Dead Girl in a Green Dress

by Loucinda McGary

  "I never should have let you come out here," Tate murmured, his lips close to her ear.

  The note of pity in his voice stirred her determination. She had to stop acting like a helpless ninny. Jessica deserved better. Drawing in a deep breath, she straightened her spine and stepped back. "I’m okay."

  ***

  A wave of guilt washed over Tate. He knew damn well Byrony was a long way from being okay, and it was pretty much his doing. He’d dealt with difficult clients in the past without being a jerk. So why was he being one now with her?

  Nick Brandon gave him a questioning look but before Tate could respond, Byrony stepped over to the yellow tape. Her voice was low but steady. "Were you the first policeman to see her?"

  Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Brandon nodded. "One of the livery workers found her, but I responded to his call. She had no ID on her, but the guy recognized her."

  Byrony seemed to have transformed into a marble statue, standing stiffly with no response to anything around her. Tate couldn’t tell if she was listening, but watching her wasn’t solving this case.

  He pulled a small notebook and pen from his pocket and got down to business. "I know the detectives in Mackinaw City questioned the guy, but I’d like to talk to him myself. Is he local?"

  "Actually, he’s one of those seasonal people who’s worked here for three or four years." Nick continued to cast worried glances at Byrony. "Name’s Cody Henry and he lives over in St. Ignace. You won’t have a problem finding him."

  Tate jotted the name and squinted at his other notes before he asked, "You think the perp laid in wait for Jessica? Or moved her here from some other place?"

  Nick’s gaze snapped over to meet Tate’s. He definitely had the Sergeant’s full attention now. "Moved her? I never thought about that."

  "I don’t think the detectives did either," Tate mused. He skirted the edge of the site, studying it from a couple of different angles. "Was it trampled up like this when you got here?"

  "Afraid so," Nick admitted with a sigh. "Cody tried to revive her, and hollered like crazy. Half the livery workers were out here by the time I arrived. The Mac City guys were pissed as hell." He stopped abruptly and touched the brim of his hat. "Pardon, Miss Long."

  Byrony blinked and seemed to come back from some faraway place. "No problem, Sergeant." Then she raised her golden eyes to Tate’s. "Are we finished here? I’d like to go if you don’t mind."

  "Sure." He followed her and Nick up the slope to the dusty livery yard.

  Once he got Byrony back to that gawd-awful gingerbread house, he would contact Cody Henry. Tate preferred to do his interviews face-to-face because body language often told him more than verbal responses. Since he needed to take the ferry to get to St. Ignace, he’d probably have to wait until tomorrow to meet him. He mentally went down his list of other contacts he needed to make as the stable hand held the horses so the three of them could climb into the wagon.

  But when Tate clambered up next to Byrony, she threw all his plans right into the crapper by saying, "Can we stop at the Grand Hotel before we go back to town?"

  Tate was sure Nick Brandon’s open-mouthed expression mirrored his own. "You sure?"

  She sat up a little straighter, as if her backbone had suddenly frozen. "Yes. I want to see her room, and talk to some of the people who last saw my sister alive."

  "It might be better to make an appointment, they could be really busy." The way the Sarge hedged made Tate’s radar suddenly perk up. The Grand Hotel was probably the biggest draw on the island. Was that the root of Brandon’s sudden change in attitude? Or was there something more?

  "I don’t know, catching ‘em unawares might be useful." He nudged Byrony’s shoulder with his. "You can use the excuse that some of her things might still be there. Bat those pretty eye lashes and you’ll get your way."

  Byrony gave him a hard glare. "I can do that."

  "I’m sure you can." Tate gave her a little wink, then turned to Nick Brandon. "Let’s go, Sarge."

  "If you insist." Brandon’s tone sounded thick with reluctance, but he did cluck to the horses.

  Rather than using the main road, he took them on the gravel utility road to the back entrance of the hotel. A half-dozen workers bustled around moving crates of groceries and a cart of clean linens. One of them stopped long enough to hold the horses while the three of them climbed down.

  A guy in a suit appeared at the back entrance. "Good morning, Sergeant. Is this an official visit?"

  "Not exactly." Brandon shook the guy’s hand. "Miss Long here is Jessica Long’s sister, and she’d like to talk to the housekeeping supervisor about Jessica’s belongings."

  Tate watched fleeting horror cross suit-guy’s expression before he quickly recovered to neutrality. The guy gave a curt nod before he snapped a little too harshly at one of the workmen, "Daniels, find Mrs. Carter right away. We’ll meet her in the employees’ quarters."

  Then he led the three of them inside and to a freight elevator. Suit-guy practically twitched with nervousness, and Tate could see a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. His name tag said J. Saunders, and Tate definitely planned to question him later. They stood for an awkward moment in the small lobby of the bottom floor before a sixtyish woman in a blue stripped uniform hurried down the hall to join them.

  "Hello Sergeant Brandon," the woman greeted.

  "I’m very sorry about your sister, Miss Long," J. Saunders murmured and beat a hasty retreat as Nick Brandon introduced Tate and Byrony to the head housekeeper, Mrs. Marguerite Carter.

  As he shook the older woman’s hand, Tate kept Byrony in his peripheral vision. She moved and answered automatically with about as much warmth as a robot. He fell into step beside her, but fought the urge to ask if she was all right. Of course she wasn’t all right! In front of them, Mrs. Carter explained that the hotel’s seasonal female employees were offered housing here while the males had bunkhouse type accommodations near the livery.

  "Does anyone live here in the off season?" Tate asked when they paused at a cluster of doors.

  Mrs. Carter shook her head. "We close this area up all winter. These four rooms share this bathroom." She opened one of the doors with her master key. "Here you are Miss Long. I packed up Jessica’s things myself, but look around all you want."

  Tate glimpsed a bare twin bed, some built in shelves and a plain wooden bureau, but he let Byrony go in alone.

  "Poor dear," Mrs. Carter muttered under her breath. "I can’t imagine what a shock this was for her."

  "What did you think of Jessica, ma’am?" Tate asked, pulling the woman aside.

  The head housekeeper chewed her bottom lip before answering. "She seemed like a sweet and friendly girl, a good worker. I never had any complaints about her work."

  Perfectly rehearsed.

  No point questioning her later. Tate doubted he would get anything helpful from her. Obviously she was loyal to her employers to a fault. While they waited for Byrony to finish rattling around in the empty room, he asked Mrs. Carter some perfunctory queries about how she ran the housekeeping department, just to pass the time. Finally, Byrony emerged from the room, looking pale but with her jaw firmly clenched. She muttered her thanks in an equally tight tone.

  Mrs. Carter accompanied the three of them into the elevator. But when they stepped out into the first floor hallway, a tall blonde elegantly dressed in khaki slacks and a turquoise cashmere sweater set hurried toward them.

  "Mrs. Prince?" The housekeeper’s eyes bulged in astonishment. "Sergeant Brandon asked me to show Miss Long her sister’s room."

  "Thank you, Marguerite." The blonde excused the older woman with a dismissive wave, the marble-sized diamond on her left hand sparkling even in the dull overhead lights. Then she extended her right hand to Byrony,. "I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Long. I’m Cristina Woodleigh-Prince. My husband Michael Prince is the hotel’s general manager."

  "Thank you," Byrony’s response was still stiff, but the blonde didn’t s
eem to notice.

  Diamond hoop earrings flashing, Mrs. Prince turned her head and gave Nick Brandon a concerned-to-the-point-of-phony look. "Has there been a change in the case, Sergeant?"

  Tate watched the Sarge shift from foot to foot and blush like a school boy. "Not that I know of, Mrs. Prince. The detectives in Mackinaw City are handling the investigation."

  "Yes, of course." She murmured, then turned her regal gaze on Tate. "And you would be?"

  Fishing a business card from his inside jacket pocket, Tate handed it to her as he said, "Tate Madison. Pleased to meet you."

  "Cristina Woodleigh-Prince," she repeated, as if he hadn’t been standing there for her previous introduction. "Perhaps you’ve heard of my mother, Cynthia Woodleigh, the famous water colorist?"

  "Can’t say as I have." In spite of her perfect manicure, Tate judged by her hand that the condescending Mrs. Woodleigh-Prince was in her early forties.

  "I’m sorry my husband isn’t here today." The woman squinted at Tate’s card. Yep, too vain to wear reading glasses. "But we have cooperated with law enforcement and will continue to assist in any way we can." She flashed another of those insincere expressions. "This whole shocking incident has been so upsetting for all of us here at the Grand."

  "Appreciate that." Tate stole a sideways glance at Byrony, who was staring blankly toward the front windows. "I’ll be in touch."

  "Thank you again, Mrs. Prince." Any second now, the Sarge would break into an ‘aw-shucks,’ Tate was sure.

  "Of course, Sergeant Brandon, Miss Long, Mr. Madison." The blonde gave a stately nod to each of them in turn.

  As the woman walked away, the three of them turned in the opposite direction toward the back loading area. Tate caught a glimpse of Byrony rolling her eyes. Obviously she shared his perceptions of Mrs. ‘Phoney-as-a-three-dollar-bill’ Cristina Woodleigh-Prince.

  They were all quiet on the ride back to town, the only sound the clomping of the horses’ hooves. When the shops and buildings came into view, Tate broke his silence. "Hey Sarge, where’s a good place to grab an early lunch?"

  "Fred’s Deli is the best." Nick responded. "I can drop you there, if you want."

  "Sounds good to me. How ‘bout you, Sunshine?" Tate nudged Byrony’s arm.

  Her head snapped up as if she’d been sleeping, or semi-conscious. "Okay. Fine. Thank you for all your help, Sergeant Brandon."

  "I hope your sister’s case gets solved soon, Miss Long."

  "I hope so too," Byrony murmured.

  Suddenly uncomfortable, Tate shifted on the cramped wagon seat, but said nothing. He did express his gratitude when the Sarge stopped the wagon next to the high wooden sidewalk in front of Fred’s Deli. Nick Brandon shrugged with one shoulder, touched the brim of his trooper hat, then clucked to the horses.

  Tate held the door of the deli for Byrony. At his suggestion, they ordered sandwiches to go, and walked to the park beneath the old fort on the hill. He polished off half his ham on rye before his regret finally got the better of him. "Sorry this was a tough morning for you, but I hope everything you saw will help you move on."

  Her expression unreadable, she chewed slowly, swallowing before she replied. "It was hard, but I’m glad I did it."

  His guilt somewhat assuaged, Tate took another bite before he asked, "So you’re ready to go back to Chicago, then?"

  "Back?" Her golden eyes finally focused fully on him. "Why would I do that? I booked the B&B for five nights. Besides, we’re questioning Cody Henry tomorrow, aren’t we?"

  Tate gulped hard to keep from choking. "I planned to question him, but I told you before, I work alone."

  Byrony took another bite before she spoke very calmly. "I know what you said, but I didn’t agree. If you can’t work with me, I can still find someone else. "

  A flash of heat washed through Tate, but he took a deep breath and counted to ten before he responded. "I know you don’t want to do that Sunshine. You’d waste too much valuable time. We got some good leads this morning, so how ‘bout you stop busting my chops and let me work this case?"

  Unmistakable irritation spread across her features. "Stop calling me Sunshine. It sounds like a dumb blonde."

  He couldn’t suppress his grin. "Never thought of that. I call you Sunshine because of your sunny disposition."

  Byrony blew out a loud breath. "Very funny. Paige told me you like to call people by silly nicknames. Maybe I’ll come up with one for you."

  "Mr. Wonderful?" He suggested with a lift of his eyebrows, and she rewarded him with a chuckle.

  "In your dreams."

  She tried to give him a playful shove, but he twisted aside and she wound up falling against him. For a moment, her body pressed against his chest, and her face hovered within an inch of his. The heat that swamped Tate this time had nothing to do with anger. He battled the sudden urge to cover her lips with his.

  What the hell?

  Blushing furiously, Byrony shoved away from him, the remnants of her sandwich falling on the ground. With a muttered expletive, she retrieved the ruined food and stuck it into the paper sack with the wrappers and other trash. Then she popped to her feet and deposited the bag in the nearest can.

  Tate rose slowly to his feet. "C’mon Sunshine, I’ll walk you back to that gingerbread monstrosity. Then I’ve got work to do."

  The tension in her pretty face dissolved, but her tone was still tentative. "So you’re willing to work with me, and not just for me?"

  He couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her again. Grudgingly, he agreed, "I’ll let you tag along if you stay as low key as you were today, but don’t push your luck."

  "I wouldn’t dream of it, Cowboy." A hint of a smile flickered across her very kissable mouth as she fell into step beside him.

  They traded a couple more wise-cracks as they strolled down the sidewalk. But when they turned the corner of the street where Byrony’s B&B was located, the Grand Hotel’s black coach and horses trotted down the street toward them. A little gasp escaped Byrony, and she stopped short and stared wide-eyed until the elegant vehicle rumbled past.

  "Holy cow, Sunshine, that thing really does creep you out, doesn’t it?"

  She blinked twice then gave a small nod. "And it’s not just the carriage." Her golden gaze delved into him for a moment. "I know this sounds crazy, but the whole time we were at the hotel this morning, it felt… not spooky, but just wrong somehow."

  "Not crazy at all," Tate reassured her. "I felt it too. Matter of fact, the whole place stinks like a cover up."

  Chapter 4

  Loud voices and thumping noises interrupted Byrony’s research into the Grand Hotel and its employees. Rubbing the back of her neck, she shut off her tablet and went to investigate. As she walked into the sitting room, she glimpsed a couple at the top of the stairs. Newly arrived guests?

  The innkeeper, Mrs. Giroux bustled over from the lobby. "Oh, Miss Long, that’s Mr. and Mrs. Rykoff from Cheboygan. Could you please not mention anything about your sister in front of them? As sorry as I am for you, that kind of talk could ruin my business."

  Byrony reined in the sharp retort that rose to her lips. Instead she said, "Maybe you’d prefer to refund my four remaining days, and I’ll get a room somewhere else?"

  The woman’s hands fluttered up to her throat and her eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, no! That won’t be necessary."

  Hypocritical old witch. But if she was the big busybody Sergeant Brandon claimed, maybe Byrony could get some useful information out of her.

  Perching on the edge of the wood and velvet settee, Byrony asked, "So what do you think of the Grand Hotel, Mrs. Giroux?"

  The woman frowned, clearly taken aback by the sudden question. "Well, it’s five-star rated by all the travel experts if that’s what you mean."

  "Not exactly…" Byrony picked up a pillow with a needlepoint cover, thinking that she needed some lessons in interrogating a subject. She tried again, "It’s a beautiful place, and top quality, I’m sure. But when I was t
here this morning, I felt – I don’t know, maybe something is off?"

  Mrs. Giroux rearranged the coasters on the glass coffee table. "You certainly won’t receive personal attention there like you will here, or most of the other B&Bs in town."

  "Has it always been like that?" Byrony put down the pillow and watched the other woman carefully. "Or did it change in the last four or five years?"

  The innkeeper gave a little snort. "Since Mr. and Mrs. Prince took over, you mean? I don’t think they’ve helped. He seems obsessed with changing things just for the sake of change, but at least he’s charming. She on the other hand—" The woman snorted again, and rolled her eyes. "Let’s just say she has a very high opinion of herself."

  Byrony curbed the urge to shout, Ya think? Instead, she ingenuously asked, "So they aren’t well liked here on the island?"

  "They don’t really associate with us common folks." Mrs. Giroux’s tone was practically a sneer.

  But just when Byrony thought she was getting to some good stuff, the phone in the lobby rang. The innkeeper hastily excused herself, and Byrony went back to her room. As she sat in the window seat, she hoped Tate’s research had been more fruitful than hers.

  A half-hour later, she decided to go out for an early dinner. Pizza was her comfort food of choice, so Byrony used her tablet to find a local place, then grabbed her sweatshirt and headed out the door. In the fading light, a chilly breeze blew dead and falling leaves down the road. When she turned the corner of the street facing the waterfront, her cell phone rang.

  "Evening, Sunshine." Tate’s low, smoldering voice greeted her when she answered. "Had dinner yet?"

  "Actually, I’m headed for Island Pizzeria right now. Want to join me?" As soon as the question slipped out, Byrony hoped she didn’t sound too desperate.