Page 2 of Bait and Switch (Subtle Deceptions #2)

Hands jammed into his coat pockets, he stared down at what was left of the man he’d briefly been involved with.

Peter’s head was at an unnatural angle, his body oddly stiff.

Gabe didn’t know much about rigor mortis, but he hazarded a guess that rigor was why the body appeared uncomfortable as it lay on the decking.

Maybe that’s why his arms seemed weird too.

“Seriously? Why me?”

What if the corpse hadn’t appeared just this morning? Maybe it had been dropped off at some other time during the week. Immediately, Gabe knew that idea was ridiculous. He would have heard someone walking on the pier. If nothing else, Bowie would have heard intruders and sounded the alarm.

Plus—bending down again, Gabe brushed the back of his hand against the blue nylon polyester fabric of Peter’s jacket—it wasn’t wet, not even damp.

Rain had been coming down steadily for days until early that morning, when the deluge had abruptly stopped, like someone in the clouds closed the faucet.

Gabe hadn’t gotten to bed until late since he’d been up rereading a tattered and worn Travis McGee novel borrowed from Elton, but the absence of the thrum of the rain had woken him.

“Goddammit.”

“Who are you talking to?” a deep voice asked from behind him.

Gabe spun around, heart pounding. He’d been so focused on The Corpse he hadn’t heard Ranger Man open the gate or start walking on the dock. He revised his opinion that he would’ve heard trespassers. But Bowie would’ve. Probably.

“Ah, yeah... Uh, no one. Not really. Just you know, this guy.” Gabe moved back from Peter’s body, the boat rocking unevenly as he climbed off the Shangri-La .

As tall as he was, Ranger Man was sure to be able to see the dead man from where he stood.

Gabe had only wanted to make sure there was nothing he could do for Peter.

“The fuck is that?” Lundin demanded, stomping over to the side of the dock and peering at the deck of the Shangri-La .

“Ah, that , that?” Gabe glanced at Lundin.

“Yes, that. Wait.” Lundin’s eyes narrowed as he edged closer to the sailboat, risking a dunking . “That’s the guy who was here last week. Is he?—”

“Shh!” Gabe said automatically, as if saying the four-letter word too loudly would alert the local flying monkeys. “Yes, he seems to be. And no, I didn’t do it. I found him that way.”

“Isn’t that what they all say?” Lundin took a big step backward, away from Gabe and the derelict boat, as though death were contagious. He supposed that often it was.

“I didn’t kill Peter,” Gabe said to the world in general.

“Bowie and I went into Westfort to pick up the new stove after you left, and we got back not too long ago. I only… er, noticed … him because Bowie’s tennis ball landed funny and bounced onto the deck.

And there he was. Is. Just there . I know it’s difficult for you, but don’t be such an asshole. You know I didn’t kill him.”

“Do I, though?” Lundin shot him another, narrower, more suspicious glance.

“Seriously?” Gabe threw his head back to stare up at the clouds mirrored by the relatively calm waters of the bay. As he watched, they slowly parted to reveal a tantalizing hint of blue.

I will not scream. I will not scream. I will not scream.

“Casey, you left your wallet in the truck.”

In tandem, they both turned to look down the dock.

Elton Cox was walking toward them. Gabe felt slightly vindicated that neither Lundin nor Bowie had noticed the old man opening and shutting the gate.

Hah, they must’ve driven to the dentist in Elton’s truck.

It wasn’t just Gabe’s Honda the old man didn’t trust. The Ford was built like a tank, maybe he just felt safer in it.

“You two look serious,” Elton said, drawing closer. “Something going on?” He looked from Gabe to Lundin.

“No,” they chorused.

“You’re supposed to be at home waiting for the rest of the funny gas to wear off,” Lundin added.

“Well, it wore off on the drive back, didn’t it?” Elton sounded a tad grumpy. “I don’t feel like being stuck at home, and like I said, you left your wallet in my truck.”

Approaching them, Elton held Lundin’s wallet out to him. Gabriel noted that it was made of canvas and Velcro and was well broken in. It suited Lundin.

“Did you pick that up at a vintage place? Or have the nineties come calling and I wasn’t around to meet them?” Gabe asked.

“What?” Lundin frowned. “No. What are you even talking about?”

He accepted the billfold from Elton and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. The jeans, Gabe absently noted for the second time that day, fit him very well.

What was wrong with him? There was a body only a few feet away.

Elton stopped next to Lundin. “What’s going on?” he repeated, looking once more at Gabe and then Lundin.

Gabe had no choice. He moved aside and pointed toward the Shangri-La and the body of Peter Vale.

“That’s a dead man.”

Elton seemed remarkably calm. Maybe it was residual funny gas from the procedure; his jaw did seem a bit puffy.

“Yep. No doubt about that,” Gabe said glumly.

Gabe was not happy about Peter’s demise, but Lundin seemed even less so. Honestly, though, the central core of Lundin’s unhappiness was hard for Gabe to gauge. Was it the body? The inconvenience of it all? Gabe? All of the above?

“How did he get there?” Elton asked.

Ranger Man also looked expectantly at Gabe, as if he might have a reasonable answer.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Gabe did his best to telegraph his irritation with Casey.

“After you left, I drove into Westfort and didn’t get back until about an hour ago.

” The stove had been fairly easy to install, just like Elton had promised, and then he’d decided to reward Bowie for his patience by tossing his ball for a few minutes.

“I doubt he was here when Bowie and I took off. The rest, as the saying goes, is history. I suppose he could’ve been here and I didn’t notice, but I don’t think so. ”

“Have you called the sheriff already?” asked Elton.

“No, of course he hasn’t called the Sheriff’s Office.” Lundin scoffed. “I bet if I hadn’t shown up when I did, Karne would have dumped the body into the bay.”

Gabe did not look at Lundin. He refused to allow himself to glance the ranger’s way.

He hadn’t truly considered getting rid of the body.

He knew as well as Lundin or Elton that if Gabe had dropped the body into the bay, the tide would probably just have brought Peter back in eight or so hours.

Especially with his luck. And even though they hadn’t been friends by the end, Peter did not deserve that.

“Well, one of us is going to have to call them.” Elton crossed his arms and raised his bushy eyebrows.

Instinctively, Gabe stuck his hands in his coat pockets, but he didn’t find the cold plastic of his cellphone. “My phone is in the galley. And I don’t know the nonemergency number.” He glanced over to where what had been Peter lay. “This doesn’t seem like an emergency to me. Does it to you two?”

With a shake of his head and an expression that clearly projected Do I have to do everything around here? , Lundin dug his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen.

While the call connected, Elton moved to the edge of the dock to peer at the deck and Peter’s body. “Huh.” He shook his head. “Weird.”

“What?” Before Elton could answer, they heard the burr of the connection on Lundin’s line and then the tinny sound of someone saying, “Althea Mortine, Twana County Sheriff’s Office, how may I direct your call?”

“Althea, Casey Lundin here. We have a situation at the marina.” He glared at Gabe, as if it were his fault a dead body had appeared on the Shangri-La .

It probably was. He hated to think so, but he was the only person on Heartstone with a connection to Peter.

Peter had even stopped by to see him at the marina.

But Gabe had been elsewhere, learning new facts about himself that he’d been avoiding thinking about over the past week.

He’d spent so much time not thinking about his life, it was a shock he hadn’t declared himself brain-dead.

“There’s a dead person on one of the boats down here,” Lundin said.

The announcement was followed by indistinguishable chatter.

“One second.” Lundin put his hand over the mic and eyed Gabriel. “Do we know the victim’s name?”

“Peter Vale,” Gabe provided, albeit reluctantly.

It wasn’t as if TCSO investigators wouldn’t be able to figure out his name on their own.

All they had to do was check Peter’s ID.

Assuming he had any on him and it was the right one.

Distantly, Gabe knew he should be more upset, but Peter showing up dead was just the last thing in several long weeks of What the Fuck Now.

“Right,” said Lundin to the person on the phone. “We’re not going anywhere. Yep, me, Elton, and Gabriel Karne.” More chatter. “Yeah, he’s the new owner of The Golden Ticket. Thanks, bye.” He tucked his phone away again. “They’re on their way.”

Great. Another damn Monday making itself known in the most unpleasant way possible.