gifts.” She lifted the cup to him and batted her eyelashes.

  “No fair.” Stephanie feigned outrage, but a small smirk gave her away.

  “I’m in more trouble than you.”

  Stephanie shrugged. “True.”

  Bee took the proffered cup. “Yeah, well, gift or no, I can’t do this all by myself. And don’t think batting those baby blues at me is going to get you off the hook. You promised you’d help.” He gestured toward the stage behind him, perilously close to whining. “The girls could really use some pointers. Most of them have had no modeling experience. And the boys . . .” His hand fluttered to his chest. “Yikes.”

  “Take it easy on her,” Stephanie said. “She just had a run-in with Marge.”

  Cass glanced at Stephanie, trying to silently relay her gratitude. Stephanie winked, and Cass returned her attention to Bee.

  The indignation in Bee’s eyes turned instantly to sympathy, just before they hardened. “That witch. I just got the letter today.”

  “What letter?”

  “Isn’t that what the run-in was about?” Bee opened his cup and blew delicately on his lukewarm coffee.

  “No. I gave Ellie a reading today.”

  “Oh, that poor thing. I saw her husband in the hardware store, flirting with the new girl behind the counter. Hard to believe such a nice girl married such a jerk.” Bee sipped from the cup, and his eyes fell closed. “Mmm . . . just what I needed. Okay, consider yourself forgiven.” He waved a hand dismissively.

  Stephanie huffed out a breath.

  Cass grinned.

  “So, anyway, I stopped at the post office on my way in and picked up the mail. I got yours, too, by the way.” He paused. Sipped. Waited.

  “Thank you for picking up my mail.” Bee was one of her best friends, and Cass was used to his theatrics.

  “Oh, no problem, dear. So, anyway”—he waved his free hand dramatically—“there was an official-looking letter from the board of directors, so I opened it.” He stared at Cass.

  “And?” A drumroll sounded in Cass’s head, and she quelled the urge to roll her eyes.

  “It said they’re changing the date of the fashion show.”

  “What!” Coffee sloshed over the edge of her cup and spilled over her hand. She switched her cup to her other hand and shook off the mess. She and Stephanie fell into step on either side of Bee as he strode toward the stage. “What are you talking about? They can’t do that.”

  “You’re darn right, they can’t. But they seem to think they can.”

  “What did the letter say? Where is it?”

  Bee placed his coffee on the edge of the stage and dug through a large canvas satchel. “Here.” He handed her an envelope.

  She opened the letter and quickly scanned through the ridiculous excuses. “What are they talking about? Everyone knows Marge’s theater group performs around the holidays.”

  “Finish reading.” But Bee didn’t give her a chance before launching into a tirade. “She says she gets first dibs on the theater, it’s in her contract or some such drivel.” He was perilously close to full-blown whining. “They can’t do this to me, Cass. I’ve already sent out invitations and everything. I have a lot of time and money invested in this show.”

  “Don’t worry, Bee.” Cass grabbed napkins from her bag and wiped off her hand. It didn’t help. The coffee had already dried, leaving her all sticky. “We’ll work it out. You have a contract to use the building as well, so I doubt they can just change their minds about letting you use it.” Of course, Marge was the president of the board of directors, so she could theoretically do whatever she wanted.

  “I’m just telling you what the letter says, honey. They said she put in for the dates first, but there was an oversight. An oversight. Can you believe it? These people are going to ruin my entire career because of an oversight.”

  Bee was prone to dramatics, but this time he also happened to be right. His annual fashion show was a big event on Bay Island. It brought an influx of tourists for the entire weekend, at a time when the summer rush was dwindling. Plus, he’d begun to gain recognition for his designs, and a small group of buyers from New York City were expected to attend this year’s event.

  She stared at the offending letter still clutched in her hand. “So, what do you want to do?” She tried to concentrate on the letter, but the words didn’t make sense. The full intensity of the headache had returned, slamming through her and jumbling the letters on the page. She rubbed her eyes.

  “The letter says I have to go before the board next month to choose a different date.”

  “Next month? But the show is less than a month away.” Cass gave up and tossed the letter onto the edge of the stage. She lowered her head, weaved her fingers into her hair, and squeezed.

  “No kidding.” Bee sipped his coffee. “You know what I need?”

  Cass brushed at a coffee stain on her leggings. This day just kept getting better and better. “No. What?”

  Bee could pout better than any kid she knew. He batted his thick, false eyelashes. “A donut.”

  She grinned. Donuts were Bee’s answer to everything unpleasant. “Besides getting donuts, what are you going to do?”

  “Well, we could do away with Marge.” Bee smiled innocently.

  The memory of the shadow intruded on Cass’s thoughts, and she scowled at Bee. She was in no mood for his attempt at humor.

  “What? The world would be a better place without that woman, anyway.”

  Cass continued to glare at him, without saying a word.

  He shrugged. “Just sayin’.” He returned to delicately sipping his coffee, but the gleam didn’t leave his eyes.

  * * *

  Three hours and two donuts later, Cass helped Bee gather his things. “Are you going to keep running rehearsals?”

  “Of course, dear. I’m havin
g the show regardless.” He gritted his teeth. “The buyers may not come if I change the date at the last minute.” He shook his head and piled his sketches on the edge of the stage.

  “I have to get going, Bee,” Stephanie said.

  He turned and kissed Stephanie’s cheek. “Thanks, hon. I appreciate the help.” He grinned. “And the donut run.”

  She laughed. “No problem. See you tomorrow. What time will you be here?”

  “Around ten or eleven.”

  “See you then.” She waved on her way out.

  He glanced at Cass. “Can you come early tomorrow and work with the models?”

  Cass hadn’t modeled since she was a kid, but the little experience she had, along with twenty years of dance lessons, would be enough to give the kids what they needed. “I told them I’d meet them here in the morning and to bring shoes with heels.”

  “And you’re going to draw up the stage design, right?”

  “Yup.” She’d have to come early and take a few measurements. “When is the runway going in?”

  “It’s scheduled for Monday. They have to take out a section of seats to make room. But now, who knows?” He shrugged and shook his head.

  She’d have to try to do something to help. Maybe she’d try to contact some of the board members and see if she could find out what the real problem was. She squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry too much, Bee. I have a feeling everything will work out.”

  “What kind of feeling?” He smiled. “A regular feeling, or a woo-woo feeling?” He wiggled his fingers.

  “Just a feeling, Bee.” She laughed.

  Bee had made it very clear to everyone he didn’t believe in woo-woo.

  “Do you have the measurements for the runway?”

  He dug through his bottomless bag, pulled out a small notepad, ripped off the top page, and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” She looked over the measurements, folded the paper, and stuck it in her pocket. “Stephanie is taking care of the flowers, right?”

  He flipped to the back of the book and scanned his list. “Yes. The flowers, wine, and hors d’oeuvres.”

  Cass picked up the pile of sketches and shuffled through them. “Did the kids like the dresses?”

  Bee’s big brown eyes lit with joy. “They loved them.”

  Of course. The dresses were gorgeous, as always. “Is this the one Jess is going to wear?” she asked, pointing at a pale yellow garment.

  “Yup. Her coloring will really make it pop, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely.” The yellow would really stand out against Jess’s dark tan. “Are you going to have her wear her hair up?”

  “Absolutely. All those curls hanging down her back are wonderful, but we don’t want them to hide the dress.” Bee sifted through the pile and handed her a sketch of the back of the dress. A number of thin straps crisscrossed the otherwise open back in an elaborate design.

  Her breath rushed out. “It’s fabulous.”

  Bee beamed with pride as he put the sketches into his briefcase and snapped it closed. “It is, isn’t it?” He slung the canvas satchel over his shoulder, lifted the briefcase, and glanced around.

  “When did you make the black dress that’s in your new display?” Cass fell into step beside him as he headed toward the door.

  “I finished it last week, but I didn’t get to do the window until last night.”

  “Well, it looks great. Any chance you’ll let me wear it for the show?”

  Bee harrumphed. “Only if you promise to change quickly. The black one comes in the next set after the red one you’re modeling. And you’d have to put your hair up.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Anything to wear that black dress. She stopped and waited for Bee to lock the door, then turned and stared at the parking lot. “Ugh . . . would you mind driving me home? I forgot I hitched a ride with Stephanie from the deli.”

  “I have to swing by the shop, anyway. I’ll drop you off right after.”

  “Great. Thanks.” She resisted the urge to brush the bottoms of her shoes off before sliding into Bee’s immaculate black Trans Am, his pride and joy.

  Cass’s mind drifted as he drove, her thoughts turning to Ellie. It was too late to call now. She’d have to wait until morning, probably, but the phone call topped her mental to-do list. Once she warned Ellie to be careful, the nagging in her gut would probably go away. Of course, the chocolate donuts didn’t help the heavy feeling in her stomach.

  “I always get the creeps when I pass that house.” Bee gestured out the window toward the old Madison Estate. Long since abandoned, the house sparked rumors of ghosts and strange happenings. It sat on a bluff, along the deserted stretch of road between the theater and the Bay Side Hotel, amid an overgrowth of encroaching brush and woods.

  “We could stop in and say hello.” She waggled her eyebrows when he pinned her with a glare.

  Bee snorted but eyed her and lifted a brow as if he wasn’t quite sure she was kidding. “Not in this lifetime, honey.” He accelerated.

  She laughed. “I was kidding, Bee.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want you inviting any dead people into my car.” He lovingly caressed the steering wheel. “Remember what happened last time I took you to the cemetery?”

  “Oh please. That had nothing to do with me.”

  “Yeah, well. Whatever you did, it made my engine go all wonky. This baby didn’t run right for months after that.”

  “I did not invite dead people into your car.”

  He scoffed. “Who knows? Maybe they just follow you around.” He looked past her as if searching for some invisible ghost parade.

  She bit back the urge to laugh. “Besides, you don’t believe in that stuff. Remember?”

  “Mmm . . . hmmm . . . but you never can be too careful.”

  She cracked the window open, the cool breeze whipping her hair around her face. The sea’s briny scent invaded her lungs. The wooded area was one of the most beautiful on the island, especially in the fall with the leaves a full riot of color, and she wished it weren’t already dark.

  She tugged at the collar of her sweatshirt, suddenly feeling like she was suffocating, shadows running rampant through her mind.

  3

  Cass looked down. Trying to juggle her bag, a small wireless speaker for music, three dresses, and a cup of coffee, she punched the key fob button to lock the car door. She used the back of her wrist to swipe a few loose strands of hair back out of her face and dropped her keys into her bag as she crossed the small parking lot. Thoughts of Marge Hawkins had kept her up most of the night. How dare that cranky old . . .

  Bee would be crushed if the show had to be rescheduled. He’d worked for years to build up his dress design business and the small shop on the boardwalk. Without the buyers attending the show, he’d miss a tremendous opportunity.

  She reached the theater door, cursed, balanced the coffee cup between her arm and her chest, and struggled to dig the keys back out of her bag. I can’t even think straight this morning. How am I ever going to get through rehearsal? She yanked the keys triumphantly from her bag and dropped the coffee cup, splashing its contents all over her feet and legs. “Ugh . . .”

  She jammed the loose hair back behind her ear. Stepping over the puddle of coffee, she unlocked the door, walked in, and dumped all of her belongings on a long table in the entranceway.

  This is all Marge’s fault, she thought to herself. Between the run-in at the deli and the problem with Bee’s show, the woman was grating on Cass’s last nerve.

  She turned, went back out to pick up the cup, and dropped it into the nearest wastebasket. Cass shoved her hands into her hair and squeezed. She released her hair and rubbed her eyes. Today was Saturday morning. They wouldn’t be able to reach most of the board members until Monday morning anyway. They would simply
run rehearsal today and then worry about everything else tomorrow.

  With sort of a plan in mind, she heaved in a deep breath and collected her things. The thought of going for another cup of coffee flickered through her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. The models needed the extra time, and she’d promised Bee she’d have everything ready by the time he arrived.

  As she walked toward the double doors of the theater, she ticked through each of the board members. There were eight all together. Marge was the president, so her opinions, no matter how warped or deranged, carried a lot of weight. Then there was her sidekick, the vice president, Chief of Police Otis Langdon, and . . . well . . . who was going to cross him? Cass massaged the bridge of her nose.

  But wait . . . Hadn’t one of the members retired and moved to Florida? Yes. A glimmer of hope surfaced. If they could find out who took Mary Harper’s place, maybe they could find an ally. She sighed as she flipped on one row of house lights and started down the aisle. Things would work out. They always d—

  She froze. Her heart stopped. A silhouette sat slumped in the pit. She squinted, trying to focus on the shadow. A nervous laugh bubbled out. “Hey. You scared me nearly to death.” She started forward again, her hand pressed to her chest as if to keep her heart from jumping out. “You’re early. Bee’s not due in for another hour or so. He’s not a morning person, if you know . . . what . . .”

  Cass stopped. Something was wrong. Not much light found its way into the pit, leaving it bathed in shadows. She couldn’t make out much of the figure, but what she could see seemed off. A head, cocked at an unnatural angle. She dropped the dresses and the speaker onto the nearest seat and crept closer. “Hello?”

  A chill ran up her spine, goose bumps prickled her skin, and she held her breath as she fought the urge to turn and run. She changed course. Instead of heading toward the pit, she moved sideways toward the door, not daring to shift her gaze from whoever sat in the shadows. When she reached the door at the front of the auditorium, she wiped her sweaty palm on her pant leg and then felt along the wall for the light switch. She closed her eyes, hit the switch, let out her breath, and opened her eyes. The scream caught in her throat.