by Bree Baker
“I’m not alone,” I said. “Besides, he loved Mitzi, in a superfan way,” I added. “Monitoring her every move was definitely creepy, but I don’t think he meant it that way. I think he worshipped her, and he’s probably grieving her loss as if she had been an actual part of his life instead of some celebrity fantasy.”
Grady pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids in frustration. “You realize plenty of stalkers who turn violent or murderous claim to have loved their victims, right?” He dropped his hands and turned weary eyes on me. “Unhinged people kill the ones they think they love all the time.”
I chewed my lip, weighing cold feet against the desire to know what the Canary knew. He’d pegged the killer in record time, and I wanted whoever that was to be punished. “You’ll keep me safe,” I said, finding my last breath of bravery before opening the door and climbing down from the truck.
The interior light hadn’t come on. Grady kept it disabled for instances like this one. Nothing gave away a hidden truck’s location like a dome light flashing on in the darkness.
I shut my door softly, and the sounds of Grady’s door opening and closing followed, but when I turned to say, “Wish me luck,” he’d already dissolved into the night.
I lifted my chin and marched toward the lighthouse.
A set of possible scenarios rolled like silent movie footage in my mind. This rendezvous was a trap every time, and the Canary grabbed me. I fought uselessly against his hold and cried silently against a large hand clamped across my mouth. My confidence waned and my pace slowed until I would’ve lost in a race against molasses. A burdening thought itched at the back of my mind. When I’d seen the Canary yesterday morning, he’d run from me publicly. So, why did he want to meet with me privately tonight?
“You okay?” Grady asked, his voice suddenly present in my ear.
I touched the earpiece on instinct, having momentarily forgotten it was there. “Yes.”
“Why’d you stop moving?” he asked.
I looked down at my anchored feet and willed them forward. “Sorry.”
“It’s not too late to turn back,” Grady said. “We can make this an ambush, and I can haul him to the station instead.” A bright note of hope in his voice said he’d love nothing more.
Corny as it was, I didn’t want to go back on my word. I said I’d meet him. I told him he could trust me. I wanted it to be true. If he tried anything funny, then Grady could do whatever he wanted, but until then, I wanted to hold up my end of the bargain. “No. I’m okay,” I said. “I don’t want him to get spooked and run, and I want to know what he knows. He’s made his living collecting information on anything Mitzi-related, and he’s good at it. Plus, if he’s really in danger, he needs protection and you can give him that. I want to offer him your help after we finish talking.”
Grady didn’t argue, so I kept moving.
I shuffled closer on unwilling feet, crossing a seemingly endless expanse of grass to the foot of the lighthouse. Shadows hung thick and ominous for several feet around the base. “Canary?” I whispered, straining my eyes for signs of movement or a human shape in the darkness, then turned and moved around the massive cylinder, my senses on high alert.
“What are you doing?” Grady rasped in my ear. “You’re leaving my line of sight. Come back.”
“I’m circling the base,” I said. “What am I supposed to do?” A cartoon image of me on one side of the lighthouse and the Canary on the other, both checking our watches, then walking away, each thinking the other had stood him or her up, popped into mind. “He could be around the side.”
Grady grumbled incoherently in my ear, the swishing sounds of wind overcoming his muttered curses.
“Canary?” I tried again, calling softly so I wouldn’t startle him if I crept up behind him in the darkness.
“Everly,” Grady scolded. “Where are you?”
Dread passed over me as I reached the furthest point from where I’d started, and gooseflesh rode down my spine. “Something’s not right,” I whispered, as much to myself as to Grady. I just didn’t know what. I broke into an ugly run, hurrying back to the beginning of my circular path, desperate to be in Grady’s view quickly as possible.
“What happened?” Grady’s alarm pierced my eardrum.
“Nothing,” I said, rubbing chills from my arms and slowing as the steps to the lighthouse door came back into view. “I just freaked out.” Apparently the Canary had too, because I’d made it full circle, and he wasn’t at the lighthouse. “He didn’t come,” I whined. “What if he spotted you, knew I lied about coming alone, and left. What if I blew it?”
“What if you’d come alone, and he’d planned to kill you?” Grady countered.
I grimaced, preferring not to let that thought take root. I went to sit on the short flight of steps and wallow when the lighthouse door caught my eye. “It might be the shadows, but I think this door is ajar.” I hadn’t noticed when I’d first approached from the other side. “Am I supposed to go in?”
“No.” Grady’s voice was firm. “Wait there.”
I stared at the door—shut but not latched, an obvious invitation—yet I couldn’t lift my arm to open it. Fear had frozen my limbs in place.
Why wasn’t I brave? Or tough like Denise?
“Hold your position,” Grady said. “I’m on my way.”
A scraping sound turned me back toward the lighthouse. “Did you hear that?”
“No. What?” he asked, his breaths coming rhythmically now, running, I supposed.
I tipped my head up, as the sound registered again. The icy sense of doom skittered down my back once more.
I moved in the direction of the sound, back into the grass and toward the lighthouse’s single brick-trimmed window one hundred feet up.
Something large plummeted out, and I screamed as a heartbreaking thud pounded the ground in front of me.
Chapter Nineteen
I sat in the grass, several yards from the commotion, transfixed by the crew examining the Canary’s body. Grady had confirmed the fallen man’s identity when he called for backup. I had taken a closer look despite myself—and Grady’s instructions not to. Curiosity was a powerful affliction of mine, and I often paid the price for satisfying it. Now, for example, I’d have the ghastly image of yet another dead body seared into my brain. Forever.
Grady had gone into the lighthouse for several minutes, then stayed with me and the Canary’s body until emergency personnel arrived. Then I’d been escorted back a few yards and told to stay put. Obeying had been simple because my wiggly rubber-band legs had no longer wanted to support me. I’d taken a seat in the grass, watching and listening while Grady headed into the nearby trees to search for who-knew-what.
I couldn’t help wondering how the night might’ve ended if I’d been braver. What if I’d opened the door and gone inside? Would I have gotten there soon enough to save the Canary? Could I have stopped him?
A figure moved in my periphery, and I turned to see Ryan’s confident stride eating up the distance between us. He winked down at me when he arrived, brandishing a lidded disposable cup in each hand. “Is this seat taken?” he asked before lowering himself onto the grass beside me.
I almost asked how he’d known to come here at this hour. Then I remembered who I was talking to. “Thanks,” I said, accepting an offered cup. I inhaled the sweet scent of herbal mint tea.
“It’s for your nerves,” he said as I downed a therapeutic gulp. “It’s not poisoned.”
I lowered the cup and glared. “Nice of you to point that out after I drank it.”
He shrugged and grinned. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
I grimaced at the body being poked and prodded by men and women from the crime scene department and coroner’s office. Emergency lighting from nearby vehicles washed over the already gruesome scene, making it impossibly more o
minous. My stomach tightened, and I lowered the tea to the grass, choosing to pull my knees to my chest and hug them instead.
“So what happened? Where’s your bodyguard?” Ryan asked, popping the lid off his tea. He sipped carefully as steam rose into the night, sweetening the chilly air.
I quickly recapped the basics, then added, “Grady’s searching the perimeter.” I pointed over my head to the patchy woods behind us.
Ryan frowned. “Searching for what?”
“I don’t know.” I released my knees and crossed my legs in front of me like a child at story time, unable to get comfortable in the hard, grassy field. I lifted my tea and curved my palms around the warm cup, pulling it in close. My shoulders rounded and I curled my body over the heady steam. I rarely had the first clue about why Grady or anyone else did anything. Like jump from a lighthouse, for example.
“Does Grady think someone else was here tonight?” Ryan asked.
“He shouldn’t,” I said. “The Canary came alone.”
“How do you know?”
I took another sip of soothing tea, then worked to swallow it. A lump of unbidden emotion clogged my throat. “Because people don’t usually bring a plus-one to their suicides.”
Ryan’s brows tented. “He invited you.”
“He had a note in his pocket for me,” I said. “He told me on the phone he had information for me, and he did.”
Ryan lifted his gaze to the window high above the body and the crowd of emergency personnel. “What did the note say?”
A small sob burst through my lips before I could stop it. I released the cup with one hand to cover my mouth before I drew attention our way.
Ryan set a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “I’m sorry if that was insensitive. Take your time. You’ve had quite the night.” He gave my shoulder a little pat before returning the hand to his lap. “We’ll figure this out.”
I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. His brow was furrowed as he watched the throng of emergency personnel. “Suicide, huh?”
I dipped my chin once in confirmation.
“So he was definitely alone.”
“Looks like,” I said.
“But your boyfriend’s still in the woods? Maybe he just had to pee.”
I laughed unexpectedly at the crude joke. “Maybe.”
“I’m not peeing in the woods,” Grady’s voice barked through the earpiece I’d forgotten I was wearing.
“What?” Ryan asked, scanning my startled face.
I released a ragged breath and lifted a trembling hand to the side of my head. “Earpiece,” I said, breathlessly. “I forgot about it, and Grady’s been eavesdropping,” I added.
“How long have you been listening to us?” I asked Grady. “And why didn’t you tell me this thing was still on?”
Ryan’s lips curved in delight when I frowned. I suppose the reporter in him couldn’t help finding interest in any manner of drama.
“You were alone and upset when I left you,” Grady said. “I wanted to be there, but I had to work and I couldn’t drag you with me when you could barely stand on your own. I left the microphone on in case you needed me.”
Ryan scooted closer until our hips touched, then leaned his head against my ear, clearly attempting to eavesdrop in reverse. “What’s he saying?’
I wiggled my shoulders to force him back an inch, then refocused my attention on Grady. “I don’t need you right now,” I told him as politely as possible while feeling somewhat violated. “I’m doing fine and we can talk whenever you finish what you’re doing. Tell me how to shut these things off so I don’t distract you.”
Ryan stared at my sweatshirt. “Where’s the mic?” he asked.
I pointed to the button-sized device, and he lowered his mouth to my collarbone. “I need you,” he said, turning his eyes up to mine with devout sincerity.
A passing crime scene woman gawked.
I pushed Ryan back. “Don’t put your mouth there. It looks obscene, and people are staring.”
“What?” Grady growled.
“Nothing.” I planted a palm to Ryan’s forehead and shoved when he didn’t move on his own. “Grady can hear you just fine without doing that.”
“Doing what?” Grady repeated.
Ryan straightened and pursed his lips. “Well? What did he say? Is he coming back? I want to talk to him.”
I heaved a sigh and yearned to throw the earpiece and microphone into the ocean. “He’ll be back when he finishes what he’s doing.” Meanwhile, I removed the microphone and earpiece, stuffing them into my pocket. “I hope your night’s going better than mine.”
He frowned. “I’ve been with Amelia and her dad. His Mitzi fan club turned on him when they learned he lied on his initial police statement. Without an alibi for the time of her death, he might as well be guilty as far as they’re concerned. Now they’re boycotting the bookstore. Mr. Butters is holed up at his place, avoiding everyone. Amelia’s running the shop alone and she’s unsettled by the protesters’ constant presence. I helped stock shelves today and ran off a mob with black remembrance bands and signs suggesting that money spent at Charming Reads is money spent supporting a killer.”
I rubbed my forehead, where a deep ache was beginning. “I had no idea that was happening.” I was a terrible friend. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Ryan chuckled darkly. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve got plenty of your own things going on,” he said. “Besides, we had it under control.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for being there for her.”
“Glad to do it.” Ryan put his cup in the grass and searched me with curious eyes. “So, what did the note say?”
“It was a signed confession,” I said, still not quite believing it. “He lured me here under false pretenses. I just don’t know why.”
“Maybe he’d planned to blame someone else, then had a change of heart,” Ryan said. “The lie would’ve bought him time to flee the island after pinning police focus on someone else.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “Then, what changed his mind?”
“Guilt?”
I set my tea beside Ryan’s in the grass. My stomach was knotted too tight to have another sip.
“What sort of language was used in the note?” Ryan asked. “Was it direct or emotional?”
“Emotional. It was a gushing apology for accidentally killing Mitzi,” I said.
Ryan looked horrified, probably a lot like I’d looked when I imagined how the Canary must’ve felt. “He was her biggest fan.”
“I know.” I thought of what Grady had said. Sometimes obsessions turned deadly.
“Where was the note?” Ryan asked.
“Back pocket. Grady found the note when he was looking for a form of identification,” I said. “The Canary’s real name was Skeeter Ulvanich.” Yet another reminder that behind the high-trafficked website, Skeet was just a regular guy. Anyone could run a popular blog with the right motivation and content. Even my new website had a growing fan base, and the Town Charmer was a hit with locals and tourists. Did an average person, like Skeet or me, run that site too?
“Did he say why he did it?” Ryan asked. “If it was an accident, what had he thought would happen?”
“He was trying to create a scandal he could report on,” I said. “Mitzi news had been slow lately, aside from her divorce proceedings, and according to the note, he’d hoped a little harmless drama would be good for business.”
Ryan dragged a hand through his hair, watching intently as the Canary’s body was zipped into a black bag. “Rough.”
“I don’t know how I’d live with myself, knowing I’d killed someone,” I said. “Especially not someone as important to me as Mitzi was to him. I can’t imagine what that must’ve felt like. The guilt alone had to have been soul crushing.”
“I guess so.” I tested the words on my tongue. The night’s events seemed to indicate as much.
So why was there a typhoon of uncertainty circling in my core?
* * *
I woke with a crick in my neck and drool on my cheek. I hadn’t fallen asleep until nearly dawn, then I’d woken repeatedly to nightmares of Magnolia Bane throwing herself from my roof. My unconscious mind had clearly mixed up the images of the Canary’s fall with the story of another fall I’d been told about countless times. In the nightmare, Magnolia didn’t land in the gardens or on the beach, as I assumed she would have. Instead, she landed in the sea.
And when she landed, she was me. I felt the cold, demanding pull of the tide as it dragged me into its depths. Felt the snare of waves pulling my hair and tugging my clothes. Tasted the salty smack and strangle of bitter seawater as I gulped maddeningly for air. The rough floor of broken shells lanced into my bare feet each time they begged for purchase. I tumbled endlessly through the darkness without oxygen, light, or hope. I’d woken multiple times on a gasp—heart thundering, throat burning, and mouth parched—only to drift back into a fitful sleep and witness Magnolia jump again.
I raised onto my elbows and drained the contents of the water glass on my nightstand before settling back on my pillow. Maggie the cat hopped onto my bed and lapped the side of my head with her tiny bristle tongue. Breakfast time for the kitty. I gave her a pat, then forced my weary limbs to move.
Sunlight beamed through my open curtains, temporarily blinding me as I rocked upright and swung my legs over the bed’s edge. I’d missed the sunrise for the first time in ages, and I hated that. My whole routine would be off-kilter now.
I rushed through a shower, attempting to make up for lost time, then headed to the café for coffee. I checked my website while the pot brewed. My videos were still getting excellent reviews, and the positive buzz around my recent failure of a livestream was increasing. Ryan had been right. My followers loved seeing the completely unpolished, full-throttle failure of me missing my mouth with a salad-to-go.
