by Dixie Davis
“He moved to Wilmington and was killed in a car accident.”
So much for that theory. Lori mentally ran through the roster of the nine policemen in Dusky Cove. Obviously Chief Branson had been on the force at the time. Eddie was too young. Ken might have been. She sorted the other six into those categories, ending up with only four officers who might have been on the force a decade ago.
Then she took a step back from those thoughts. What was she doing? This wasn’t her case. She wasn’t investigating it. She wasn’t formulating a plan, she wasn’t interviewing suspects, and she definitely wasn’t talking to the police officers who’d worked the original case, period.
She was pretty darn sure Mitch couldn’t have killed Debbie today, but she couldn’t be his alibi witness, either.
Then again . . . could she be sure he hadn’t done this?
Lori thanked Val and Kim for coming over and accepted their hugs, then sent them to their own homes.
She needed to think.
Or better yet, not.
The next morning dawned wonderfully bright — for all of two minutes until the reality of last night came crashing down on Lori. She willed herself to get up and put on her favorite, most comfortable knit dress, covered in tiny, multi-colored flowers.
She wouldn’t let herself be this upset over Mitch. He obviously wasn’t worth her time. Just a year ago, when she’d revamped her entire appearance, Mitch had backed out of their nascent relationship, and she’d tried to convince herself he wasn’t worth her time, and here she was again. Heartbroken.
She should have listened the first time.
Now, Lori had the privilege of pretending to be not just all right but bright and cheery with her guests. She painted on a smile and bustled down the stairs.
Mr. Kirk was allergic to wheat, so she’d planned a gluten-free meal for breakfast for the first time. She pulled out the sheet pan, spread aluminum foil over it and put it in the oven to preheat. The leeks and mushrooms were already sliced, waiting in the refrigerator. Once the oven was hot, she tossed the vegetables with olive oil and let them sauté in the oven.
All right, maybe that didn’t really count as sautéing, but she’d definitely give herself a break this morning.
Once the leeks were tender, Lori added the mixed greens, letting the heat of the pan wilt the kale and collards. She’d never had kale before, so this was definitely a risk.
The greens began to wilt. Lori changed the oven to broil, then made little nests in the greens. She cracked an egg into each nest, then slid the pan back into the oven to finish cooking the eggs.
She hoped the yogurt parfaits, fruit salad and muffins would round out the meal enough — though obviously Mr. Kirk couldn’t have any muffins. Lori added tiny milk cartons in a bowl of ice to the serving table, then pulled out the eggs in greens and set them in the chafing dish.
Another pan of sausage patties and breakfast was ready.
Two years in, and she was finally getting the hang of breakfasts — especially options that required little effort when your mind kept fleeing elsewhere.
Even when you really, really didn’t want it to.
Lori tried to shake off that thought, cleaning up the kitchen and setting out the breakfast dishes to keep her mind off the horrors of the night before.
She still couldn’t wrap her mind around what had happened. Everyone thought Debbie was dead, and had been for a decade, and then her body suddenly surfaced — literally — here in Dusky Cove again?
“Good morning,” a voice rang out across the dining room.
Lori hurried to pull out of her tailspin of memory and deposited the basket of silverware on the serving table. She turned around to find Manuel Besas standing in the doorway. “Morning.” She made herself smile back, although in all honesty, it would have been hard not to return Manuel’s infectious grin, he was so young and full of life.
He stepped in the dining room, his wife trailing behind him, her smile just as bright, but somehow more soothing, her fair complexion a contrast to her husband’s deeper skin tone. “Good morning, Mrs. Keyes,” Chelsea Besas bid her.
“Call me Lori.” She gave a tour of the breakfast options for the morning, then invited them to dig in.
Manuel and Chelsea began filling their plates. “Any news?” Manuel called over his shoulder to Lori.
The smile on her face froze, and she couldn’t find words to answer.
Chelsea was scooping yogurt into a tall glass. She set down the spoon to pat her husband on the shoulder. “We don’t want to hear about the news, dear. We’re on vacation!”
Lori joined in their laughter, though her voice sounded too high pitched to herself. Hopefully the Besases wouldn’t notice.
She chatted with them over breakfast, recommending some of the more relaxing activities in the area: the ferry to Bald Head Island, the Salt Marsh Boardwalk, any of the beaches. Chelsea voted for the beach, and Lori promised to loan them a picnic basket with a cooler inside for the day.
They were already on their way upstairs to get ready when her other guest came down. Lori showed Mr. Kirk around the breakfast table, and he thanked her for the gluten-free options. He settled at a table. He’d seemed . . . quiet to Lori Thursday at check-in, and a good night’s rest hadn’t changed that.
Lori headed to the breakfast table and ventured to attempt a conversation anyway between Mr. Kirk’s bites of eggs and yogurt. “Are you still thinking about going fishing?” Lori asked.
Mr. Kirk jumped, and Lori kicked herself for breaking the silence. She could have at least waited until she sat down at the table so she didn’t scare the poor man out of his skin.
“I . . . I’m not sure,” Mr. Kirk said at length. “I’m pretty tired.”
Lori nodded sympathetically, though she was pretty sure this man, who couldn’t even be forty yet, had not spent the night tossing and turning because the person he thought he was going to marry might actually be a would-be bigamist or a murderer or both.
Mr. Kirk finished off his eggs. “I’m kind of thinking of calling it a weekend and checking out early. Not sure I feel like staying.”
“Oh, dear — is there anything I can do to help?” Lori hoped she hadn’t already done too much. Hopefully she wasn’t the reason he wanted to leave.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“How about a nice, quiet morning in? You could get some rest. The best part of any vacation.”
Of course, Lori couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone on vacation all by herself. Maybe a quiet morning in would just make him feel lonelier, especially if he’d left his family behind to come here.
Lori subconsciously checked Shawn’s left hand for a wedding ring. His ring finger was bare, but if she squinted, Lori could imagine she saw a ring tan line.
Oh, goodness. He wasn’t vacationing after a recent divorce, was he? That sounded like a recipe for failure.
Maybe he needed the distance from his problems at home. And what better way to forget all that than to get lost in a book or a movie? “We have a collection of videos,” Lori suggested. “And some really great reads.”
“I dunno.” Mr. Kirk poked at his yogurt with his fork. “I should probably go home.”
Lori bit her lip. “I’m so sorry, but we do have a cancelation policy.”
Mr. Kirk looked up. “Nobody leaves a vacation early, do they? That’s weird.”
She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or asking her. “If you really feel like you don’t want to be on vacation, there’s nothing stopping you from leaving. But we have you booked through Tuesday, and I’m afraid I would have to charge you.” She couldn’t lose her longest booking. She’d never be able to fill it at the last minute.
But Lori’s stomach constricted. She really hated bringing her policies down on people, though she knew they were there to protect her and her business. She literally couldn’t afford to not enforce them. Mr. Kirk nodded, his
gaze on the pink blob of yogurt he was spreading across his plate.
“Would it help to talk about it?” Lori offered gently. On a weekly basis, people seemed to bare their souls to her about their deepest trials. She was used to it — so much so that when someone held back, she was almost worried she was losing her touch.
Mr. Kirk forced a wan smile. “Not unless you can undo the past.”
Lori’s return smile was as thin as her guest’s. “Afraid not.”
And there were plenty of things she’d change about the last two years.
The last two days.
Most of all, if she could go back and change the past, she’d do whatever it took to stop the six — now seven — deaths she’d investigated.
Not that she was investigating Debbie’s death. At least not her actual death.
Didn’t she want to know what had happened?
Mr. Kirk stood, gathering his plate. “I think I’m going to . . . go for a walk.”
Lori stood also, though she hadn’t even started on her egg. Small wonder Mr. Kirk didn’t want to talk to her — she’d obviously been too lost in her own thoughts to be a good hostess. “Mr. Kirk —”
“Shawn.”
“Shawn.” She grinned, more warmly this time. “Please, if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”
He just laughed — a sad, bitter sound. “I was hoping I could come here to forget my problems. So please forgive me if I don’t want to delve into them right now.”
“Of course.” Goodness, she was really blundering this morning. “I’m here if you ever need anything.”
Shawn nodded weakly. “Thanks.” He retreated from the dining room. Lori leaned into the parlor to watch him go, passing the Besases on their way down, ready for a day at the beach.
“Let me get your basket!” Lori called as they reached the front door. She ducked into the kitchen and returned to the front room with a stocked basket.
Manuel and Chelsea were talking to someone on the front porch. Lori crossed the parlor to see who was here.
She was almost to the door when she realized she was expecting to find Mitch standing there.
Not just expecting. Hoping.
Lori chided her silly heart and maneuvered behind Chelsea to find Andrea Hopkins, the curator of the Dusky Cove Museum, standing on the front porch. She wore a pantsuit that was halfway between artistic and business-like, and her hair, normally styled in short braids with beads, was free in a natural Afro.
“Hi, Andrea,” Lori said, handing over the picnic basket to the Besases. “My guests are headed out to relax on the beach all day.”
“That sounds so nice,” Andrea cooed, stepping aside to let the Besases past. With farewell pleasantries out of the way, Lori showed Andrea in.
“I heard what happened,” Andrea said immediately. “Obviously.” She opened her arms and gave Lori a tight hug.
Andrea had always been on Lori’s side, from the time she’d arrived in town and was almost immediately framed as a murderer. To have her oldest friend in town here, to support and love her, got Lori started on the tears again.
“Oh, sweetie,” Andrea held her at arm’s length. “I wish I came with better news.”
Lori wiped her eyes. “News?”
Andrea always had news. Her husband was the editor of the town newspaper. Kim might be the gossip queen, but Andrea was the one who had all the facts.
Judging by the grim look in Andrea’s eyes, today it looked like those facts weren’t good. At all. Andrea took a seat on the couch and a deep breath as if bracing herself, and Lori followed suit.
And then completely lost her nerve. “You lived here ten years ago, didn’t you?” Lori asked, cutting off whatever Andrea was going to say.
“I — what?” Andrea caught up to the abrupt subject change quickly. “Yes, we lived here ten years ago.”
“When Debbie died — they thought she did, I mean?”
Andrea was already a step ahead of her again. “I remember it, yes.”
“What did Curtis put in the paper then?” Curtis was a stickler for facts and fact-checking. The Dusky Chronicle might be a small-town newspaper, but they held to journalistic standards. Even when that meant reporting Lori’s arrest two years ago.
“Well.” Andrea’s dark eyes rolled upward, like she was flipping through her memory. “Curtis tried to tread very carefully with that one. Obviously he didn’t want to get on Chief — well, Detective Branson, back then — didn’t want to get on his bad side. Chip is still one of Curtis’s most important sources.”
Lori nodded. One of Curtis’s best sources who conveniently leaked whatever he wanted people to think. Most of the time, Curtis was good about seeing through Chip’s spin on things.
But could anyone see through ten years of suspicion?
Lori focused on the scrolling yellow oak leaves on her historical replica wallpaper. Wallpaper her friend — now murdered — had found for her. Wallpaper her boyfriend — now a murderer? — had installed for her. “Do you — or did you — think that Mitch killed Debbie?”
Andrea pressed her lips together, her gaze sliding to the side. “I didn’t want to think it, but . . . I couldn’t come up with any other explanation.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what to think.”
Lori folded her arms, more giving herself a hug than anything. “That makes two of us.”
“Well, someone else does know exactly what he thinks.”
Lori, for one, didn’t know what Mitch could be thinking now. Normally, they would have talked about it, but he was giving her a wide berth, apparently.
But Andrea would only be saying that if she or Curtis had spoken to him. “Fine,” Lori said, a little more pique than she’d like in her voice. “What does Mitch have to say for himself?”
“Mitch?” Andrea pulled back. “I meant Chief Branson.”
Lori tried not to roll her eyes. Everyone in town knew what Chief Branson must think, even if they hadn’t watched the chief punch Mitch or sob over his high school sweetheart’s body. “Chief Branson thinks Mitch is responsible,” Lori supplied. “Just like he does whenever anything goes wrong in town.” Everything up to and including the hit-and-run accidents a year ago were supposedly Mitch’s fault.
Although this case actually did seem to have a connection to him, one that even Lori wouldn’t try to deny.
“Yes,” Andrea finally said. “And that’s why Mitch is in jail now.”
Lori simply stared while Andrea’s words echoed in the parlor. How could they have already arrested Mitch? It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.
Chief Branson obviously moved quickly when he thought he had a suspect. She’d already learned that the hard way.
On the other hand, if he believed Mitch was guilty, he should have just arrested him last night instead of slugging him.
Lori found her hackles rising at the memory of the chief of police hitting the man she loved — had loved. Obviously this wasn’t Mitch’s fault.
But Mitch had just taken the hit.
As if it was his fault.
Lori realized she was pacing around the blue couch, where Andrea had settled like she was here for the long haul.
“What do you think, Andrea?”
“I don’t know what to think. Debbie Griffin, back from the dead, but now actually murdered?” The full weight of the truth seemed to fall on Andrea. “I don’t know what happened ten years ago,” Andrea admitted. “But I know I want to find out.”
Lori nodded slowly, but she didn’t know how deep that feeling went for her. Yes, this was obviously a puzzle that wanted puzzling out, but that didn’t mean Lori wanted to be the one to tease out the truth.
Could she handle finding out any more of his secrets? She just wanted space. Peace. Quiet.
Lori glanced at the cream-colored ceiling above her. Sounded familiar.
She turned back to Andrea
. “Are you going to investigate then? You and Curtis?”
“Of course Curtis is. That’s his job.”
Right. Lori sank down onto the couch next to Andrea.
“Someone I know has a pretty good track record for solving murders.”
For a split-second, Lori perked up at the prospect of someone else — a neutral party — who could help Mitch. But then she turned to Andrea and saw in her eyes exactly whom she meant: Lori.
Yes, Lori had solved a few murders. That didn’t mean she could figure this one out. Or that she wanted to.
“I’m too close to it, Andrea,” Lori said softly.
Andrea put her hands over Lori’s, clasped in her lap. “That’s okay. You’re not the hall monitor of Dusky Cove. It’s not your job to investigate every time.”
Tears threatened again, and Lori blinked quickly. “I’m still worried about him,” she admitted.
Andrea squeezed her hands. “Whatever you’re feeling is okay. You’re allowed to feel that way. Whether you want to help Mitch or even if you think he did this.”
Did she think he’d done this? Sure, he had motive — a lot of motive. She could probably think of four or five reasons she would have wanted Debbie dead if she were in Mitch’s shoes. All that he’d endured when she went missing, the mere fact that she’d abandoned him or possibly even framed him, her showing up again when Mitch was finally ready to move forward with Lori. . . . Lori didn’t exactly love her for all those reasons, too.
Andrea patted her shoulder. “I’d hate for you to judge him without hearing his side of the story.”
“What is his side of the story?” Lori didn’t dare to hope that Curtis had managed to squeeze in an interview with Mitch before Chip arrested him.
“I don’t know.” Andrea furrowed her brow, her lips twisting together as she pondered the question. “I guess what I’m saying is that we can’t jump to conclusions.”
It was hard not to do some serious leaping when you were the one who’d discovered the body.
On the other hand, why would Mitch have taken her to the exact spot — or downstream from the exact spot — where he’d just drowned his estranged wife? That would require either supreme arrogance or supreme idiocy. And the Mitch she knew didn’t have either of those qualities.
