by Emmy Grace
And I mean that.
It’s bad enough to see a dead body at all, much less the dead body of someone you know.
“It’s okay. That was a long time ago.”
I feel my brow wrinkling. “Did…did you two date?”
“No, she… No, we didn’t date. At the time, she was my girlfriend’s best friend.”
That pause… It says something, I just don’t know what.
My gossip antennae are twitching like Regina’s right eye when she’s had too much caffeine. That pause spurs a thousand and one questions, but now’s not the time to ask any of them. Liam doesn’t take kindly to being interrogated. I learned that the first time I met him.
I reach out and put a tentative hand on his arm, which is still intoxicatingly bulging and bare.
“Why don’t you go? I’ll stay with her until Clive gets here. He’ll call for the M.E. and it’ll be open and shut.”
“No, it won’t.”
“Why not?”
Liam tips his head toward the body of Dahlia Hayes. “Look at her throat.”
I didn’t notice it until just now, but there is a bluish ring around her neck. “Sweet Mary, she was choked!”
“Or held under and drowned,” he offers ominously.
“She’s been murdered, Liam! That’s even more reason for you to go.”
“No, it’s more reason for me to stay.”
“No, it’s the single reason you should definitely sit this one out. You knew her. I’ll help Clive find her killer. Don’t you give it a second thought.”
“I’m not sitting anything out. If anyone finds her killer, it’ll be me.”
“Look, I get that you want justice for her, but I can do that for her. I’ll make it my mission in life.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“But you knew her. It’s—”
“I knew Martin Vickerman and Andrew Ames, too. Why should she be any different?”
Those men were the victims of the first two real murders I helped solve.
“You weren’t close to either of them.”
“I don’t think it’s considered ‘close’ when you haven’t seen someone in years,” he states in a derisive tone.
“I don’t think—”
“I’m not backing off, Lucky, so drop it,” he growls vehemently.
My brows snap up. “Oh. So it’s like that.”
“It’s not like anything. I’m helping investigate. End of story.”
I narrow my eyes on him. This kind of reaction isn’t like Liam.
Not at all.
“Something else is going on here.” I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him. I wish I’d mastered the look Beebee gives when she’s trying to get the truth. It’s like she can pull it out with her eyes, totally against your will. Lying or hiding something from Beebee has always been and will always be utterly pointless.
“Yes, something is going on. I’m going to be helping Clive and you’re going to be sitting this one out.”
My jaw drops. “What? Why me?”
“Because this could be dangerous, Lucky, and we both know you attract bad juju like honey attracts flies.”
Later, I’ll ponder that he likened me to honey, but not now.
“Finding a killer is always dangerous. When did that become a problem?”
“This is different. This could… It’s just different.”
“How so?” He doesn’t answer. His lips thin as he stubs up like a toad. “Oh, so you don’t have to give me a reason?”
“In this case, no.”
“I see. When the great and powerful Liam Dunning deems it, no argument is tolerated. Is that it?”
He shrugs. “If that’s how you’d like to think of it.”
“You infuriating, arrogant, difficult, pompous…” I pause as my befuddled brain fumbles for more adequate adjectives. As I think, my eyes scan his wide shoulders and broad chest, and the stair steps of his stomach. I don’t mean to let them. They just do it of their own accord, which only makes my brain mushier. “Beautiful, gigantic, arrogant jerk.”
As usual, his humor pops up at the worst possible time. Like when I’m flummoxed because he’s half naked and gorgeous and standing far too close.
One tiny dimple appears on the right side of Liam’s mouth. “You said arrogant twice.”
I grit my teeth together so hard, if I had a piece of coal in my mouth, I’d make a diamond.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t, but I want to.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t, but I will if I have to.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Just as long as you stay out of this. Otherwise, you do what you have to do.”
I try to push up my sleeves, but the saggy material of my faux sumo suit ain’t budging on my damp skin. Besides that, the attached gloves keep the material from moving too far up my arms. “Oh, I will. I will get to the bottom of this case, with or without you.”
I nod and turn to stomp off, and run right in Regina.
She screams.
I scream.
She jumps back.
I jump back.
But only one of us loses her balance and falls flat on her butt. Guess which one that is.
Liam snorts at my fall.
Some days, I really do want to hate him.
5
I’m following Regina out of the woods when Clive and Petey (the Ginger Creep) arrive.
Petey takes one look at me and starts laughing. “You look like four hundred pounds of loose skin,” he manages between guffaws.
My smile is deceptively sweet, I imagine. I wait until his laughter subsides before I speak. “Hey Petey, you want to stick your face in one of these folds and so we can see how long it takes to smother you?”
Okay, I wish I hadn’t phrased it in exactly that way. It didn’t sound very good, but in my defense, my brain isn’t functioning at peak performance right now. The best I can hope for is that everyone just lets it go. Mainly, I’m thankful Liam Dunning wasn’t here for it.
But then, from behind me, I hear a familiar sound.
It's a snort of amusement.
Liam!
Of course he would arrive for exactly that part of the conversation.
I whirl on him like a rattlesnake about to strike. I hold up a finger of warning. “Don’t you dare say one word. Not. One. Word.”
He holds up his hands in surrender, but his lips are twitching. Twitching!
He’s the most infuriating man on Earth. I’m sure of it.
I turn back to Clive. “I’d like to help with this, Clive, since I’m the one who found her.”
Liam steps up beside me. “I think it’s a bad idea, Clive. It could be dangerous. Besides, I knew her. I feel like I owe it to her to bring her justice.”
“Know her?” Clive asks, his wrinkles shifting into an expression of distress. “Who is it?”
“Dahlia Hayes.”
“Merciful goodness,” he mutters softly. “I haven’t seen any of the Hayes folks since they moved away fifteen years ago.”
“Why don’t you get a hold of her parents? I’ll start looking into what she was doing back here.”
I shoulder my way to slightly in front of Liam. “So will I.”
“Lucky, I told you—”
“And I told you—”
“It’s too dangerous and I won’t—”
“It’s no more dangerous than anything else I’ve—”
“Cut it out, you two,” Clive interjects. “What happened to your friendly little partnership?”
“We aren’t partners,” I reply with a harrumph.
This whole day is not proving to be one of my most mature ones.
I see Liam’s face pinch up like someone slipped him a sour gummy, but I don’t give. I cross my arms over my chest and stand my ground.
“I guess you’ll have both of us, separately, working on this for you, Clive.”
“Do you want me to go secure the body while you call the medical examiner?” Petey asks.
“That’ll be just fine, Petey. Thank you very much.”
As Clive pulls his ancient flip phone out of his baggy front pocket, he eyes Liam and me with enough disappointment to choke a camel.
“You two’d better work on this. I mean it.”
He flips his phone open and presses some buttons, holding it to his ear as he slips between us and follows after Petey.
Liam and I watch him go. Our gazes lock as we turn back toward one another. His thundercloud is back, darker than ever.
“Stay out of this, Lucky. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“The only one who’s going to get hurt is you, if you don’t leave me be, Liam Dunning.”
He shakes his head in frustration and then just walks off, leaving me fuming in his wake.
When he’s long gone, I notice Regina standing not far away, staring at me. She looks disappointed, too.
“What?” I ask defensively.
“This isn’t good.”
“What isn’t good?”
She waves a finger between me and the path Liam took for his dramatically silent exodus. “This.”
“It’s fine. I don’t need him anyway.”
“It’s more than that, Lucky. He seems genuinely bothered.”
“He’s always genuinely bothered. He’s the grouchiest, most superior doody head I’ve ever met.”
“I’m letting the doody head thing slide, but you really need to think about this.”
“No, I don’t. I’m going to investigate. Just like I always do. But first, I need a shower.” I bring a damp strand of hair around to my nose and sniff. “Or three.”
“I’m parked at the top of the hill. There’s a road there.” She starts off in that direction. I hear her heavy sigh. “I can’t believe I’m letting you in my car smelling like that.”
“Serves you right, Pukey McGee.” When I gasp and pause in my climb of the hilly forest, Regina pivots to look back at me.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warns.
She already knows what I’m thinking.
“That’s it! That’s your nickname.”
I’m nodding.
She’s shaking her head.
“Absolutely not.”
“Hey, I have a nickname and I didn’t get a say in the matter. You should suffer the same fate.”
“Yours is Lucky. I hardly think it’s fair to compare that to Pukey McGee.”
“Comparison isn’t the point. The point is accuracy. I’m lucky; therefore Lucky is accurate. You throw up more often than a longhaired cat with hairballs. I think Pukey McGee is very accurate.”
“You’re not calling me Pukey McGee for the rest of my life.”
“You do realize you don’t have a say in the matter, right?” I can’t help grinning. She is seriously bent out of shape over this.
I wasn’t even really intending on calling her that again, but it’s so much fun to watch her freak out, I’ll probably have to now.
It’s a moral imperative.
At the very least, it's a comical imperative.
“Lucky, I will string you up by your toes if you get people calling me that.”
I shrug helplessly. “Some things are too awesome to control. Like The Beatles or Kiss. Or Bananarama.”
“Bananarama wasn’t that awesome.”
“Says you.”
“Says everyone.”
“I’m your Venus, Regina. Admit it.”
She wrinkles up her nose and stares at me. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
“Agree to disagree.”
We start walking again, and within two minutes, I hear Regina humming Venus as we go. I know that song will be stuck in her head all day now.
You’re welcome.
I’m sitting on the couch, toweling off my thrice-washed hair with one hand and petting Ethel’s head with the other as Regina sits in the chair across from me, navigating the laptop.
Periodically, her eyes flicker up at Ethel.
“What is your problem?” I finally ask.
“Other than the fact that you’re sitting here, drying your hair and petting a goat? In your living room? Nothing. What on earth could possibly be wrong with that picture?”
“She’s sweet, aren’t you, Ethel?” I ask, bending my face toward hers. She just looks up at me with her strange slatted pupils. “She doesn’t stay in very long anyway.”
“But she’s a goat.”
“I thought we’d established that.”
“But do you really get that she’s a goat?”
“Uh, yeah,” I murmur acerbically. “She tried to eat the kitchen rug two nights ago and she faints if a car honks its horn down the street. I’m pretty sure I’m clear on her make and model.”
“But she’s in the house. Like right there.” She curls her upper lip.
“Nothing escapes your notice, does it, Pukey?”
Regina narrows her light brown eyes on mine. “I thought we already went over this.”
“You made your thoughts on the matter very clear, so I’ve decided, in deference to your objections, I’ll only use it when you’re being unreasonable.”
“Pointing out that you have a goat in your living room isn’t being unreasonable, Lucky. It’s being rational. People don’t keep goats inside. They just don’t.”
“I don’t keep her inside, but she’s a fainting goat. By nature, she’s an anxious creature. I try to bring her in and give her some one-on-one time to keep her calm.”
“How’s that going?”
I pause. “She’s a work in progress.”
“Uh-huh,” Regina mutters doubtfully. “Hey, I think I found something,” she says when she returns to her Internet search.
“Lay it on me.”
“Dahlia Hayes is the daughter of Julianne Hayes.”
“Who’s that?”
“She’s the second wife of Drummond Sorensen.”
“Who’s that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you if you’ll stop interrupting me with questions.” I roll my eyes, but hold my tongue. “Drummond Sorensen is that guy who was accused of funneling arms money into the presidential campaign a few years ago.”
“He’s an arms dealer?”
Regina seesaws her head. “Well, it looks that way, but they could never prove anything.”
Ethel finally gets enough loving and walks off to start chewing on a magazine from the pile stuffed in a basket by the door. I put it there on purpose so it would distract her long enough for me to get up and put her out, which I do. On my way back to the couch, I grab Gumbo, who’s been staring longingly at me since I started petting Ethel. He’s a jealous little pig, but he’s also got the patience of Job.
“How in the world did a woman from Salty Springs get mixed up with a guy like that?”
“From what it says here, they met in Charlotte at some sort of fundraiser. She started out doing work for Mayor Dunning’s campaign and worked her way up I guess.”
We both give each other the look. The one that says there’s something fishy going on and we’re just the two savvy and determined females to find out what it is.
Well, me more so than Regina. Mostly she just gets dragged unwillingly into the midst of whatever chaos I’ve managed to whip up or step into.
“Slick Willie really does have some shady dealings, doesn’t he?”
Slick Willie is the nickname of William Dunning Senior, the mayor of Salty Springs and the father of none other than our own grouch, Liam. The townsfolk dubbed him Slick Willie as a nod to his baby-kissing, smooth-and-slimy politician ways.
It’s not a compliment.
“Maybe that’s why Liam doesn’t want you anywhere near this thing.”
&n
bsp; That brings a frown to my face. “You think he’s hiding something from me?”
“No. I think he knows people who are mixed up with other, more dangerous people, and he’s protecting you.”
At that, I snort. “Liam knows I don’t need protecting.”
Regina laughs outright. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You need protecting more than any other person I know.”
“I’m alive, aren’t? All my limbs are intact, aren’t they?”
“Barely. If it weren’t for Beebee’s blessing, you’d be dead by now. Or decapitated.”
“Are you saying you think I could survive decapitation?”
“You know what I mean.”
I smile and wave her off. “Oh, Pukey. You’re so funny.”
“Lu-cky,” she says warningly.
“Okay, back to the dead girl. So, what does any or all of this have to do with Dahlia Hayes?”
“The family announced her engagement three months ago. Would you like to know who the lucky fellow is?”
“Oooo, it must be good. Do tell.”
“Ari Jameson.”
“Who’s Ari Jameson?”
“Son of Bishop Jameson, Drummond’s business partner.”
“Bishop? Is that his name or his job?”
“Being a bishop isn’t a job, I don’t think, but either way, it’s his name.”
“Ahhhh.” I nod as things percolate in my head. “So, is it just me or are the kids are carrying on the family business?”
Regina gets up and brings the laptop over, turning it so I can see the picture. “You tell me.”
Ari Jameson is gorgeous. And if there were ever a pictorial definition of a shady businessman, he would be the image provided,
He’s average height and stocky build, but his presence is enormous and dark, even in a photograph. He’s wearing a thousand-dollar suit and a great tie, but civilized clothes can’t hide what lies beneath. His hair is jet black and slicked away from his forehead, and he has a scar slicing through his left brow. His lips are twisted into a cruel smile, and on his right pinky finger is a gold ring. I bet he’d be hell on some kneecaps if you gave him a bat.
At his side is a woman that’s as beautiful as he is, just less daunting. It’s the live and glowingly happy version of Dahlia Hayes.
Below the picture is the announcement of their impending nuptials. There’s a date listed.
