by Bree Baker
He gave a small, defeated laugh. “She wanted me to find her husband using connections I made during my time with the Marshals Service. Everything Olivia does is about Olivia, and there’s always more to what she says than is on the surface. It’s the reason she and I never got along, and the one thing that caused a wedge between Amy and me. Amy refused to see her mother as anything less than perfect. Wouldn’t acknowledge her selfishness or manipulation.”
He rolled angry eyes in my direction, and I saw the thing he wouldn’t say. Now Amy was dead, and he was stuck here, dealing with her mother, for the rest of his life. Only now, he had to do it without Amy as a buffer. He was angry with her for leaving him like this—and ashamed of himself for being angry with her.
“And you found him,” I said, turning the conversation to what I hoped was a happier topic. A small measure of relief moved through me as I spoke the words. I didn’t know the man in question, but I loved Denver, and I wanted him to have a grandpa. “That’s good news.”
Grady sucked his teeth. “Saying he’d gone missing was all part of the cover story. Apparently, he and Olivia stayed in touch somehow. She says they passed infrequent messages via some system they’d used when they were both in the military. She told him about the threats, and he wanted to be here to protect her. He started skirting protocols because he’s worried about her. He lost his focus and that made her worry about him. Losing focus could get him killed. She knows it, so she asked me to find him and promise him I would personally assure her safety so he could refocus and live to finish the job at hand. Apparently he wasn’t taking her word for it.”
I wanted to smack her. Moving here “to be closer to her grandson” had all been an elaborate façade? Part of a bigger plan. A means to a selfish end. What was wrong with people? “When did you find him?” I asked, presuming that was somehow one more part of Grady’s mounting stress.
“In January. And if I could find him, then someone much more dangerous could as well.”
My cheeks heated with unexpected anger as I yanked the oven door open with unnecessary force and liberated the hot ham and cheese sandwich. “Let me get this straight,” I said, moving the sandwich to a plate and garnishing it with chips and a pickle wedge. “She put you and her grandson in danger so she could keep herself and her husband, a trained CIA operative, safe? Now you and Denver are living unprotected lives while she lives in a fortress with a full security detail?”
“I’m not exactly untrained and helpless,” he said, looking severely offended. “I know how to protect myself, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep Denver safe. You know that.”
“I do, but you can’t be everywhere at once. You’re only one person, and you’ve got too much on your plate already.” I pulled my lips to the side, suddenly seeing his point about not being able to protect everyone he cares about. I took a steadying breath, then offered an apologetic glance. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re helpless.”
The truth was, I didn’t know much about Grady’s background except that he’d been a shooting star at the U.S. Marshals Service until Amy died and he eventually moved here with Denver to regroup and heal. He’d mentioned his military service in the past, using careful and vague references, but I understood. Protecting people was in Grady’s blood. It was his passion, and he was good at it. My heart softened as the depth of pain and frustration on his face fully registered. “Here. Eat,” I said, sliding the plate in his direction. “There’s lemon cake afterward if you have room.”
“Thanks, Everly,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
I sighed, searching for peace and positivity in the solemn moment. It occurred to me then that the senator had a literal team of security at her disposal, but she’d moved here so Grady could watch over her and help find her husband. I suddenly suspected I didn’t know the half of Grady’s skills and capabilities. I watched as he let his eyes shut while he chewed, lost in the gooey, salty bliss. “So,” I asked, going for casual since he’d voluntarily told me so much already, “where’d you find your father-in-law?”
“That’s classified,” he said, eyes popping open as he struggled to form the words around a mouthful of sandwich.
I frowned and stole a chip from his plate.
Grady wiped his mouth and narrowed his eyes on me. “How are you holding up after your second attack this week, by yet another deranged lunatic?”
I licked salt from my bottom lip, in no mood to talk about me when I could finally learn more about him. “I’m fine, but I don’t think you’re allowed to call them deranged or lunatics,” I said with a teasing grin. “They’re people too, so you have to be sensitive.”
“Is that right?”
“Sure. Even homicidal wackadoos have rights.”
Grady snorted a short laugh, then finished off his sandwich. “I think you’re the wackadoo,” he said. “How the heck do you keep getting wound up in these things?”
“Small island?” I guessed.
He deflated and flicked a warm expression in my direction. His gaze ran steadily over me before settling back on my eyes. “Maybe I’m the wackadoo,” he said, almost to himself. “What kind of lawman gets involved with a crime magnet?”
“You mispronounced delightful iced tea shop owner,” I said, smiling stupidly at the idea he thought we were involved and the wonder at how lovely that would be.
He smiled. “Okay. Since I brought it up, have you uncovered anything on this investigation of yours that you want to share?”
“Maybe,” I admitted, recalling my discussion with Ryan about the sedative and bee stings. “Do you think there’s a chance Mitzi’s death was a tragic accident? Maybe the killer hadn’t meant to be a killer at all. Someone could have administered the drugs hoping to embarrass her or ruin the documentary but not kill her, and it went horribly wrong.”
“It’s possible,” Grady said, “but she died, and whoever did it, whatever their intention may have been, is the only one to blame for a life lost. That person needs to face the consequences. And before you feel too badly about a possible fluke, remember that drugging someone is a crime, and Mitzi was given a heavy sedative intentionally and by injection. It wasn’t sprinkled on her food or put in her drink. Someone got close to her and jammed a needle in her neck. It was a planned attack and the results were deadly.”
A shiver rolled down my spine as I imagined the scenario playing out. Mitzi’s shock, the pain of injection, the confusion as the drug took over, her fear as she was hauled toward the bees. I never wanted to know what that felt like. “Were you able to find out who called her that day?” I asked. “Or anything more about the number leaving text messages for me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Three numbers. Three disposable phones. We were able to track their purchases to an Eagles Beachwear and Souvenir shop in Hilton Head.”
“Can you track them?” I asked, feeling buoyant for news of a solid lead.
“No. Each phone dialed one number. One time,” he said.
“And now they’re probably at the bottom of the ocean,” I concluded.
“Sounds about right.” Grady straightened and shifted on the stool at the bar. He pulled his phone from his pocket and frowned at it. “I’ve got to go.” He wiped his hands and mouth on a napkin, then left it on the empty plate.
“Wait.” I set a hand on his arm, effectively anchoring him in place. “What about Denise? You said you heard what happened with her and Ryan today, but you didn’t explain. What was that about?”
He stretched onto his feet and took my hand in his as he towered over me. I had to turn my chin up to keep his eyes in view.
“I was just looking for an excuse to see you. I knew it was late, but you’d be curious enough to let me in.” His lips curved into an impish grin. “Sorry.”
Heat flooded my chest as I squeezed his hand in mine. “I will always let you in, Grady Hays.” My voice wa
s too breathy. The chemistry thrumming between us too intense. “You don’t have to have a reason to visit.”
His gaze darkened and moved to my mouth. Then he released my hand and took a step back. “I have to go.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
I followed him down the steps and back through the foyer. “If the topic ever comes up,” I told his back as we made our way to the front door, “you can tell her I didn’t believe for a minute that she’d learned to flip grown men like that in a mandatory freshman self-defense class.”
Grady chuckled. He turned back as he opened the door. “That’s what she said?”
“Yes, as if I were a complete idiot.”
Grady laughed again. “Trust me. No one thinks you’re an idiot, especially Denise.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket and his smile fell. He took it out to glare at the screen. “I’ve really got to go.”
I walked him onto the porch. “I don’t even know where she went to college,” I called as he wrenched his truck door open.
Grady climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. He hung an elbow out the open window and smiled. “She went to Georgetown.”
* * *
I practically scurried out the door the next morning after a few awkward minutes of conversation with Denise. It was evident in the strain of her smile and set of her chin that she was still feeling uncomfortable about the way we left things after she’d taken Ryan down. I could understand. She’d done a crazy thing and hadn’t given a true explanation, but I believed she was sorry, and that was all that mattered. She had instinctively responded to a perceived threat, and if Ryan had been an attacker, Denise would have saved us all. Hard to be mad at that. Plus, everyone was entitled to secrets, whether I liked it or not.
I excused myself as soon as politely possible and headed out to look for Ryan. He’d put a bee in my bonnet yesterday about the possibility of Mary Grace and her fiancé attempting a stunt to make Aunt Fran look bad and accidentally killing Mitzi in the process. I wouldn’t put anything past either of them, and together they were twice as dense, so I figured it was worth following up. Also, Ryan had seen Odette answer the door and collect a large pizza, but that didn’t mean her father was there or even still on the island. I wanted to pinpoint his whereabouts during my archive fiasco as well. I needed to eliminate someone from my crowded suspect pool before it overflowed. And more than anything, I needed to direct Grady and the local PD’s attention away from Mr. Butters.
I followed the boardwalk until it curved close to Ocean Drive, then I hopped across the fallen log over the marsh and onto the grassy shoulder to survey Main Street. The streets were awash with morning sunlight, food trucks, and faces I didn’t recognize, likely Mitzi fans. I didn’t see the Canary, and I wasn’t sure what I’d say to Odette or her father if I saw them, so I directed my path toward the courthouse instead. Chairman Vanders was the acting mayor until our fall election and spent his days in the mayor’s office. I suspected I’d find his scheming fiancée with him.
I paused when a pair of silhouettes at the edge of the courthouse came into focus. A couple, I thought, before recognizing Mary Grace as the woman. I’d never seen the man before. I reconsidered my plans to ask Vanders where he’d been when Mitzi died, and I watched Mary Grace instead. She stood close to the guy, whoever he was, face-to-face along the alley-side of the building, their faces nearly cloaked in shadow. I drifted closer to listen in, but they began to move.
I lingered in the shade of an ancient oak until they reached the next block, then I followed. I could always come back to visit Vanders after I figured out what Mary Grace was up to. The pair strode briskly toward the bay, chatting fervently, their voices low. My mind raced with questions. Who could the man be? Not a local. Had she and Vanders hired an outside campaign manager? Was the guy her secret boyfriend? A hired gun? A cleaner? All the big bosses on crime shows had one of those. An unassuming person who scrubbed crime scenes and swept criminal misdeeds under the rug. This guy looked the part. Tall and lean with broad shoulders in a classic black dress shirt and trousers. His dark hair was slicked back with product and his eyes were covered with wide, dark-rimmed sunglasses.
They jaywalked across Bay Street and ducked into a newly renovated historic home. A promotional sign in the front yard announced it as the work of a local construction and design company. Were they meeting someone else? Had I stumbled onto a clandestine encounter? I dashed across the street at the crosswalk, then slipped into the house a minute behind Mary Grace.
The home’s interior was lavish. I paused to enjoy the subtle, spa-like quality. Soft music wafted from hidden speakers. Sunlight filtered through an abundance of beveled glass windows, bouncing and glinting rainbowed beams across the walls. Marble floors stretched out before me to the base of a cantilevered staircase, and I moved in its direction. Elaborate tapestries adorned doorways and intricately detailed molding outlined the ceilings and the floors.
Mary Grace’s soft voice pulled me deeper into the home. “Precisely,” she whispered. “We need a plan. Cleanup won’t be easy, and it has to be handled properly, thoroughly, and preferably without notice.”
Breath caught in my throat. Had I been right? Was Mary Grace behind Mitzi’s murder? I hunched low and crept closer, listening hard for something substantial I could take to Grady and have her arrested.
“Get in and get out,” Mary Grace said.
“Got it,” the man replied. “I’ll make arrangements now.”
The room fell silent and I took another step, angling for view around the threshold.
Mary Grace looked immediately at my face.
“Everly?” she asked, her expression pinching in confusion. “What are you doing?”
The man glared. “Were you listening to us?” He took a step in my direction. “How long have you been there? What did you hear?”
I straightened, hoping to look braver than I felt. “I heard everything, and I’ve already called Detective Hays,” I lied.
“Who?” he asked, still scowling.
Mary Grace cocked a hip. “What did you hear?” she repeated his question, emphasizing every word.
The man looked at Mary Grace with disgust. “I can see what you were talking about. These people are nosy.”
“Yeah, and this one’s the worst,” Mary Grace said. “And she’s clearly lost her mind if she thinks the police care about my reception plans.”
“You do realize stalking is illegal?” the man asked, slowly, as if there was something wrong with my IQ.
Mary Grace chuckled, then sneered. “She can’t help it. She’s from a really messed-up gene pool. No men. Just inbreeding and hocus pocus.”
I let the dig on my gene pool slide while I ran over the conversation going on in front of me. “You’re a wedding planner?” I asked the broad-shouldered man in black.
He looked at me as if I were something stuck to his shoe. “What did you think I was?”
I swallowed a lump of humiliation in my throat.
Mary Grace narrowed her eyes. “Good question. What did you think we were talking about? Why were you following me? What’s wrong with you?” Mary Grace snapped. “Did you forget to take your medication this morning?”
I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I was eleven all over again and humiliated by her sharp tongue, dull wit, and harsh words. I had no comebacks. No reasonable explanation. Just nausea and panic. So, I did the only thing I could do.
I lifted my chin, turned on my heels, and headed out the way I’d come in.
I knocked into Ryan, waiting on the home’s front porch, red-faced and teary-eyed with laughter. He performed a dramatic slow clap for me as I climbed down the front steps.
“Shut up,” I said, picking up the pace as I headed for home.
Chapter Seventeen
I was certain I would die of embarrassment. I’d had no
idea Ryan was following Mary Grace too, and I’d gotten between them, or I could’ve left him to it and spared myself the humiliation. Instead, I was heading home to lick my wounded pride, and he was off to look for Malcolm Pierce and Odette. Ryan and I agreed to catch up later and share what we’d learned so far. I hoped he had more than I did, because all I had was a pile of unsubstantiated theories, about a million questions, and a deteriorating attitude.
“Welcome to Sun, Sand, and Tea,” Denise called as I crossed the foyer to the café. “Oh, hey Everly!” She smiled when she saw me. “That was fast.”
“Yep. Fast,” I muttered. Too bad the repercussions of my outing would last for Mary Grace’s lifetime. “How are things here?” I asked, rounding the counter to pour a tall glass of strawberry basil tea and chug it.
Denise joined me at the dispensers, an apologetic expression on her pretty face. “I’m truly sorry about what happened with Ryan last night. I didn’t mean to hurt him or freak you and your aunts out. And I lied to you.”
I opened my mouth to tell her not to worry, but I changed my mind at the mention of a lie. I put the tea jar to my lips instead, hoping she’d expound on the last part.
“I didn’t learn hand-to-hand combat in a mandatory freshman self-defense class,” she said.
I felt my eyes widen. Did she just say hand-to-hand combat?
“I spent years training,” she continued. “I was a victim once, and afterward, I vowed never to be one again. I guess I’m a little on edge with another murderer in town.”
“I think we’re all a little on edge,” I said, dying to know every detail about the time Denise had been a victim—and if the years of hand-to-hand combat training had been in the military—but instead, I offered a small smile. “I didn’t hate watching Ryan get tossed around.”
Her shoulders sagged in apparent relief. “I thought you liked Ryan. You saved his life last year.”
“Yeah, but he’s cocky, and I hate that in a person,” I said. “Also, he’s got his eye on Amelia and she really likes him, so I worry. I’m not convinced he’s capable of caring for more than his career.” I watched her for a long beat before adding, “I don’t want him to break her heart.”
