by Bree Baker
His mouth opened, then shut. He shifted, and did the mouth thing again, but no sounds came out. He rubbed his palms down his jean-clad thighs, then gripped his knees.
“Talk,” I demanded.
“I’ve already told you,” he said, forcing his eyes back to mine. “I’m working on a project for Olivia. That’s it. And it has nothing to do with you.” His expression flattened and his eyes dimmed. He hadn’t made a single move, but Grady was retreating. Leaving me alone in the conversation. And I hated it.
“What you’re doing has everything to do with me,” I said, wanting to reel him in and make him see how important it was to have someone to confide in. Spectacular Christmas kiss aside, Grady and I were supposed to be friends. As far as I knew, I was the only friend he’d bothered making on the island. “Denise told me that you asked her to work at my shop,” I said. If that wasn’t proof that he believed in friendship, then I wasn’t sure what was.
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said—bristling at his clipped tone—“you thought it was important that she have a friend. So, why don’t you think you deserve the same? And why am I good enough to be her friend but not yours?”
Grady exhaled slowly, tension easing from his brow. “Right. No, of course,” he said. “I need to open up more. Hazard of the job.”
I squinted at him, lips pursed. Clearly, I was missing something bigger. From the look on his face, he had no intention of telling me anything tonight.
I wanted to scream.
“What was in the folder ?” he asked, like a dog with a bone.
My stomach flopped. “It was a manila file folder about three inches thick, worn at the edges and held shut with a big rubber band.”
“I didn’t ask for a description,” he said. “What was inside the folder? Don’t say paperwork. Tell me about the content, point, and relevance of the papers instead.”
I cringed. This was the part where he would be a lot less happy with me. “I ran into Mr. Butters and a few of his friends today. One of them gave me the file.”
“Go on,” Grady said, grinding the words out. “A file that contained…”
“Information on Mitzi’s life.”
Grady’s eyes slid shut for one short beat. He opened them to glare at me. “You have a three-inch thick folder of information on a recent murder victim?”
“Had,” I said, feeling a lot less bold than I had a moment before.
He pushed onto his feet and began to pace angrily in front of my coffee table. “Why would you have that? Why did this man give it to you? Why did he have it? And why on earth didn’t you call me immediately upon receiving it?”
I watched as he stormed in a narrow ellipse. “The guy calls himself the Canary. He had the information because he’s a celebrity gossip blogger who specializes in Mitzi Calgon. He’s in Charm because of her.” I stopped to think about that. Did the Canary say he had come to see her? Or that he’d come after her death? Maybe he hadn’t said at all. If he hadn’t come as a result of her death, then why would he have all that information with him? Why had he printed it if it was stored on the cloud as he’d said?
“What?” Grady snapped, having paused his mini-procession. “What are you thinking? It had better begin with a list of the folder’s contents.”
“You’re awfully cranky,” I said. “I was the one attacked tonight.”
I ignored the vein that began to throb in his forehead and did my best to answer his questions. I hadn’t read the entire file, but I gave him a rundown on everything I could remember. “The Canary said Mitzi’s ex-husband wasn’t happy with whatever he got in the settlement,” I added. That hadn’t been in the file, but it had been weighing on my mind. Divorces could get messy, especially when a substantial amount of money was involved. “The Canary also said the assistant, Odette, is the ex-husband’s daughter. That had to make for a complicated work environment.”
Grady rubbed his chin. “I’ve put a couple of calls in to the ex.”
“Did you know about Odette?” I asked, sensing the answer was written in the creases of his brow.
“She didn’t mention it when we spoke at the station.”
I whistled the sound of a falling missile. “I’d say that puts Odette and her dad on the possible suspects list. His recent divorce and her personal assistant role gave them both means and motive. If not as a pair, then one or the other.” The proverbial light bulb flickered and my jaw dropped. “What if you can’t reach the ex in Beverly Hills because he’s here?”
Grady didn’t answer.
So I kept going. “The fans here are pretty intense too. It’s possible that one of them snapped.”
Grady let his eyelids droop into a droll, unimpressed expression. “Why don’t you rein that in, Swan. Let’s stick to facts over theories. Actually, I’ll stick to the facts, and you stop creating theories.” Grady checked his watch, then moved toward the door. “Careful what you say about crazed fans. Your friend Mr. Butters fits that description, and he isn’t exactly looking innocent right now.”
“Be serious,” I scoffed.
“I mean it. I know he’s a Charmer and your best friend’s dad, but it’s hard to believe that painting and creepy note weren’t given as a set. Add the fact that several equally disturbing surveillance photos were found with them and I have to ask myself if I’m overlooking the obvious suspect because you like the guy so much.” He puffed out a long breath. “Heck, I like the guy too, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Mitzi Calgon, accidentally even, then attempt to cover it up with the bees.”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes, having nothing nice to say about that load of hooey and certain I’d say something I’d regret if I opened my mouth.
Grady mirrored my miffed expression, returning my silent attitude with practiced precision. “I’m going to make another pass outside, then head over to the station. Are you about finished with that statement?”
I wrote a few more simple sentences in ink, trying to stick to facts. Since I didn’t have many, the statement was short and sweet. I tore the paper free and carried it to him. “This is everything I can remember.”
He read the page silently, his lips moving as his gaze slid over the words. A moment later, he looked up. “I almost forgot to ask. How are your aunts holding up?”
“Better than me,” I admitted. “Mitzi was a friend of my grandma’s, and I had a million questions for her. We were supposed to have dinner and trade stories, but instead she was killed by my family’s bees. I’m starting to feel as if Wyatt was right. Maybe the Swan family isn’t cursed. I think we are the curse.”
Grady smiled. He found my family’s alleged curses and my continuous preoccupation with them amusing.
“Don’t try to convince me otherwise,” I told him, wallowing low in self-imposed misery. “I’m having a moment.”
“Maybe do that later,” he said, “because Mitzi didn’t die from bee stings. So the family bees are off the hook.”
“I saw her,” I said. “Swollen and smeared in honey.”
“She was drugged,” he said. “The coroner found the injection location in her neck. He missed it initially due to the discoloration and swelling of her skin. Likely, she was drugged and then dragged to the demonstration box.”
“Where she was stung to death,” I pointed out. “Because she was allergic.”
“The coroner believes it’s more probable that the sedative from the syringe interacted fatally with the prescriptions she took on a regular basis for blood pressure, cholesterol, and anxiety. It was the drug combination that stopped her heart, not the bees. The stings added insult to injury, so to say, but it’s doubtful she would’ve survived the sedative, regardless of what happened next.”
I took a minute to process that as I followed him down my private staircase to the foyer.
> Grady tucked my written statement into his back pocket, then gave me a curious smile. “This probably isn’t the right time to ask, but how are your baking tutorials coming? Denver and Denise have baked the chocolate-dipped peanut butter cookies about three times already, and I’m ready for a change. If I have to keep adding miles on the beach every morning so I can eat the sweets and praise my son for his baking skills, I’m going to need a little more variety as motivation.”
I tried not to imagine Grady running on the beach every morning or wonder what time and where. “I’m almost out of easy-to-explain recipes so I’ve been dragging my feet. My aunts will have more in the archives. I just have to make the time to find them.” I definitely wasn’t trying out the new app Ryan installed on a complicated recipe. Too many opportunities to embarrass myself.
Grady stopped on my porch and looked me over. “You going to be okay?”
“Yep.” I answered too quickly, torn between not wanting to be alone and not wanting to be needy.
He lingered a moment, and my traitorous mind began to think of the days when mistletoe had hung in my doorways. Maybe that had been the reason he’d kissed me. It was his duty. He’d practically been bound by tradition and manners.
Maybe I should rehang the mistletoe.
“I’ll wait until you lock up,” he said, stepping further onto the porch.
It took a minute for the words to breach my daydream. Then I snapped into action and closed the door in his face. “Good night,” I called through the window without bothering to pull back the curtain and reveal my heated cheeks. The deadbolt gave an audible snap, then Grady headed into the yard.
I went upstairs, locked my bedroom door, and crawled into bed.
Grady’s truck revved to life a short while later. I pulled the blankets to my chin and pretended he wasn’t leaving. I hadn’t been injured tonight, but I had been terrified and emotionally violated, which felt the same in my head.
My phone lit and buzzed on the nightstand.
I yanked it to my chest, praying it wasn’t another killer honeybee on screen while simultaneously seeing a consolation prize. Another threat would bring Grady back, and I wouldn’t have to be alone.
The message was from Grady. Short and sweet.
Stay safe, Swan.
I managed a small smile and whisked off a return message before taking time to consider it.
You’d be lost without me?
His answer was nearly instant.
Yes.
The little word heated me through. I stared at the phone, wanting more. It buzzed again, and my smile widened.
Who would make me lemon cake?
I laughed. It wasn’t the first time Grady had made a comment like that, and the fact he’d remembered our little joke made it all the sweeter.
Chapter Nine
“I still can’t believe it,” I told Denise the next morning, pressing a nearly empty mug of coffee to my lips. “I slept like the dead, despite everything. I’m all amped up right now, but I slept like a log.”
“Uh huh,” Denise said, wiping big wet circles over the counter at Sun, Sand, and Tea. “How many cups of coffee have you had so far?”
“I’m not sure.” I glanced at the nearly empty pot. “A few.” Plus, I’d had three before making my way downstairs. “How many have you had?”
She draped the rag over the edge of the sink and pressed a hand to one hip.
“None.”
My eyes widened and a giggle burst out of me, startling a pair of guests seated at a small table near the counter. “Sorry,” I said, turning my back to them and covering my mouth. “It’s just that my heart is racing, and I’ve got all this energy.”
“Caffeine,” she corrected. “What you have is too much caffeine.” She took the mug from my hand and replaced it with a bottle of water. “You’re going to crash and regret it.”
My bracelet beeped and I shook my arm until it thought I was running. “Did Grady say anything about me when he got home last night? Do you know if the police made an arrest?”
“No, and I don’t know,” she said. “Have you remembered anything else that might help them catch whoever did this? Any idea if the whisperer was a man or woman? Could you tell by the whisper? Did you smell cologne or perfume?”
“All I could smell was my gardens and the sea. Then the fabric softener on the pillowcase.” I shivered, then brightened. “The police will be able to track the pillowcase to its owner, right? Whoever owns it was my attacker. I’ll bet the lab can pull hairs or fibers from the material that lead to an arrest.”
“Maybe,” Denise said.
I puzzled over my word choice for a minute. “What if the police find whoever put the pillowcase on my head but can’t arrest the creep? Is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” Denise admitted with a frown. “Do you know you’re marching in place?”
I stopped. Marching had become a defense mechanism against the fitness bracelet when it shamed me. I swung my hands behind my back and wiggled my wrist some more. The longer I thought about what happened, the madder I got. “I can’t believe I was ambushed and robbed in my own gazebo.”
“What about the stolen folder?” Denise asked. “Is the superfan who gave it to you expecting it back? Have you told him that’s no longer possible?”
Her words hit like a lightning strike, sending a fresh surge of energy through me. The Canary would know who’d want to steal the folder!
“You’re brilliant!” I stripped off my apron and checked the clock. “I’ve got to find the Canary. Maybe he has an archnemesis who’d want the materials for competing blog fodder or snappy headline materials.”
Denise swung her arms open like an umpire. “Wait a minute. Grady’s already on that. You shouldn’t get any more involved in this than you already are.”
“Easy for you to say,” I said, hanging my apron on a hook behind the counter. “No one’s sending you killer bee threat texts and putting bags on your head.” I slammed my mouth shut. “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s the coffee and the emotions. I didn’t mean it.”
Denise shot me a colder look than I’d ever seen on her pert, youthful face. “Everly.” She stepped close in a slow, predatory move.
I stepped back.
Her jaw locked. She glanced at the smattering of guests enjoying iced tea and finger foods. “I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through or how you’re feeling,” she said, the sugar in her tone not quite matching her posture, “but I can promise you that letting Grady handle this is the right thing to do. He’s working hard, and you’re his first priority. Right behind Denver, of course,” she amended. “Regardless, you’re safer as Grady’s second priority than anyone else’s first. In case you’re forgetting, he’s a highly trained military operative and former big-shot U.S. marshal.” A mischievous smile curled her lips. “He’s got this covered. You can relax.”
“I didn’t know Grady was a highly trained military operative,” I said, drawn to the new information. He’d mentioned his time served but always in passing and never with any amount of detail. I tried to imagine the man I’d begun to think of as my personal island cowboy wearing night-vision goggles and tactical gear, but I couldn’t. To me, Grady was a loving single father, a grieving widow, and the figurative, though badge-holding, guy next door. “Sometimes I forget he had a life before Charm.”
Denise’s gaze jumped with the sound of my seashell wind chimes. She smiled at the newcomers, then slipped away to greet them.
I gave the menu a long look and checked the available supplies. Most of the lunching guests had ordered shrimp tacos, and I didn’t want to run out of an obvious hit if I could avoid it. There was plenty of shrimp and the cabbage slaw I liked to serve it with in the refrigerator, a hearty stack of flour tortillas on the counter, and enough minced garlic cloves to protect the world from vampires,
but I didn’t like the level of my garlic-lime sauce. We’d be out soon if I didn’t replenish now.
I squeezed the juice from a dozen limes while Denise spun through the café taking orders, refilling drinks, and ringing folks out at the register. From there, I added generous amounts of garlic, mayonnaise, and hot sauce until I was out of all three. I mixed the ingredients thoroughly, then swiped a dollop from the end of the spoon with my finger. I stuck the spoon into the sink and the finger in my mouth. My eyelids fluttered at the taste. “That’s amazing,” I told myself. But it wouldn’t last long if the crowds kept up. It was definitely time to visit Molly’s Market for a few things.
I filled a pair of take-out containers with fruit salad, tucked a few fresh baked croissants into a bag with my homemade jam sampler, and headed for the front door. “I’ll be back,” I called, waving an arm overhead at Denise.
Several patrons returned my wave.
Denise didn’t look happy to see me leave.
I hit the boardwalk with a skip in my step, mind racing over last night’s events and wondering full throttle if the lab had taken a look at the pillowcase from my gazebo yet. Since I couldn’t exactly drop by the police lab unannounced and expect answers, I decided to look for the Canary instead. First, I routed myself in the direction of my aunts, per my usual. We’d traded texts and quick phone calls but hadn’t had a decent private conversation since Mitzi died. I wasn’t used to the silence between us and I wanted it to end. From there, I’d hit up Charming Reads and ask Mr. Butters where I could find the Canary.
I crossed the marsh on a fallen tree trunk and hopped into the grassy area beside Ocean Drive. Three steps later, I stopped cold at the sight of my personal nemesis, Mary Grace Chatsworth. Since I’d last seen her, she’d dyed her hair platinum blond and attached herself to the town’s stand-in mayor, Chairman Vanders, like a barnacle on the hull of a big, slow ship. But I’d recognize her ghoulish scowl anywhere. Plus, the air temperature around her was naturally twenty degrees cooler.
