by Lucy Quinn
Cookie nodded. “Let’s check the kitchen and bathroom,” she said. “Both are good places to hide stuff.”
But other than a nice shaving kit, some top-shelf booze, and some basic food staples, they didn’t find anything during the rest of their search.
“Either Dickie had nothing to hide,” Hunter said as they stepped back out onto the landing, pulling the apartment door shut behind them, “or he was really good at hiding whatever it was.”
“Or,” Cookie replied, “somebody got to it before we did. Like, say, a certain grubby-looking backpack from his boat.”
Beside her, Hunter sighed. “I already apologized for that,” he pointed out. “Cut me some slack, okay? It was the first time I’d ever met a bonafide superstar.” He was glancing up at her through his long lashes when he said that, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile, and now it was Cookie who was trying not to sigh. Somehow he managed to look adorably chastened and mischievously sexy at the same time. That just wasn’t fair.
“Whatever,” she said, trying to ignore how appealing her ex-partner was and keep her thoughts on point. “We’re not going to find anything else here. Let’s tell Kenny we’re done and head on over to the salon, see what we can learn from our other piece of evidence and its most likely owner.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Hunter agreed, leading the way down the stairs. Cookie followed, her mind awhirl with questions. The main ones being, what were Hayley and Dickie doing with matching burner phones? And what could be so important they couldn’t trust the conversation to a regular phone? Something had definitely been going on here, something Dickie was involved in. Quite possibly something that got him killed. And Cookie was fairly certain Hayley knew all about it.
Which meant after the salon, Cookie really needed to head back to the inn and have a serious conversation with a certain singer. Who most likely had the answers she needed—and was going to sing, whether she liked it or not.
15
“She’s not here,” Trina announced when they walked into the Dip, Clip, and Rip. Neither was Mindy, Cookie was glad to see. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with her butting in.
“If you mean Peaches, we’re not actually looking for her at the moment,” Hunter replied. He and Cookie went into agent mode and spread out slightly, moving across the salon floor toward Trina’s manicure station, essentially flanking her.
The tattooed woman’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “What, you want Mindy?” she asked, her tone making it clear she couldn’t imagine why that would be true for anyone. “She’s out, too. Just me minding the shop right now.” She brightened slightly. “Did you want your nails done?” She held up her own, which were still the same metallic purple they’d been earlier.
“No thanks,” Cookie answered. She tossed the evidence bag onto the manicurist’s table. “We brought our own.”
Trina stared down at the bag, and the nail it contained. “What—?” she started, but then suddenly burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Dickie!” she wailed, throwing herself onto her table, long purple hair flying everywhere.
Hunter looked over at Cookie, his eyes wide and a little wild. She almost snorted at him. Heavily armed drug dealers, mob bosses, crazies with machetes, these he could handle without batting an eye. But confront him with a crying woman and he went all to pieces.
Typical.
Waving at him to back off, Cookie glided forward, sinking down onto the cushioned bench beside the sobbing Trina. “You have to pull yourself together now,” she said softly, resisting the urge to pat the small woman on the back. “We need you to tell us what happened.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Trina cried between great gulping bouts of tears, face still buried in her arms and her hair. “It was an accident.”
“Trina.” When that got no response, Cookie sharpened her tone. “Trina!” The manicurist glanced up at her. She was a mess. Her thick and glittery, Anime-style makeup was all smeared and runny. Her eyes were full of thick tears, her nose red and shiny, and her whole face was blotchy. Some women could cry and somehow manage to still look striking beautiful, Cookie knew from years of envy. She wasn’t one of them, and clearly neither was Trina.
The woman was distraught. But Trina knew something, and Cookie had trouble finding much sympathy. She’d withheld information. And what they needed now was an answer.
Cookie sucked in a breath and tried to keep her irritation at bay “Look, I’m sorry,” she told Trina, “but we really need you to tell us what happened. I think it’ll help you feel better, too. Keeping secrets is never good, and especially not when you’re grieving. Just let it all out.”
Trina nodded. “You’re right,” she said softly. “I should just be honest about the whole thing.” Grabbing a tissue from the box beside her, she blew her nose. Then she wiped her eyes with another tissue, smearing her eye makeup so badly she looked like she’d been on the wrong end of a left hook. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I killed Dickie.”
“How?” Hunter had silently approached, and now sat in the chair across from her, leaning forward onto the manicure table. “How did you kill him? And why?”
“You said it was an accident,” Cookie prompted when Trina hesitated. “What happened?”
“We were on his boat,” she answered slowly, snagging another tissue and dabbing at her eyes again. “Wednesday morning.”
“Who is ‘we’?” Hunter asked.
“Me and Dickie.” Trina gulped before plunging ahead. “We were… seeing each other.”
Cookie nodded. “That’s why you said he was a two-timing jerk,” she remembered. “Because you knew he was cheating on Peaches—with you.”
“No!” The heat in the tattooed woman’s voice surprised Cookie enough to make her jump a little. “He was cheating on me with her.” Trina must’ve seen the shock on Cookie’s face, because she bristled. “What?” she demanded, lurching forward to confront Cookie eye-to-eye. “You don’t think guys like me as much as her? I may not have all that”—she cupped her hands well in front of her chest, mimicking Peaches’ much larger bust—“but believe me, what I do have is plenty. I’ve never had any complaints.”
“I believe you,” Cookie assured her, “and it’s not that we think he’d want Peaches more than you. It’s just that Peaches said they were dating, and you didn’t call her on it.” Except to say that Dickie was scum and a cheater, she recalled. And then to almost get in a fight with Peaches about it. “If you were seeing him, and Peaches was seeing him,” she tried again, “why hadn’t you fought about it before? Because Peaches sounded like she didn’t believe you, and she clearly had no idea you were the other woman you were talking about.”
“We’d never had it out about Dickie before because…” Trina started crying again, though more quietly now. “I didn’t know about her. Not until that morning.”
Cookie couldn’t help it—she glanced over at Hunter, and he nodded once, clearly thinking the same thing.
They’d found the motive.
“We always stayed on his boat,” Trina explained, pulling their attention back to her. “I’d never seen any evidence of another woman on there, and believe me, I looked.” She sighed. “I thought he was all mine.”
“So how did you find out he wasn’t?” Hunter asked gently.
The little manicurist’s face darkened, her mouth twisting in anger. “We were on the boat,” she repeated. “I was catching some sun. Dickie decided to surprise me.” Even under all the smeared makeup Cookie could see her blush. “He called my name, and when I looked up he was coming toward me, totally naked… except for this bow around his junk. It looked huge!”
Cookie had to stifle a sudden laugh. Now wasn’t the time. Especially since Trina’s expression turned dark with a scowl.
“But I noticed something else, too,” she explained. “All his hair was gone, except for a landing strip right above it.” She actually growled. “There’s only one person here who does pubic groomin
g like that. Which meant he’d let Peaches—Peaches!—handle his junk! And there was no way a slut like her was going to leave it at just grooming.” Her tiny fists had tightened around the tissues she held, crushing them.
It wasn’t that hard to imagine her doing the same to Dickie.
“So what happened next?” Cookie urged when Trina paused, lost in her rage.
That snapped her back out of it. “I accused him of sleeping with that blonde bimbo,” she replied, her fury vanishing, leaving only despair behind. “He didn’t even bother denying it. Said we weren’t exclusive, that I had the boat and she had the apartment and everybody was happy.” She pounded her fist on the table, making everything on it jump. “But I sure as heck wasn’t happy. The bastard.”
“You attacked him,” Hunter guessed, though he posed it almost as a question. “That’s why one of your nails was there.”
And the scratches on Dickie’s face, Cookie remembered.
Trina nodded. “I was so angry. I clawed at his face like some kind of rabid beast. He grabbed my wrists, trying to keep me from scratching him again.” A small, smug smile flickered across her ring-pierced lips. “I’ve been taking Krav Maga since college. When you’re my size, you need to be able to protect yourself from guys a whole lot bigger than you are. He grabbed me and my reflexes just kicked in.” She shrugged. “I should’ve just kicked him right in his ribbon-tied package, but instead, I slammed my palm into his chest, knocking him backward, and he landed hard on his back.” She struggled to keep from sobbing again. “He gasped once, then went limp. And I don’t just mean his manbits. I checked for a pulse, and there wasn’t one. I killed him.”
Cookie sighed. It was certainly starting to look that way. Though Dickie hadn’t had any significant wounds, it was possible the fall had caused internal injuries. And they certainly didn’t have any other suspects. But she still had a few questions. “What about the coke? The bag that was shoved down his throat?”
“I panicked,” Trina admitted, lifting her chin, her voice rising until it was loud and clear. Evidently getting it off her chest really was helping. “Dickie was lying there, and I knew it was my fault. I didn’t want to go to jail over something as stupid as tossing him on the deck.” She sighed. “We’d been doing a few lines before, so I found the bag and shoved it down his throat. I figured it’d look like he’d OD’ed on the stuff, right? I mean, that much coke would kill a horse. It was more than enough to do Dickie in.”
Cookie stared at the other woman, her mouth threatening to gape open. Was she serious? She’d really thought they’d find a bag of cocaine in Dickie’s throat and think he’d OD’ed on it? But Trina certainly wasn’t smiling, and she’d said it completely deadpan. Either she was an amazing actress—or she was really not very bright.
A quick sideways peek at Hunter showed that her ex-partner was struggling not to lose it. His entire face was turning red as he tried to keep from laughing out loud. Cookie had to look away from him. That was all she needed was to see him laughing and then lose it herself. Do that and the fragile rapport she’d built with Trina would go right out the window.
“What did you do next?” she asked instead, pleased that her voice sounded almost normal, just a hint of a wobble.
“I swam back to the dock.” Trina puffed up a little. “I’m a very good swimmer.”
That actually made sense—it explained why they hadn’t found anyone else on the boat. And if all Trina had with her was her clothes and maybe an overnight bag, she easily could’ve slung that over her shoulders while she swam. She wouldn’t have left anything but fingerprints—and certain bodily fluids—behind, and the reports on those hadn’t come in yet.
“I’m really sorry,” Cookie told Trina, focusing on the here and now again. “That must have been really awful for you.” She couldn’t even imagine—dating a guy, then finding out he’s cheating on you with your co-worker, confronting him, attacking him, then discovering you just killed him. Cookie stood, and on the other side of the table Hunter did the same. “But we are going to have to take you in now. You know that, right?”
She’d tensed in preparation for a fight, but Trina surprised her. The manicurist just nodded. “I know.” She rose to her own feet and held out her wrists. “I’m ready.”
“The fact that you didn’t mean to do it, and that you confessed willingly, should help your case,” Cookie promised as Hunter affixed the zip tie. She was pleased to see that he didn’t put them on super-tight.
“Trina—” he started, then stopped. “What’s your last name?”
“Yew,” she supplied.
Hunter nodded, cleared his throat, and began again. “Trina Yew, you are under arrest for the murder of Dickie Dungworth. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to…”
Cookie tuned the rest of the rights out. She felt a jolt of relief, knowing that they’d finally caught Dickie’s killer. But at the same time, something about the confession didn’t sit right. She couldn’t place her finger on what, but she had the feeling they were missing something. Something important.
16
They rode the ferry in silence. At least, the three of them were all quiet: Trina looking sad and guilty but maybe a little relieved to have everything out in the open and to not have to worry about lying or hiding it anymore; Hunter staring out over the water, most likely already mentally filing the paperwork and figuring out when he could catch the first train out of Hancock; and Cookie, desperately trying to figure out what was making her crazy—aside from the musical accompaniment, that is.
Was that a Maroon 5 song? If so the person was really butchering his rendition of Adam Levine’s vocals.
“What is it around here lately?” she demanded, smacking one hand against the railing. “Is The Voice coming here for open tryouts or something? Because it seems like people are torturing me with their vocal cords all over the place!” She raised her voice a bit on that last part. Mercifully whoever had been singing nearby must have heard because suddenly the noise stopped and it was blessedly, blissfully quiet. “Ahhh,” she sighed, bending over to rest her forehead against the cool wood of the railing. “So much better.”
“Never knew you were such a music critic,” Hunter teased, elbowing her gently. “Good thing I never tried beatboxing for you, I guess.”
She tilted her head enough to stare up at him. “Now that I want to see.” And right on cue an image of Hunter mimicking a drum machine with his lips popped into her head. A shirtless image. A visual that was forever burned into her memory, in the best possible way.
Because—damn.
Hunter, in a rare turn of events, didn’t respond to that half-flirty remark. Instead, he shut his mouth and went back to gazing at the waves sliding past. And Cookie, embarrassed and not wanting to make things even weirder, did the same, wondering if his reaction had anything to do with her freak out after seeing Dylan and Hayley at the Salty Dog. She shook her head, putting it out of her mind. Dwelling on it wouldn’t help.
The ride over to Hancock was a pretty scene, the sun was low in the sky now and gilding the water silver. She decided it looked like they were actually gliding across molten metal that writhed and swam like playful eels.
If only they’d had the time to fully appreciate it.
The ferry had just docked when Cookie’s phone vibrated. It was a local number, one Cookie thought looked familiar, but wasn’t programmed into her phone. She kept her tone polite and friendly but a little distant as she answered. “Hello?”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Jared asked, and Cookie tried not to groan. She just didn’t have the energy to deal with the lovestruck Dr. Delgado right now.
“Actually,” she answered, “we’re heading right toward you. Or at least toward the station. We’ve got a suspect in custody—a real one.”
“Let Secret Agent Man handle that,” Jared replied. “You need to come see me ASAP.”
&
nbsp; “We will,” Cookie answered, trying to stall, “as soon as we can get the suspect booked.” She’d moved a step or two away from Hunter and Trina and kept her voice down. No reason to spook Trina further by referring to her as “the suspect.”
“Is this suspect really so dangerous that the peerless Hunter O’Neil can’t handle it?” Jared’s voice had become pinched and whiny as he pleaded with her. “Come on, Cookie,” he all but begged. “You promised!”
She wasn’t entirely sure what he thought she’d promised, but she did know that the only way to get Jared to stop pestering her was to indulge him from time to time. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll be down in just a sec.” She hung up without saying good-bye, and rubbed a hand over her face. Why did she always attract the weird ones?
“Who was that?” Hunter asked. The handful of other passengers had already emptied out, and now that he had Cookie’s attention, he turned and marched across the ramp leading to the Hancock dock. He had one hand against Trina’s back, propelling her forward gently but ready to grab should she try to bolt. Trina wasn’t making any effort to escape, but that didn’t mean the situation couldn’t change in a heartbeat. Cookie knew that, and silently acknowledged Hunter’s caution as she trailed them off the boat, playing rearguard and searching for anything out of the ordinary.
“Dr. Delgado,” she answered once her feet were flat on the worn wood of the dock. “Says he’s got something I need to see, wants me to head down there ASAP.”
“I bet he does,” Hunter muttered. Beside him, Trina snorted, though Cookie doubted the little manicurist knew who they were talking about. Still, Hunter’s comment and tone were easy enough to read.
“He said it was important,” she argued, the defense sounding hollow even to her. Still, Jared had proven useful on the Winslow case, and he’d already provided some useful info about Dickie. This could be legit.
