Death at First Sight

by Lena Gregory

  Cass opened the menu, more for something to do with her hands than anything else. She already knew what she wanted, the same thing she always had when she came to Atlantis. Steak. Medium well with loaded mashed potatoes and . . . she peered over the menu at Luke . . . well, maybe she’d skip the garlic string beans.

  She studied his face in the flickering glow of the candlelight and fireplace flames. He had strong, handsome features, the kind of rugged good looks you expected to see on cowboys or—

  He looked up and caught her watching him. “Are the steaks tender?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah. You can cut them with a butter knife.”

  “Sounds good.” He closed the menu and set it aside. He clasped his hands and rested them on the table. “You said earlier that Bee’s been a friend since you came to the island. How long have you been here?”

  “I grew up here, then left for college. I didn’t come back after that until last year, when my parents passed away.” She took a moment to collect herself, to ease the sense of loss back into that small compartment where she was able to control it somewhat, while the waiter placed their drinks on the table. By the time he’d finished taking their orders with a promise to return shortly with their appetizers, she was once again composed.

  He studied her intently. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents.”

  She nodded her acknowledgment. “I came back here to see to the services, and I never left.”

  “You mentioned you were in bad shape when you returned. Because of their deaths?”

  Cass stirred her diet soda with the straw, clinking the ice against the sides of the glass. She smiled, the sort of smile that came when things were so bad there was nothing else to do but smile or lose your mind. “That was a rough year for me. I’m sure you don’t want to hear all the boring details.”

  “Actually”—he clasped her hands across the table—“I’d love to know everything about you.”

  He seemed sincere, held her gaze, and rubbed warmth into her cold hands. She shrugged. She may as well give him all of—well, most of—the sordid details of her past. It was nothing he couldn’t find out by asking around town. There were no secrets in a community the size of Bay Island. She thought of Marge and her secret lover.

  Someone had to know. The idea hit her like a ton of bricks. Her first assessment was right. There really were very few secrets here. People knew what other people were doing. Someone knew who Marge’s lover was. Now, if she could only find out who.

  Luke squeezed her hands, bringing her back to the present. “Are you okay?”

  She shook off thoughts of Marge . . . for now, anyway. “Sorry. My mind tends to wander.”

  The appetizers arrived, and she reluctantly let go of Luke’s hands and sat back to give the waiter room. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you. We’re good.” Luke returned his undivided attention to her.

  “I’m actually a psychiatrist. I used to have my own practice in the city.”

  “The city?”

  She laughed. “Sorry, I forgot you’re not from around here. New York. Manhattan.”

  He nodded.

  “Anyway. One of my patients committed suicide right after leaving my office.” She lowered her gaze and shook her head, the memory still swirling with regret. Regret she hadn’t listened to her instincts, regret she hadn’t realized something was that wrong, regret she hadn’t looked for him sooner. She blew out a breath. “When I found out, I was devastated. I went home to tell my husband what happened, hoping to find some comfort.”

  Luke’s eyebrows shot up. Apparently he hadn’t known she was married. He didn’t question her though, simply waited for her to continue.

  “When I got there, he was busy comforting my best friend.”

  Luke winced.

  “A week later I received word of my parents’ deaths.” She took a deep breath and reached for a plate. “So, there you have it, my whole sordid past.”

  Luke shook his head. “You weren’t kidding. That really was a bad year.”

  Cass shrugged. “I got through it, with the help of Stephanie, who’s been my best friend since childhood, and Bee, who became one after I came back.”

  “How did you end up involved in this whole mess with Ms. Hawkins?”

  “I have no idea. Enough about me, though. Tell me about you.” She took a baked clam and placed it on her plate, ready to be finished with the somber conversation and needing a break from any talk about murder.

  “My story’s not quite as . . . tragic . . . as yours. I was born on Long Island but moved to Florida with my parents, my brother, and my three sisters when I was young.”

  “Ahh . . . so that explains the sometimes southern accent.”

  He laughed. “You caught me.”

  Cass really liked his easy laughter, the small affectionate touches and gestures, his sense of humor. It surprised her a little to realize she enjoyed his company. But she didn’t trust him, and that didn’t surprise her.

  “I always missed Long Island, especially in the fall. When I was a kid, we always used to drive out east on the North Fork, Mattituck, Cutchogue, all the way out to Orient Point. We’d stop at farm stands along the way, stuff ourselves with roasted corn on the cob and hot apple cider, pick pumpkins to carve, and fill the car with bales of hay, scarecrows, and mums to decorate the yard. It was always my favorite time of year, a happy time. When the opportunity presented itself, I moved back up here.”

  Cass smiled fondly. She loved Long Island in the fall for many of the same reasons. “Have you driven out yet this season?”

  Luke laughed. “Actually, no. I haven’t had time. I’d love to if you’re up for it one of these days.”

  They talked about all kinds of things through dinner—movies, books, sports, though Cass couldn’t contribute much to that conversation. Eventually, they ended up discussing theater. “So how did you come to be on the board of directors at our theater?”

  The question had seemed innocent enough. Yet Luke’s guard slammed up immediately. His eyes darkened and his lips firmed. He shrugged as if it was unimportant, no big deal, really. He was lying.

  “I’ve always been involved with theater in one way or another. When I was in high school I played the lead in Bye Bye Birdie.”

  Cass couldn’t help herself. Laughter bubbled up and out before she could contain it. “I’m sorry.” She held up a hand and tried to stem the fit of giggles. “The image of you gyrating around the stage is just too funny.”

  “Hey. I’ll have you know I was a great Conrad Birdie. The girls used to swoon.” He laughed with her, obviously comfortable with his role.

  He hadn’t answered her question, again, but she was getting used to his avoidance tactics. Not that she liked it, but she was beginning to realize Luke was very skilled at keeping his secrets well guarded.

  23

  It had finally stopped raining, and Cass and Luke took their time strolling leisurely, hand in hand, to the Jeep.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Cass glanced toward him. He sounded so serious, and her experience with him so far told her he seldom was. “Sure.”

  “What were you doing with that suspect list?”

  Cass breathed in a deep lungful of the crisp night air. “I was trying to figure out who killed Marge.”

  He smiled and yanked her hand. “I figured that much. I was wondering why.”

  Her laughter faded quickly. “The sheriff seems hell-bent on pinning the murder on me. As far as I can tell, I’m his one and only suspect.” Anger started to chase away the peace she’d managed to attain with Luke. “He’s even telling people I killed Marge.” Tears threatened. “I figure the only way I’ll get out of this is if I can prove I didn’t do it.”

  She stopped walking to look him directly in the eye. “I was home alone from the time
I dropped Bee off Friday night until the time I found Marge on Saturday morning. I don’t have an alibi. No one’s going to come forward and say they were with me or saw me anywhere.” She looked at the wet parking lot and shook her head. “There’s no way to prove I didn’t do it without finding out who did.”

  He sighed and pulled her into his arms, a friendly embrace, with no heat, no innuendos, only the offer of comfort. She rested her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Just be careful, all right, Cass? If you need help, you can call me.” He released her, placed a finger beneath her chin, careful to avoid her scrape, and lifted her head until she looked into his eyes. “I mean it. If you think you know who killed her, do not confront them. Call me or the police. Promise?”

  She nodded, and they continued on their way to the Jeep. He held the door for her before rounding the front of the Jeep and climbing in. When he pulled out, he turned on the radio, a soft rock station that suited her mood well.

  In the companionable silence between them, Cass laid her head back, letting the music soothe her. The thought of unloading everything on Luke begged for her attention. She tilted her head to study him in the glow from the dashboard instruments. He exuded strength. Would he help her? Could he? But what about the gun she’d seen? He wouldn’t tell her why he had it. He avoided answering her questions about how he ended up on the board of directors.

  She sat up a little straighter. Actually, now that she thought about it, he’d avoided answering most of her questions tonight. She had only a vague sense of anything about him—other than the fact she saw him at the hotel, with a gun, hours after a woman was found shot to death on a beach beside the same hotel—and he played a great Conrad Birdie. Questions spun around her in a dizzying array until the throbbing in her head would no longer allow her to contemplate any more.

  “Do you want me to drop you at the theater to pick up your car?”

  An idea struck her. She glanced at the clock. It wouldn’t take that long.

  “Would you mind dropping me off at Mystical Musings? It’s actually closer.”

  “This late at night?”

  “It’ll be fine. Bee and Stephanie are meeting me there.” Even though they don’t know it yet.

  “No problem. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  He walked her up the cobblestone walkway with his arm around her shoulders. When they reached the front porch, he climbed the steps with her and stopped at the front door.

  She thought briefly of taking him home. If she could get him undressed, she’d know for sure if he carried a weapon. She giggled out loud at the thought. Jeez . . . stop yourself.

  He tucked a strand of windblown hair behind her ear. “What’s so funny?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” And I definitely do not want to tell you. “Thank you for dinner. I had a great time.”

  “Me, too.” He turned on the charm. “Promise you’re going to behave yourself?”

  She met his gaze. “I’m immune to your southern boy charms, you know.”

  His eyes held only amusement. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really.” Okay, that was a little too breathless.

  His gaze fell to her neck, where her frantically fluttering pulse surely gave her away. He ran a finger down her neck. “I think you’re lying.” He pressed his lips to hers, gently, the touch featherlight, leaving her longing for more. “Good night.”

  What? “Uh . . . good night.”

  A smirk played at the corners of his mouth just before he turned to walk away. He walked to the car. I sure do hope he’s not guilty.

  Cass locked the door, flipped on the light, grabbed the phone, and dialed Bee’s number as she weaved between the cases and into the back room.

  Ring.

  I know it’s here somewhere.

  Ring.

  “Hey, sugar. How was your date?”

  “It was great, and if you pick Stephanie up and meet me at the shop, I’ll give you all the sordid details.”

  “On my way, sweetie.” Bee disconnected, and Cass laughed out loud. Hopefully, he’d forgive her when he found out the details weren’t all that sordid.

  She rummaged through boxes of old merchandise. It has to be here somewhere. Bee might forgive her for not having anything juicy to share, but getting over this might be a little harder. Oh well. Desperate times and all that.

  Aha . . . She pulled the Ouija board from the very bottom of a box, right where she’d buried it after the last time she’d used it. A chill raced up her spine. She’d never really considered herself psychic, just very intuitive. And yet, the last time she used the Ouija board, she’d definitely felt . . . something. Besides, she wasn’t getting anywhere any other way. What could it hurt?

  She turned off the light in the back room, dimmed the lights in the shop, and placed the box on the table. After lighting several candles and placing them throughout the room, she dragged three chairs to the center of the floor.

  A soft knock at the door caught her attention, and she sucked in a deep breath before she went to open it.

  Bee strolled in with Stephanie on his heels. “Okay, spill it.” He looked around the dimly lit room. “Oooh, candlelight. Very romantic. I want to hear every last—” His gaze fell on the box with the Ouija board. “Oh. Oh no. No way, Cass. What are you doing with that thing?” Bee stumbled back, almost falling off his platform shoes.

  “Okay. Just hear me out.”

  “Are you crazy?” His voice had reached a nearly hysterical pitch. “What do you plan on doing with that thing?”

  Stephanie simply stood staring at her as if she’d lost her mind completely. Who knew? Maybe she had.

  Cass massaged the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger but gave up and dropped her hand to her side when her tension wasn’t relieved. “Listen. I have to figure out who killed Marge and the other woman. Sherriff Langdon is determined to pin both murders on me. Since no one alive can seem to tell me who killed them, I thought maybe . . .” She shrugged and heat crept up her cheeks. “It couldn’t hurt to try.”

  Bee groaned. “Please don’t make me do this, Cass. You know I don’t believe in this drivel.”

  Cass bit back any retort. No sense contradicting him when she needed his help. But he’d turned awfully pale for someone who didn’t believe in anything otherworldly.

  Stephanie huffed out a breath. “What the heck. I’ll give it a try.”

  Bee clutched his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

  “Oh, stop yourself, Bee.” Stephanie grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the seats Cass had arranged in a small circle.

  He frantically fanned himself as he continued to wheeze.

  Cass couldn’t restrain the laugh that bubbled out.

  He pinned her with his harshest stare, the one he reserved for people he disliked immensely. “I’m so”—he sucked in a breath—“glad”—and another—“you’re amused.”

  “Come on, Bee. It’ll be okay.” She couldn’t resist a small jab. “Besides, you don’t believe in this mumbo jumbo, so what’s the problem?”

  He glared daggers at her but didn’t say anything else.

  “Okay. Pull the chairs a little closer together.” When they did as she asked, she took the board from the box, sat in the circle with them, and placed it on their knees.

  Bee shivered. “I’m telling you now. You better contact the other woman, not . . .” He looked around the room, leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Marge.”

  Cass bit the inside of her cheek. “Sure. I’ll do my best.”

  She stared at the board for another few seconds: each letter of the alphabet, zero, the numbers one through nine, and the words yes, no, hello, and goodbye. Her heart raced. Last time she’d
used the board with a small group of friends, she’d ended up with a welt down her arm. No one seemed to know how it had gotten there, and Cass didn’t remember scratching it on anything. Of course, she must have.

  She pushed her fear aside and placed the planchette on the board. “Place your fingers very lightly on the planchette.”

  Bee squeaked quietly.

  Stephanie did as instructed. “Oh, Bee. Come on. It’s not going to bite.”

  “Fine.” He lowered his shaking hands.

  “Okay.” Cass took a deep breath. She tried to envision the blond woman who’d come into the shop. Was that even the woman who was killed? She blew out a breath. Okay, Marge it is. Sorry, Bee.

  She struggled to concentrate. Unfortunately, every time she tried to focus on an image of Marge, the sight from the theater popped into her mind. Not a picture she wanted to hold on to.

  She placed the tips of her fingers on the planchette and closed her eyes, willing her body to relax. The chimes tinkled, startling her. She glanced toward them, but no one had come through the locked door.

  Sweat sprang out on Bee’s forehead. If possible, he’d paled even further.

  Stephanie’s gaze darted to Cass.

  Cass turned back to the board and shrugged.

  Keeping her fingers firmly in place, she rolled her shoulders and tilted her head from side to side. There had to be a way to relieve some of her tension.

  The door rattled.

  Cass jumped and turned toward the sound, lifting her hands from the planchette. Nothing. Her gaze shot to Bee, whose hands fluttered to his chest, and Stephanie, who sat biting a thumbnail.

  She lowered her gaze back to the board. She stared at the planchette, now resting on the word hello.

  Bee’s scream tore through the small space. He jumped from the chair, tumbling the board and planchette to the floor. “Did you see that?” He pointed at the board, his finger trembling wildly. “It said hello.”

  “Calm down, Bee.” Cass stood and held her hands out toward him. “It probably moved when we all jumped at the wind hitting the door.”

  Bee harrumphed indignantly. “Yeah, and just happened to land on hello, right?”