by Bree Baker
Grady glanced at me with one raised eyebrow.
I lifted my shoulders silently. Talk about a sudden change of topic.
“You’ll always be my first man,” she said. Without warning, the senator threw her arms around Martin’s shoulders and kissed him.
Grady and I waited awkwardly for them to wrap it up. They didn’t. When the kiss deepened, Grady stood. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yep.”
We stopped to visit Denver on our way out. Grady snuggled him and petted the cat. I promised I wouldn’t hit anyone with a rock on my way home, and Denver laughed. We left him curled on a window seat a few minutes later, cat purring contentedly at his feet, a book splayed across his lap.
I breathed easier back in the sunshine as Grady ushered me to his truck and helped me inside. The familiar scents and feel of sun-warmed seats turned my tense body to goo, and I melted into the material.
Grady started the engine on a long exhale. “Sorry you had to hear that. Family business is messy for us.”
“Family business is messy for everyone,” I said. “Do you think Martin will listen? Go back and do whatever he should’ve done before coming here?”
“I don’t know,” he said, sounding utterly exhausted. In lieu of giving me an answer, he asked, “How big of a hurry are you in to relieve Denise?”
I dropped an arm across the open window and let the wind rush through my fingers as we turned away from Northrop Manor and headed back into town. “I’m not,” I said. Honestly, there was nothing I wanted more at the moment than some answers and time with Grady.
We motored along the bay for several minutes without speaking. I assumed he was searching for words and I didn’t want to rush him. When he passed my home and parked in the public beach access lot instead, my curiosity piqued once more.
“You okay?” I asked. “We don’t have to talk about Martin if you don’t want to. I was just…”
“Curious?” he asked, sliding his eyes briefly in my direction.
“Yeah.”
Grady settled the truck’s engine. He drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel and stared at the horizon. The long, sandy beach stretched out before us, swallowed slowly by an aquamarine sea, eventually met with a cloudless blue sky.
I inhaled the warm ocean breeze and let my eyelids drift shut.
“Martin’s assignment is officially over,” he said, effectively springing my eyes open. “He needs to be debriefed, but he’s done. It’s fitting that he’s decided to retire now.” Grady dropped his hands to his lap and worked his jaw. “He wasn’t supposed to just show up like this. Anyone who followed him from his assignment could have followed him here.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” I asked, suddenly terrified. I wasn’t sure what kinds of people the CIA tracked or hunted, but I imagined they weren’t the good kinds.
Grady dragged a hand along his jaw. “It’s unlikely. Martin’s good, and he’s been at it a long while. It just burns me that he’d be so irrational.”
I hated to play devil’s advocate, but I couldn’t stop myself. “In his position, wouldn’t you?”
Grady stretched his neck and gripped at the muscles bunched along his shoulders. “I can’t believe I didn’t even know he was in town,” he said finally, ignoring my question. “I’ve been so caught up in the Mitzi Calgon case, then Skeeter Ulvanich took a swan dive last night.” He stopped short, and I could practically hear him internally berating himself for not being ten top detectives at once.
“You mean the Canary?” It was so strange to think of the man any other way.
“I’m not calling him that,” Grady said, shifting on his seat to face me. “What’s important is that I’ve got a solid lead that will probably wrap everything up quickly, and this will all be over soon.”
I frowned. “I don’t think the Canary committed suicide,” I said, needing to get it off my chest.
“Agreed.” Grady started the truck’s engine and backed out of the parking lot. This time he pointed the truck toward my home. “You hit Martin with a rock.” He laughed loud and long, as if he’d just heard a great joke. The sound was boisterous and bright.
I wanted him to elaborate on the fact he’d agreed the Canary hadn’t jumped, but I recognized the move. This was Grady’s polite way of telling me he had no intention of sharing any more details from his murder investigations with me right now. So I went along with the conversation’s new direction and appreciated the warm smile he gave me when he stopped at a stop sign.
“You were going to take on a six-foot, trained CIA operative to save my son,” Grady said. His tone sent a fresh round of shivers down my spine.
“I didn’t know he was CIA,” I admitted. “I thought he might be one of the people threatening the senator and hoping to use her grandson as some kind of threat or leverage.”
Grady shook his head in small, deliberate moves. “I owe you everything for your intent alone.”
My cheeks heated and I bit into my bottom lip, failing to control a growing smile. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
He reached for my hand on the seat between us and squeezed it before easing back into traffic. “You’re tougher than you realize, Swan. You never back down when it counts, and you have a big, loyal, fearless heart.”
I beamed up at him, temporarily unable to speak.
“I’d love to thank you properly when this is all over.”
“Oh.” I whispered the word, feeling dizzy with pleasure. “Okay.” My stomach knotted and flipped. I wasn’t sure what he’d meant by properly, but I hoped it involved a stroll on the beach. Preferably with lots more hand-holding.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grady shifted into Park outside my house. “You’re staying here now?” he asked. “No more rock-throwing adventures before work today?”
I pursed my lips, interpreting his concern through the jest. He obviously thought I was a trouble magnet. Today I threatened to brain his father-in-law. Last night I had a secret meeting with a man who’d allegedly killed himself. In front of us. Before that, I’d been locked in my family’s archives.
Maybe I was a trouble magnet.
“Everly?” he prodded, bringing me back to the moment.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I was on my way to see my aunts when I ran into your in-laws. I’d still like to see my aunts.” And talk to Rose about how her week was going. Maybe even get her to say something that becomes a thread I can pull to unravel the mystery of who killed Mitzi Calgon.
“You’re torn because you told Denver you’d send Denise back for him?” Grady guessed. “And you feel obligated to go inside and send Denise sooner rather than later.”
I touched the tip of my nose. “Ryan’s trying to talk with Odette and Mitzi’s husband today. I’m supposed to talk to Rose. I figured she’d be with my aunts, and I could accomplish two goals with one visit.”
Grady dropped his head back momentarily. “Ryan,” he groaned. “You teamed up with that guy again? Are you trying to kill me?”
“We haven’t teamed up,” I said. “Ryan and I are…collaborating. And I’m not trying to kill you. He and I are planning to compare notes at Mitzi’s memorial. That’s all. Do you think it’s strange that he hasn’t been able to have a single conversation with Odette or Mr. Pierce?”
“No,” Grady answered. “I think it’s to be expected, especially under these circumstances and with people like them. Mr. Pierce and his daughter have been living with Mitzi Calgon for years. They’ve been stalked and hounded by paparazzi every day of their lives. They could probably spot a reporter like him from a mile away, and no one wants to talk to a reporter.”
“Have you talked to them?” I asked.
He pulled a beaded chain from beneath his shirt. A Charm P.D. shield hung from the chain. “I’m a detective. People like to talk to us. We tend t
o be helpful.”
I considered that a moment. “Criminals don’t like to talk to you.”
“Not usually, no.”
“Did Odette and Mr. Pierce enjoy talking to you?” I asked. Did that mean they were innocent? “Because Mitzi’s divorce proceedings have been pretty ugly so far, and Mr. Pierce had a lot to gain without her.”
Grady fixed me with the blank cop stare. “This sounds like a theory, but it can’t be because I’ve asked you nicely not to make theories about this case.”
“No theories,” I said, hoping to sound aloof. “Just a busy mind.” I tapped a fingertip to my temple. “I can hardly help wondering why Mr. Pierce and Odette are still hanging around, if not to cover their tracks in the murder.”
Grady turned narrowed eyes on me. “That is a theory and you know it.”
I feigned offense with an open mouth and wide, innocent eyes.
“Pierce and his daughter are waiting for Mitzi’s body to be released from the coroner so they can take her home. They’re staying inside to grieve and avoid obnoxious fans and people like Ryan, who try to parlay human loss into a story.”
“Have you considered the possibility they’re also sticking around to keep tabs on the investigation’s progress?” I asked. “That information is essential in covering tracks.”
Grady rubbed the heels of his hands against his temples.
“I’m just saying there’s a lot of money in it for Mr. Pierce and money is a powerful motivator, that’s all. It doesn’t make sense for Mitzi’s nearly ex-husband to fund the Bee Loved project or for his daughter to stay on as Mitzi’s assistant when the women obviously don’t get along.” I crossed my arms and awaited his rebuttal.
Grady reached across me and opened the glove box. He freed a roll of antacids and put two in his mouth. “Mr. Pierce didn’t want the divorce. Mitzi filed. Not him. He’s not fighting her on little things to get more from her. He was trying to buy time to win her back. The same reason he made a generous donation to Bee Loved when he heard Mitzi was getting involved in their project. As for Odette, she wanted her dad to be happy, so she stayed on with Mitzi as a bridge between her father and stepmother. She’d hoped to facilitate a reconciliation.”
I chewed on that a minute, then tucked the information away for later and moved on before Grady stopped answering my questions. “What made you think the Canary was pushed?” I asked while he crunched aggressively on the pills. “Was it because he landed so close to the lighthouse?”
“No.” Grady returned the remaining antacids to the glove box and shut the compartment, then gave me a warning look. He wouldn’t elaborate on that.
“What do you think of Rose?” I asked, clearly pressing my luck with Grady’s patience. Anything he added to what I already knew was sure to help guide my discussion with Rose when I saw her.
“I think you shouldn’t give her or anyone else any reason to believe you’re still looking into this,” he said. “Including me.”
I took note of his tone and narrowed eyes, then lifted my palms in surrender. “You’re right.”
He didn’t look like he believed me, so I changed the subject again.
“I might’ve found the original Swan family recipe for lemon cake in one of the old books I took from my aunts’ archives,” I said. “I thought I was using the original version already, but there’s an even older one in this book. It’s doubly crazy because the recipe itself has barely changed over the centuries.”
“Centuries?” Grady tented his brows. “How old is it?”
“The book was started in 1826, and lemon cake is one of the first recipes.” I smiled as awe spread over his face. “Thanks to high-tech advances like food processors and refrigeration, the baking is easier and the cakes last longer. But aside from that, not much has changed.”
“Say lemon cake again, and I might start to drool,” Grady said.
“Oh!” I smiled, recalling another bit of information I loved about the find. “The recipe was called Lemon Cake to Bolster a Hero’s Heart. Isn’t that romantic? I’ll bet the Swan woman who invented it had a lover who was a soldier.” I pictured the yellowed pages of the original book, cluttered with inky scribbles. “The book is fantastic. There are dozens of handwritten notes on most of the pages—comments and advice from my ancestors over the years. It’s no wonder people have whispered for generations about my family being magical. The book looks like a prop from Hocus Pocus.”
Grady smiled. “Well, that cake certainly enchants me.”
“I’ll have to make more soon,” I said, admiring the way he looked instantly younger when he wasn’t brooding or complaining.
As if he heard my thoughts, his smile widened and his dimple made an appearance. “Tell you what,” he said, slipping the truck into gear. “You want to visit your aunts before you start work, and I can’t get what happened with Martin and Denver off my mind, so why don’t I drop you off at your aunts’ place on my way back to Northrop Manor? I’ll get my son, and Denise can stay at Sun, Sand, and Tea as long as she’d planned. She has no idea you were considering sending her home early, so it won’t make any difference to her.”
I made a show of tugging my still-buckled seat belt, then faced forward, ready to go.
We found a sign in the window at Blessed Bee announcing that the store would open late today, so we headed to my aunts’ home instead. I prayed silently that the sign wasn’t a weird decoy and that my aunts were truly safe. Grady stopped in their driveway ten minutes later. Aunt Fran, Aunt Clara, and the film crew were visible in the side yard. “Call me if you want a ride home,” Grady said as I slid down from the cab.
I waved as he drove away, loving the knowledge that he was the one going back for Denver instead of Denise. Spending some unexpected time with Grady would give Denver a thrill and Grady a much-needed break.
Quinn was the first to notice my approach. He waved a hand overhead in greeting, then met me halfway across the lawn. Aunt Clara stood in the gardens with a basket of flowers hooked over one arm while Aunt Fran made sweeping gestures and described the pollination process to Rose’s camera. A stranger held a boom mic over my aunts’ heads, and Burt Pendle positioned a massive light reflector just outside the shot. “You always get a police escort?” Quinn teased.
“No. The detective and I had some things to go over, so he offered me a ride.” I felt my brow pucker as I recalled the reason I’d gotten into Grady’s truck. “My day had a complicated start.”
“Did something happen?” Quinn asked.
“Just a misunderstanding. I’m fine,” I assured him, working up a smile.
Quinn pulled his lips to the side, considering. “If you say so.” He turned to watch my aunts banter about honey. “They’re good. People will love them. Are you here to watch the filming?”
“Absolutely. How’s it going so far?” I asked.
“We’re finally getting some solid material for the documentary, so I call that a win. Your aunts are unbelievably knowledgeable on everything related to honeybees, especially their impact on the environment and vice versa. I’ve even learned a few things about strategic gardening for maximum bee benefits. Pretty significant since bee science is kind of my thing.”
I felt a jolt of pride punch through me. “They are the foremost bee authorities, it seems.”
“Cut!” Rose called, stepping back from the camera on her tripod. Her long, dark hair had been wound into a messy knot on top of her head. She wore faded jeans with flip-flops and a yellow Bee Loved T-shirt. The expression on her face was inscrutable. “All right. Come on.” She motioned Quinn and me over.
I hurried toward my aunts. “Hey,” I said, greeting them with air kisses before turning to face Rose from their sides. “How’s it going?”
Rose’s eyes were intense as she moved in on us and stopped uncomfortably close. “Detective Hays brought you here,” she said, her voic
e low, her interest obviously high.
I bobbed my head. “He and I were talking, and I wanted to see how the filming was coming along, so he offered to give me a lift.”
“Were you talking about the man at the lighthouse last night?” she asked.
My mouth parted, but surprise stilled my tongue.
“It was all over the morning news,” she said. “The details were super hush-hush, but I heard you were there.” Her eyelids drooped and her lips curved into a tiny cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “Is it true?”
Unease rippled over me. I’d told Grady I planned to talk to Rose. I’d even asked him what he thought of Rose, and what had he said? I think you shouldn’t give her or anyone else any reason to believe you’re still looking into this. Maybe those words were more telling than I’d thought. I nodded my head in short jerky movements. “It was awful. I still can’t believe it really happened.”
Her eyes brightened with my confirmation. “I also hear he left a suicide note. Can you confirm that as well?”
I froze. Officers and emergency personnel were given explicit instructions to keep the note out of the press. She couldn’t attribute that little detail to the morning news. Could she? Had it been leaked? By whom? I ran through a mental inventory of all the faces on-site last night. None struck me as less than dedicated and professional. “Where’d you hear that?” I asked.
Rose’s conspiratorial smile widened to borderline madness. “I spoke to at least three dozen people before breakfast today. Everyone’s talking about it. A second death this week is wild on its own. When the second death was that of a man who’d made a life out of stalking Mitzi? Then left a suicide note? That’s huge. There aren’t a lot of die-hard fans left on the island, but the ones who are here are completely abuzz. Some say he couldn’t live without her. They think he’d tied his life so closely to hers that he didn’t know how to go on once she died. Maybe it’s the producer in me, but if I were writing this story, I’d say the Canary could’ve killed himself over an abundance of guilt and shame. Because maybe he killed Mitzi.”
