Murder Drama With Your Llama (Friendship Harbor Mysteries Book 1)

by Erin McCarthy

  I wasn’t sure if I could either. But I didn’t share that with him. I was supposed to be the fearless leader in this instance. Instead, I nodded approvingly and said, “Good eye.”

  Oliver didn’t appear to appreciate the compliment as he went back to scanning the ground, his expression decidedly grim. I started to go back to the grass, when I stopped. I needed to take in the whole scene. Like the main character in Murder, She Texted, I had to visualize how the crime might have happened. I studied the dulled stain of blood. Which direction had Cliff been walking?

  I assumed, since he’d left my house not long before he was struck, that he must have been heading the same way we had entered the park. And probably the person came up from behind him. I squinted at the ground, noticing many scuffs in the dirt. There were several in the area where we’d been with Jack and where the confrontation with Lisa happened. But then I noticed longer marks just beyond the blood, two on either side of the stain. As if maybe Cliff had put out his hands when he’d fallen. If that was the case, then he had been heading the way I thought. Away from my house like I suspected. And if he was hit from behind, maybe there would be evidence also in that direction.

  I headed that way past the bloody spot, looking closely for anything. And then I saw something at the edge of the path, closer to the side overlooking the cliffs. I rushed forward and picked up the object.

  “Did you find something?” Oliver called from where he’d taken over inspecting the grass.

  “Yes.” My heart thumped with excitement. This had to be something. Something important.

  He joined me, inspecting the object.

  “What is it?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

  It was a gray cone that reminded me of a miniature flower pot. There was a hole in the narrow end. The thicker end that looked like the top of the pot had shallow circles on the bottom, but was solid otherwise.

  “Is it some kind of cork?” Oliver said, picking up to look at it closer.

  “It could be. Maybe he was hit with a wine bottle.”

  Oliver looked dubious, then handed it back to me. Clearly he wasn’t convinced that my discovery was anything important, but that didn’t diminish my thrill. It was a clue. I was sure of it. Happily, I dropped it into the baggie with the other items. I went back to checking that same area closely, but after about ten minutes and no more discoveries, Oliver groaned loudly.

  “Do you feel that? It’s starting to rain,” he called over the wind and crashing waves.

  I focused my attention on the sky. It was getting grayer and darker. And chilly. I realized I had goose bumps, although I hadn’t even noticed in my determination to find more clues. I pushed my whipping hair out of my face, feeling it was already damp from sprinkles.

  “You’re right. Maybe we should head back to the house.” I stuffed the bag of evidence into the front pocket of my jeans.

  “Hallelujah,” he said, already heading down the path. I jogged to catch up with him.

  By the time we reached my grandmother’s house—my house—the rain was coming down in a steady drizzle. The lights in the pub glowed warmly and through the windows I could see there was a bigger crowd there than when we left. Bustling for a Thursday night. Good to know.

  I started up the stairs, then stopped. “I should check on Jack before I go in.”

  “Have fun with that. I’m going inside to dry off and put on something warm.” Oliver waved with no signs of guilt as he headed down the porch to the door.

  I stuck out my tongue at his back as he disappeared inside, but couldn’t really blame him. I’d rather be doing the same thing, but I was now a pet owner and I needed to be sure Jack was all set for the night. I walked back down the steps and across the narrow front lawn. The rain chose that moment to go from drizzle to full downpour. I ran as fast as my flip-flops would allow on the slick, wet grass. As I rounded the corner of the house and Jack’s shed and pen came into view, barely visible in the waning light, I slowed. Then I blinked. And blinked again, but both times I saw the same thing.

  A dark figure stood near the gate.

  I must have made a noise, because the shadow shifted, then took off across the lawn, racing down the length of the fence into the line of trees that separated my property from the neighbor’s.

  “Hey!” I called and started to run after the featureless form, only to stop rather gracelessly at the pen gate, catching myself on the handle before I wiped out. Stupid flip-flops. But what was I doing anyway? It was sheer lunacy to chase after a creepy, lurking stranger by myself in the dark.

  “Is everything okay?” a voice said from behind me, and I screamed and jumped. I spun around to see Dean, his handsome profile half illuminated from the lights from inside the house and the pub.

  “Oh my God, you scared me,” I said with a shaky laugh. “But I’m glad it’s you.” I never expected to say that.

  “What happened? I heard you yell.”

  “I was on my way out to check on Jack, and there was a person standing here by the gate. He—or she—I couldn’t really tell, ran that way.” I pointed in the direction where the figure disappeared.

  “Really?” Dean frowned. He cast a searching look into the darkness. But aside from the patter of rain on the roof of Jack’s barn and the low hum of the music and conversation in the busy pub, there were no other sounds to be heard. And no movement.

  “I scared him--or her--off,” I said after a moment.

  Dean nodded, although even in the dim light, I could see he was skeptical.

  “There really was someone out here,” I told him firmly. “I know you probably think I’m a flaky, L.A. actor-type like I’m sure most of the town does by now.” I knew they did if Karen had anything to do with it. “And to be honest, I can be flaky at times, but most people can be, you know. And I am most definitely not being a flake right now. Someone was standing right here. And someone did let out Jack today. And frankly, I’m a little freaked out.”

  He stared at me for a few moments, and his silence only added to my already rattled nerves. But before I could tell him that he could just go back to the pub, that I was fine, he said, “I believe you.”

  It was my turn to stare. “You do?”

  He nodded.

  I was speechless. This was the first time I’d felt any connection with him. Finally, I just opted for, “Thank you.”

  “Let me go with you to check Jack. I’m sure it was nothing. Just someone messing around. Maybe even someone from the pub who wandered over here tipsy, but I’d feel better if you had someone with you.”

  “I would too,” I admitted.

  Dean opened the gate and stood back to let me enter first. I hurried to the shed, ready to be out of the rain. The shed was very quiet. No snuffles or hums or rumbles. And as I approached the stall, I realized Jack hadn’t appeared at the stall door.

  Great, my llama was loose again. In the rain. At night. God forbid he killed someone else. Not that I believed he did the first time.

  But was Jack being set up a second time to be a scapegoat?

  To my relief, when I rose on my tiptoes to get a better look in the stall, I found Jack lying in his hay, his legs splayed out like a fat bullfrog and his head and long neck stretched out in front of him. His heavily lashed eyes were closed.

  “Oh my God, is he dead?” What if that was what the stranger had been doing here. Killing my llama.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping,” Dean reassured me. Jack twitched an ear to confirm.

  I had to be sure he was okay. I couldn’t leave him if he was dying a slow death from poison. Or a wound I couldn’t see. I unlocked the stall door, and Jack opened his eyes, blinking groggily. Then he lifted his head, although he didn’t look any more thrilled with being woken up than I usually did.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I murmured to him as I stepped into his stall. “I just want to be sure you are alright.”

  He bobbed his head slightly, which I took to mean he was okay wit
h my intrusion. I pet his head and rubbed his ears. He hummed. Carefully, I walked around his still splayed body.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” Dean asked, a mildly amused look on his handsome face.

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted, shoving back my tangle of sopping wet hair. I was pretty sure I didn’t look nearly as good soaked as Dean did. “Blood or something.”

  Upon saying that, a thought hit me. I leaned over and inspected the llama’s feet. “Wow, did you know Jack doesn’t have hooves? They’re like two big toes with thick toenails.”

  “I never really noticed,” Dean said, and I had the feeling he was trying not to laugh at me. But I didn’t look to see. Instead I lifted Jack’s foot, trying to see better.

  “What exactly are you looking for now?”

  “Blood,” I repeated more assertively. I looked up from prodding Jack’s back foot. “If he kicked Cliff hard enough to kill him, wouldn’t there be blood on his feet?”

  “I guess.” He glanced toward the shed door as if he wanted nothing more than to get out of there. But he stayed put and met my gaze. “Sophie—”

  A tingle of awareness danced over my skin. My name sounded really interesting said in his deep, smooth voice.

  “Why do I get the feeling you don’t think Cliff’s death was an accident?”

  “Because I don’t,” I said simply. I moved to study Jack’s other foot, poking at the pads. Jack rumbled, and I hurried my examination, recognizing that particular noise as a warning the animal was annoyed. I didn’t want to add spit to my drowned rat look.

  “I’m sorry.” I pet his wooly back. “I know it’s very rude to be woken up and then poked and prodded.” I scruffed his head, then left the stall, locking the door securely.

  “No blood,” I said, giving him a pointed look. “Don’t you find that odd?”

  “Not really. He could have walked it off. Or he could have kicked Cliff so swiftly, he didn’t even get any blood on him.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, even though I really didn’t.

  Dean stared at me for a moment, then shook his head as if he had no idea what to make of me. “Let me walk you back to the house. I need to get back to the pub. We’re pretty busy tonight.”

  “Is the pub usually this busy on Thursday nights?” I asked as we stepped outside. The rain had returned to a light drizzle and I could easily hear the beat of a classic rock song and the chatter of patrons.

  “Yeah, usually.”

  “Fridays and Saturdays must really be hopping.”

  He nodded. “We’re definitely the popular spot for locals.”

  Locals. That was good. I could get to know some of them and possibly get some more intel on how people really felt about old Cliff. “I’d like to start helping out tomorrow.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, but when he did, I couldn’t miss that the lukewarm friendliness had left his voice. “We’re open for lunch tomorrow. Brandy has to take the afternoon off, so I guess I could use some help for that shift.”

  Despite the returned coolness of his tone, I shot him a wide smile. “Grea—”

  Unfortunately, the combination of his personality shift and my attempt to continue to kill him with kindness didn’t mix well with walking, wet grass, and my flip-flops. No sooner did I flash him a huge smile, my foot slipped. One leg slid out in front of me, and I was in imminent danger of doing the splits. A move I couldn’t do. But before I fell on the wet lawn, my legs contorted in awkward angles, his strong arm caught me around the waist and I was pulled tightly against his side.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, trying desperately not to notice how warm and muscular and amazing he felt against me. He even smelled wonderful, like Christmas morning, all pine and spices. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. Then I remembered he’d asked me a question, and my eyes popped open.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  He looked down at me for a moment, his expression back to unreadable. Then he practically lifted me away from him. Neither of us spoke the rest of the way to the back porch of my grandmother’s house.

  My house, I corrected.

  Once I was up the steps, I turned to thank him. “Oh, and what time should I be there tomorrow?”

  “Noon is fine. Hopefully you won’t have a repeat of tonight while carrying a tray full of food.”

  It took me a second to understand what he meant. Oh, my clumsiness. My cheeks burned, but I managed a cheeky grin. “No promises.”

  I fought the urge to palm-smack my forehead after he walked away with nothing more than a cock of his eyebrow and a look of general concern. He clearly thought I was an idiot.

  I released a dismayed sigh and tried the door. It was locked, so I knocked and waited.

  The door unlocked almost immediately, and Oliver stood there in a hoodie, sweatpants, and thick socks. If envy really turned a person green, I’d have looked like the Wicked Witch of the West. I glanced down at my soaked T-shirt and jeans. Specifically at the moment when Dorothy threw the bucket of water in her face. What a world. What a world.

  “Were my eyes playing tricks on me, or did I just see you get chivalrously swept into the arms of your resident hunk?”

  I rolled my eyes. At least the heat in my cheeks was warming me up a little. “You would have to see that.”

  “I was spying,” he admitted happily. “How did you happen to run into him?”

  “Let me get into something dry and I’ll fill you in.” I made sure the door was locked, then headed toward the stairs to the upper level.

  “Your bags are in your grandmother’s room,” he called after me.

  Oliver was probably going to continue to tease me mercilessly about my near wipeout and Dean’s save, but at least he did bring in my luggage. I could hug him for that.

  I hurried toward my grandmother’s bedroom, which was at the end of the long hallway. The corridor was lit only by three sets of wall sconces. The kind with the bulbs shaped like fake candle flames.

  A shiver snaked through me, and it definitely wasn’t just the cold. Who had that dark figure been? And what were they doing? In my grandmother’s mansion of a house, the person’s presence was even more unsettling. Being in a gothic novel suddenly seemed much less appealing.

  I groped around on the wall inside my grandmother’s room, finding a light switch. A chandelier in the center of the ceiling turned on. Refracted light shimmered through the dangling crystals and over the walls. The effect didn’t exactly calm my nerves.

  I located my suitcase. Quickly, I lifted the heavy satchel onto a tufted, velvet bench at the end of the canopy bed, unzipped it and found a sweatshirt and a pair of fleece pajama bottoms. I glanced at the French doors that looked out to the garden. I didn’t think anyone could see in with the balcony there. But what if someone was on the balcony? Not likely since it was on the third level and not accessible. Still, I took my dry clothes and headed to the bathroom.

  Seconds later, I was bundled in heavenly warmth, and I sped back down to where Oliver sat on the sofa in the living room. He didn’t look the least bit nervous. Which tipped me off that he couldn’t have seen the shadowy figure.

  I collapsed into a chair and told him the whole story.

  “Did Dean see the person?” Oliver asked. As I expected, he no longer looked quite as relaxed. He got up and pulled closed the drapes on either side of the French doors.

  “No. But he did say he believed me. He thought it was nothing though. Just someone messing around.”

  Oliver considered that.

  “He’s probably right.” He didn’t sound any more convinced than I was. He sat back on the sofa. “I say we watch a movie, and try to relax.” He reached for his tablet on the coffee table and I moved over to sit beside him.

  “Nothing scary and no mysteries,” I said and he nodded in agreement.

  “Pitch Perfect, it is.”

  I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but I woke up after making it through Pitch Per
fect and half of Pitch Perfect 2. Oliver slept beside me, his feet up on an ottoman he’d pulled over from one of the oversized, velvet chairs. I straightened upright from where I’d been sleeping on his shoulder. I peered around, disoriented and bleary.

  Carefully, I eased off the sofa to go into the kitchen and get a drink. I found bottled water in the fridge, opened it and took a long sip. I checked out the contents of the fridge and decided I wasn’t hungry. Taking another drink of the water, I wandered back to the living room. Somewhere in the house, I heard a clock ticking, but otherwise, it was silent.

  I walked over the French doors and pulled back the heavy curtain to peek outside. The rain had stopped and the moon was now bright and full in the sky. Maine had some crazy weather. I started to take another sip of my water, when a movement stopped me. My heart stopped too. The figure moved through the garden. My first thought was to move away from the doorway, but instead I remained still, watching.

  Within seconds, I recognized who it was. Dean. Probably leaving the pub for the night. It was nuts that I had just met the man, but I could already recognize his build and his walk, long, sure strides. Confident and manly. He headed toward the guesthouse, only to pause. Then he changed direction and headed toward Jack’s shed. He disappeared around the side of the building, only to return a couple minutes later.

  As he walked back toward the guesthouse, I stepped away from the door, letting the drape close more. I didn’t want him to catch me watching him. He headed into his little cottage and I smiled. He’d checked on Jack again. He did believe me. Then my smile faded. And maybe he didn’t think it was just someone goofing around.

  “So you are going to wait tables?” Oliver said, watching me as I pulled my hair up into a messy bun on the top of my head.

  “Yeah, it sounded like it.” I used my phone to check my hair. “Does this look okay? Maybe I should just put it in a ponytail.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  I smiled, appreciating his kind words. Didn’t feel beautiful. I felt exhausted and stiff from spending the rest of the night sleeping in a chair. I couldn’t bring myself to leave Oliver and go to one of the bedrooms. Who was I kidding? I was too scared. I had to get my nerves in check if I was going to live here. It wasn’t like Oliver would be here forever.