“Sea glass,” I correct.
Georgie picks up her tray. “I guess that means Andres and I will have to do a coastal road trip in his van.” She says the word van as if it were akin to a luxury ride, and something tells me it is for Georgie. “He lives in his pleasure palace—hashtag van life.”
“I don’t think you should go anywhere near him or his hashtags,” I say. “He’s got slasher movie written all over him. Promise me you will not get into a moving vehicle with that man.”
“You want to hear a secret?” Georgie leans in, the scent of that mountain of bacon on her plate makes my stomach rumble. “That man is a moving vehicle.”
She takes off and Mack’s nose twitches. “What did she mean by that?”
“I don’t think I want to know.” I look her dead in the eye. “And do I want to know what brings you here?” Admittedly, our relationship has been icy ever since she pushed me into a whiskey barrel. And even though I tried to give her a second and third and fiftieth chance, she proceeded to thank my efforts by stealing my boyfriends.
Mack puts in an order for coffee and a half dozen rocky road brownies to go along with it.
“I just came from the Bow Wow Rescue House.” She wrinkles her nose. Why do I still smell those mutts? It’s probably Bizzy’s mutts. I’m shocked the health department hasn’t shut this place down by now. The next time she irritates me, I might just send them her way for a friendly visit.
My mouth falls open. “Don’t pretend you care about pets around me, Mack. I know you too well.” And I can read your polluted thoughts.
“I don’t. But you do. And apparently, you’re having that ridiculous doggy fashion show here,” she whispers, lest her conned constituents hear the bitter bile spilling from her lips. “The rescue house asked the city if we’d foot the funds for the brownies. Go easy on the quality ingredients. We’re not made of money.”
A man carrying a dachshund named Thomas walks past us and the tiny little cutie looks as if he’s smiling at me. Afternoon, Bizzy! It’s going to be another fabulous day where Fish can’t catch me.
I give Thomas a quick wave. Sometimes I feel as if I get to know the pets that stay at the inn better than their owners. And, of course, Fish does love to have her way with them. Lucky for Thomas, his owner loves to cradle him like a baby.
A sheriff’s deputy strides into the café—Leo Granger to be exact—and he happens to be holding my sweet cat while Sherlock happily trots beside him.
Mack follows my gaze before turning back my way. “He’s meeting me for lunch.”
Another familiar face walks in, and if my mood wasn’t already in a downward spiral because of Mackenzie, it just entered a free-fall.
“Then why is she here?” I nod over to Camila, who speeds up and says a few aggressive-looking words to Leo.
He glances this way before taking a few steps away from the entry as he says something to Camila.
Mack takes in a quick breath. “What is she doing here? And why is she always sniffing around my man? I think it’s time we pull the ripcord, Bizzy. We need to tell that school district she works for about that nudie calendar she posed for. I don’t care if it gets her fired—and apparently, neither does she.”
That little bit of nudie calendar blackmail is the exact way we got Camila to leave town the first time. Evidently, the threat wasn’t big enough.
“I’ll go see what this is about,” I say as Mack all but attaches herself to my side.
There is a rudimentary beauty when two so-called frenemies take on a united front against a shared nemesis. Too bad Mack and I aren’t powerful enough to destroy her. Camila is a social cockroach. Something tells me, blackmail laced with arsenic wouldn’t be strong enough to slow her down.
Fish wags her tail as if she were waving. He smells nice, Bizzy. Why do some men smell so nice?
To cast a spell on people—and certain felines, I want to say.
Sherlock gives a little whimper. Georgie’s waving me over with bacon, Bizzy. Can I go? I don’t like the way Leo smells. And Camila looks as if she wants to give my ear a yank.
I hitch my head toward Georgie, and Sherlock makes a run for it. Wise move on his part. One I’m hoping to replicate soon.
“What’s going on?” I hiss at the two of them and Leo shoots me a look before pulling Mackenzie in and gifting her a big fat smooch on the mouth.
Yuck. If I wanted to spend the afternoon watching Lip-Smack-Mack in action, I’d simply reminisce about our high school years. She always made sure she kissed my soon-to-be ex-boyfriends out in the open so I could enjoy the show, too.
Fish does her best to squirm out of Leo’s grasp and I help pull her to freedom.
Thanks, Bizzy. I don’t quite care for how you humans express affection. What’s wrong with a little sniffing and licking? It looks painful to see you and Jasper stuck at the mouth for hours. How do you breathe?
My cheeks heat in an instant. I’ll have to fill Fish in on the finer details of human smooches later.
I clear my throat. “What are you doing here, Camila?”
Camila’s eyes are heavily drawn in this afternoon. She’s clad head to toe in black with a pair of hot-looking leather boots with metal studs that ride up the sides. “If you’re looking to join a biker gang, take the nearest bus to Sturgis. In fact, I’ll buy you a ticket.”
She takes a moment to glower at me before expanding her chest. “Just so you know, I decided to step down from my position as a counselor. But don’t feel too bad for me.” She gives a sly wink. “I pulled a few strings, and I have something in the works that’s far better than I could have ever hoped for.”
“I’m hoping for a few things myself.” None of them are all that nice. I look to Leo. “I’ve got an inn to run. I take it you’ve got this under control?”
“There’s nothing to control.” He gives a hint of a chuckle. Leo bears those dark chocolate eyes into mine. Things are going better than I could have hoped. Let’s just say Camila will never see our tactical strike coming. Trust me, Bizzy. I’m turning the tables on her. I’ll make sure Mackenzie Woods is right back to being the biggest problem you have.
“Wonderful,” I say.
Camila bears into me. It is wonderful, Bizzy. All of the things I have planned for you are exactly that. She casts a wicked glance to Leo. Hear that? Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve got you included in that number. She frowns over at Mack. And don’t worry. I’ll cook something up for your honey, too.
She stalks off for the counter just as Emmie heads this way.
“Just in time,” I say, linking arms with my best friend. “How about we leave the inn for an hour or so and try to catch ourselves a killer before I actually kill someone myself?”
“Are you saying this is a kill or be killed operation?”
“I’m saying exactly that. Although, if I had my way, I’d do both. How much time do you think I’d serve for manslaughter?”
A laugh bubbles from her. “I guess it all depends on how good of a lawyer your brother is.”
“If my life is in my brother’s hands, I might as well get used to life on the inside. I could always take up cross-stitching to pass the time.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t let you have a needle in your cell.”
“Darts?”
She shakes her head.
“On second thought, maybe I could convince the killer to off a few more people before they head to the big house.”
“Now that’s your best bet.” She laughs. “Exactly who are we off to convince?”
“A man by the name of Jackson Wellington.”
“Sounds like a big juicy steak.” She tweaks her brows.
“Let’s see if this steak has any blood on his hands.”
And just like that, we’re off to take one big bite out of murder.
Chapter 9
It didn’t take more than a quick internet search to glean that Jackson Wellington is a rising star in the tech world. His software company, Harmo
nize, is located right in the heart of Seaview, just a hop and a skip from the sheriff’s department where Jasper has his office.
I push Detective Jasper Wilder to the back of my mind as Emmie and I stride into the large black cube of a building with the word Harmonize illuminated in glowing blue letters. The tagline, where project management software comes to life, sits just below that.
I’m pretty sure Jasper wouldn’t be too thrilled with me for branching off on my own to question a suspect. But then, what Jasper doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, I’m just here to get a feel for Jackson. I’m not making an arrest. I’m good at reading body language—and minds, but Jasper doesn’t ever have to know that little supernatural detail.
Emmie hugs the small tray of rocky road brownies.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s a great idea,” I say. “You go in and distract the secretary with sweet treats, and I’ll run off to Jackson’s office. I’ll pretend I have a meeting with a colleague of his or something. This is a software company and they cater to big businesses. I’ll just say the inn is looking into updating our servers.”
Emmie squints over at me. It’s times like these when she looks so eerily like myself that it makes me shudder. I’ll admit, when Emmie is doubting me, it feels as if I’m looking in a mirror of self-doubt.
I blow out a breath. “If I’m not back to the car in a half hour, send in the Mounties.”
She shakes her head. “There are no Mounties in Maine. Don’t do anything goofy. I’m not packing heat.”
“Don’t worry.” I glance back at the silver elevators practically luring me into their open mouths. “I don’t see a single thing that can go wrong with this.”
We head in opposite directions as Emmie quickly distracts and hypnotizes people with her rocky road brownies. There’s a large ledger posted on the wall next to the elevator that lists the employees and what floor they’re located on.
Jackson Wellington—fifth floor.
Considering this building is only comprised of five floors, I’m guessing he gave himself the brightest and the cushiest office there was. And he should have. After all, there wouldn’t be anyone else in the building if it weren’t for him. Apparently, Jackson is basically a savant when it comes to all things software-related.
I take the elevator up without hesitating and it spits me out onto a glossy black granite floor with bits of silver in it, giving it an overall galaxy appeal. A sea of cubicles abounds everywhere you look, obstructing most people, but there’s a small crowd around a desk in the back. The entire floor is an expansive maze that looks as if you could get lost in it if you didn’t know how to navigate it.
A gray cat traipses my way as if to greet me and I notice a miniature nametag attached to its collar and I melt at the sight of it.
“Oh my goodness,” I whisper as it comes right to me and I don’t hesitate picking it right up. “Aren’t you the cutest?”
That I am. Points for holding a genuine ball of knowledge on your shoulders.
I give a little giggle. “Well, I love cats and dogs, and just about every other animal out there.” I lean in and set my mouth to his ear. “My name is Bizzy, and I can hear your thoughts,” I say just above a whisper.
My thoughts? Its tiny head pulls back a notch as his glowing yellow eyes latch onto mine.
“Yes, your intimate musings.” I turn his nametag around and it reads Griffin, along with a miniature picture of his fuzzy scowling mug. “Hey, Griffin. That’s an adorable name for an adorable cat. Any idea where I can find Jackson Wellington?”
He lets out a prolonged meow. Office at the end of the hall. I can take you there. But I must warn you—
A woman walks over to the elevator while studying her phone and I quickly step behind an enormous potted plant with foliage that nearly hits the ceiling.
I give Griffin’s fur a quick scratch. “Now what were you going to warn me about?”
He’s been a bit off as of late. It seems his ladylove met with an unfortunate accident.
“Would you say he’s been grieving?” Although, even if he has been grieving, it wouldn’t mean he didn’t push her. If it was a crime of passion—a sudden impulse of rage—he could have shoved her off the railing in the heat of the moment.
Jackson has been edgy. I’m not sure if that qualifies as grief. But he’s been short with people, and that’s not like him. The women are already circling. He’s quite the hot commodity, you know. You wouldn’t be interested, would you?
“I’m sort of taken.” Jasper and those flashing gray eyes run through my mind and I’m forced to catch my breath. “Could you lead me to Jackson’s office? I’d love to try to speak with him.”
Certainly.
Griffin hops right out of my arms and I follow him as we make our way past the endless cubicles and the glass conference rooms.
Here to the right, Bizzy. I’m afraid he’s not in at the moment, he says, sauntering right in and I saunter right in after him.
“Hello?” I say, looking around at the rather modest-sized office with a bookshelf that takes up the far wall and a large boxy desk that looks like stained mahogany. There’s a walk-in closet of sorts to the right. The door is open, but the lights are off. I can still see a couple of filing cabinets inside and a few jackets hung on the rack.
He’ll be back soon, Bizzy. Griffin hops onto the desk and his tail lashes at a picture of Siena in a frame. This is the ladylove he recently lost. Why do you think he’s so angry?
“It might be the way he’s grieving,” I say, picking up the copper frame and affirming a smiling Siena in a fitted leather coat, her hair floating behind her as the wind christens her with its fury.
A couple of male voices grow increasingly louder as they come this way, and I gasp. I set down the picture and take a step to leave the room, but it’s too late. They’re about to walk through the door, so I duck into the closet and press myself against one of the filing cabinets.
My chest palpitates and my body slaps with heat as I take in the tiny coffin-like room. Thank God the door is open. I can handle a lot of situations, but I can’t handle confined spaces, no thanks to Mackenzie Woods and her sudden need to commit a homicide.
Breathe.
I blow out a slow breath as the voices amplify, signaling the men are just a few feet away.
“I don’t know what kind of hell I stepped into, but I’ll tell you this—I tried to warn her,” one of them says.
Griffins trots over and sits in front of the cloistered room I’ve found myself in.
He’s talking about her again, he says. The man with him is his co-founder, Arnie. He’s married with a litter on the way.
I bite down on a smile. I bet Arnie and his wife aren’t hoping for a litter.
The other man groans, “Look, if the cops come sniffing, tell them the truth. It’s not a crime to have an argument with someone.”
I crane my neck until I see the two men standing there. One with dark, curly hair and wire-rimmed glasses, and Jackson with his light brown hair shorn short and a dark suit on that makes him look like a linebacker.
The truth? The internal voice sounds a lot like Jackson. I’m not telling anyone the truth. As far as I’m concerned, the truth died with Siena that night.
The dark-haired man nods. “What was the argument about, anyway?”
Jackson blows out a breath. “Let’s just say she was making some bad business moves, and I tried to show her a better way.”
Arnie gives a mournful laugh. “Jackson, my man. Word of advice, a strong woman rarely wants to hear she’s doing something wrong. Tell her once, and if she doesn’t want to accept it, let her learn on her own the hard way. With some people, there is no other way to learn a lesson.”
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be taught a lesson—by the sheriff’s department?”
“Wrong place, wrong time, buddy. If I were you, I’d fess up before someone fesses up for you.”
Fess up.
He jabs his fists into his pockets. If he only knew what I wasn’t ready to fess up. The sheriff’s department would want to know exactly what the nature of that argument was. I don’t want to open a whole new can of worms for Siena from beyond the grave. It’s no wonder she was rabid that night. I was rabid, too. We were rabid enough to kill.
“Come on.” Arnie slaps his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Let me buy you a beer.”
“Sounds good. Let me grab my things.” He heads to his desk and scoops something off the top before heading this way. “Move it, Griff.” He gently shoves Griffin away from the door with his foot.
Griffin lets out a hair-raising meow. Bizzy! Get out quick! He locks that room each night.
The door to the closet closes so fast I don’t have time to process it. The sound of a key being inserted into the lock and the jiggling of metal fills my ear, then nothing but silence.
Oh God. My eyes widen in the darkness. My chest constricts. Every muscle in my body is frozen rock solid. Tears beg to come, but I’m far too frightened to give them. Forget frightened, I’m downright terrified—too paralyzed with fear to breath.
I force myself to take a breath as I feel my way to the door. It’s nothing but blinding darkness in here. My hand curves around the doorknob and I try to give it a spin, but it won’t budge. There doesn’t seem to be a release for the lock on this side. What the heck kind of a doorknob is this? It’s some kind of primitive one-way lock. Oh dear God, I’m going to die in a closet.
A weak whimper comes from me, and it takes every ounce of fortitude to pull my phone out of my purse.
I send a quick text to Emmie. Stuck in closet. Fifth floor. Jackson Wellington’s office. I’ll need a key to get out. HELP!
The dancing ellipses light up my screen just before her message blinks to life.
Are you nuts? I don’t have a key! How am I supposed to get you out? With an axe? Should I call the fire department?
“GAH!” I text back as quickly as humanly possible. NO! Do not call the fire department. They’ll call the sheriff’s department and have me arrested. I’m not exactly in a central location. I’m in the man’s private office.
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