by Lucy Quinn
A few of the handful of other ferry passengers glanced over at her outburst, but nobody said anything.
Hunter, meanwhile, had taken her aching hand in both of his and was massaging it gently. “Relax,” he assured her for at least the fourth time. “It’s all taken care of. No worries, no problem, no fuss.”
“But how?” Cookie demanded. She glared up at him. “You didn’t threaten her, did you?” An even more disturbing possibility struck her. “Or sleep with her?”
That made him chuckle. “Hey, I appreciate your attributing magical powers to my prowess in bed, but no, I didn’t sleep with her. Or threaten her.” He turned serious. “It’s like I told you already, I just said that you couldn’t be fingerprinted but that I’d vouch for you, and that I’d run a security check on you previously.” He shrugged. “She took me at my word. Because obviously I’m good for it. And that’s that.”
Cookie was studying him closely, the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, his rapid pulse beating against her skin where his fingers still lingered, the way he’d rushed the words out as if to assemble them quickly before anyone could ask questions. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.
“What? Nothing.” But the way he averted his gaze just confirmed her suspicions. And he clearly knew it, because after a second he sighed. “Fine. I may have… hinted that you and I had a relationship back in Philly. A professional one,” he hurried to add as Cookie’s glare began to form. “Strictly business.”
She nodded. That would certainly cover how they knew each other. But she could tell there was more. “What kind of business relationship?” she pressed.
Her ex-partner continued to hem and haw. “One where… we needed discretion,” he told her slowly. “Like no fingerprints.”
“So, what, you told her I was your mistress? You’re not even married.” Cookie snorted. “Or maybe your whore? Or maybe your assassin? Both of those would get really ugly if I was fingerprinted.” But then her brain finally put two and two together. It would explain why he’d said she worked for him during the last murder investigation. She fixed him with a flat stare. “You told her I was your CI.”
Hunter flinched, not much but just enough for her to know her remark had hit home. “I never actually said that,” he hedged. “I just… implied it. A lot.”
In response, Cookie smacked him on the shoulder. Being a Confidential Informant would absolutely explain why she couldn’t let herself be fingerprinted—if anyone she’d informed on ever found out she was the snitch, she’d be toast. But most CIs had another reason they didn’t want to wind up in the system.
“You made her think I’m some kind of druggie or hooker or other lowlife!” She smacked him again. “Now Sheriff Watkins is always going to think I’m street trash, probably somebody who agreed to turn rat in order to avoid doing time myself. Just great, Hunter. Thanks a lot.” She was already dreading the next time she had to see the sheriff. How was she ever going to keep her head up now?
“What difference does it make what she thinks?” Hunter asked, rubbing his shoulder. “The case is closed—you don’t need to play at being deputy anymore.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” She thought about hitting him again, but decided it was too much effort, and settled for glaring instead. “Hancock is a small town. Secret Seal Isle’s even smaller. These places practically live on gossip. And you just told them I was half a step up from a streetwalker before I got here. How long do you really think it’s gonna take for word about that to get around? They’re gonna be whispering behind my back for years!”
Hunter stared at her. “You really think so?” For once he didn’t sound smug or mocking. Just surprised, even sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Charlie,” he told her. “I didn’t even think about that. I was more concerned about making sure the DeMasis didn’t get wind of your whereabouts. I’ll let Watkins know that you came to me as a concerned citizen with a clean record and zero suspicion of criminal activity. Okay?”
She wasn’t sure that would really do much—gossip was like Pandora’s Box. It was almost impossible to close it up again once it’d been opened. But maybe Watkins wasn’t the loose lipped kind, and his explanation couldn’t make matters any worse. At least he was trying.
“Sure, thanks,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was still reeling from everything that had gone on in the past week, and then the weeks before that. She hoped life on the island wasn’t always this crazy, because if it was she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.
“Do you really need to head back tomorrow?” Cookie asked as they made their way up the hill toward the Inn. “You could stick around for a day or two, just relax a bit. We could go fishing, or sailing, or—”
Hunter just laughed at her again. “Do I really strike you as the fishing type?” he cracked. “Can’t you just see me in a pair of waders and one of those unstructured hats with the lures all over it? But no,” he added, “now that the case is done, I do need to get back. There are a few open investigations piling up on my desk, and Spinner let me come up here for work, not vacation.”
She sighed, but knew he was right. Spinner was a stickler for punctuality. If Hunter took even one extra day past the time Watkins listed as closing the case, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Well, I’m sorry you’ve got to turn around head back out so soon,” she told her ex-partner. “It’s been fun having you around again.”
“It’s been fun working with me again, you mean,” Hunter corrected, but gently. “You know, you could still come back. Leave Rain here where she’s safe. The DeMasis are eyeballs deep in legal trouble. There’s a good chance you’re off their radar by now. Three other thugs have gone to prison since you left. We could pick up where we left off, be partners again.”
But she shook her head. “Maybe someday,” she hedged, uncomfortable with the thought of putting herself back in the mob’s line of fire. She could still feel the graze of the bullet against her arm and smell the burning oil from when they’d blown up her car. They hadn’t forgotten. And if she went back, they’d come for her… and those she loved. Including Hunter. “Right now I think this is where I need to be.”
An image of Dylan from the day they spent on his boat sprang to mind. She remembered him standing there in his sunglasses and T-shirt and super-soft-looking jeans.
Yes, she definitely needed to be here. Right here on Secret Seal Isle with Rain and Dylan.
The inn loomed up ahead, and Cookie let out a little sigh of relief. She was looking forward to a solid meal and a good night’s sleep. But there was something else she knew they had to do first.
“I never know if it’s good news or bad,” she said to Hunter as they approached the porch. “I mean, on the one hand we’re telling her that nobody killed Dickie, that it was just rotten luck. On the other hand, that means there’s nobody to bring to justice, nobody to blame for it. I don’t know if the one makes up for the other.”
“Doesn’t matter if it does or not,” Hunter pointed out. “It is what it is. And she deserves to know the truth.”
Cookie nodded. He was right. How Hayley reacted was out of their control. All they could do was be honest with her.
But when they pulled open the front door and stepped inside, rather than Hayley they found Rain waiting for them. Cookie’s mom looked like she’d been crying, her eyes all puffy and red, and when she saw them she ran over to Cookie and engulfed her in a giant hug.
“Oh, baby!” Rain said into Cookie’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She glanced up at Hunter. “You too, Hunter.” And for once there wasn’t a hint of innuendo or flirting in her statement.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Cookie asked, releasing Rain so that they could both breathe. “What happened?”
“It’s Hayley,” Rain answered, wrapping her arms around herself. “I was just tidying up, going through the menu in my head and thinking about what needed to be done where, and in what order. She came downstairs from her room, all u
pset. I tried to give her one of our Soothing Suckers—what do you think of the name? Winter and I just came up with it early today. It’s good right?”
“Mother,” Cookie said impatiently. “You were talking about Hayley?”
“Oh, right. She wouldn’t take it. Said she needed all her wits about her, not to be high and messed up.”
Cookie processed the new information. “Okay, so she was upset and didn’t want a your edibles. That’s it?”
But Rain was biting her lip. And for this woman—who had once regaled Cookie’s entire graduating class with stories about her first time—for Rain to hesitate before sharing a story, especially a juicy one, was a really bad sign.
“Ma,” Cookie tried again, resisting the urge to grab her mother’s shoulders and try to just shake it out of her. “Please. This is important. What else happened?”
Her mother took a deep breath. “All right, all right.” She sighed. “She said no but I figured she could really use one, so I stuck it into her backpack.”
“What backpack?” Cookie asked, at the same time as Hunter said, “Was it kind of beat-up looking?”
“Yeah, it was old and stained and grungy,” Rain agreed. “But the thing is, when I unzipped the main compartment to shove the sucker inside, I saw”—she lowered her voice to a whisper, despite the three of them being the only ones within miles—“money. Lots of money. Whole lots of it, banded together.” She glanced around as if Hayley might sudden jump out of the woodwork and tackle her. “Like the kind of money a drug dealer might have.”
Cookie wanted to ask how her mother would even know such a thing, or tease her about being caught up in the drug trade now, but her concern was so clearly genuine Cookie didn’t have the heart to mock her. Instead she looked at Hunter, who was hanging his head.
Ha, Cookie thought. Serves him right! Because they both knew the bag Rain was talking about had to be the one Hayley had found on Dickie’s boat—the same bag Hunter had let her walk right out with.
But there wasn’t much they could do about that now.
“Where is she now?” Cookie asked.
Rain shook her head, the bright red hair waving but maintaining its shape. For an ex-hippie, Rain was surprisingly okay with destroying the ozone layer just so her hair could have some lift and hold.
“I don’t know,” Rain admitted. “She stormed out within a minute of tromping down the stairs.” She bit her lip. “There is one other thing, though.”
Both Cookie and Hunter were staring at her, waiting.
“Right, so, well…” Rain lifted her head. “When she grabbed the bag to leave, this fell out.” She held up her hand, showing off a cheap cell phone. Probably a burner. But more importantly, it was a shape and style Cookie recognized. This cell phone was a dead ringer to the one she’d seen that woman drop in the stall at the Tipsy Seagull. Which just confirmed that it had indeed been Hayley next to her in the restroom. And that the singer was hiding something.
So maybe, Cookie thought, glancing Hunter’s way, there was a little bit more to this story after all.
19
“Wait a second,” Hunter said, snatching the phone out of Rain’s hand. “This looks exactly like—”
“The phone we found at Dickie’s, yeah,” Cookie said, enjoying getting to cut him off for once. She shoved her hair out of her face. “Clearly the siblings were up to something, something they didn’t want anyone else to know about. That’s the only reason you’d buy a pair of burners like this.” She sighed. “Too bad we don’t have Dickie’s anymore or we could compare what’s on them.”
A slow, smug smile spread across her ex-partner’s face. “Who says we don’t?” And he pulled the phone in question from his inside jacket pocket.
Cookie gaped at him. “That’s evidence!” she accused.
But Hunter laughed in her face. “Evidence of what?” he replied. “Dickie’s death was accidental, remember?”
“It was?” Rain asked. They’d both completely forgotten Cookie’s mother was there. They turned to see her staring at both of them, utterly fascinated as her gossip sense went into full overdrive. “What happened to him?”
“We can’t tell you that, Ma,” Cookie said carefully. “You know that. It’s official police business.”
The mention of the word “police” did the trick—Rain flinched and backed away, hands up in front of her as if to ward off an evil spirit. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to it, then,” she declared, managing to make that sound like both a huge sacrifice and some sort of personal slight against her. “Maybe I’ll just go check on dinner.”
“That’d be amazing, thanks,” Hunter told her, leveling one of his deadly smiles. Rain blushed and smiled back, then turned and fled toward the kitchen. Cookie could have sworn she heard her mom giggling the whole way there.
“So you pocketed it, figuring they didn’t need it anymore? Why?” Cookie asked once her mom had gone. But she kept her voice down, just in case.
Her ex-partner shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. “Actually, I forgot I had it,” he confessed with a much more humble—and more appealing—smile. “What with Trina confessing and everything, that seemed more important. Then the whole case fell apart anyway, and since there wasn’t a murder, there wasn’t any need for evidence, so it just slipped my mind.” His smile widened into a grin. “Until now.”
Cookie nodded. “Hang on.” Rain had left her purse sitting on the little side table near the front door, as usual, which meant her cell phone might or might not be in there. But her charger would be. Rain always carried an extra. The thought of missing out on her Facebook updates was too traumatizing should her phone die. After rummaging a minute, Cookie triumphantly tossed the charger to Hunter, who plugged it in and then connected it to the dead burner phone.
It powered up at once. Meanwhile, Cookie took the other burner—Hayley’s—from him and turned it on as well. For a second, she worried that the phones might have passcodes or fingerprint locks, but as it turned out they both went straight to their home screens.
“Guess they weren’t worried about anyone else finding these,” Cookie muttered, tapping the phone icon on Hayley’s.
“No reason they would be,” Hunter said, mirroring her movements on Dickie’s phone. “It looks like Hayley kept hers on her at all times, and Dickie kept his in his apartment. The only other person who might’ve known about it is Peaches.” He shrugged. “If your only concern is making sure nobody else knows who you’re calling, that should do it.”
“Unless your phone keeps slipping out,” Cookie countered. “Which has happened to Hayley twice now, at least.” She shook her head. “But you’re right. Okay, let’s see what they’ve been so secretive about.” She pulled up the burner’s call history, and Hunter did the same.
“I’ve only got two numbers in here,” Hunter announced. He frowned as he studied the screen. “Looks like one was called regularly and the other only a few times. The first one called the day Dickie died, and again that same day, but hasn’t called since. The second number stopped calling the day before he died.”
“Only two numbers here, too,” Cookie confirmed. “Same as you, the first one shows up a lot, the second one only a few times.” She glanced up at him. “She called the first one the day Dickie died, and then again a few hours later. She hadn’t gotten any calls from the second number for a while—and then they started again the day he died.”
“What’s the first number?” Hunter asked. He’d switched over to an About This Phone screen, Cookie saw.
On a hunch, she hit Call instead of answering directly. A second later, the phone in Hunter’s hand lit up and started vibrating and chirping.
“Yeah, that’s the number that’s in here the most, too,” he answered after she’d ended the call and his phone had quieted again. “So they were calling each other regularly, that makes sense. And she called him the day he died, but he didn’t answer. She tried him again, and then must have gotten the news he was dead.
No point calling the phone anymore when you know nobody’s going to answer.” They shared a moment of silence, thinking just how awful that must have been, calling a phone belonging to your closest relative, not yet realizing that he would never answer you ever again.
“So what’s this other number?” Cookie wondered aloud, breaking through the dark cloud around them. “Whoever it is, it’s someone who called them more than they called him or her.” She checked the history again. “This phone’s only a few months old,” she reported after scrolling back. “First call was to Dickie, second was to that other number. Then nothing from them or to them until after Dickie died.”
Hunter scanned the call history on his. “Also a few months old,” he said, “and yeah, Hayley’s is the first number to call it. Then he placed a call to that other number. After that he’s got a few back and forth with them, mixed in with frequent calls to her.”
They shared a glance, and Cookie knew they were wearing identical frowns. FBI-issue ‘we’ve got a case here’ frowns. “Blackmail,” Cookie said, voicing it first. “Gotta be. Whoever it was is smart enough to tell Hayley to get a burner, and gives her a number to call once she has one. She does, and they set the terms. But she tells Dickie—she said they didn’t have any secrets from each other—and he tells her he’ll handle it. So they both got burners, called each other to save the numbers, then he called the blackmailer, said ‘you’ll be dealing with me from now on,’ and took over the contact.”
Hunter nodded. “They talked to him right before he died but didn’t bother to call after. So either they were keeping tabs on him, and knew he was dead—”
“Or they were involved in his death somehow.” But after a second mulling that one over, Cookie shook her head. “That doesn’t play out,” she argued. “We know what happened to Dickie, and the only other person even remotely involved was Trina. And why would they kill him, anyway? Especially when he was obviously bringing them their cash. It was in that ratty backpack.” She noted the way Hunter colored again but chose to ignore it. He’d already owned up to his mistake there, no sense in dwelling on it. “No, I think they were just watching him, and knew when his body was found.”
