Lucky and the Drowned Debutante

by Emmy Grace

  Fact: Dahlia Hayes was drowned and disposed of in Starving Father Lake.

  Fact: She visited Liam sometime the night she was killed.

  Fact: She was supposed to marry a criminal the following day, yet no one has come in search of her. Not one single person.

  Fact: She planned her wedding for a Monday. The Monday before Thanksgiving. What a weird time to get married.

  I reach for my phone and call Clive again.

  “One more thing,” I say when he answers. “Did you notify the family?”

  I assume he did, but I can’t reliably assume normal things about Salty Springs or its patrons. Things are just plain different here.

  “I did. Her mother came to identify the body yesterday. Told her we couldn’t release it until Tamala finished her examination, though.”

  “How did she act?”

  “Like a devastated mother, of course.” His tone sounds a little offended. He probably remembers Dahlia’s mother the way she was when she lived here and worked for the mayor. Not as the wife of an arms dealer.

  “And that was it?”

  “That was it. What else was she supposed to do?”

  “Nothing. I was just curious.”

  After we hang up, I do a quick search on the Internet. There is no mention of Dahlia anywhere. One would think that a fairly high profile couple would get some attention for not marrying on their wedding day at the very least, but even more so if the family made it public that she’d been murdered.

  And yet, no mention.

  Not an article, an aside, a whisper. Just nothing.

  In my head, I imagine the people in the Sorensen and Jameson families scrambling to try to cover up whatever happened. That or they have some idea of who did it and they’re meting out justice in their own way.

  With a lead pipe or a semi-automatic gun of some sort.

  I dial Felonious again. If I’m going to have to pay for information, I might as well get as much as I can. More bang for my buck.

  Buck in this case being utter humiliation.

  “Can you also get his phone records?” I ask before she can even say hello.

  “If you call me again, I’m going to come over there and smother you in your sleep.”

  She hangs up.

  I hope she heard my request.

  I sit and ponder. Ponder and sit. I wrack my brain trying to think of another source of information. There’s only one I can think of.

  Liam.

  The only one that I can get to without either breaking and entering or an elaborate scheme, that is. But getting him to spill the beans to me…

  Well, that’s a whole other story.

  Lucky for me I’m lucky. Lucky and lucky. Liam might think he’s immune, and he may well be, but I’m still a woman and he’s still a man. And we have chemistry. Enough to fill every single beaker in ten high school science labs.

  Twice.

  I should be able to use my wiles on him, right? It’s just that it’s been so long since I’ve had to actually try to cajole a man that I’m not sure how to go about it. Especially with someone as savvy and surly as my dear, grouchy Liam. But a girl’s gotta try. And I know from spending time with Regina that it all starts with the right clothes.

  I shoot him a quick text as I’m rifling through my closet. I have no idea what sexy looks like on me, so I search for something that Regina would wear. That means something tight, something short, and something with heels.

  Me: Can I come over for a few minutes?

  Liam: Why?

  He’s definitely not under any kind of supernatural spell. It seems no amount of exposure to me can dull his senses.

  Me: Just say yes.

  Liam: Fine. Yes.

  Me: Good. Be there in a few.

  I put on a sheath type thing in deep maroon. It’s got long sleeves and it covers me from neckline to knee, but it’s snug. And by snug I mean it hugs every curve like butter on a bun. Like, if I were to eat a big lunch, I’d burst a seam or two. That kind of snug. But that’s what I need right now, so it’ll do. I pair it with some gold tone heels that Regina left over here, slap on a little mascara and lipstick, and hit the door.

  I pick my way across the asphalt to my car. I really expected it to be harder to walk in heels this tall, but they’re not so bad. I’ll just have to be careful of gravel and holes and dips.

  It isn’t until I get in the car that I realize I forgot to do something spectacular with my hair. My bob is a wavy mess from air-drying, but it’ll have to do. I flip my head over, scrub my fingers along my scalp, and then sit up so fast my vision swims. My hair is still a mess, just a bigger, poofier mess.

  I shake my head and start the car. Too late to worry about it now. Maybe Liam will think big hair is big sexy.

  Anything’s possible.

  Liam’s truck is parked in front of his house when I arrive. I was kind of hoping for a repeat of the barn situation, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, this is about work.

  Work, Lucky. Work.

  Focus.

  I get out and walk confidently to his door. I knock and wait, glancing back at his driveway and thinking to myself, Take that, asphalt.

  I’ve got this whole stiletto thing down pat.

  After several long seconds, nothing happens, so I knock again.

  I wait.

  Still nothing happens.

  “What the heck, dude?” I say to the closed door. “I told you I was coming over.”

  I knock again. Harder this time, in total Liam fashion. The opening of the door rewards me.

  Maybe that’s why he knocks like he’s the big bad wolf about to huff and puff and blow the house down. It gets results.

  Fast.

  That’s my last thought, though, when I see him.

  I think he says something like, “It was unlocked,” but I can’t be sure.

  Liam Dunning is covered by nothing except a blue towel and water droplets.

  I have never wanted to be water more in my entire life.

  Not ever.

  Clearly, he was in the shower. A blue towel is wrapped around his hips and he has another in his hand, rubbing it over his wet hair.

  His chest is sprinkled with dots and streaked with rivulets, and I can’t help but stare. It’s like looking at the ocean; only this is miles and miles of smooth skin and rippling muscles.

  God save the Queen.

  Or God help us all.

  God, do something because I think my brain has stopped working.

  “Y-you missed a spot,” I say, brilliant conversationalist that I am.

  Liam glances down at the fabulous chest that has entranced me like a cobra in the face of a snake charmer. When he looks back up at me, he’s grinning.

  Any number of things could happen right now, many of which I would welcome with open, open, open arms, but leave it to Liam, Mr. Self Control himself, to keep it strictly business.

  Like I demanded.

  And here I thought this was going to be hard on both of us.

  Ha! What was I thinking?

  “Have a seat. I’ll be right out.”

  I step in and he closes the door behind me. He sweeps an arm toward the sofa in the living room, and I start off in that direction. I’m trying my darnedest to get my mind back on my battle plan— Operation: Sexy Some Information Out of Liam.

  However, in my extremely limited knowledge of how to be sexy, there is one thing I failed to consider— slick floors. What I learn, though, and ever so quickly is that it’s a matter of simple math.

  Slick shoes plus slick floors equals disaster.

  Especially for a girl who rarely wears a shoe without a rubber bottom.

  I take three steps in my skintight dress and then shoop! My right foot shoots out from under me like I’m doing the can-can. I hear a muted ripping sound just before my body, caught totally off guard by the betrayal of my feet, goes careening backward.

  For about a half a second, I see the really pretty wood plank ceili
ng of Liam’s entryway and then I’m horizontal.

  I squint, bracing for impact, but strong arms stop my fall. Liam’s thundercloud face replaces the ceiling. He sweeps me up into his arms and carries me to the couch where he deposits me on the first cushion he comes to.

  “Are you trying to break your ankle? Or split your head wide open?” he asks, hands on his hips as he glowers down at me. “Or both?”

  “Uh, neither?”

  “What’s with the outfit?”

  I wonder if he’s just now noticing.

  That’s probably not a very good sign, especially considering that he’s an ex-FBI agent. His powers of observation are supposed to be sharply honed instruments.

  So much for that.

  “What? It’s Wednesday. I…I felt like dressing up.”

  Slowly, he crosses his arms over his chest and his expression turns to one I could only describe as dubious.

  Extremely, extremely dubious.

  “Fine. I was trying to use my wiles to get information out of you.”

  “Wiles?”

  “Yes, feminine wiles. Ever heard of them?”

  I sound like a pouty teenager.

  What’s worse is I actually feel kind of like one.

  “I know what they are, but why would you feel like you need to use them on me? You already have my attention, or didn’t I make that clear last night?”

  My blood pressure quadruples at just the reference to his delicious kisses.

  Hubba hubba.

  “You never answered when I asked you to keep me in the loop, so I thought I’d have to try something more discreet than just asking.”

  “This is discreet?”

  “You make it sound like I’m wearing a scuba suit and flippers. This is perfectly acceptable clothing.”

  “For some other woman, maybe, but not for you.”

  I jack my chin up and sniff, “I can dress up if I want to.”

  “Sure you can. And you look beautiful, but Lucky, you don’t have to do this to make me do what you want.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. I’m keeping you out of this case for your protection. There is nothing you can do or say or ask or wear that will change my mind.”

  His jaw is set. His tone is firm. His eyes say there’s no room for argument. His mind is made up.

  “Fine, then I’ll just have to break into Drummond Sorensen’s house.”

  “His security is top notch.”

  “Oh, but I have sneakier ways to get in than that.”

  “Give me one example.”

  “I’m not telling you my plan just so you can stop me. I might be blonde, but I’m not that blonde.” It’s my turn to cross my arms over my chest and stub up like a bullfrog.

  “Just one example, Lucky, and if it’s feasible I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  I stare up at Liam. He’s hot and all, but right now I’d like to strangle him.

  “How about a helpless female with car trouble?”

  “Wouldn’t work,” he says without hesitation. “They’d see through that in a heartbeat.”

  “You sure about that?”

  He nods. “Positive.”

  “Are you forgetting that you yourself call me catnip?”

  I see his lips thin. He most definitely forgot about my lucky charm.

  My smile starts slow, but then blossoms quickly.

  “Should I just wait here for you to get dressed, or do you want to answer my questions now?”

  He makes that growling sound I’m so accustomed to, spins on his heel, and stalks off toward his bedroom. Before he slams the door shut, I hear him mutter, “You split your dress up the back. Good luck getting home like that.”

  I gasp, leaning to one side and feeling along my backside. Sure enough, my dress is one big gaping hole from my lower back all the way down to the hem. In the opening, I feel soft cotton. Soft, white, nondescript cotton.

  I let my head drop back against the cushion.

  Why, oh why didn’t I wear sexy underwear?

  17

  I boil like a pot of crawfish until Liam reemerges, dressed and smug as the day is long. I’ve had time to think, and a better strategy occurred to me. Too bad I didn’t think of it sooner.

  I still blame Liam for the current condition of my brain.

  “You know, I have information that you might find useful, too. But if you don’t tell me, I don’t tell you.”

  I all but say HA! or TAKE THAT!

  “I’m not trading your safety for information that I don’t even need.”

  “How do you know you don’t need it?”

  “Because I’ll get to the bottom of this on my own, that’s why.”

  “Maybe what I know could make it easier.”

  “Maybe it could, but it’s still not worth it.”

  “Why? What on earth do you think you’re protecting me from?”

  “These people are ruthless, Lucky. They wouldn’t hesitate to use you to get to me. And I won’t let that happen.”

  I swallow a sigh of frustration. “Just answer me one question. That’s all I really wanted to know anyway.”

  I’d actually like to know everything he knows, but I’ve had time to narrow it down to the most important thing, just in case he wants to be a butt about it.

  Which is exactly what he’s doing.

  “What is it?” He sits on the arm of the sofa across from me, staring at me like I’m an annoying traveling salesman who wormed my way into his house to sell him some carpet shampoo.

  “What did Leia want when she came here?”

  “Leia?” I can tell he’s surprised by my one question.

  I knew better than to ask for details about Dahlia’s visit. I knew he wouldn’t give me that much. So, I went with Plan B.

  “Yes. Why did she come by?”

  Liam’s eyes thin into slits. He knows I’m up to something.

  “She was asking if Dahlia had reached out to me since they’d stopped by about the reunion.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her no.”

  “In other words, she either knows or suspects that Dahlia came here the night she was killed.”

  “Seems like it.”

  I nod, but don’t say anything about that. Instead, I go with a change of subject. “I called Felonious.”

  “You did?”

  “Yep. She’s getting me information from Ari Jameson’s computer and cell phone.”

  “Lucky,” Liam snarls, leaping up and running his hands through his hair. Something tells me he might like to throttle me with them right now. I’m glad he’s opting for his hair.

  “You knew this would happen. I told you this would happen. You can either include me and keep me close, where you can protect me, or I’ll go do all this on my own. The choice is yours.”

  He glares at me for the longest time. Most people would probably shrink back, but I’m not intimidated. We’re down to brass tacks now. It’s pee or get off the pot.

  He exhales so hard through his nose it sounds like a tidal wave breaking on the oceans’ shore. “So help me, if you make one move without telling me, I’ll find somewhere to lock you up and throw away the key.”

  “Is that your very kind and polite version of agreeing to let me help?”

  “Yes.” He bites that one word out through teeth gritted so tightly, it makes my jaw ache in sympathy for his.

  “Yay!” I yip, clapping my hands. “The band is getting back together.”

  He’s shaking his head now. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this stuff.”

  “Because you’re a good guy beneath all that mean bluster, that’s how.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have excellent emotional x-ray vision. I can see through all that crunchy candy shell right to your Tootsie Roll center.” I’m smiling really, really big. I can’t seem to help it. This is how I look when I win. I pat the cushion beside me. “Now, come and tell me everything, an
d I’ll tell you everything, and we’ll both know everything, and we’ll catch a killer, k?”

  He gives me a blank stare. “Have you been drinking?”

  I laugh at that. I should say I’m drunk on love, but that would be a huge mistake. For many reasons. “Does coffee count?”

  Finally, he plunks down beside me and we get down to business.

  “I was already in bed when the doorbell rang,” he begins. “I looked out and saw Dahlia. She was wearing a white dress. Not something you’d probably put on before you make a late-night, unannounced visit to someone you haven’t seen in a while.”

  “A while except for the reunion visit,” I correct.

  “That hardly made us best friends. The woman is still basically a stranger to me.” He pauses, and then clarifies, “Was.”

  “What happened next?”

  “She said she just needed to talk to me about something, but she looked nervous. She kept twisting her hands and glancing around behind her while she was standing on the porch. So I invited her inside, got her some water. She asked if I had anything stronger, though, so I made us both a vodka tonic.”

  “Vodka tonic,” I say with a bump to my brows. “Fancy.”

  Liam gives me a withering look. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  “Not really, but go on.”

  “We sat in here and she chatted about inane things in the beginning.”

  “Inane? Good word.”

  “It’s gonna take me a week to tell this if you don’t stop interrupting,” Liam warns.

  “Sorry,” I say, dragging my finger across my lips like I’m zipping them closed.

  Grumpy.

  “I finally asked her why she was really here. She set her glass down and got up. Started pacing in front of the windows. She said she thought she was in danger and that I might be able to help her. I asked why me, and she said because I was ex FBI. I asked why she thought she was in danger, and she admitted that her fiancé was into some shady dealings. You probably already know about that, don’t you?”

  I just smile. My Cheshire cat smile.

  Heck yeah, I do!

  Ain’t no grass growing under Lucky Boucher’s feet, as Beebee would say.