Sage of Innocence

by Melissa F. Miller

  "No, so close! Pirate's Plunder!"

  I choked back a laugh at the mental image of Chip and Muffy wearing the paper pirate hats that were de rigueur at Pirate's Plunder. "Wow! Are you going to order the grog?"

  "I am!"

  "It sounds like you're having fun."

  "Yes, but I miss you."

  "I miss you, too. I'll see you tomorrow night."

  "But mom--" Skylar's voice cut off.

  Dylan came on the line. "Hi, Sage!"

  "Hey, buddy. How's Atlanta?"

  "Fun. We're at the pirate restaurant!"

  "I heard. That's really exciting."

  "Yeah."

  Silence filled the line.

  "Are you still there?"

  "Yeah."

  More silence. The under-five set wasn't exactly known for their conversational skills.

  "Did you want to give me to your mom?" I finally asked.

  "Okay. I love you, Sage."

  My heart squeezed in my chest. "I love you, too, buddy."

  Muffy returned to the line. "Our buzzer just went off, so I guess it's time to walk the plank."

  I chuckled. "Okay. Thanks for calling. What time do you think you'll be back? Should I make something for dinner or will you be later than that?"

  "That's what I wanted to tell you. We've decided to stay a couple extra days. Until after Fred's service is over."

  "You're not going to attend the memorial service?"

  "It's complicated," her voice dropped to a near whisper. I could imagine her falling behind the family as they trooped to their table so the kids and the grandparents wouldn't hear what she was saying. "Our attorney says that a murderer will attend the victim’s funeral for psychological reasons. So if Chip goes to the memorial service, he's giving the police a reason to believe he killed Fred. But, of course, if we're on the island and don't attend, well, that's just grist for the rumor mill and could be considered evidence that there was bad blood between Chip and Fred."

  "Damned if you do and damned if you don't."

  "Precisely. So, we're going to stay here, probably until Tuesday."

  "Okay." I guess that gave me plenty of time to get Marilee's records in order for her. I wondered if I should let Muffy know I was helping Marilee get her affairs in order. I felt a twinge of guilt but decided what I did with my time off really wouldn't impact Chip’s legal standing one way or the other. At least I hoped it wouldn't.

  "Don't worry, of course we'll still pay you for these days," Muffy assured me.

  "Thanks." The thought that they might not hadn't crossed my mind. It was a stark reminder of my job situation. I could feel my neck muscles tense up. What she said next made them even tighter.

  "Oh, and Chip called Roman and asked him to stay with you."

  "Pardon me?" I was certain I'd misheard her.

  "In the main house, I mean. We just thought that with all the reporters crawling all over the place you might be more comfortable with some company. After all, you're kind of secluded out there."

  "That's really not necessary, Muffy," I said firmly.

  "All the same, it'll give me peace of mind. You never know what sort of unhinged person might be interested in visiting the house given the murder. Not to mention, there is a murderer running around on the island."

  I'm not going to lie, that did give me pause. And I supposed it wouldn't be too awkward if Roman stayed in the main house and I stayed in my cottage.

  "Okay, I understand."

  "Perfect. Now, I really do have to run. I'll give you a call in a day or two."

  "Bye."

  We ended the call just as I reached the path to the beach house and spotted a familiar bicycle leaning against the spreading oak tree at the end of the driveway.

  Chapter 12

  I decided to go straight to the guest cottage and freshen up before I faced Roman. I let myself in and turned on some lights then speed-dialed Thyme.

  "Hey."

  "Hey. I'm going to conference Rosie in, okay?" I said when she picked up.

  "Yep."

  "Rosemary Field," our older sister answered all official-like.

  "Don't you have caller ID?" I asked.

  "Oh, hey. Sure, I do, but I'm making eight dozen organic cake pops so I transferred my calls to the business line. It just shows me that the call is coming from my personal cell phone."

  I had to ask. "Are organic cake pops really any better for you than regular cake pops?"

  "Of course not. Well, I mean, I guess they're marginally better. But they're still butter, sugar, chocolate. It's not health food."

  "Yeah. Oh, wait. I have Thyme on hold. Can I conference her in even though your line is forwarded?"

  "No clue. Let's find out."

  I hit the numbers to create a conference call and said, "Thyme?"

  "Here. Rosemary?" she said.

  "Present," Rosemary chirped.

  "Sweet. Okay, well I had messages from both of you, so I figured I'd kill two birds with one call."

  "How's the murder investigation going?" Rosemary asked, getting right to the point.

  "Um ... it's off to a slowish start. I'll tell you this much, anybody who belongs to the Moores' country club could have killed Fred Spears. Like, anyone could have walked right in and done it."

  They chewed on this for a minute. It sounded like Rosemary might also have been chewing on a cake pop.

  "But whoever did it used Chip's club," Thyme reminded me.

  "Yeah. But Roman says he wouldn't expect a golfer to use that particular club."

  "Oh, Roman says, does he?" Thyme teased.

  I felt my cheeks burn but I didn't say a word.

  Rosemary, who was usually the most circumspect of the three of us, picked up on my silence right away. "What did you do, Sage?"

  "Nothing," I mumbled.

  "Yeah, right," Thyme countered.

  I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled. "Well, nothing much. He took me to see something that meant a lot to him as a kid."

  "Go on."

  "And he was so vulnerable and adorable--that I just couldn't resist planting one on him."

  "That's the Sage we know and love," Rosemary deadpanned.

  "Is he a good kisser?" Thyme wanted to know.

  I considered the question. "Yeah. Once he got over his surprise and kissed me back. I think I might be a little more forward than the girls who grew up around here."

  They had a good, long laugh over that. I was about to tell them to knock it off when Rosemary caught her breath and said, "You think?"

  "Whatever."

  "So aside from jumping your partner's bones, have you done anything else to try to find out who killed that dude?" Thyme asked.

  "Well, I'm helping his widow get her finances in order."

  "Oh, clever," she said.

  "It was Roman's idea."

  "Oooh, he's good," Rosemary agreed. "Anything come of it?"

  "Maybe. The dead guy was making a lot of cash deposits. Enough to make me wonder."

  "Money laundering?"

  "Gambling?"

  Rosemary and Thyme fired theories at me.

  "Something. I'm going back tomorrow to help the wife. I'm going to try to poke around in his office, see if I can find anything interesting."

  "Be careful," they said in unison.

  "I will."

  "Love you guys, but I gotta go," Thyme said. "I'm doing a moonlight yoga class in the park."

  "I'm packaging up these cake pops and delivering them to the birthday party venue," Rosemary offered.

  I decided not to volunteer my plans for the evening. I made some kissing noises and hung up. Then I splashed some water on my face, pulled a comb through my hair, and brushed my teeth. I locked my door behind me and headed to the main house.

  * * *

  When I let myself in through the back door, I found Roman standing at the stove, with one of Muffy's ruffled aprons tied around his waist, stirring a pot. The warm kitchen smelled like heaven--spicy,
savory, and doughy all at once.

  "What are you making?" I asked as I peeked into the tall stockpot.

  "My grandma's shrimp and grits. Rolls are in the oven."

  "Impressive."

  He grinned at me. "Wait until you taste it."

  I smiled back then said, "Listen, I know Chip asked you to stay here, but I'm really fine by myself."

  He nodded. "I'm sure you are. But, for now, at least, I still work for Chip. So, it doesn't matter what you say, I'm staying."

  "I sort of figured you'd say that. But still--"

  "But nothing. You know I had to run off a couple of stringers for one of the tabloids when I got here?"

  "You did? Where were they?"

  "In the tree house."

  I glanced out into the yard. I'd walked right past the tree house on my way to the house. A tiny shiver ran down my spine. "Creepy. I guess they had a good view in the kitchen window from there."

  He stopped mid-stir and locked eyes with me. "They might have if they'd had their cameras pointed this way. But they were set up to see into your cottage."

  "My place? They were going to take pictures of me? That doesn't make any sense." I was babbling but couldn't stop myself. I noticed that my hands were shaking.

  He laid the wooden spoon on the spoon rest and crossed the kitchen. When he reached me he reached out and took hold of my upper arms and stared down at me with a serious expression. "I'm not letting anything happen to you. But I think you should sleep here. There are plenty of bedrooms. I'd rather have you where I can keep an eye on you."

  I stared at him wide-eyed. "You think they'll be back?"

  He shook his head. "I can guarantee that those particular guys won't be back. But that doesn't mean there won't be others. If there are, I promise you this--I'll take care of them, too."

  I was surprised by how comforting I found his assurance. I swallowed hard. "Thank you," I breathed, giving up any pretense I had to being a badass.

  He kept his grip on my arms and tried to smile but failed. "Here's the thing," he said in a soft voice. "They were planning to run a story alleging Chip was having an affair with his hot nanny and Fred found out so Chip killed him to keep his secret."

  My short-lived relief evaporated, replaced by fury. "What? Me and Chip? That's absurd! They can't do that--Muffy would be devastated and if it got back to--"

  He gave me a gentle shake. "Take it easy. Those guys aren't going to be running any kind of story about anything."

  I narrowed my eyes and studied his face. "That sounds kind of ominous. What exactly did you do to them?"

  "I didn't hurt them. They're going to need new equipment though. Or I guess wetsuits so they can fish their stuff out of the water."

  A nervous laugh bubbled up in my throat and escaped my lips.

  His eyes crinkled with laughter for the briefest moment and then he was instantly all business again. "That said, I think we need to conduct ourselves like we're on camera at all times. Just in case."

  "Sure," I agreed.

  He dipped his head and stared hard at me. "And by that I mean we can't .... you know, again."

  I managed a tight smile. "Got it. No more hanky-panky."

  "It's not that I didn't enjoy kissing you, Sage, because I did. A lot." He paused and let that sink in. "But it's just not appropriate--"

  "Got it," I said too loudly. I wrenched my arms free and hurried over to the stove to hide my embarrassment. I stared into the pot. "Mmm. This smells great."

  He took his time walking back. He picked up the spoon and waved me out of his way.

  After a moment of heavy silence, he cleared his throat. "The story about you and Chip--"

  "Is pure fiction," I snapped.

  "Simmer down. I know that. What I was going to say is it got me thinking. Chip didn't kill Fred to keep a secret, but maybe somebody else at the club has a secret they'd kill to keep."

  I felt my mouth form a little ‘o’ of understanding. Maybe our killer didn't hate Fred; maybe he feared him.

  Chapter 13

  I woke up in Skylar's narrow twin bed with an Elsa doll jammed under my knees and a La-la-Loopsy doll wrapped around my neck. I fought off the loveys and rubbed my eyes with the backs of my fists. Bright sunlight streamed through the lacy curtains. I blinked a few times before my vision was clear enough to focus on the bedside clock.

  It was nearly ten o'clock.

  I hadn't slept this late in the entire time I'd worked for the Moores. Even on my rare days off, I was usually up with the sun's first rays.

  I arched and stretched, trying to loosen my stiff back. Of course, I usually slept in an adult-sized bed. And the series of seriously steamy dreams I'd had about Roman hadn't exactly helped in my quest for a restful night's slumber. I was getting warm just thinking about it.

  Roman.

  We'd eaten a long, late dinner and worked our way through a bottle of Muffy's chenin blanc. His Lowcountry cooking was easily among the best I'd eaten during my time on the island. And except for our habit of peeking through the curtains to make sure no paparazzi were skulking around in the yard, the meal had been a casual, companionable one. We didn't talk about either of our childhoods, our looming unemployment, or murder. We gabbed about music, food, and movies. Easy conversation.

  But after we'd done the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, the atmosphere had gotten ... well, weird. The later it got, the more strained the atmosphere. He seemed as uncomfortable as I felt. Finally, we'd said a stiffly formal good night in the upstairs hallway and retired to our separate ends of the house. But I'd lain awake for ages, staring at the ceiling and wondering if the need for propriety was just his good Southern way of letting me down easy.

  I groaned and jammed Skylar's pillow over my face. I didn't have time to indulge in this level of adolescent angsting. I had a murder to solve. I threw back the pink and purple blankets and swung my legs around to the floor.

  As I padded down the hall to the bathroom that Skylar and Dylan shared, I started planning my day. Breakfast, a quick run, back to the cottage to shower, then head to Marilee's.

  Lost in thought, I didn't notice Roman coming out of the bathroom until he was right in front of me. I pulled up short so I wouldn't bump into him. His hair was damp from the shower and he was fully dressed in a set of clean clothes. He flashed me a minty fresh smile. "Good morning."

  I was suddenly extremely conscious of my dragon morning breath, fuzzy wine teeth, and matted, mussed hair.

  "Uh … morning," I mumbled.

  I shuffled to the side so he could pass me.

  He stared at me a moment too long then averted his eyes and practically ran down the hall.

  Now what? I wondered as I pushed open the bathroom door and trudged inside. I mean, I knew I looked like I'd just rolled out of bed, but I'd clearly just rolled out of bed.

  I caught my reflection in the mirror and suddenly understood. Instead of going back to the cottage to get my pajamas, I'd pulled off my shorts, ditched my bra, and had slept in my thin t-shirt and panties.

  I let my forehead fall against the door and closed my eyes, wishing the Moores' heated marble floor would open up and swallow me.

  Today was not off to an auspicious start.

  * * *

  Marilee had called while I was taking a cold, bracing shower and left a message to meet her at the bank at noon. I had plenty of time to kill to get there, so I took the long way from the beach to the little business district, window shopping at the adorable boutiques as I worked my way toward the center of town.

  I loved to ogle the pastel-painted hallway benches, the wreaths made out of bleached seashells, and the flowy, tasseled scarves that one would use as a head covering a la Katherine Hepburn. I mean, I couldn't afford any of it, not in my current circumstances, but a girl could look, couldn't she? Some days, I even spent a half an hour or so sniffing the lemon shandy and driftwood sea salt candles and trying on oversized cats' eye sunglasses. But Sunday mornings were pure press-you
r-nose-up-against-the-glass times because everything was closed.

  Everything except the bank--if you have enough money, I corrected myself. Of course, I suspected any one of the purveyors of household goods or beachwear would also gladly ignore the Sabbath and open the doors to Marilee if she suddenly fancied a spending spree. The fact that money really did talk was one of the earliest lessons I learned working for the Moores. And it was a lesson that had endured. Rosemary and Thyme were each getting a crash course in the lifestyles of the rich in their temporary jobs, too. It was a lesson we'd certainly never learned at home, what with the "Fight the Power" posters that had hung on the walls and the communal property rule. I hadn't owned a pair of shoes that were exclusively mine until I went away to college.

  I was still laughing at the crazy way I'd grown up when I reached the corner where the bank sat.

  "What's so funny?" Marilee asked as she waved in greeting.

  "Long story."

  I looked around for someone official--someone with a key, who could let us in. Marilee removed her large, tortoiseshell sunglasses and pressed the discreet buzzer near the heavy glass doors.

  It took all of eight seconds for a man in a navy suit and red striped tie to come trotting into sight from inside the building with a ring of keys dangling from his hand.

  "Mrs. Spears," he breathed as he pulled the door open. "And Miss ..."

  "Field," Marilee supplied. "She's my accounting professional."

  "Of course, of course. So nice to meet you, Miss Field," he said as he extended a manicured hand.

  "Nice to meet you, too. I didn't catch your name."

  "Benton Clinton Martin," he informed me, plucking a business card out of a leather holder and pressing it into my palm. I glanced at the gold typeface. He was the Vice President of Something or Other--high enough on the totem pole to make Marilee feel catered to; low enough on the totem pole to be dragged into work on a Sunday.

  He led us through the hushed lobby and past the teller windows. Off to the right was a giant walk-in safe, like something out of a crime heist movie. To my eternal disappointment, the door was propped open, so I would never know if he'd had to turn the tumblers of a giant combination lock or what to unlock it.