by Bree Baker
“What he thinks about you getting some self-defense training,” she said. “Have you ever talked about it? Has he suggested it before?”
I frowned. If I looked like the kind of woman who’d ask permission for self-defense classes, I needed to get a new look. “No.”
“I’m surprised he never offered to teach you himself,” she said. “He knows a lot more than I do. I think he’ll be happy you’re interested.”
“I’m not too sure,” I said. “I think Grady would prefer I make tea and stay out of harm’s way. Period.”
She smiled. “I think he likes you just the way you are.”
“As a trouble magnet?” I asked.
“Alive,” she said. “And since you’re pulling in enough threats on your own, we’d better start those lessons soon.”
The seashell wind chimes jingled, and Denise slid seamlessly into waitress mode. “Welcome to Sun, Sand, and Tea,” she called, grabbing napkins and place settings before the new guests could make an appearance.
Odette and Malcolm Pierce strutted into the café and headed for a table near the rear wall of windows.
“That’s Mitzi’s husband with her stepdaughter and personal assistant,” I whispered before she went to take their drink orders.
She turned her back on them to mouth the words, “No way.”
I nodded. “Way.”
“I thought Ryan was watching them,” she said softly.
Before I could answer, the wind chimes jingled again and Ryan sauntered in. His hair was uncharacteristically mussed and damp, his shirt slightly askew. He took a seat at the counter and smiled. “Hello, ladies.”
Denise looked cheerfully at him. “Hey, Ryan. Give me a quick minute, and I’ll be right back.” She went to greet Odette and Mr. Pierce while I gave Ryan a more careful review.
“What happened to you?” I asked, leaning my forearms on the counter across from Ryan.
He rolled his eyes in Odette and Mr. Pierce’s direction. “Guess who didn’t order lunch for delivery today?”
I smiled. “You don’t say.” I offered him a bottle of cold water from my fridge, and he chugged it.
He set the half-empty bottle aside and mopped a napkin across his forehead. The contrast between the white napkin and his flushed skin was drastic. “I had to follow them here on foot, and it’s hot outside. I’m burnt for sure.” He straightened an arm in front of him for examination.
I took another look at the pair chatting with Denise. They looked fine. “How did they get here?”
“Golf cart,” he said, lifting the bottle of water to his lips once more. “I just ran a mile and a half, and I’m not really a cardio guy.”
The image of Ryan jogging around the island, ducking behind trees and mailboxes while trying to tail a golf cart and stay hidden, popped into mind and I smiled. Widely. “Can I get you some food to power-up before the jog home?”
Denise swept past me to pour a pair of iced teas, then returned to Odette and Mr. Pierce.
Ryan lifted a finger and pointed it discreetly in Denise’s direction.
“Anything you like,” she told them. “On the house. We’re real sorry about your loss. If there’s anything we can do to make this time a little easier for you, just give a holler.”
“She’s good,” Ryan said. “What’s she up to?”
“Probably angling for information. I told her everything,” I said. “About the threats I’ve received and my floundering investigation. I figured I’d want to know what was going on if I were her.”
Ryan tilted his head slightly. “You would because you’re an abnormally curious person. Most people are happy not knowing everything that goes on around them.”
“I’m not abnormal.”
“But are you sure she wanted all that drama dropped on her?” he asked.
A sliver of guilt wiggled in my chest. I’d assumed Denise would want to know. I’d thought it best that she not be kept in the dark, and I’d wanted to include her because my decisions could affect her.
I cringed in belated realization. All those thoughts and intentions were about me.
Denise bounded back to my side and grinned. She cocked a hip and raised her brows. “Okay, what did I miss over here? Oh! Tea.” She took Ryan’s empty water bottle away. “What can I get you?”
Ryan reviewed the large chalkboard on the wall behind me. “Iced ginger peach tea, please. I’m making my way through the list.”
“How about some food?” I asked, repeating my question from earlier.
He hooked a thumb over one shoulder, silently indicating Odette and Mr. Pierce. “Did they order food?”
Denise delivered his tea with a napkin. “Yep. Shrimp tacos for him. House salad, no cheese, low-fat raspberry vinaigrette on the side for her.”
Ryan rubbed his palms together in excitement. “In that case, I’d like the baked zucchini strips with basil pesto dip and the stuffed mushrooms.”
“You got it,” I said.
Denise snapped into action, tossing Odette’s salad and prepping Mr. Pierce’s tacos.
I dipped pre-cut zucchini strips from the fridge into a whipped egg, then doused them with breadcrumbs and lined them on a baking sheet. I added a foursome of stuffed mushrooms and slid the order into my convection oven before giving the timer a twist.
I prepped his plate and filled a small cup with the basil pesto dip while Denise finished the tacos and ferried them to Odette and Mr. Pierce’s table.
Ryan and I watched intently as Denise chatted with the elusive pair before returning to the counter.
“Well?” Ryan asked. “What’d they say?”
She frowned. “The teas are delicious. I already knew that. How do you guys get people to tell you things?”
“Usually unintentionally,” I admitted. “My interview skills are abysmal.”
Denise gave a woeful smile. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“She isn’t, actually,” Ryan said. “She’s really very terrible.”
I laughed despite myself. “Shut up.”
Denise crumpled a napkin and tossed it at him.
“We can’t all be investigative reporters,” I said, still fighting the smile. It wasn’t fair that he could be borderline rude and still seem charming. “He’s been trying to talk to them for days,” I tattled to Denise. “Don’t feel bad.”
Several minutes later, the oven dinged, and I removed the tray.
Denise helped me plate the piping hot zucchini and mushrooms, then I set the cup of basil pesto dip beside the plate.
Ryan looked from her face to mine. “That was perfectly choreographed,” he said, motioning from us to the plate before him. “How many times a day do you do that?”
“None,” I said, but he was right. Denise and I made a great team.
She tapped petal-pink nails on the counter, her gaze distant, lost in thought. “That blogger should’ve compiled a detailed packet of evidence against the true killer, then made arrangements with a trusted ally to send it to the local police and media if anything happened to him.”
Ryan plunged a zucchini strip into his dip cup before stuffing it into his mouth. “I think I saw that episode. Law and Order, right?”
Denise ignored the jibe. She pulled her phone from her apron pocket and began tapping the screen. “The blogger world is in upheaval over the Canary’s death. There are at least a dozen conspiracy theories going around right now. Some of these are ridiculous.” She shook her head at the screen. “Someone says his death was faked to get more hits on his blog. Someone says Mitzi’s husband killed him to stop the Canary from sharing more details about her death. Someone says Mitzi’s husband killed him because he blamed the Canary’s continual coverage of Mitzi’s life for leading a killer to her on the island. Someone says the Canary killed himself because he couldn’t live
without Mitzi in the world.”
Ryan popped a mushroom cap into his mouth and chewed. “We aren’t short on information or theories this time around. Too bad I don’t know what’s worth looking into and what’s a waste of time. Chasing every lead has me exhausted, frustrated, and spinning my wheels.”
“Excuse me.” I stepped away to ring up two couples up at the register and seat a family of four. When I returned to check on my friends at the counter, Ryan’s plate was empty and Denise was chewing her thumbnail. “Anything new?” I asked.
“No, but this is a rush,” Denise said, looking up from her phone screen with enthusiasm. “So much more exciting than my usual daily duties. I really needed this. I’m going to keep helping.”
I shot a proud smile at Ryan. I hadn’t dumped my drama on Denise and bummed her out. She was happy to be involved. “Make sure you tell Grady I forbid it.”
Her lips pulled into a deep pout.
“What do you think we should look into first?” I asked, turning my attention to her phone screen.
She moved in close to my side and scrolled through a few of the more interesting blog posts with me.
The gentle tinkle of my seashell wind chimes drew our attention a few minutes later.
Odette and Mr. Pierce’s table was empty, a small stack of cash tucked under one plate.
Ryan dusted breadcrumbs from his palms, then slid off his seat. “That’s my cue.” He dropped a twenty on the counter and went after the pair he’d been trailing for days.
I hoped for his sake Grady was right about them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I spent the afternoon creating a spreadsheet to organize my thoughts about who killed Mitzi. The Canary had been at the top of my suspect list until he’d confessed to the crime postmortem. Now, I realized, my top suspects were either Odette, her father, the two of them working in tandem, or Rose. Grady had discounted Odette and her father, but both Odette and Rose had means and motive, and Mr. Pierce could have gained access through the nature center’s open back door, giving him means as well. And he definitely had motive. I made note of that on my spreadsheet. I recalled Odette’s strange reaction to the news of Mitzi’s murder and Rose’s extreme interest in gossip on the Canary’s death, and both women seemed plausible as killers. Then someone else’s face came to mind.
Mr. Pendle had been at Charming Reads when I met the Canary. He’d witnessed him giving me the folder of information on Mitzi, and he’d quickly become a volunteer on the Bee Loved documentary. Why would a fifty-something attorney do grunt work for free and without an obvious driving motivation?
How much did I really know about Pendle? I’d met him through Mr. Butters. He’d given me his business card, and I hadn’t thought much about him after that. But he’d been there the day someone locked me in the archives, and he was there this morning, listening as we’d discussed the possibility the Canary was murdered. He’d called the potential twist “brilliant, depending on perspective.” Was he just a strange guy? Merely an obsessed fan? Or was he something worse?
I went onto the deck to clear the tables and my head a few minutes before closing time.
Lou greeted me with a throaty caw and an enthusiastic ruffle of his feathers. He spread his wings, showing off an impressive seagull bod and stout little legs, then bobbed and weaved in the ocean breeze as if he were already in flight.
“Looking good, Lou,” I said, wiping big wet circles over the tabletops and chairs with a blue polka-dotted rag. “Any chance you overheard who killed Mitzi during one of your flights around the island?”
He cocked his head and fixed one beady black eye on me, then blinked.
“No? Well, do you know who’s been threatening me or who pushed the Canary off the lighthouse? ’Cause I could really use some help on this right now.”
Lou put down his wings and sidestepped along the railing in my direction.
I froze mid-table-wipe. Lou wasn’t normally a close talker. He was wild and skittish, only appearing friendly as long as I respected his space and kept a healthy distance. Then again, I’d fed him shrimp, fish, and scallops through the freezing winter, and I was pretty sure he’d saved my life. Maybe that kind of bonding entitled us to sit a little closer from time to time.
He turned to face me, then opened his beak. When no sound came out, he performed the motion again.
I held my breath in anticipation while ridiculous notions circled my frantic mind. What if my aunts were right? What if Lou really was the reincarnation of the wealthy businessman who’d commissioned the house and was now destined to haunt it? What if he was about to tell me what I needed to know?
“Caw!”
I yipped and stumbled back, then burst into laughter. What was wrong with me?
“Everly?”
I spun to find an amused-looking Wyatt in the doorway behind me, one hand braced on either side of the open deck door.
“Whatcha doing?” he drawled, white teeth gleaming in a spectacular smile.
I straightened my expression and my posture, then went back to wiping tables. “Nothing.”
“You sure?” he asked, moving onto the deck with me. “Because it looked like you were talking to that seagull and expecting an answer.”
“Caw!” Lou screamed, and I jumped again.
Wyatt laughed.
I motioned him back inside, then slid the door shut behind me.
“Caw! Caw! Caw!” Lou hopped to the deck floor and screamed at us through the window. “Caw! Caw! Caw!”
“Maybe he wants to place an order,” Wyatt suggested.
I gave Lou a long, contemplative look, then remembered that my aunts were full-on bananas—it was part of their charm. But I was sane, and seagulls weren’t reincarnated businessmen.
I leaned a hip against the counter and smiled, feeling utterly foolish. “How about you? Are you here because you’re hungry, or did you come to check up on me again?”
Wyatt patted his washboard abs. “I’m always hungry, especially if you’re cooking.”
“Smart man,” I said, easing around to the business side of my counter. “What’ll it be?” I glanced at my watch. “It’s after seven, and I’m officially closed, so you can consider this a visit between friends and disregard what’s on the menu board. You name it. I’ll make it.”
“That’s awfully accommodating,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, pulling a skillet from the rack and setting it on the stove. Wyatt only ordered one thing when I gave him carte blanche. Grilled cheese. Plain white bread. American cheese.
“You could’ve made me pick from the stuff you have mostly prepared already, but you didn’t. You’re willing to make anything I want from scratch at closing time. That tells me you’re looking for a distraction. I’m here and willing to listen, so you might as well talk it out.”
I sighed. “Sometimes I forget how well you know me.” It was easy to remember the bad times that had led to our breakup, probably because losing someone as important as Wyatt had hurt like crazy. Focusing on why it was good that he was gone made it easier. Remembering he was a good guy who treated me well and loved animals, the beach, and my town but wanted something different out of life made it harder to recall why we couldn’t work it out.
A mischievous smile curved the side of his mouth. “I used to know you very well.”
I grabbed a fresh-baked loaf of bread and a knife. I shook the long, serrated tool at him. “Whatever image just went through your mind, forget it immediately.” I sliced the loaf carefully and buttered two slices.
“All right,” Wyatt said. “I’ll take a grilled cheese, please.”
And it seemed I knew him too. I heated a pan, then fished a slice of American cheese from the refrigerator. “How’s life for an island cowboy these days?”
“Not bad. Seems I’m doing b
etter than the local tea shop owner,” he said. “I hear you’re having quite the week.”
I assembled the sandwich and set it in the skillet, then told myself not to kill the messenger. Wyatt hadn’t been the one gossiping. He’d been the one who heard something that sent him my way. “So you are here to check on me.”
“Do you mind?” He clasped his big hands on the counter. “It’s good to be cared for, isn’t it?”
“I can’t exactly complain.” I flipped the sandwich and tried to imagine who would have talked to Wyatt about my harrowing week. My inner circle wasn’t very big. I couldn’t believe Ryan was the leak and getting information from Grady was like getting cash from Scrooge McDuck. It was possible my aunts had confided in Wyatt. They loved him. And I couldn’t help wondering if Denise had said more than she should. There had definitely been a spark between her and Wyatt the last time I’d seen them together.
I plated the finished sandwich and turned off my stovetop. “Who talked?” I asked bluntly. “Or am I the lead story on our gossip blog again?”
Wyatt tore the sandwich in half with his fingers, creating a stringy yellow bridge between the golden slices. “Nope. Nothing like that. I ran into the guy from the documentary at work today and we got to talking.”
“Quinn?” I asked.
Wyatt shoved the corner of one half of the sandwich in his mouth. “The one with the schoolboy haircut and hipster clothes,” he said around a mouthful of toasted bread and cheese.
“That’s Quinn,” I said. “And he wears normal clothes. I’m not sure how he can stand the long-sleeved shirts in this heat, but to each his own.” I was a little relieved to know it had been Quinn who’d spilled my stories instead of Ryan or Denise. They knew I wouldn’t have appreciated it. Quinn probably hadn’t given my feelings a second thought. News was just news to him. “What did he say?” I grabbed a tea jar and filled it with ice, then set the cubes afloat in a flood of old-fashioned sweet tea.
“I guess I started it,” he said, accepting the sweet tea with a smile. “I introduced myself and asked how the documentary was going. He remembered me from the luncheon. He saw me taking your aunts home, so he asked if I’d heard about what happened to you at their house. Freaked him out.”
