Dead Girl in a Green Dress

by Loucinda McGary

  The screech of the siren and the roar of the ambulance engine made more words impossible. The next thing Byrony heard was the squeal of brakes and banging of car doors. The ambulance was actually a motor vehicle? She forced her eyes open again and saw Nick Brandon’s pale, shocked face.

  "Miss Long? Don’t move, we’ll get you out of here." He lifted the mangled bicycle and laid it on the pavement.

  Byrony tried to sit up and groaned with the stab of pain in her left arm.

  "Hang on!" Sergeant Brandon ordered. "Jamie and I will get you on the backboard."

  A tall woman who must be Jamie appeared and together she and Nick lifted Byrony and strapped her onto a flat board while she clutched her arm to her chest. Another paramedic, a shorter, stockier guy helped Jamie move Byrony into the back of the ambulance, while she saw Nick Brandon talking to the bald man who had found her. Before she could ask him to call Tate, Jamie jumped into the back of the vehicle, closed the doors, and the ambulance barreled away.

  The blaring siren obviously didn’t bother Jamie, who efficiently checked Byrony’s vitals and asked her a rapid fire list of medical questions. Byrony answered as best as she could through the throbbing pain in her arm.

  "Don’t worry, we’re almost there," Jamie reassured. "And Dr. Kelly will give you some pain killers."

  "Please," Byrony’s voice came out little more than a hoarse whisper. "Can you call my partner, Tate Madison? He…" She couldn’t remember where Tate was staying. Actually, she could hardly think at all.

  Through the haze of pain, Byrony was struck by the sudden realization that someone had tried to kill her. Twice! Tate might be in danger too! She strained to reach into her pocket for her phone, groaning with the effort.

  Jamie put a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Easy. I’ll tell Sergeant Brandon to contact him, okay?"

  "Okay," Byrony murmured as the vehicle slowed and made a left turn. A moment later, the ambulance halted and the back door flew open. Byrony found herself inside a room that smelled of disinfectant.

  A round-faced little man with a shock of white hair bent over her. "Miss Long? I’m Dr. Kelly." He shined a blinding pen-light in her eyes and Byrony flinched. "Follow the light, please."

  She tried to do everything Dr. Kelly asked, but she was grateful when he offered to give her something for her pain. "I don’t see any signs of a concussion." The doctor said as he gave her the injection. "On the whole, you were pretty lucky."

  Very soon after the doctor gave her the shot, Byrony floated into a lovely state of semi-conscious oblivion until noises intruded into her dark sanctuary. She tried to ignore the sounds, but they persisted, morphing into voices. One of the voices seemed very familiar. Byrony wrenched her eyes open to check.

  "She’s awake! Hey, Sunshine." Tate materialized next to her, his fingers feathering across her cheek.

  Relief washed through Byrony, and she summoned up the strength to smile. "Hey, Cowboy." Her voice sounded croaky as a frog.

  Tate’s dimples flashed in his lean cheeks. "Doc says you cracked a bone in your wrist, but you’ll be all right."

  Glancing down, she saw a plastic brace on her left arm and momentarily relived the panic she’d experienced. She looked back into Tate’s comforting blue gaze. "The h-horse…"

  "Don’t worry, the Sarge is out hunting down the horse and rider." A muscle in his jaw jumped with tension. "Meanwhile, Doc says you can leave, so I’m taking you back to my place where I can keep an eye on you."

  Brain still fuzzy from the meds, Byrony struggled to make sense of his words. "Leave? Now?"

  Dr. Kelly moved into her line of sight. "No reason for you to stay here as long as Mr. Madison can keep an eye on you. But you should rest for at least twenty-four hours. If you experience any unusual symptoms, call me immediately."

  She looked from the doctor to Tate, her thoughts still a scrambled mess. Apparently the two men had figured everything out without consulting her.

  "I’ll find us a surrey while you get dressed." Tate said, touching her cheek again. "Don’t worry."

  Not worry? Someone tried to kill her! They might try to kill him too! She opened her mouth to protest, but Tate was already headed out the door. He obviously didn’t believe they were in danger, so maybe she was panicking unnecessarily. But that wasn’t how she felt.

  "I’ll have my nurse help you get dressed," the doctor said, and followed Tate out the door.

  Byrony didn’t know if she was going to scream or cry.

  ***

  Tate shifted just enough to feel the familiar weight of his Glock as he helped Byrony into the buggy. When Sergeant Brandon had called to tell him Byrony was at the island clinic because she’d been attacked a second time, Tate immediately donned his shoulder holster and vowed to himself he wasn’t letting her out of his sight again.

  As if she were following his thoughts, Byrony protested, "I’m all right. I’d rather just go back to my B&B." Her voice sounded weak and strained. No way he was leaving her unprotected.

  "Humor me, Sunshine." He tried to keep his tone light and teasing, but he had never been more serious. Tate signaled the driver, and the horse pulled out, headed toward the harbor. "I can’t sleep in that gingerbread horror house, and my room has two beds so your virtue is safe."

  Color rose in her cheeks, which was a welcome sight. She’d looked so pale and fragile in that hospital bed, fear had staggered him. Now that she was sitting next to him, he felt like he could breathe again.

  "I didn’t mean that." Her voice sounded a little stronger. "You said Sergeant Brandon was hunting the horse and rider. Do you think he’ll find them?"

  The jerk in the raincoat better hope Brandon found him, because if Tate saw him again, he intended to shoot first and ask questions later. But she didn’t need to hear that, so he said, "Just hedging our bets. Besides, I promised Doc Kelly you’d get that twenty-four hours of rest."

  "Maybe you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep." She sounded very close to her usual self, which made him grin.

  "I don’t, which is why I’m keeping you where I can see you."

  Her lips puckered into a very cute pout, but she didn’t argue any more. The cab turned onto the main roadway and within a few moments, Tate saw his hotel ahead on the left.

  When they drew closer and it was obviously their destination, Byrony lifted one eyebrow. "Seriously? And you called my place a horror house?"

  He had to admit it did look a little shabby, but he couldn’t let her get away with that dig. "Hey, it’s not that bad. I told ya, utilitarian."

  She had a hard time climbing out of the buggy, and Tate had to stifle the urge to scoop her up in his arms and carry her all the way to his room. Then he remembered his bad leg wouldn’t let him anyway. All the more reason to keep his Glock handy. No need for him to run or carry anything. But when he opened the door to his room he had to make a quick sweep to move everything onto one bed.

  "Here you go." He patted the gaudy purple flowered bedspread on the now clean bed, and she sat down with a tired sigh.

  "Want to watch TV?" He handed her the remote and tossed the empty coffee cups, orange peels, and half-eaten pastry littering the top of the armoire into the trash.

  "I’ll pass," she said, toeing off her sneakers and lying back against the headboard. "I’d rather talk about the case while I’m still awake."

  Tate’s eyebrows shot up, and he sat on the corner of the opposite bed. "Sounds important. Tell me."

  "The key – the one Jessica had? It fit Justin Saunders’ front door."

  "Are you shitting me?" He half-rose but she raised her uninjured hand to stop him.

  "I accused him of having an affair with her, but he said—" Her voice faltered, and she closed her eyes and took a deep but shaky breath. "He said he was gay. He also claimed he didn’t know she had the key."

  "Lying sack of…" Tate muttered.

  Byrony opened her eyes and nodded. "I know. I told him he was lying and we’re taking the key
to the police."

  "Damn straight!" Unable to sit still any longer, Tate got up and paced in front of the TV. "If he didn’t give her that key, he knows who did."

  She nodded again.

  Stopping suddenly, he demanded, "You think Saunders was the one riding the horse?"

  But Byrony shook her head. "There wasn’t enough time. He was wearing jogging shorts… And I didn’t see any horses near his place."

  Tate continued to pace, and hoped like hell that Brandon had found that horse and rider. The murderer must think they were getting close, but Tate still felt frustratingly clueless.

  "What about Michael Prince?" Byrony asked, her voice sounding close to exhaustion. "Did you see him?"

  "Yeah, I paid a little call shortly after we got back." He saw her eyelids drifting down and figured he’d better wrap this up quickly. "His dragon lady assistant tried to stop me, but I muscled in anyway. I let Prince know that he could be prosecuted if he withheld information about Jessica’s death. He started sputtering like a tea kettle about to boil. But his wife the ice-bitch came in and spoiled my fun."

  "Hmmm," Byrony murmured, her head dipping. When her chin hit her chest, she roused suddenly. "Sorry, the pain meds are wiping me out."

  "Go ahead and get some shut eye," he urged.

  She made another funny little noise and scooted down to put her head on the pillow. In less than two minutes, she was asleep, Tate could tell by her even breathing. He opened the closet, took the spare blanket off the top shelf and spread it over her. Then he sat down at the small table next to the window and booted up his laptop.

  An hour later, Byrony still slept soundly. Tate called Island Pizzeria and arranged to pick up a to-go order. Next he called Byrony’s B&B and explained to the innkeeper, Mrs. Giroux what happened. He let the woman carry on for a minute or two before he interrupted and told her he’d be by soon and pick up a few things for Byrony. Finally, he called Nick Brandon and got the bad, but not unexpected news that the horse and rider were still at large.

  Putting his Glock back into the shoulder holster, he donned his jacket and scribbled a note – Stay put. Be back soon. He laid it on the nightstand next to Byrony just in case she woke up while he was gone. His gaze moved over her slumbering features and his breathing hitched. Of its own volition, his hand raised toward her cheek, but then he noticed her injured arm resting on top of the blanket. The sight of the blue plastic brace sent an electric shock through his nervous system.

  He should have been there!

  No, he never should have allowed her to be here in the first place. But it was too late to put that horse back in the barn. He needed to wrap this case up ASAP. Shoving aside his guilt, he turned away and locked the door behind him.

  Tate was back in a half hour, balancing the pizza box in one hand and a shopping bag with Byrony’s toothbrush, a change of clothes, and hair brush. She didn’t appear to have moved a muscle, but when he opened the pizza box, she stirred.

  "Is that…" She murmured, struggling to sit up in bed. Then she took a deep breath. "Do you live on pizza?"

  "Pretty much." Grinning, he pulled a can of soda out of the mini-fridge. "Want one?"

  Propped against the headboard, she nodded.

  He pulled a plastic bowl from the shopping bag. "Don’t worry, I had the pizza place include some soup. Hope you like minestrone."

  She managed to sit at the table with him, but she only ate a few bites before she downed another pain pill. "Sorry to be such poor company, Cowboy, but I think I better go back to bed."

  Tate opened his mouth to make a smart-aleck remark, but none came to mind, so he had another slice of pizza. After putting the leftovers in the fridge, he pulled out his notes. There had to be something he was over-looking. But several hours later when Byrony grew restless in her sleep, he still hadn’t discovered anything. Shutting down his laptop, he approached the bed and pulled the blanket back over her leg. But she immediately kicked it away again, and gave a muffled cry.

  "Wake up, Sunshine," he soothed, reaching for her shoulder.

  Instead, she launched herself into his arms, sobbing. While she clung to him, he eased down and sat on the edge of the mattress. Her vulnerability and fright cause his guilt to rise up again.

  "You’re okay, sweetheart." Tate put one arm around her and smoothed her hair with his other hand. "I’ve got you. It’s all right."

  Still sobbing, Byrony crawled into his lap. "I’m scared," she whispered. "Don’t let them hurt me."

  "Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe." He shifted so that he was fully on the bed, leaning against the headboard with her head resting against his chest.

  Slowly, her crying subsided, but instead of moving, she snuggled closer with her uninjured arm around his neck. Tate listened to her breathing grow more steady and even, until he knew she’d gone back to sleep. But she felt so right in his arms that he couldn’t quite bring himself to get up. He allowed himself to savor the enjoyment of holding her for a few more minutes.

  The ringing of his cell phone awakened Tate, and he squinted against the bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the drapes. Byrony lay curled against him, her bottom fitted snugly against his arousal.

  Back off, Madison!

  Carefully, he moved away from her, but she turned with him and when he sat up, her eyes popped open, wide with surprise. "What – Did we sleep in the same bed last night?"

  "You had a nightmare, needed a little comfort to go back to sleep." Shrugging, Tate rose awkwardly, his leg stiff from being in one position too long. As he gimped over to the table, he glanced at Byrony and saw her face blazing with embarrassment. "Trust me, if anything else had happened, you’d remember."

  He extracted his now silent phone from his jacket pocket. One missed call. As he punched up the voicemail, Byrony beat a hasty retreat into the bathroom. Running his hand through his tangled hair, Tate called back his buddy, Tommy Finlay in Chicago.

  "Got info for you on Justin Saunders," Tommy said without preamble. "The guy had a DUI three years ago in Detroit, hit another car and caused some major injuries. He served ninety days and got fined fifty grand in restitution."

  Tate gave a low whistle. "That’s a chunk of change. Think he paid it?"

  Tommy gave a sarcastic snort. "Doubt it. His credit rating is crap."

  "Interesting," Tate murmured. "Thanks, Tommy. You’re a man after my heart doing that credit check."

  "I try," his old friend retorted. "But I’m not the one hanging out on hoity-toity Mackinac Island."

  "It’s not all it’s hyped up to be." Tate assured him. "There are bad dudes here, same as Chicago."

  "Yeah, but the scenery’s better." Tommy quipped. "Call me if you need anything else."

  Thanking his buddy again, he rang off. Then, thinking of Tommy’s crack about scenery, Tate picked up the shopping bag and rapped on the bathroom door.

  "Thought you might need some things," he explained when Bryony opened the door a crack.

  "Thanks." She grabbed the bag and shut the door again, so he ambled back over to the table and booted up his laptop.

  By the time Byrony re-emerged, freshly showered and in clean clothes, he’d discovered a piece of news he couldn’t wait to share. But first, he had to ask. "You all right, Sunshine?"

  "Feeling almost human. My arm hurts a little, but not like yesterday." She slanted him a questioning look as she deposited her shopping bag on the floor and sat back on the bed. "What’s up? You look like that cat who got in the cream pitcher."

  He couldn’t stop his grin from spreading. "Even better, I might have just wrapped this case up." She started to jump up, but he motioned for her to stay seated. "Don’t get carried away, I said might."

  "Just tell me!" She demanded, looking so appealing he wanted to kiss the impatience off her face.

  "Seems our buddy Mr. Justin Saunders got a DUI a couple of years back, and his credit rating is so bad, he needed a co-signer to rent his house." He couldn’t resist a dramatic p
ause before he said. "None other than his boss, Mr. Michael Prince."

  Chapter 8

  "Michael Prince and my little sister?" Byrony’s voice sounded shrill as a harpy even to her own ears. If she hadn’t already been sitting, the shock from Tate’s pronouncement would have knocked her off her feet. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she regained enough control to mutter, "Dirty old sleaze-ball must have had a key. A key he gave to his – his..."

  Tate expression shifted to conciliatory "Sorry, Sunshine, but I think that’s exactly what he did, and I don’t think your sister was the first. Something must have gone wrong, and Jessica paid the price."

  As she shuddered with revulsion, Tate picked up his cell phone. "I’m calling Detective Shaffer. He can take over from here," he explained. "Then I’m taking a shower and if you’re up to it, we’re going out and celebrate with waffles."

  "I’ll be ready." As much as she detested the probably answers, she finally felt a modicum of closure. Michael Prince knew what happened to Jessica and she intended to see him reveal everything and face the consequences.

  Forty-five minutes later, they sat in a booth at the Harbor Diner. Byrony’s arm throbbed, but she was determined not to take another pain pill until they finished their celebratory breakfast.

  "I wish I could be there when Detective Shaffer hauls that creep Prince in." Just uttering his name made her stomach clench with distaste. Not that the man was homely, he was actually good looking, but he was twice Jessica’s age and married.

  "Don’t get your hopes up, Sunshine. It’s not like TV. He’ll deny everything and lawyer up." Tate paused when their waitress appeared.

  The woman stood and stared expectantly at Byrony. Between her agitation and the pain in her arm, Byrony couldn’t focus on the menu, so she pointed to a picture of a stack of waffles with whipped cream and blueberries. "I’ll take that and coffee."

  "Make it two." Tate gave the waitress a full on smile with dimples, and the bleached blonde simpered and filled his coffee cup. Then as an obvious afterthought, she sloshed some liquid into Byrony’s cup.