by Lena Gregory
* * *
Cass pushed open the front door and sniffed tentatively. So far, so good. Only the aroma of tacos and nachos coming from the bag she was holding.
“Is the coast clear?” Bee poked his head in from behind her.
Cass shrugged. “Seems like it. I don’t smell anything, at least.”
“Good.” Bee pushed past her. “Let’s eat. If he tore anything apart, we’ll clean it up later.”
They tromped toward the kitchen, bags in hand. Bee had wanted to go sit somewhere and celebrate, but Cass was too worried about what Beast might get into, so they’d compromised. Taco Bell drive-through.
When she opened the door to the kitchen, Beast greeted her with his tail wagging. She took a cautious look around. “Good boy. You didn’t chew anything or make a mess.”
They dumped the bags on the table, dropped their jackets over the chair backs, and finally sat.
Exhaustion beat at her. “I need some sleep.”
“Sleep is overrated.” Bee unwrapped a taco.
“You wouldn’t be saying that if it was seven in the morning.”
Bee frowned. “There’s a seven in the morning, too?”
Stephanie threw a balled-up taco wrapper at him.
Cass stretched. “I hope I can sleep better tonight, now I know the show will go on as planned.”
“All right. I’ve waited long enough.” Bee pinned her with a glare. “Spill it.” He popped a nacho into his mouth.
Cass grinned. “Marge had a lover.”
Bee choked.
Cass got up and ran around the table. She pounded on his back.
Stephanie handed him his Diet Pepsi.
He sucked in one breath, then another.
Cass returned to her seat. “She was meeting him at the Bay Side Hotel twice a week.”
Bee heaved in a breath and took a sip of his soda. Tears still pooled in his eyes. “Who was it?” he wheezed.
Cass shook her head. “I don’t know. No one seems to know.” She took another bite of her taco.
“Do you think it was Jay?”
Hmmm . . . She hadn’t thought of him. “No way.”
Stephanie shrugged. “Why not? It could have been.”
“Sure,” Bee added. “He’s doing everyone else in town.”
Cass had to concede the point. But she couldn’t believe Marge was sleeping with her daughter’s husband. Or could she?
She pushed her food aside, rested her elbows on the table, and pressed her hands to her head. Think, think, think. Something niggled at the back of her brain. She shook her head. No use. She couldn’t grab hold of it. Maybe it would come to her.
She turned her attention to what Bee was saying, something about Jay’s newest love interest.
Cass interrupted. “Jay came into the shop this morning.”
“For what?”
“He said he was looking for Ellie. When I told him I didn’t know where she was, he got violent.”
“He hurt you?” Bee paused, taco halfway to his mouth.
Cass waved him off. “Nah. He lifted his hand like he was going to hit me, but then Beast chased him out of the shop.”
“Good boy, Beast,” Bee offered around a mouthful of taco.
Cass started to smile but it froze only partly formed. “I just realized something. When Jay picked up his fist like he was going to hit me, it was his left hand. And when I saw Marge’s . . . Marge . . . in the theater, she had a mark on her right cheek.” Cass balled up the rest of her food and got up to throw it in the garbage.
Stephanie waved her off. “That doesn’t mean they were lovers. Maybe they had an argument that got out of hand before he killed her.”
“Possibly, but she had another mark on her neck.”
“What kind of mark, a bruise? Like someone was choking her?” Bee held his hands up as if they were around someone’s neck.
Cass shook her head. “I didn’t think of it at the time, but it looked more like a hickey.”
“A hickey? You can’t be serious.”
She nodded, more and more certain with each passing second. She closed her eyes and brought up a mental image of Marge. The darkening bruise below her right eye, the reddish, fairly new-looking mark—hickey?—marring her neck. “I really think it was a hickey.”
They all sat silently for a while, probably contemplating the implications of that.
Stephanie broke the silence. “You know, I was thinking. Do you think Marge was actually killed at the theater?”
“What do you mean?” Cass studied her intently. Was this something that had just popped into her mind or had Tank told her something?
“Well, maybe Jay killed her somewhere else, like a lover’s spat or something. You saw him putting what might have been a body in the back of his truck, and a body turned up on the beach the next day. Maybe he killed Marge at the hotel or something and then staged her body at the theater to pin it on you.”
Cass opened her mouth to argue but then thought better of the idea. Stephanie could be right.
“Was there a lot of blood at the theater?” Bee crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table. He was obviously considering the possibility.
Cass tried to remember. She clearly recalled every detail of the body, but not much else. She shook her head, frustrated. “I can’t remember. I don’t think I noticed anything past Marge.”
“Surely you would have noticed a large blood spatter if she was shot at the theater.”
He was right. Maybe. “You’d think.”
“And another thing. Why would Marge be sitting in a seat? If she was arguing with someone, you’d think she would have been standing. What are the chances she’d have fallen back to sit in one of the seats?”
Hmm . . . Cass was going to have to think more about this. She tried to envision Marge’s posture. Did it look like she’d fallen back into the seat after she’d been shot? Not really. She was slumped, but, at first glance, Cass had thought someone was sitting there waiting. Which meant either Marge was caught off guard and killed quickly and without warning, or she was killed somewhere else and moved. “You might be right. It makes more sense that she was killed somewhere else and propped up in the seat.”
The doorbell rang, and Bee stiffened.
Stephanie got up to open the door.
“Are you okay?” Cass placed a hand over Bee’s arm.
“Sure.” He gave her a halfhearted smile.
“Just answer his questions, and it’ll be over before you know it.”
“Yeah, well, he better be quick. I want to work on some of the dresses for a few hours tonight.”
18
Bee’s posture went rigid as Stephanie’s and Tank’s voices preceded them into the hallway. Tank didn’t sound happy. They entered the kitchen and his eyes immediately sought Cass’s. “Are you all right?”
She cringed. Apparently Stephanie couldn’t wait to tell him about the run-in with Jay. “I’m fine.”
“We’ll talk about all that after I finish with Bee.” Tank pulled out a chair directly across from Bee, sat, and folded his hands on the table. “Talk.”
Bee snorted. “You don’t have to be rude.” He stalled for another moment. He sat back, crossed his legs at the knee, and folded his hands primly on his thigh.
Cass lowered her head to hide the smirk she couldn’t keep from forming. Bee was messing with him. Bee was openly gay and quite flamboyant, but that pose was over the top, even for him.
Tank rubbed his hands over his face, his frustration obvious. “Are you ready now?”
“Yes, dear. You may proceed with your questions.” He waved his hand dramatically, like some kind of old, washed-up diva.
Tank stared at him for a moment. “Would you rather just tell me what the deal is?”
Bee smiled and batted
his eyelashes. “I wouldn’t want to divulge any deep, dark secrets unnecessarily.”
Tank blew out a breath. “Fine. What is your history with Marge Hawkins?”
“My mother’s name was Melody Hawkins. She was Marge’s half sister.”
Cass frowned. Marge had lived on Bay Island her whole life, as far as Cass knew. She knew Marge had brothers, all of whom had left the island, but didn’t remember anything about her having a sister.
Tank closed his eyes, and Cass counted to ten while she waited for him to open them again and speak. “Would you care to elaborate?”
Bee gave up the prima donna act and slid his chair forward. He folded his arms and rested them on the table. “Look. My mother and Marge had the same father, different mothers. My mom was the result of an extramarital affair. She and Marge hated each other. My mother was everything Marge wasn’t—sweet, kind, maternal. She was a single mother and raised me on her own. Marge didn’t agree with my upbringing, not that it was any of her business.” Bee looked at the table. “I never understood why my mother insisted on having contact with those people, but it seemed important to her that I have extended family, since my father wasn’t in the picture.”
He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “One day, Marge and my mother had a terrible fight. I never did find out what it was about—it was probably me. It usually was.” He lowered his hands to the table and sighed. “Anyway, my mother was beside herself for two days. On the third day, I came home from work and found her dead.”
Cass sucked in a breath. Her gaze shot to Tank, but his expression remained neutral.
Bee swallowed and wiped at the tears tracking down his cheeks.
Cass handed him a Taco Bell napkin.
“Thank you, dear.” He wiped his nose. “My mother had had a heart attack. To this day, I blame it on the stress of whatever went on between her and Marge that day.”
Tank frowned. “How did you wind up here on the island with Marge?”
“The small house where I live now was left to my mother by her father. I never even knew about it.” His shoulders slumped. “When they read my mother’s will . . . Well, I inherited the house. I was having some problems at the time, so I moved here.” He stared at Tank. “See? Nothing sinister.”
Tank rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Why change your name?”
“I was doing a show in Las Vegas before I moved. Bee Maxwell was my stage name.” He stopped talking, seeming to contemplate what to say. “Look, Tank. I know you don’t like me, but I have to ask you to keep this information to yourself.” He looked beseechingly at Tank. “Please.”
Tank nodded.
“I was in some trouble in Vegas. I got involved with drugs and gambling and owed quite a bit of money. The inheritance was enough to make good on everything I owed, but I wanted a fresh start. I also didn’t want to be associated with Marge once I was here. My mother struggled her whole life to support us, when she had a house free and clear on Bay Island. I can only assume there was a reason for that.”
“It must have been hard for you to deal with Marge all the time while blaming her for your mother’s death.” Tank asked the question, but the passion he’d started out with was gone. It seemed more like he was wrapping up loose ends at this point.
Bee nodded. “It wasn’t easy.”
“You hated her.”
“Yes. The world is better off with that woman gone.”
“Did you kill her, Bee?”
Cass didn’t dare breathe.
Tank stared at Bee but didn’t push for an answer, simply waited him out.
Bee sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “No.”
Tank nodded. “All right. Thank you. I appreciate you being honest with me. It saved me a lot of time following false leads.”
Cass finally exhaled. Apparently Tank was fairly convinced of Bee’s innocence.
“No problem.” Bee stood. “I’ll catch you guys tomorrow. I gotta run.”
“Sure, Bee,” Cass said. “See ya later.”
He shrugged into his jacket, grabbed his soda from the table, and headed for the front door.
Stephanie had remained silent through the interview, but she looked at Tank as soon as the front door slammed shut. “Do you believe him?”
Tank pushed his hands through his almost-shaved hair and clasped them behind his neck. “Yeah. I think he’s probably telling the truth. Unless anything new comes to light, I won’t even write any of it up. No sense having everyone in the sheriff’s office knowing about the skeletons in his closet.”
Stephanie smiled. “Thanks, Tank. You’re the best.” She got up and kissed him on the head.
“Yeah, yeah, just remember that when you’re mad at me for something.” He turned a tired gaze on Cass. “And you”—he pointed a finger at her—“you stay away from Jay Callahan.”
“He came into my business, not the other way around.”
“Yeah, well, just stay away from him. The guy’s bad news.”
“Did you hear anything more about the body they found on the beach?”
“Nah. Not really. She hasn’t been identified yet, but there’s a hotel guest unaccounted for. They’re trying to track her down now.” He closed his eyes and rubbed at them.
Stephanie sucked in a breath to say something, but Cass stopped her with a look. She clasped her hands together in a silent plea and mouthed the word tomorrow.
Stephanie frowned but nodded her agreement.
She was so tired tonight. If they got into what she’d seen at the hotel, first she’d have to listen to the lecture, then she’d spend however long answering questions. Besides, after the run-in with Chief Langdon, she didn’t want to chance having to go into the police station to file a report or anything. She’d deal with it tomorrow, after a decent night’s sleep.
* * *
A ringing woke Cass up from a deep sleep, and she fumbled blindly for the phone. She grabbed it just before the machine would have picked up. “Hello?”
Silence.
She slitted her eyes open just enough to see the clock. Three o’clock? In the morning? Who could possibly be calling at 3:00 A.M.? Exhaustion shortened her temper, and the next hello wasn’t as nice.
“Cass?” The male whisper sounded like . . .
No way. She struggled to free herself from the tangled bed covers and sit up against the headboard. “Who is this?”
“Cass, listen. Please don’t hang up.”
Her heart strained against the confines of her ribs, pounding so wildly she could barely hear the tense whisper coming over the line. “I said, who is this?”
“It’s me, Jay Callahan. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
Indignation masked the fear for a second or two. “Are you crazy? Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I—”
A familiar noise in the background cut him off. She tried to make out what it was but couldn’t quite catch it.
“I’m worried about Ellie. Not just a little worried, but really scared. I can’t go to the police. I don’t know what to do. I need help.”
She moved the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Is this for real? “So, why are you calling me?”
“Ellie trusted you.” It was a simple statement but tinged with desperation.
Cass’s heart was melting a little, and she slammed her guard up. “Fine. I’m listening. What do you want to talk to me about?”
“I can’t talk to you over the phone. I shouldn’t have even stayed on this long.”
“Look, Jay, either tell me what you want, or I’m hanging up.” She started counting in her head. If she got to ten before he told her what the problem was, she’d disconnect and then . . . and then what?
“I know who killed Marge.”
The breath caught in her throat. She didn’t
make it past three.
“What?” She worked to bring the high-pitched squeal down a notch. “What are you talking about? Who?” She held her breath while she waited to see if he’d answer.
“I’m not saying anything else on the phone. I’m out by the lighthouse.”
Ahh . . . that was the sound she’d heard. A foghorn. But who was out at this time of night? If someone was at the marina, it’d probably be safe to meet him. She caught herself ready to give in. “No way. I’m not meeting you in the middle of the night.” Chances were good he’d killed Marge and possibly Ellie as well. How else would he know who the murderer was? She shivered. “I’ll meet you at a public place in the morning. That’s the best I can do.”
“I can’t go out in public. Langdon’s going to arrest me if he sees me.”
I knew it. “Arrest you? Why?”
“I can’t get into all of this on the phone. You have to meet me.” Anger started to invade the whining tone he’d had up until then.
Fear prickled the back of her neck.
“I’m serious, Cass. Ellie is either in a lot of trouble, or severe danger. I have to talk to you. I’ll wait one hour at the lighthouse.”
An image of Jay, an inch from her face, fist raised, popped into her head. No way. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face. She’d have to be totally insane to drive out to a deserted lighthouse in the dead of night to meet with someone who was most likely a killer. “Which lighthouse?”
He let out a breath he must have been holding with a loud exhalation. “Bay Pointe.”
She hit off and tossed the phone on the bed. She berated herself the entire three minutes it took her to throw on clothes and step into her boots. What if Jay was the killer and she had to make a run for it? She toed off the boots and put on a pair of sneakers.
Beast followed her from the bedroom to the kitchen, where she grabbed the keys from a basket on the counter. She contemplated the big dog. Should she take him with her? He’d already protected her from Jay once. But even a dog this size couldn’t stop a bullet. “Come on, boy. Want to take a ride?” She’d compromise. She’d take Beast with her but leave him in the car. He should be safe there, and she could always open the door if need be.
