Page 6 of Broken Bird (The Last Picks #4)

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said as Bobby hustled me down the stairs, one hand gripping my arm. I almost missed a step because we were moving so fast. “Hey! Slow down!”

Bobby did slow down. But only barely.

A moment later, he was pushing me past the housekeeping cart, out into the Rock On Inn’s parking lot. The smell of wet cedar and sea salt came in on my next breath. The late afternoon was already starting to darken, and with it, the cold was closing in, and the sunset—what there was of it—was a dull glow behind the ironscape of clouds.

When we approached the Jeep, Keme was leaning against it, hands buried in his hoodie.

“We need a minute,” Bobby said.

Keme’s eyes got huge, and he scampered down to the corner of the block. He hid behind a board-and-batten vacation rental, but I could see him peeking out at us.

“Before you yell at me—” I began.

“Why would I yell at you?”

I didn’t feel like now was the right time to point out that Bobby’s volume was on the high side, so I said, “I talked to the sheriff.”

“You did.”

“Uh huh. And she said she could use some help.”

“She did.”

“Um, yes. And that it would be okay if I did some asking around, you know, just talking to people—”

Bobby held up his hand. I could see the muscles working in his jaw as he fought for control.

This was…well, kind of new ground for us. I mean, in the past, Bobby had been aware of what he occasionally—and unflatteringly—called my snooping. He’d even helped me, although the circumstances had been admittedly unusual. I’d never run into him in the middle of an investigation like this, though. Not when he was on duty. And he’d never gotten mad. But then again, a lot of things had changed since Bobby and West had broken up.

“Do you realize,” he asked, his voice taut with barely controlled anger, “that ‘just talking to people’ is not safe or sane or sensible when it involves talking to people who might be cold-blooded killers?”

“Bobby, come on. It was a chat, that’s all. I wasn’t in any danger.”

“You don’t know that!”

That time, it definitely was a shout, and I raised my voice to match. “Actually, I do. Because you were right outside her room. If she tried anything, you would have stopped her!”

His expression changed: surprise again, and then a wariness I couldn’t quite name. In a different voice, he said, “You knew I was in Marshall’s room.”

I broke first, tearing my gaze away.

“For someone who didn’t think he was doing anything wrong,” he said in that same voice, “you sure didn’t want to get caught, did you?”

“Because I knew you’d—” Act like this wouldn’t quite be true, because I hadn’t exactly expected this . But I’d known something would happen, hadn’t I? The best I could come up with was a lame “—be so happy to see me.”

Bobby’s expression softened. “I am not happy to see you.”

“Rude!”

“And this is a no-parking zone.”

“Oh God, Bobby, please not another ticket. My parents are going to downgrade me to a go-kart if I keep this up.”

“The curb is red.”

“I had temporary color blindness! And Keme was talking too much—he distracted me!”

A hint of a smile turned the corner of his mouth. The sound of the waves was distant, but it was strangely comfortable. “I’m sorry I got upset. There’s something about that woman that feels off, and I was surprised, and—” Whatever else he might have said, he stopped himself. “You’re okay?”

“Totally fine.”

He made a rumbly noise in his chest that indicated ongoing dissatisfaction, but when he spoke, his tone verged on disbelief, “You talked to the sheriff?”

“I know it’s weird, Bobby. But I’m good at this. Or, I’m kind of good at it.”

“That’s like saying you’re good at falling into snake pits.” But before I could tell him—again—how rude that was, he said, “Did you learn anything?”

“Maybe.” I told him about my conversation with Elodie, and when I finished, I said, “From the outside, I don’t see a motive for Elodie or Hayes. Marshall was Elodie’s employer; she’s out of a job now. And same with Hayes—he must have been making a fortune with his share of the royalties. Why kill the golden goose? Ophelia, on the other hand, definitely had a reason to want Marshall dead. If they got divorced, she didn’t get anything. If Marshall died while they were still married, though, well, she’d be a very wealthy woman.”

“I’ll talk to the sheriff,” Bobby said. “See if we can find out if the divorce papers were signed. But Dash, the lack of an obvious motive doesn’t mean no motive. Besides, murderers aren’t…rational. At least, not in the same way as normal people. Elodie and Marshall were arguing—”

“I know, and I’m not going to take her word for it that it was nothing but a polite disagreement.”

“—and,” Bobby continued as though I hadn’t spoken, “doesn’t it seem strange to you that this agent, Hayes, would arrive unexpectedly right before Marshall is murdered?”

“Yes, it does. Just like I think it’s strange that somehow Stephen ‘noticed’ that the Titus Brooks manuscript had disappeared, even though—in theory—it was inside a leather portfolio. My suspect radar is pinging like crazy. All I’m saying is that right now, the only one with a clear reason—as far as I can see—is Ophelia.”

“Except she’s not staying at the Rock On Inn,” Keme said. “Nobody knows where she’s staying.”

I jumped. Bobby didn’t jump (of course), but his head whipped around.

Keme had somehow snuck up on us, and now he wore a self-satisfied grin as he adjusted his hood.

I said a few words that would not have made it into a TV Christmas special. Bobby let out a slow, controlled breath.

“She isn’t?” I said (after, uh, venting my spleen). “How do you know that?”

“Mrs. Fryman told me. Did you know Ophelia was here last night?”

“Yeah, she and Marshall had a big fight. Nice to have that confirmed by an outside source. Keme, that was good work.”

He was obviously trying not to let his pleasure show, but he stood a little taller, and something dangerously close to happiness flitted across his expression.

I looked at Bobby.

He rubbed one eyebrow. “I’ll tell the sheriff.” Then, giving me a dirty look, he said, “You’re not thinking about going looking for her right now, are you?”

“For Ophelia?”

“Yes, for Ophelia. Obviously for Ophelia.”

“Uh, no?”

“That was the correct answer. I don’t want you talking to her until we’ve had a chance to check her out.”

“Okay, but—”

“But?”

I scratched my temple. “You know what? I forgot what I was going to say.”

“Funny how that happens.”

The thing about Bobby is he has these remarkable eyes. They’re this rich, earthy bronze, and even on a bleached-out day like today, they were bright and full of color. And they also had a way of making me very…aware of Bobby’s feelings.

“As a matter of fact—” I said.

Keme groaned.

“—I think I’ll go home,” I continued, “and take a look at this manuscript.”

“Excellent idea,” Bobby said.

“Are you going to be home for dinner?”

For the first time in our conversation, his gaze slid away from mine. “Maybe. I might swing by the gym.”

The announcement wasn’t a surprise; over the last couple of months, if Bobby wasn’t at work, if he wasn’t at the beach, he was at the gym. But somehow, it still felt like a surprise. And the wave of disappointment still felt like a surprise too. I managed to smile. “Okay,” I said. “Sure.”

“Drive safe,” Bobby said.

And then he stood there. And I stood there. And Keme stood there. And down the street, holiday lights began to blink on.

I wasn’t sure what broke the moment. Bobby headed back to the inn, and Keme and I got into the Jeep.

As we drove home, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, but it didn’t matter. Every time Keme glanced over at me, I saw the mixture of pity and disappointment in his eyes.