by Paula Lester
Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?”
Jane allowed her body to ease back, and she stood with a relaxed stance, but it was the dangerous-looking type of relaxation a cobra gets right before it strikes. In a softer voice that still rang across the now almost-silent shop, Jane struck. “Did you kill Cash?”
Jordan’s face lost color for the second time that morning, and he backed a step away from the reporter. His brow furrowed, and his eyes darted around like jumping beans, bouncing from person to person until they fell on Paige. He looked like a little boy being bullied on the playground.
Paige quickly stepped around the checkout counter and crossed the short distance to stand next to him. “This is a place of business,” she said to Jane. “My place of business. You’re going to have to leave now.”
Jane cocked her head and looked Paige up and down. “Don’t you want to know if your brand-new employee is a killer?”
Paige felt her temper flare, and she had to remind herself there were customers present and she shouldn’t chew this woman out the way she was dying to. Instead, she dragged air in through her nose and crossed her arms. “The police are working hard to determine what happened to Mr. Conway. In the meantime, Beachside Books isn’t the place for showdowns between reporters and anyone involved in the case, however peripherally.”
Slowly, Jane put her recorder away and glanced back at Jordan. “If you decide you want to tell me what you know, give me a call. Your spitfire boss has my card.”
Once the reporter left, it was only a matter of minutes before everyone else in the store filed out too. Paige knew from all the whispering going on that they were gossiping about what they’d seen and heard.
Once everyone was gone, Paige locked the shop door. It wasn’t quite time to close up for lunch, but what good was being a business owner if you couldn’t just close when you felt like it?
She flipped the Closed sign and turned to Jordan. “Are you okay?” Paige felt like she was having déjà vu at the repeated question. So far, it was like she’d spent most of the morning trying to make sure Jordan Rake was hanging in there.
He rubbed a hand across his face, and his shoulders sagged. “Yeah, but that was kind of crazy. I’ve never been accused of murder before, not even in a film.” He dropped his hand and peered at her. “That did seem like what she was doing, didn’t it? Accusing me?”
Paige shrugged. “She’s probably just throwing noodles against the wall to see what sticks.” She bit her bottom lip. “But if she thought of you, others might too. Is Vanessa the woman who came in here yesterday and wanted you to go to the beach?”
Jordan nodded.
“And do you have an alibi for the wee hours this morning? You know, in case the police come asking?”
“I was at the Dry Dock Motel. That’s where I’ve been staying.” He frowned. “I wasn’t with anyone who could vouch for that, though.”
Paige knew the Dry Dock. Comfort Cove was mostly a nice, safe, solid town, but it did have its seedier spots, and the Dry Dock was one of them. Paige knew you could rent rooms by the hour there. They also had low rates for weekly or monthly stays. She had never set foot in the motel, but it definitely had a reputation among the locals as being a sleazy place.
“Maybe a clerk saw you go in last night. And somebody could have seen you leave for work this morning.” She didn’t know why, but Paige believed Jordan. His aura was brown and cluttered, but she knew from experience that could be for any number of reasons. He was tired, hungover, and certainly seemed to have a lot on his mind.
Out of the blue, Paige remembered what Sarah had said about her dream that Jordan was in handcuffs. She got an uneasy, icy feeling up her spine. Could she be completely wrong about Jordan? Could he be lying to her? After all, he was an actor. Maybe Jane from Net News was onto something.
But the guy in front of her looked dejected as he lowered himself into one of the sitting area’s chairs, slumping down as though trying to make himself invisible. She felt sorry for him.
Whenever she had felt down in the dumps as a kid, Aunt Nora would give her something to eat. It must have made a bigger impact on her than she’d realized because she had a strong urge to feed the miserable-looking but amazingly gorgeous man in front of her. “I’m going to make myself a sandwich upstairs,” she said. “I’ll make you one too. That way, you can just rest until it’s time to open back up for the afternoon.”
She made him a double-decker turkey and mustard with Colby-Jack cheese sandwich and carried it downstairs along with her single-layer version. Jordan perked up as the food hit his system. He slipped Casper a tiny piece of meat and even grinned a little at the cat.
The afternoon went smoother than the morning had. No reporters stormed in, and there were fewer celebrity-gawkers than there had been before. Paige figured it was because bigger celebrities than Jordan Rake had arrived in town.
Once the closing routine was done at the end of the day, Jordan approached Paige. “Would you mind giving me a ride to my car over at the grocery store? I’d walk, but I’m afraid fans or paparazzi might follow me.”
“Sure. I’m going to Sarah’s for supper anyway.”
A few minutes later, Paige pulled her Oldsmobile up next to Jordan’s Jeep. He thanked her as he hopped out of the car. He jumped into his vehicle and started backing out before Paige. He must really not want to sit still in public for long. She maneuvered her car to the edge of the parking lot and paused for traffic to pass before she merged onto the street. A white Subaru went past, and Paige recognized the driver. It was the brown-haired woman who had been in the shop looking for Jordan the day before. She didn’t glance at Paige but kept her eyes forward—in the direction Jordan had gone.
She had told Paige she wanted to surprise Jordan.
Paige had a sudden thought that made her squirm uncomfortably in the driver’s seat: Had Audrey Lanton followed her and Jordan from the shop?
Chapter 7
Scott and Sarah’s house smelled good. Paige had to admit she was just a touch surprised. Her sister-in-law’s vegan food didn’t always smell—or taste—the best.
Sarah poked her head around the wall. “Hey! Thanks for coming. I have way too much food since Scott isn’t going to make it home.”
Paige crossed the family room and joined Sarah in the kitchen. “Is he still working on the murder case?”
Sarah nodded. “He texted me that he wasn’t going to be home for at least another few hours. I hope he gets a decent dinner. I offered to bring him some of this coconut lentil soup, but he didn’t want me to.”
Paige peeked into the big pot on the stove. “Mmm, coconut. It smells good.”
Sarah glanced sharply at her. “Really? You think it smells good?”
Paige chuckled. “Yes, it smells like Indian food.”
“It is. It has garam masala in it.”
“Yum.” Paige opened cupboards until she found the bowls and grabbed two. She pulled a couple of spoons out of a drawer and carried everything to the dining room.
Sarah followed her with the pot and a trivet. “I’m not going to pour this into a serving bowl. We’re going casual tonight.”
“Sounds good to me. Do you have any white wine chilled?”
“Um . . . I’m not sure. You can check.”
Paige found half a bottle of pinot grigio in the refrigerator. Sarah used a stepstool to reach wine glasses out of a top cupboard.
After they’d settled in and had some soup—which was as good as it smelled—Sarah set her spoon down and took a sip of wine. “Everyone who came into the salon today wanted to talk about the murder of Cash Conway,” she said. “There’s a ton of buzz going on over who could have done it. You won’t believe who one of the prime suspects seems to be.”
Paige wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin and said, “Jordan Rake.”
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “You heard the gossip too?”
Paige shook her head. “Not really, but a
reporter from Net News came in and asked him straight out if he did it.”
“Really?” Sarah’s spoon sat forgotten as she leaned forward in her seat and stared at Paige. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t really answer, and I made the reporter leave.” Paige took a big bite of soup. “Yum. I could eat this every day.”
Sarah sat back, and a small smile played around her lips. “Thanks,” she said. “I know you don’t love all my vegan meals, so I’m really happy to hear you like this one.” She clearly wasn’t finished talking about Jordan and Cash because she steered the conversation immediately back to them. “So, what do you think about Jordan being a suspect?” Her tone became more hushed, as though she thought someone might be listening. “Do you think he could have done it?”
“He came in tired, hungover, and kind of disgruntled this morning,” Paige admitted. “But, you know what? He really, genuinely looked shocked when I told him Cash was dead and foul play was involved. He even threw up.”
Sarah’s forehead wrinkled. She picked her spoon up and then set it down again. “Do you think he was shocked about Cash’s death or the fact that you knew about it?”
Paige shrugged. “I guess I can’t be sure, but the body was found within sight of my shop. If he was the murderer and knew that, he shouldn’t have been surprised I found out about it fairly early in the morning.”
“Maybe he didn’t know the body had been found yet.”
“I suppose it’s possible.” Paige chewed lentils thoughtfully for a moment. Then she glanced at her sister-in-law, who was sipping wine. “Cash is kind of a strange first name, isn’t it?”
“Oh, his parents were big country western music fans. Born and raised in Nashville. They named him Cash after Johnny and already had a country last name.”
Paige’s mouth dropped open. “How do you even know that?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “I work in a hair salon. There are magazines everywhere. All the time. Whenever I’m waiting for an appointment to show up, I read one. It helps me keep up with the goings-on in Hollywood so I can gossip about them with my clients.” She paused and looked sheepish. “Plus, I guess I kind of like that stuff too,” she admitted with a little laugh. She took another sip of wine.
Paige gave her a sidelong look. “You don’t just read celebrity magazines because they’re sitting around,” she accused. “I know you read tabloid news on your phone too. Scott told me you subscribe to every one you can and read them all every day.”
“My husband shouldn’t tell stories about me,” Sarah said seriously, but then her straight face dissolved into a wide smile, and she giggled like a little girl. “It’s true, though. That stuff is like my guilty pleasure.” Her expression sobered again. “That’s why I can tell you that the buzz is that Jordan and Cash have been involved in a rivalry for a while. See, Jordan was originally cast for the first Fast Cars and Easy Money movie. But the directors, at some point, did an about-face and fired him, hiring Cash instead. Of course, that movie hit it big, and they made two more right away. There didn’t seem to be any end in sight for the series, and by all accounts, Jordan was pretty depressed and angry about missing out on that cash cow. Not only that, but before the recasting happened, word is that Jordan introduced a model friend Vanessa Flowers to his then-buddy Cash. Those two started dating, and Jordan was reportedly heartbroken over it. The tabloids say Jordan was secretly in love with Vanessa.”
“Wow,” Paige said, looking at the bottom of her soup bowl and wondering if she should refill it. “That’s a lot of murder motivation.”
Sarah waved her hand dismissively. “Who knows? Tabloids are called tabloids for a reason. They embellish things.”
Paige snorted at the understatement. She decided against more soup but finished her wine and helped Sarah with the dishes. A buzz from her purse drew her attention, and she pulled her phone out to see a text from her friend Marco. It said, “Come by the restaurant for dessert, bella. I miss your face.”
Paige grinned. She’d met Marco in Portofino, Italy, when she’d lived, worked, and written half a novel there. His cousin had been Paige’s roommate, and he’d seemed to follow her to Comfort Cove. It was stunning for her to learn that he had his own ties to her tiny hometown—a great-uncle, Frank, who owned the fabulous Italian restaurant, Maretti’s, where Marco now worked as a chef.
Her fingers hovered over the phone. She was stuffed and didn’t need dessert, but she wanted to ask Marco about what Scott had seen on Net News—that the Italian was a film star. Quickly, her thumbs flew over the screen: “Okay, I’ll be there in ten or fifteen minutes.”
She hugged Sarah, thanked her for dinner, and took her leave. As she backed out of the driveway, Paige decided it wouldn’t kill her to have a little bit of Marco’s delicious tiramisu.
PAIGE HAD TO PARK ALMOST on the grass at the very back of the parking lot at Maretti’s. When she got inside, the place was packed. That wasn’t a surprise—there were so many extra people in Comfort Cove that all the small businesses were being overrun.
Frank Maretti stood by the door greeting people. When he saw Paige, his mouth turned down in a slight frown. She guessed he hadn’t forgiven her for the incident with Captain McDougall’s gold.
“Hi, Frank.” Paige decided to kill him with kindness and see if she could warm his cool attitude. “Marco wanted me to come in and have some dessert.”
Frank nodded. “Fine. There’s only one table left over by the kitchen. You can sit there.” Instead of leading her, Frank only waved a hand in the direction of the tiny, lonesome table.
Paige smiled brightly. “Thanks!” She began to thread her way through the crowded dining room toward the table Frank had indicated. She let her eyes roam over the room as she did, looking for anyone she knew. Her gaze fell on a brown-haired woman sitting alone near the big window overlooking the ocean. It was Audrey Lanton.
Before Paige could decide whether or not to go say something to her, Marco appeared in front of her in a flurry of squeezed hands and air kisses. “Bella! It’s so good to see you. I’ve been missing your voluptuous brain. Sit, sit. I’ll bring you our dessert special.” Marco pulled the chair away from the table so Paige could sit down, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of the most delicious-looking apple pie Paige could remember ever seeing. He set it in front of her with a flourish. “Torta di mele. I made it myself.”
She’d had her heart set on tiramisu, but as her friend stood watching expectantly, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Taking a bite, she closed her eyes, savoring the melt-in-your-mouth crust. The apple filling was perfection—a delicate mix of sour and sweet. “This is wonderful,” she managed to say fast before she took another big bite.
Just then, a man in a black-and-white suit, obviously a waiter, arrived next to Marco’s elbow. “Sir,” he said, holding out a plate of apple pie. “I have a customer who’s requested a scoop of vanilla ice cream with their piece of torta di mele.”
Marco’s cheeks darkened almost instantly, and he erupted into a stream of staccato Italian. The poor waiter took a step back, and Paige giggled. She took pity on the young man and explained, “I don’t know Italian, but I do know that having ice cream with apple pie in Italy is a bit of an abomination.”
“The taste buds!” Marco spluttered in English. “Ice cream will freeze the taste buds, and the diner will be unable to discern the subtle flavors in my masterpiece!”
The waiter blinked several times and then shrugged, heading toward the swinging door that led to the kitchen. “I’ll just do it myself,” he muttered.
Almost as soon as the waiter had disappeared, two young ladies arrived next to Paige’s table, arms linked. They held their heads close together and giggled. One elbowed the other, who nudged the first girl back. “No, you ask him!” the second teenager insisted.
“Um. Are you a movie star?” The girl ducked her head as soon as the words were out, but both girls quieted their giggling so as not to
miss Marco’s answer.
Marco grinned and wagged his eyebrows around a bit. He said something in Italian that sounded apologetic. The girls looked at Paige, who shrugged and put a bite of apple pie in her mouth. The teenagers erupted in giggles again and wandered off.
Paige swallowed and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She was absolutely stuffed but still wished there were more pie on her plate. “What was that about?” she questioned.
He chuckled and leaned in close to her. “That keeps happening,” he said, just above a whisper. “All these crazy people coming to town seem to think I’m a model or an actor. I try to keep my mouth shut.”
Paige snorted. Marco laid a hand on her shoulder. “I need to get back to the kitchen. I’ll bring you pie to take home.”
Before she could tell him not to bother, he retreated into the kitchen. No sooner had he departed than Audrey appeared at Paige’s table. “Hello there,” she said, adjusting her glasses.
“Hi.” Paige thought about how she’d seen the woman driving by earlier after Jordan had gotten into his Jeep. “Have you seen Jordan yet?”
“Oh, I have just been so worried about him!” Audrey said around her fingers, which she’d been chewing on a moment before. “Everyone I talk to is wondering if he killed poor Cash Conway. I just can’t imagine how he must be feeling.”
Paige knew Jordan wasn’t feeling very good. But Audrey hadn’t answered the question about whether she’d seen him yet. She opened her mouth to press the subject, but Audrey was muttering to herself, the fingers of her right hand muffling her words as she chewed the nails. “Something really needs to be done about all this.”
Before Paige could answer or say anything to stop her, Audrey wandered off, heading in the general direction of her own table.
As Paige watched her go, she thought about Jordan Rake. Was he an honest-to-goodness suspect in Cash’s murder? She pulled her phone out, her fingers hovering over Scott’s name in her contact list. She could call and ask him outright whether her new employee was a suspect in his investigation. But something stopped her from tapping the screen.
