Page 35 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

“Was it a threat, or a well-meant warning?”

—Carolyn Keene, The Secret of Shadow Ranch

CeeCee wasn’t on the ferry returning to St. Claire, but Sherry Morrison was. She must not have seen me this morning, because

she appeared surprised when I walked on board right before the boat left.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, accusation in her voice.

I smiled and held up the bag with Grams’s new shirt. “Shopping. I wanted to get away for a while, see the sights. You?” I

tried to keep my voice light and only marginally interested. I didn’t think she’d seen me following her up the mountain, but

I wasn’t positive.

“Same,” she said with cold eyes.

I didn’t see any bags in the cabin, but didn’t comment.

The captain came down from the helm and said, “You two are the only guests returning?” He glanced at the dock as if expecting

someone else.

“Do we have to wait for the others?” Sherry snapped. “I need to get ready for the cruise tonight.”

“Of course not,” he said evenly. “There’s another ferry run in two hours.”

“We can wait,” I said, mostly to irritate Sherry. “I mean, after what happened to Diana Harden, maybe we should.”

The captain smiled, shook his head. “No, that’s not necessary. I return in two hours. We’ll be off in just a few minutes, and Gregory will be down with refreshments.”

He went back to the helm, and Sherry stared at me. “You didn’t have to offer to wait. Dammit, I have plans tonight.”

“You’re not concerned that a woman was murdered?”

“Hardly. She probably pissed off the wrong person.”

I really didn’t like this woman, but I bit my tongue. I might not like her, but I was also suspicious about her actions. I

wondered if Diana had attempted to blackmail Sherry. Maybe that was what the money was for—murder for hire.

A chill went down my spine at the thought.

The engines started up, and a moment later, we were pulling away from the dock. Gregory, the server, came down with flutes

of champagne and a tray of hors d’oeuvres. They served champagne like water.

I excused myself, went out to the deck, and watched St. John shrink as we left the bay and picked up speed. I hadn’t brought

a book with me. I never left home without a book, and yet I hadn’t even thought about it today. Diana’s disappearance and murder had consumed me,

and whoever stole the book drew me deeper into the mystery. But tonight—tonight was Jason and me. I was excited... and

a little scared. There was chemistry between us—we both felt it. I smiled, leaned against the railing, closed my eyes as the

wind whipped my hair around. Wishing Jason was here, just the two of us.

I heard something—metal on metal, maybe—opened my eyes, and turned around.

I screamed, dropped my glass. It shattered on the wood deck. Sherry was standing right behind me, so close that she could

have pushed me overboard.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said in a tone that said anything but.

Gregory came from the cabin, saw the broken glass, and said, “Ms. Crawford, Ms. Morrison, be careful. I’ll get the broom.”

He hurried away.

Sherry stared at me. “Stay out of my business. Stay away from my family.” Her voice was low and menacing.

“Family?” I repeated, though I thought business . She had seen me following her. A lump formed in my throat. Where was Gregory with the broom?

She smiled. It was twisted and cruel. “Future family.”

Then she went back into the cabin, leaving me perplexed and a lot worried.

Andrew met the ferry when we docked. I watched from the deck as Sherry ran to him and kissed him with the passion of the honeymooning

Kents. He responded in kind, put his arm around her waist, and they walked down the beach toward the resort.

I had a lot to think about.

I took the shuttle, and when it dropped me off in the roundabout, I headed straight to my cottage, avoiding three conversations.

Doug was his usual chatty self, but I bowed out of drinks by the pool because of a “headache.” Brie tried to flag me down,

but I waved her off, not wanting to engage in that conversation yet—though I knew I’d eventually have to ask her if she took

the book.

And Mrs. Kent, the female half of the horny honeymooners, who was, surprisingly, not with her husband. In three days, I had

never seen them separated.

“Have you heard anything about what happened to that poor woman?” she asked me as I passed her exiting the yoga studio, her

skin glistening from exercise.

Okay, so I avoided two and a half conversations.

“No,” I said, still walking.

She turned and walked beside me. “I talked to one of the maids, and she said that the woman was murdered.” She whispered murdered like some people whisper cancer .

“That’s the rumor,” I said, trying to give off the aura that I was busy without being rude.

“I heard she had stayed in your room,” Mrs. Kent said.

That stopped me, literally, and I faced her. “Really?”

“Don’t you think that’s creepy?” she asked.

If she had learned that Diana had been in my suite, maybe it was common knowledge. It would be common knowledge among the staff.

Maybe Brie hadn’t been the one to take the book. Maybe it was Sherry, who could have easily known which cottage Diana was in. Or someone who knew what Diana was writing in the book and

had been looking for it in her room .

But why her room and not the luggage in storage? I remembered the staff that first night I was here at the Sky Bar commented

that housekeeping had packed up her room because she hadn’t checked out. I’d thought maybe Amber asked Gino to look through

the suitcase—or that he allowed her to do so. If she didn’t find the book, the next logical step would be to search the room.

A lot of theories, but little evidence to back them up.

“Creepy,” I agreed. “You okay after the other night?”

Mrs. Kent sighed. “Yes, thank you. I freaked.”

“Justified,” I said as I glanced down the path to my door. “I need to go, but maybe I’ll see you on the cruise tonight?”

“We’ll be there,” she said and waved as I walked to my door.

I sat down at the desk and booted up my laptop. I’d been planning to research Ethan Valentine and dig deeper into Sherry Morrison,

but I hesitated as I thought about the implications of Diana Harden having my suite before me.

Anyone could have seen me reading Diana’s book on the beach—like Sherry Morrison—but that didn’t mean everyone had seen me reading it,

or knew what it was if they had. If the culprit knew Diana had written in the book and couldn’t find the book in her belongings,

they might have thought it was here. Which would clear Brie.

I had thought she might have taken it simply because she’d told me where to hide it. I didn’t have to secure it to the back of the dresser, but it was a good idea in light of my suspicions about Gino. Was I giving her the benefit of the doubt because I liked her?

I couldn’t help but think of all the mysteries I’ve read where the sidekick betrayed the hero. Brie had already called herself

Dr. Watson. I haven’t read every single Sir Arthur Conan Doyle story, but I don’t think that Watson ever betrayed Sherlock

Holmes.

I was no Sherlock, but I still had a hard time believing that Brie would have made such a mess of my room and broken the mirror.

It was mean and borderline threatening.

The thief, when he or she couldn’t find the book in Diana’s luggage, could have thought Diana had hidden it. That put Gino and Amber at the top of my list.

I was about to text Brie and ask if she could meet before the sunset cruise, when I saw that she had texted me twenty minutes

ago.

u mad? we need to talk.

I texted Brie and said one hour, Blue Dahlia. That would give me enough time to get ready for the cruise. She responded with

a thumbs-up emoji.

Brie could have taken the book, but it now seemed unlikely. She’d come through with information about Gino Garmon, Diana and Amber’s

relationship, and Trevor Lance’s marital situation. She would have just asked me to see the book.

After my experience with the police on St. John, I considered reaching out to Ethan Valentine directly. Except, what if he was involved? Crusty said he’d taken Diana to Valentine’s private dock the night she disappeared. Maybe I should talk to Tristan.

He would know if Valentine had been on the island Sunday. If he wasn’t, then he had nothing to do with her murder. Or Luis,

Valentine’s uncle, would know. I doubted the octogenarian had strangled anyone.

I turned to my computer and searched for Ethan Valentine.

The first link that came up was his bio on the Valentine Enterprises website. It was surprisingly brief for a multibillion-dollar

company. He founded the company to support video game creators by offering a full array of services from debugging a program

to marketing and distribution. He purchased projects in the independent marketplace and repackaged them for mass distribution.

There was nothing about him taking a sabbatical for three years on an island, and trade magazines referred to him as reclusive

but engaged with his business.

I clicked images, and there were pictures of three different men named Ethan Valentine, none of whom could be the dotcom genius.

The MIT student paper wrote a short article about Ethan Valentine:

Computer science and engineering major Ethan Valentine sold a data compression program he developed in high school to Roland

Briggs, the head of the Briggs fortune and a fellow MIT alum. While the details of the sale are not yet known, rumors indicate

that Briggs paid low eight figures for the program. Valentine couldn’t be reached for comment, but his roommate John Douglas

said he wasn’t planning to return to MIT in the fall. “Ethan has more ideas than anyone, and he plans on using this sale as

seed money for his own company.”

Briggs. That couldn’t be a coincidence, right?

I did a quick search on Roland Briggs, and yes, he was the father of Parker Briggs, the man I’d spoken to, the man who had been arguing with his ex-girlfriend and Diana Harden’s

current girlfriend, Amber Jones.

That was a connection I couldn’t ignore.

I didn’t have time to dig into the finance articles, so I saved them to my desktop to peruse later.

I had just changed into a new dress when Braden called.

“You answered your phone too fast,” he said.

“I’m getting ready for a sunset dinner cruise,” I informed him.

“Then I won’t keep you long. I looked into the two companies you asked about. Ninety percent of Lance & Wong Development,

LLC, is their commercial real estate company, AV Properties and Trust, which has just under $16 billion in assets and a market

value of $17.5 billion, according to Forbes. They have several major projects in the works, but the largest two are a $100

million project in Dallas and a $120 million project in Nashville.”

A market value of $17.5 billion would make Lance’s business probably one of the top twenty in the country. I asked Braden,

“Anything sketchy about their business model?”

“They’ve been sued a half-dozen times but only lost once, a wrongful termination and breach of contract case against a small

concrete company out of Houston. They have a mixed reputation in the real estate world.”

“What about the other ten percent of their business?”

“I didn’t really look at that. I can.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said, though I wasn’t certain if the information would be important or not. “What about Briggs?”

“Parker Briggs is the black sheep of the family,” Braden said. “He’s never held down a real job as far as I can tell. Ostensibly

he works for his father, Roland Briggs, but there are more articles about him at parties and getting in trouble than there

are about his business. Typical trust fund brat,” Braden said derisively. “You know the type.”

I did. Several of our clients had offspring like Parker Briggs.

“And Roland runs the family business?”

“Yes, with his daughter Abigail Briggs Horowitz and her husband, who is the company attorney.”

“He’s also a philanthropist, right?”

“Right. The Briggs Family Trust had a big write-up just last week on renovating the children’s hospital in New Orleans.”

Diana Harden was from New Orleans. No book detective believed in coincidences. “Oh?” I said.

“It’s where they live. At least, the dad and the Horowitzes live there. I don’t know about Parker. He gets around, and is

seen often in New York, Miami, and Los Angeles—that’s where he seems to have gotten into the most trouble.”

“Would you say the Briggs family business is healthy?”

“They have A ratings across the board, and Roland Briggs and his daughter are well respected.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated, then just let it out. “Do you know much about Ethan Valentine? He got his start when Briggs bought

his data compression software.”

“Valentine Enterprises? Not much. Valentine keeps a low profile, but...” She heard him type on his laptop. “Business is

very healthy. A few disgruntled board members because he’s so reclusive, but they created and now manufacture one of the top

video games in the world. Sort of like Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego meets Choose Your Own Adventure , but with guns and bombs. They’re coming out with a new edition at the end of the year. Preorders have already exceeded the

last edition.”

In the background I heard Amanda say, “Tell her to stop working and have fun!”

“I’m not working,” I said.

“Neither of us believe that,” Braden said.

“I’m not ,” I repeated. “In fact, I need to hang up right now and finish getting ready.” I was going to be late meeting Brie.

I heard rustling on the other end. Then Amanda came on the line. “I want pictures,” she demanded.

“To prove I’m having fun?”

“Yes.”

I laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. Goodbye.” I ended the call and shut down my laptop.

I didn’t know what, if anything, Ethan Valentine had to do with Diana Harden or Parker Briggs, but there was some connection to both, and now I was curious.

I felt surprisingly nervous as I applied makeup and fussed with my hair. This was it, I thought. I would put Diana Harden’s

murder aside, not worry about potential suspects, and think only of Jason.

I don’t know why I was so nervous.