Page 27

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dash arrived in less than five minutes, blue lights flashing as his cruiser stopped outside The Perfect Steep.

Deputy Harris was with him, the young officer looking simultaneously nervous and determined as he followed Dash’s lead.

Where Dash moved with the experience of someone who’d seen it all, Harris had the eager alertness of a rookie getting his first real taste of detective work.

“Where is it?” Dash asked, scanning the shop as if expecting to find the intruder still hiding behind the pastry case.

I pointed to the white paper on the floor, the block letters glaring up at us— STOP DIGGING, OR YOU’LL END UP LIKE HER.

Dash crouched beside it, careful not to touch the evidence.

His expression darkened as he read the words, jaw tightening visibly.

“Harris, get the kit. Dust for prints and when the next deputies arrive have them start looking for signs of break-in and doing door-to-doors. It’s still daylight outside. Maybe someone saw something.”

While Harris retrieved evidence-collection supplies from the cruiser, Dash gently guided me to a chair, his hand warm and reassuring against the small of my back. He handed me a bottle of water and then said, “Tell me exactly what happened.”

I recounted the evening—closing up, washing dishes, discovering the unlocked back door and the note.

“You’re sure you locked that door earlier?” he asked.

“Positive,” I said. “I always double-check. Island habits.”

Harris returned with an evidence kit, photographing the note from multiple angles before carefully lifting it with gloved hands and slipping it into a clear plastic bag.

He moved to the back door, dusting the handle for fingerprints while Dash remained at my side.

I took a drink of water to wet my parched throat and noticed my hands weren’t shaking quite as bad as they were before.

“We’re making someone nervous,” Dash said, his voice low. “That’s good. Means we’re getting close.”

“Close to what? Being the next body found in the harbor?” I replied, which earned me a look that was equal parts concern and admiration.

“With that kind of humor, you have the makings of being an excellent cop.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “Police uniforms are not at all flattering to the female body.”

He laughed and squeezed my hand. “I want to station a patrol car outside your house tonight.”

“Nope.” I said. “Nothing screams come and get me like a police cruiser parked in the driveway. Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie?”

“I don’t really watch movies,” he said.

“Good Lord,” I said. “I let you kiss me without knowing a thing about you. How do you not watch movies?”

“Maybe you can convince me they’re not all garbage on our next date,” he said. “Then we’ll kiss again and you’ll know more about me. Now focus please. Someone threatened you. This isn’t the time for stubborn independence. You’ve been followed and now this.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insisted. “Chowder’s a light sleeper. And I have excellent security. I’ll even activate the alarm.”

He closed his eyes. “You don’t activate your alarm at night?”

“The panel is downstairs,” I said. “By the time I get upstairs I don’t want to walk back down to hit the button. But I’ll remember tonight. I swear.”

He closed his eyes and made a strangled sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Fine,” he said. “I’m following you home and checking every room myself. And then I’m going to wait outside the door and make sure you activate the alarm. Do you have cameras?”

“Top of the line,” I said. “I don’t really do technology though. I think the feed goes into the cloud somewhere. I don’t know how to get it back out.”

The look on his face was somewhere between pity and incredulity, and he leaned forward slightly.

“Don’t kiss me,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

He grinned and said, “I wasn’t going to.” And then he leaned a little closer and reached down. “You dropped the lid to your water bottle.”

I grabbed it and screwed it on tight, my face flaming in embarrassment.

“Too bad you don’t want me to kiss you,” he said. “You’re pretty cute when you’re irritated.”

* * *

An hour later, after a thorough investigation of the tea shop and an equally thorough search of my house, Dash finally seemed satisfied that no immediate danger lurked in my closets or under my bed.

Chowder had followed him from room to room, supervising the security sweep with surprising attentiveness.

“Well, Mabel McCoy,” he said. “You have a ridiculous amount of clothes. But no monsters in your closets.”

“That’s a relief,” I said dryly. “Now stick a fork in me, because I’m done for the night. I’ve got Genevieve and Clarissa covering for me tomorrow. And if you show up and wake me up between the hours of midnight and eight tomorrow morning then I can’t be responsible for what Chowder does to you.”

Since Chowder was currently lying on his back at Dash’s feet, it felt like an empty threat. But I needed sleep. And maybe another kiss. But I was trying not to think about that.

Dash looked down at Chowder and gave him another belly rub. “Lock the doors and turn on the alarm,” Dash instructed. “Call me immediately if anything—and I mean anything—seems off.”

“I’ve got you on speed dial,” I said, herding him out the door.

He leaned in slowly and I tilted my head slightly, and then I felt his lips on my forehead.

“What’s that about?” I asked.

“You’re looking a little dangerous tonight. And somewhat unhinged. I’m playing it safe.”

“Out,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Who kisses someone on the forehead?” I muttered under my breath and then closed the door in his face. He’d looked amused and on the verge of laughter.

“Not a word from you,” I said to Chowder as I set the alarm. “You men are all the same. Do I look like a woman who wanted a kiss on the forehead?”

Chowder didn’t answer. He bolted up the stairs and when I finally got into bed I realized he was already under the covers and snoring on his side.

“Just like a man.”

* * *

Despite telling myself I was going to sleep late come hell or high water, I’d been staring at the ceiling and replaying the note in my mind since five o’clock. STOP DIGGING, OR YOU’LL END UP LIKE HER.

Chowder snorted in his sleep, completely unbothered by existential dread or death threats. I envied him his canine simplicity.

I gave up on sleep and dragged myself into the shower where I sang “Que Sera, Sera” until my fingers were pruny and my attitude was sunny. Forty-five minutes later, I’d channeled my inner Doris Day and transformed from frazzled insomniac to something resembling a functioning human.

I chose a navy fit-and-flare dress with yellow lemons printed on it, trimmed with delicate white lace around a slightly lower neckline than I normally wore.

I rarely took it out of the closet—the neckline had always felt a bit too daring for daytime on Grimm Island—but today I was feeling bold.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was a little revenge for Dash’s patronizing forehead kiss.

Conservative enough for lunch with a former sheriff’s wife, but with just enough va-va-voom to make a point.

By nine, I’d consumed enough coffee to give a hummingbird heart palpitations and was pacing my kitchen, rehearsing questions for Lucinda.

“So, when exactly did you realize your husband was taking bribes? And by the way, did he ever mention murdering anyone? Just curious.”

Chowder gave me a side-eye from his perch on the kitchen stool.

“What? Too direct?” I asked him. “Fine. You come up with something better.”

The doorbell rang. I froze, suddenly remembering every horror movie I’d ever seen where the heroine answers the door only to meet her grisly end.

The bell rang again, followed by a familiar voice. “Mabel? It’s Dottie. I’m early.”

I exhaled and shuffled to the door, peering through the peephole to confirm it was indeed Dottie standing on my porch, with Bea right behind her.

Dottie was wearing white pants and a moss-green sweater set that matched her glasses, while Bea was resplendent in a turquoise caftan with bold golden jewelry that probably weighed more than she did.

“Sorry,” I said, opening the door. “After last night, I’m a bit jumpy.”

“Understandable,” Dottie replied, stepping inside with Bea close behind, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume in her wake. “I hope you don’t mind I invited Bea along. Lucinda owes her big time for that exposé on Milton’s hidden assets, and she might have looser lips with Bea there.”

“Plus,” Bea added with a sly smile, “Lucinda and I have what you might call a complicated relationship. She provided information for my stories, I helped destroy her ex-husband. The usual island dynamics.” She gave my outfit an appraising once-over.

“Look at you with that neckline. Someone’s feeling frisky today. ” She winked. “I approve.”

“Good Lord, Mabel,” Dottie said. “You’re wound tighter than a banjo string in a tornado. You need some chamomile. We’ve got time before lunch. Besides, Bea’s got some inside information that might help us with Lucinda.”

I followed them into the kitchen and watched as Dottie put on the kettle for tea. She pushed me down on a stool at the kitchen island and went about the business of getting things set up.

“I’m nervous,” I confessed. “I’m not exactly experienced in extracting information from potential murder witnesses. Between being followed and the note left for me last night, I’m not sure I’m the best choice for a posse member.”

“Nonsense,” Dottie said. “I know you’ve seen Tombstone at least a dozen times. You’re a perfect choice to be in this posse. You should get a gun. It’ll make you feel more authentic.”

“I’ve got one,” I said. “It was Patrick’s. I keep it in a shoebox in the hall closet.”

“Fat lot of good it does you there,” Dottie said, shaking her head.