Life in the Dead Lane (Secret Seal Isle Mysteries Book 2)

by Lucy Quinn

  “I work out of the Philadelphia field office, most of the time,” Hunter answered, leaning forward, elbows on the table, in order to engage Hayley more fully. “I’m only down here as a favor to the sheriff, to help with…” He trailed off, looking away as he realized what he’d been about to say.

  Across from him, Hayley gulped and looked to suddenly be holding back tears. Dylan wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him, shaking slightly. Hunter was once again riveted, and Cookie felt like a fifth wheel, totally forgotten as the two men in her life vied for attention from the beautiful blonde.

  But Cookie hadn’t become the top-ranked female agent in the FBI’s Northeast operations by allowing herself to be sidelined.

  And one thing she’d learned over the years was that when people were emotional, they often let slip all sorts of information they might otherwise keep to themselves.

  “When was the last time you saw your brother?” she asked, earning an immediate glare from Dylan but a slow, approving nod from Hunter.

  Hayley, for her part, refused to meet Cookie’s eyes as she answered. “A few weeks, maybe a little more. I’d been stuck in the studio, working on the new album, so we talked most nights but he knew there wasn’t much point in hanging around my place when I was barely there long enough to shower and sleep.” She sighed. “Dickie was always really good about knowing when to give me space and when to be around.”

  “So you two were close?” Cookie continued. This time she met Dylan’s ‘will you back off?’ stare with a shrug and a ‘what do you want? We’re trying to solve a murder here’ look of her own.

  “Very,” Hayley replied, lifting her chin. She locked eyes with Cookie. “Dickie was the only real family I had.”

  “No parents?” Hunter asked, managing to make it sound more sympathetic than interrogatory.

  It earned him a sigh from the singer. “Oh, my parents are still alive,” she replied with a short, bitter laugh. “They’re just not much use for anything, including emotional support. Never have been—they were always too wrapped up in themselves to care much about what Dickie and I were doing. I really think they only had us because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and because it lets you show off your kids and gives you something else to talk about at cocktail parties.”

  Dylan nodded. “Hayley told me once that Dickie was her best friend,” he stated, as if daring either Cookie or Hunter to contradict him.

  “Yet you never met him when you were her bodyguard?” Cookie asked, and felt as much as saw Hunter’s eyes widen. That’s right, she hadn’t had the chance to explain Dylan’s connection to Hayley before this. Or maybe she just hadn’t wanted to admit it out loud.

  “No, he was out of the country at the time,” Dylan replied. “And Hayley was on tour. I remember her talking to him most nights, though.”

  Beside him, Hayley nodded. “We called each other almost every night,” she said softly, tucking back a wayward strand of hair. “We’d chat about our days, he’d ask me about my latest track or concert or interview or whatever, and then we’d say good night.” She sighed, her eyes glittering, as she asked herself, “Who will say goodnight to me now?”

  Cookie could think of at least two men who she suspected would be happy to volunteer, and there were probably tens of thousands of others waiting in the wings. Even so, she felt a pang of sympathy. Hayley wasn’t the enemy here, she reminded herself. She was the victim almost as much as her brother was.

  But that didn’t mean Cookie could take it easy on her. Not if she wanted to catch Dickie’s killer. And that was something Hayley would thank her for later, even if she wasn’t thrilled about the questioning right now.

  “His boat is lovely,” Cookie said, switching tacks. “Musical Fancy, nice name. It is fancy, too. Must have cost a pretty penny. What did Dickie do for a living, exactly?”

  Hayley laughed and shook her head. “Oh, Dickie didn’t work,” she answered, as if the very notion was ridiculous. “He sailed, he traveled, he went to parties. That was about it, really.”

  Hunter frowned. “So how did he afford a boat like that?” he asked.

  “I bought it for him, of course.” Hayley shrugged. “You have to understand, our parents came from money, both of them. But neither of them has ever been any good at budgeting, or really any kind of restraint. By the time I’d turned thirteen, they’d burned through everything they had.” The smile that touched her face was bittersweet. “That was actually a really good time for Dickie and me,” she said, her emerald gaze somewhere far away. “Sure, we had to sell the mansions and the yachts and all the rest, but we wound up in a public school in Providence, Rhode Island.” The smile turned brighter. “I loved it there. We were just like everybody else, no more limos or tutors or private jets. It was amazing.”

  “And then you were discovered,” Cookie cut in. She remembered some of what Hayley was saying from the biographies she’d watched and read as a girl, though they’d glossed over her parents’ money troubles a bit, claiming that the family had chosen to lead a more normal life so that Hayley and her brother—who had never been mentioned by name, if Cookie recalled correctly—could fit in better.

  Hayley nodded. “That’s right. My friends and I were just goofing off after school one day, singing as we wandered through the local mall. A guy heard me, turned out he was a talent scout, and he was so impressed he offered to help me cut a demo. I did, he took it back to his boss, and they offered me a record deal.” She shrugged like that sort of thing happened all the time. “Next thing I knew, we were moving to Nashville.”

  “That was the end of your ‘normal life,’ wasn’t it?” Hunter guessed.

  Hayley nodded, a small frown forming on her lips, but before she could elaborate the food arrived.

  And it was glorious. Most of it was seafood, of course, but Cookie had been glad to see that it wasn’t all lobster—there had been plenty of fish, crab, and shrimp dishes on the menu as well, along with a few obligatory steaks, chicken dishes, and salads for those who wanted something different. She had ordered the shrimp scampi, Hunter had gotten grilled tuna, Dylan had opted for a teriyaki shrimp and salmon combo, and Hayley had chosen seared sea bass. It all smelled amazing as it was carried out and set before them, and with her first bite Cookie was in culinary heaven. Between her food, the fresh-baked bread that had been brought to their table, and the white wine they’d ordered, the only sounds for the next few minutes were those of eating, drinking, and appreciating.

  Finally, their food largely demolished, the four of them returned to the conversation at hand. “So you had this big record deal,” Cookie picked up after polishing off the last bite of shrimp. She snagged a piece of bread and used it to sop up the remaining sauce on her plate. “And you started supporting your whole family, even though you were only a teenager.” She smiled, allowing a hint of her own starstruck tendencies to emerge. “I remember reading about that in Up Beat.”

  Hayley laughed at that, and her answering smile was friendlier than it had been toward Cookie until now. “I remember that interview,” she said, shaking her head. “The journalist was convinced I was secretly dating Jason from The JJs and kept trying to get me to admit it. As if! Jason was like twenty-two and I was only sixteen.” She sighed. “But yes, I took over supporting the family. And I have ever since.” She lifted one shoulder. “I don’t mind—I feel like I owe it to my parents for taking care of us when we were little. And of course I was happy to buy Dickie anything he wanted.” Her mood darkened as she was once again reminded that Dickie would never need anything from her ever again.

  At least, not anything material. “What was he doing up here?” Cookie asked. “I mean, he had that boat, he could have gone anywhere—why visit Hancock, much less Secret Seal Isle?”

  Hayley’s gaze dropped to where she’d started shredding her own piece of bread. “I don’t know, really,” she said. “Dickie could be very footloose sometimes. He went wherever the wind took him. Or he fol
lowed ideas. He was always looking for the next big thing, always asking me for money so he could invest in some project he was sure would make his fortune.” The bread was nothing but scattered wisps now. “None of it ever amounted to anything, but he never lost hope. He always thought the right idea was just around the corner.”

  All of them fell silent, and Cookie pictured the young man she’d run into that day in town. Dickie had been friendly, pleasant, outgoing, charming in an exuberant sort of way. He’d reminded her of a Golden Retriever; affectionate and enthusiastic but not necessarily the sharpest knife in the drawer. It was easy to see how he’d brightened his sister’s days, though, and it was clear that Hayley’s love for him had been very real and very deep.

  Which of course made Cookie feel like a jerk for asking the singer so many questions and stirring up her feelings when the grief was still so raw and fresh.

  But there was one thing that kept Cookie from being too hard on herself.

  She didn’t know what, exactly, and she had no idea why, but one thing she was absolutely sure of—when she’d asked what Dickie had been doing up here, and Hayley had said she had no idea—the famous singer, her long-ago hero, and the very picture of sisterly loyalty and grief, had been lying.

  11

  Cookie woke up the next morning with a dry throat and a pounding headache. Ouch, she thought as she struggled into a sitting position and then slumped forward, pulling her knees up so she could rest her head against them. What the hell did I do last night?

  But she knew exactly what she’d done. After the intense conversation about Dickie, all of them had spontaneously decided to change to lighter topics. What followed was several hours of Hunter talking about some of his more bizarre and colorful cases, Dylan telling stories about strange characters he’d met in the area and funny things the locals had done, and Hayley regaling them with tales from her various tours.

  Even Cookie had gotten in on the act, mainly reminiscing about her childhood and some of the ridiculous things Rain had done during that period. She and Hunter had both been very careful not to mention her time in the FBI, and Hunter had edited his stories so as not to reveal who he’d been partnered with. That had become harder and harder as they’d had more and more drinks, of course, but somehow they’d managed it.

  They’d all staggered back to Dylan’s boat well after midnight—the floating restaurant had space at its dock for people to simply arrive on their own boats instead of waiting for the launch, so naturally he and Hayley had done that—and once they’d returned to Secret Seal Isle Dylan had kindly escorted Hayley back to the Inn while Hunter and Cookie had leaned on each other for the return trip. She only vaguely remembered dragging herself back to her room and collapsing.

  And now it was morning.

  Early morning. Much earlier than she usually woke up. Which begged the question, why was she awake now?

  Pushing away memories of the night before, and the mild hangover she was suffering, Cookie concentrated. Something had woken her up. But what? The inn was quiet, even Hunter wasn’t making any noise yet, so it wasn’t that. Which suggested it was internal rather than external.

  And that meant it probably had something to do with the case.

  But what? She wracked her brain but couldn’t come up with anything. And good gracious. The pounding in her head certainly didn’t help.

  Finally, she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled toward the door. Maybe splashing some water on her face would do the trick.

  Only, when she tugged the door open Hunter was just stepping out into the hall.

  “Morning,” he said, his lips curving up into a wicked, sexy smile. “Sleep well?” He looked none the worse for wear, decked out in jogging shorts that showed off his muscular legs and a performance T-shirt that clung to his well-chiseled chest and arms.

  Cookie could only imagine what she looked like—she was wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boy shorts, her usual night time attire. And she was sure her hair was a tangled mess that went everywhere, making her appear to be all but drowning her in auburn waves. Yet her ex-partner’s appraising look definitely held a hint of approval. Even desire.

  “Far as I know,” she admitted, shoving her locks out of her face. “You going for a run?”

  “Absolutely.” He crossed his arms over his chest, which only served to emphasize the corded muscle there. “Care to join me?”

  Cookie almost laughed at him, but stopped herself. “Something woke me up,” she admitted instead. “Something about this case. But I can’t figure out what.”

  Hunter dropped the mild smirk he’d been wearing. “Come running with me,” he urged, now completely sincere. “It’ll help clear your head. If you’re tussling with something and don’t realize it, the exercise could let it bounce to the front. Works for me all the time.”

  She considered that for a second before finally nodding. “Okay. Give me a few minutes?”

  The smile he gave her wasn’t his usual knowing grin. This one was more boyish, more carefree, more openly delighted, and it tugged at something inside her that his smirk never could have. “I’ll be on the porch when you’re ready,” he told her, and turned to head down the stairs.

  Which of course gave her a perfect view of his rock-hard butt.

  Great, Cookie told herself, groaning as she resumed her trek to the bathroom but now with a bit more haste. What’ve I gotten myself into?

  It turned out that at least part of the answer to that question was “torture.”

  “Were you an Army drill sergeant in another life?” she asked, gasping out the words between breaths as they paused on top of a small rise. She’d thought, when they’d moved here, that the Inn was on the island’s only real hill, looking down on the rest of the town spread out before it. She hadn’t realized at the time that the town had been set in a nice, level little valley, yes, but that there were plenty of other small hills all around it, and especially between it and the artist colony on the island’s far end. Which was exactly where Hunter seemed to be taking them. At a pace designed to catch small planes, apparently.

  “No, you’re just out of shape,” Hunter retorted, though he was sweaty and out of breath as well. Cookie noticed his eyes flicked to her shape, particularly her chest, when he said that.

  “Oh, really?” Not willing to let that one go unchecked, she straightened, hands on her hips, and arched her back. “You wanna try that again?”

  She didn’t miss the way his eyes slid over her again, lingering in all the right places, or that they’d shaded from chocolate brown to a much deeper, darker hue.

  “Yeah, my bad,” he replied, standing up as well, his voice going deeper and more gravelly. “Your shape is just fine.”

  “Just fine? That’s it?” Cookie couldn’t help herself—she took a step toward him, her chest heaving now with something other than mere exertion. “I’d hope I rated a little better than that.”

  “You definitely do,” Hunter agreed, taking a step himself. They were now standing so close she could feel the heat rising off him in the cool morning air, and when he spoke his breath fluttered against her cheek. “Very fine. Superb, even.”

  “That’s more like it.” It was tough to get those words out, because suddenly her brain was having a hard time forming coherent thoughts. All she could see or feel was Hunter, his proximity, and the answering thrill racing through her. Another step and she’d be up against him, their bodies pressed together, their heat melding. Then he’d sweep her into his arms, she knew, lifting her up and carrying her all the way back to the inn, where they…

  “That’s it,” she breathed as something in her head suddenly clicked.

  “Oh, no, there’s a whole lot more to come,” Hunter replied huskily, smiling down at her.

  “No.” She put up a hand and shoved against his chest, forcing him back a step so she could follow the thought that had just popped unbidden into her brain. “That’s what woke me up. Something Peaches said.”


  “Really?” She could see it warring within him, the desire versus the duty, just as it was fighting inside her. But, as with her, his sense of duty won. For now. “What about her?” he asked, backing up another step and letting the cool breeze come between them, stealing away tension that had been brewing. “What did she say?”

  Cookie was tracing the thought back. “She said she saw Dickie Tuesday night,” she remembered, turning away from Hunter to pace a step or two. “And that after dinner they went back to his place…” She snapped her fingers. “That’s it! She said ‘his place.’” Hunter stared at her, clearly not getting it. “But when I first met Dickie,” she continued, “I asked him if he wanted a room at the Inn. He said no, that he preferred to sleep on his boat.”

  Now Hunter had caught on. “But Peaches didn’t say ‘his boat,’” he said, matching her thoughts. “She said his place. Which means either she was lying—”

  “Or Dickie had an apartment around here somewhere.” Cookie nodded. “And I don’t think she was lying.” She grinned. “This could be the break we need.” Acting on impulse, she took a quick step forward, popped up on her tiptoes, and kissed Hunter on the cheek. “You were right,” she said, smiling up at him. “Running really did help clear my head.”

  “Yeah,” Hunter agreed, not sounding quite as thrilled as Cookie turned and led the way back toward the Inn. “Go, me.”

  Once back at the Inn, Cookie headed straight for the hall phone—and the slim phonebook sitting beside it. But she paused, one hand on the directory. “Crap,” she told Hunter over her shoulder. “I don’t know her last name. Or if Peaches is even her real name.”

  Fortunately, Rain had just emerged from her own room there on the first floor. “Good morning, you two,” she said cheerfully upon seeing them both there in the hall. “Wow, Cookie, you’re never up this early!” Rain herself was already dressed for the day, which was no surprise. While she could be flake about some things, Cookie’s mom was very diligent about her morning yoga. “And good morning, Hunter,” Rain continued, eyeing his tight-fighting running gear. “You look very… fit.”