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Chapter 1

What doesn’t kill you counts as w ork experience.

Meg Gates studied her empty apartment through bleary eyes. It was just her and Watson. She sank into the papasan wicker chair after moving the empty wine bottle from last night on the floor next to the other one. Meg had kept a case of Queen Anne white from the shipment that was supposed to be used to toast the happy couple at her wedding reception in two days. Instead, her father had scheduled an appreciation party for his Stephen Gates, Accounting clients. He’d taken the wine, the reception location, and her caterer and charged it off to his company credit card. Now, her wedding failure could be a tax deduction for his company rather than another hit to his bottom line. Like when she’d left college to work for that start-up. As Stephen Gates always reminded her, since they weren’t related to that Gates, they had to make sure the lemons turned into lemonade. Or more likely, imitation lemon- flavored water.

As Meg sat staring at the Space Needle and drinking a bottle of water, trying to get rid of her hangover headache, she realized she was now a three-time loser. She’d failed at college, work, and now love. But who was counting? Besides her, her family, and eve ryone she knew.

Last night she’d sat in this same chair listening to John Legend and Bruno Mars and any other artist with a sad song she could find on her phone. She’d never figured out how to pair her phone to Romain’s pricy Bluetooth stereo that was still in the apartment. In fact, all his belongings were here, surrounding her. Waiting for Romain and Rachel to return from their Italian vacation that was supposed to be her honeymoon. Romain Evans had been her fiancé. A few weeks before the wedding, he changed. He’d been distant. Cold. She’d thought it had been prewedding jitters. I t hadn’t been.

Mutual friends had whispered to her that Romain was moving into Rachel’s condo down by the sound. She hoped he tripped and fell off the dock. Maybe he could drown, too. But that seemed unlikely. Tripping on the way to happiness was m ore her style.

Several times last night, Meg had considered throwing his stereo over the side of the balcony, but it had seemed like too much work to commit to the failed relationship. Besides, at the time, she still hadn’t finished the task at hand—drinking the win e in her glass.

By the end of the night, or maybe sometime this morning, she had been playing Barry Manilow, Joni Mitchell, and the Carpenters, her mom’s favorites. Meg spent the evening cutting her designer wedding dress into pieces that matched her shattered heart. The Space Needle sparkled in the window and kept her company while she destroyed the dress. Worse, she vaguely remembered possibly making a few Facebook Live posts du ring the night.

Her eyes felt dry from all the tears and probably from the wine. Pushing aside the pile of chopped white lace this morning didn’t make her feel better. She had loved the dress. Destroying it had been symbolic of what Romain’s betrayal had do ne to her soul.

She’d been called dr amatic before.

Today, she reminded herself, was the start of a new chapter. Twenty-six wasn’t too late to start over. Again. Or at least she hoped it wasn’t. She might be single, unemployed, and sans degree, but there had to be real jobs out there for som eone like her.

To tide her over, her mom had hired her to work evenings at Island Books, the family bookstore on Bainbridge Island. Meg figured it was her mom’s way of keeping her out of trouble as her heart healed. Today was moving day. Moving home. One more indicator that her life was in the toilet. At least she wasn’t moving back in with her mother; instead, Aunt Melody had let her have the apartment over the garage. She groaned and leaned back into the chair, closing her eyes. Maybe she could put moving off until next week. But then she’d run the risk of seeing Romain. And probably Rachel. She didn’t know if she could stop herself from throwing things at them or worse, projectile vomiting like in that old movie. Today was as good as any day to run home with her tail bet ween her legs.

Watson, her tan rescue cocker mix, jumped onto her lap and licked her face. He must have read her mind about the dog analogy. Watson liked sleeping in, so if he was awake, it was time to take him outsi de for a walk.

“You know I’m destroyed, right? Totally heartbroken and worthless.” She stared into his deep brown eyes and asked as he whined out his request, again. “If you want to be a Seattle dog, you should break free of your leash and run as far away from me as possible. Go toward the Queen Anne neighborhood. Maybe someone rich w ill adopt you.”

Watson patted her chest. He didn’t care. She pushed him off her lap and finished the water in one gulp. Then she stood and grabbed Watson’s neon blue leash. It matched his collar and his bed. Watson’s dog accessories were stylish and expensive. “Don’t wear these out, buddy. For the next year or so, we’re only buyin g essentials.”

Watson stood at the door and whined again. He wasn’t impressed with her cost -cutting ideas.

“Fine, I’m hurrying.” Meg opened the door and checked to make sure she had her keys. No one was around to come to save her if she locked herself out. Except for the building’s super, who usually slept until noon. Besides, she had people coming at ten to move her back home.

Home. She’d planned on this apartment being her and Romain’s home until they’d gotten pregnant. Then they would move out of the city and closer to his job in Bellevue. They’d buy a cute cottage with a fenced yard for Watson and the new baby. She’d take up some sort of craft that would sell like hotcakes online and they’d be a perfect little family. She’d even imagined making homemade baby food. She’d be the yoga mom who wore crazy-colored jumpsuits and Birks except for date nights when she would shimmer in designer dresses and heels, having magically dropped the baby weight. And Romain would never even look at another woman, he’d be so in love with her.

So that dream had a few holes now. Romain hadn’t even gotten to the wedding night.

Watson did his business, and she picked it up in a biodegradable bag. Just like a good dog mom. She’d done everything right. So why was she b eing punished?

“Wishes and horses,” she said as she found a trash can on the street and deposited the bag. A scruffy-looking man leaning against the building glared at her, and she repeated the saying. Her pity party was over. It was time for that new life. “Wishe s and horses.”

When she turned the corner toward the apartment building— not home, she corrected herself—she saw her moving crew. Her mom, Felicia Gates, Aunt Melody, and Natasha Jones were all standing by her mom’s bookmobile van. They were helping her brother Steve, who everyone called Junior, parallel park his Ram truck on the street. Dalton Hamilton, Junior’s best friend, was helping him back in. Mom had taken Romain’s parking spot since his BMW was a t the airport.

“Felicia, she’s across the street with Watson.” Her aunt poked her mom and then pointed at her. “Meg, we’re here, darling. Don’t you worry anymore. We’ll have you back on the island and hom e in no time.”

Meg smiled and hoped it didn’t look like she was suffering. Bainbridge Island was a thirty-minute ferry ride away from Seattle in distance and more than fifty years behind the city in lifestyle. Residents and tourists hiked and had picnics in the woods that covered most of the island. Lately, large tracts of land were being sold with a single house built in the middle of those woods. Or on the waterside of the property. Houses that longtime residents like her parents and aunt and uncle could never i magine owning.

In Seattle, Meg had lived in an apartment building where no one knew her name, including the super. And she loved her freedom. Now, she was moving back to the apartment over her aunt Melody’s garage. An apartment where her bedroom window overlooked their backyard and her every move cou ld be watched.

Natasha Jones met her as she and Watson crossed the street and handed her a large coffee. “You look horrible. I should have come ove r last night.”

“Then both of us would be hungover and we’d have one less bottle of wine to move.” Meg hugg ed her friend.

“One? I’m disappointed that you think so poorly of my ability to comfort drink.” Natasha squeezed her back. “Are you sure about moving home? It’ s a big step.”

Meg nodded, looking around the neighborhood she’d called home for the last five years. She’d loved it here, but she couldn’t afford the apartment on her own. Not since the start-up she’d been working at shut down. She had started trying to get on where Romain worked, but she’d put off her interview until after she would return from Italy. “It’s a big step backwa rd, you mean.”

“Not even close. Seattle’s not good enough for you.” Natasha put her arm around her as they finished crossi ng the street.

Natasha had been Meg’s best friend since they’d found they had matching Barbies at preschool. Natasha had warned Meg that Rachel was a player, but Meg hadn’t imagined that her sorority sister would go after Romain when she’d asked her to be a bridesmaid. Or that he’d jump on the offer. Until the day when she’d gotten Romain’s phone call from the gate at Sea-Tac, just before he and Rachel boarded their rescheduled flight. She pushed away the memory and smiled at Natasha. “Anyway, thanks for coming. I hope you haven’t started the wedding cake yet. I’ll pay you for it if you have. We can feed it to the ducks in the park.”

“Cake isn’t good for ducks. Besides, I called the couple I’d turned down last week and sold it to them. She thought your design was beautiful.” Natasha owned her bakery, A Taste of Magic, on Bainbridge Island. She catered to the tourists who liked having fancy cupcakes to eat while they walked through the small town’s streets along with her coffee. And she’d been making wedding cakes for the last year. “I have a check for your deposit refun d in my purse.”

“I just hope the cake doesn’t bring them bad luck.” Meg unlocked the door and saw that Junior wasn’t alone. She held the door open as Dalton, who’d been her big brother’s best friend for as long as she could remember, hugged her. His arms felt protective around her, and she wanted to lay her head on his chest. For just an hour or two, then she’d be fine.

“He wasn’t good enough for you anyway.” Dalton stepped back, breaking contact. Then he punched her in the arm. “Welcome back to the boo nies, Magpie.”

Dalton was the only one who ever called her Magpie. Typically, she found it annoying, but today, she was so grateful for the extra help, he could call her anything. “Come on in, brat, and help me move my meager bel ongings home.”

She pointed out the furniture she was taking, including her grandmother’s china cabinet, her desk, and the papasan chair she’d bought in college. The rest of the furniture was Romain’s. He didn’t like her mishmash of yard sale furniture finds, so she’d sold most of it when they moved in together. She handed Junior a pile of blankets to protect the furniture. Then he and Dalton started moving the larger items i nto the truck.

“Mom, will you and Aunt Melody pack up the kitchen?” Meg didn’t look at them as she told them what not to box up. The kitchen was Meg’s domain. Right now, she was on autopilot and if she stopped to think, the tears would start to flow. Again. Biting her lip, she kept from crying. Not in front of her family. “All the dishes, silverware, glasses, pots, and pans. And all the appliances except the Keurig on the counter. I t’s all mine.”

Natasha went into the living room and started boxing up Meg’s complete series of Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and the Hardy Boys books. “I’m assuming all the bo oks are yours?”

“Exactly. I should have realized that before saying I’d marry the guy. You can’t trust a man who doesn’t read,” Meg called back from the bedroom, where she had gone to pack her clothes. In here she didn’t have to worry about someone seeing her crying. She taped up a box for her shoes, but most of her clothes fit into her three suitcases. She needed to check the coat closet too. She had a North End puffer, and as she emptied her side of the clos et, she froze.

Romain’s tuxedo still hung by his suits. She ran her hand over the smooth fabric, imagining him standing there, watching her. She noticed the engagement ring on her finger. It still sparkled even with her pain dulling her senses. She could keep it. Wasn’t the rule if she didn’t break the engagement, she got the ring? She took off the ring and studied the marquise-cut diamond and platinum setting. He’d picked out the perfect ring. He just wasn’t th e perfect man.

Meg tucked the ring into the breast pocket of the tuxedo. Romain had bought his tux. He’d shuddered when she’d suggested getting a rental to save money. So at least someday when he put this on, he’d find the ring. Meg imagined the moment when he pulled it out and realized he’d made a horrible mistake. He’d try to call her, but Meg wouldn’t answer. Romain was dead to her. Just like her fantasy of a perfect life. She ran her hand on the top shelf to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. There was something there. She pulled it down and realized it was a money clip with five hundred dollars in it. Romain’s cash stash. Their just-in-case money. At least he hadn’t taken it on vac ation with him.

“You should take it. It will help pay for your moving expenses.” Dalton stood at the doorway, watching her consider the money. “He owes you a t least that.”

Meg fanned out the money. “He does, but I’m not taking all of it.” She peeled off a hundred-dollar bill and tucked it into the tux pocket with the money clip and the ring. Then she handed two hundred to Dalton. She’d contributed to what used to be their emergency fund. “Share this with Junior for your time a nd gas money.”

Dalton stood close enough that she could smell the aftershave he’d used since he’d been a teenager. Musky and woodsy at the same time. Like he’d just stepped out of the forest on his way to buil d a log cabin.

“Meg, I’m really sorry about this. But he wasn’t the guy for you.” Dalton pushed a lock of hair back away from her eyes. “You deserve so much more.”

A cough made her jump.

“Hey, Meg.” Natasha stood at the doorway, watching them. “Your mom wants to know what you’re doing with the w edding gifts.”

“I’ll come and sort them. I’ll be responsible for sending back the ones from my relatives, but the others, Romain’s going to have to deal with.” She stepped away from Dalton, clearing her head of the foresty smell. She had work to do. “I’ll need another box.”

Meg saw her mom sitting on the papasan chair, putting all the lace pieces of her wedding dress into a garment bag. “Mom, ju st leave that.”

Instead, Felicia reached down and picked up the last few pieces of lace off the floor. “I’m not letting you throw this out. You paid too much for it. Maybe we can save it.”

Meg picked lace off Watson’s fur and put it with the rest of the dress. “I don’t think even a miracle could save this. I was furious last night. I guess I’m glad the dress d istracted me.”

Aunt Melody snorted. “Felicia has always believed in a patron saint of lost causes.”

Ignoring her sister, Felicia zipped up the bag and took it downstairs to the van. Meg watched her go, knowing that she couldn’t say anything to change her mind and feeling the daughter guilt that still hung in the room over destroying an ex pensive dress.

After cleaning out the pantry and boxing up what she could save from the fridge, Meg looked around the home she’d lived in for the last year. She stepped out on the balcony to retrieve her fern that somehow was still alive and paused to take in the view. “I’m going to miss you, Space Needle.”

“Bainbridge Island has views too. Including the Space Needle from the skyline.” Natasha hugged her. “Come on, if we’re done here, the guys want to catch the ne xt ferry home.”

When they got settled on the ferry, Meg went up to the observation deck for coffee and to keep Watson happy. She sat backward and watched the city disappear into the distance. She would be living less than an hour away, but it might as well be across the world. They’d gone outside to sit, and the spray from the fog stung her face as she fought the tears. She’d cried enough over Romain’s betrayal, but then she realized, it wasn’t the man she was grieving. It was her city life.

An angry voice brought her out of her anguish.

“The woman doesn’t know what she wants—or what she has, for that matter. Don’t worry about the advance. She’ll be grateful for even the part we disclose to her.” A man stood by the rail near Meg, his back to he r and Seattle.

What a jerk . Meg moved closer as she wiped the tears from her face. Mom had always said the best way to get over something was to get involved in something else. Maybe she could help the woman this man was trying to cheat. Unless he wasn’t going to Bainbridge to meet with her. He could just be talking about someone somewhere else. Maybe she had her mom’s love of helpless causes as well.

“I brought you hot chocolate to warm you up,” Dalton said as he held out the cup. The man on the phone turned toward them, giving them both a dirty look. Like she’d been trying to listen in on his conversation. Well, she had, but he was the one who’d interrupted h er pity party.

“Thanks,” she said as she watched the man walk back inside the ferry. She took the cup but didn’t take a drink. It was always too hot when yo u first got it.

“Do you know him?” Dalton foll owed her gaze.

Meg shook her head. “No. I just overheard part of his conversation. He’s no t a nice guy.”

“I got that feeling from him too. It’s funny how you just know sometimes.” Dalton leaned on the railing, watching Seattle disappear. “Look, Magpie, Bainbridge isn’t that bad. And who says it’s forever? You’ll be back on your feet sooner th an you think.”

Meg sipped her still-too-hot hot chocolate, not sure what to say. She could tell him that she felt broken. That she needed a whole new life. A new purpose. Really open up and let him into her head. But Dalton was only trying to be nice. He wasn’t offering a free counseling session. “You’re right, of course. But it feels like a step back. At least I’ll be e mployed again.”

“I heard you’re going to be working for your mom at the bookstore.” He moved to stand closer, his back to Seattle and breaking her view of what she was l eaving behind.

It didn’t occur to her until later that he’d moved to that s pot on purpose.

“I’ll be manning Island Books from three to ten Thursday through Saturday and sometime on Sunday. It’s too bad I’m not a writer, I bet I’d get a lot of work done.” She stopped trying to watch Seattle disappear. Bainbridge was her new life. Not there. “Thanks to Aunt Melody, I also got a second gig. I’ll be working as an author assistant for Lilly Aster.”

“LC Aster? The mystery author? I just finished her last book.” Dalton looked impressed. “Her summer home is beautiful. I helped my uncle with the flooring when it wa s being built.”

“Well, if there’s anything I do know, it’s how to solve a mystery. My name might not be Nancy and this isn’t River Heights, but I think I can be useful to Ms. Aster. Besides, it will get me inside that house. I’m looking forward to seeing it. I wonder what my first assignment will be. Researching what it’s like to be a spy with the CIA or maybe tracking down jewelry heists that haven’t been solved?” Meg had imagined several different topics her first assignment could involve, including having coffee with the author as they discussed their favorite books.

“I haven’t seen that look on your face since you solved the mystery of who was spiking Coach Bailey’s vitamin water. Did you ever tell him it was the cheerleader advisor?” Dalton glanced around her at the upcoming dock. “Hold that thought. We need to get back in the vehicles. We’re almost a t Bainbridge.”

The announcement came after they were already on the stairs. She followed Dalton down to the vehicle level and climbed into her car. Watson sat in the front with the rest of the space in the Honda Civic being taken up with plants and boxes. Dalton worked on the ferry, so he knew all the whistles and noises. While she waited for her turn to drive onto the island, she thought about working for Ms. Aster. Maybe this was the start of her new life. She’d joked about writing at the bookstore, but maybe she’d try her hand at a book about solving mysteries as an amateur, including helpful hints about i nvestigations.

She might have missed all the signs between Romain and Rachel. But that had been her heart talking. She knew she could do this investigation thing. And after some time working with the famous New York Times bestselling author, she’d have even more tools and maybe so me experience.

Now, all she had to do was convince Uncle Troy, the town’s police chief, to let her help investigate the next murder in Bainbridge. Unless the dead guy was Romain. Because if her ex-fiancé ever showed his face again on the island, she’d be top of the suspect list. Wi th good reason.

Meg Gates is no loser . She stared into the rearview mirror and rephrased her badly phrased affirmation. “Meg Gates, that’s me, is on the way to being Bainbridge Island’s top consultant for murder i nvestigations.”

The woman in the mirror didn’t look convinced. Maybe she’d start small, like trying to find a missing clock.

It wor ked for Nancy.

First on her list was to write a policy and procedure manual for her new life. The sun broke through the rain clouds as the ferry landed on the island. Meg took it as her first positive sign she was on th e right track.