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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dash was waiting for us at The Perfect Steep when we got back, pacing the length of the shop like a caged panther.

The Silver Sleuths had already assembled, looking like the geriatric Justice League—Walt studying cars and passersby on the street, Hank scribbling notes on a legal pad, and Deidre color-coding something with three different highlighters.

Chowder, who’d been left in Genevieve’s care during our lunch with Lucinda, waddled over to greet me with slightly more enthusiasm than usual, as if sensing I needed the emotional support of his wrinkled face and doggy breath.

“Everybody okay?” Dash asked, scanning us for visible damage.

“Uninjured but thoroughly freaked out,” I replied.

“I need bourbon,” Bea announced, sailing past Dash. At my raised eyebrow, she simply said, “Emergencies call for emergency measures, darling. And it’s after noon. Don’t look so judgmental.”

Dash guided me to a chair, his hand warm at my elbow. “I told Genevieve to close up early and go home.”

“Good. She doesn’t need to be mixed up in this.” I sank into the chair, suddenly exhausted. “What happened to Vanessa?”

Dash ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that would have been distracting under other circumstances.

“Her assistant called when she didn’t show up to open the boutique.

No answer on her cell. Harris and Reynolds did a welfare check.

” His jaw tightened. “They found her in the living room.”

“Harris said she was strangled,” I said, the word heavy on my tongue.

“With what looks like one of her own scarves. Silk. High-end.”

“What was my name doing on a note pinned to her nightgown?” I asked, getting to the part that had been making my stomach churn since Harris’s call.

“It was the only thing written.” Dash’s eyes were troubled. “Typed, not handwritten. Pinned with a decorative brooch.”

“No signs of forced entry?” Walt asked.

“None,” Dash confirmed. “Signs point to her knowing her killer. We found wine glasses. Two on the coffee table. One with lipstick, one clean.”

“Romantic?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Dash said. “We also found this clutched in her hand.” He showed me a photo on his phone of a crumpled document. Even from the small screen, I could make out the Harbor Development Corporation letterhead.

“Convenient,” I said, looking at Dash.

“My thoughts too,” he said.

“It’s a bit too perfect, isn’t it?” I said. “My name on a note, a Harbor Development document conspicuously placed…it’s like someone’s trying to create a narrative.”

“A narrative that connects Elizabeth’s death to Vanessa’s through corruption,” Dash nodded.

“Which means either the same person killed both women—” Bea started.

“Or someone’s trying to make it look that way,” I finished.

“This changes everything,” Dash said, his expression grim. “We need to establish proper security protocols.”

“The Silver Sleuths are at your service,” Dottie announced, straightening in her chair like she was accepting a mission from the Pentagon. “We can set up a rotation system.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Dash agreed, surprising me. “Mabel shouldn’t be alone until we know who’s behind these threats.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Walt was already pulling a small notebook from his pocket. “I’ll take night watch—insomnia has its advantages. We’ll need a comprehensive perimeter check every hour, communication protocols, and contingency plans for various scenarios.”

“My house isn’t a military installation,” I said, but no one seemed to be listening.

“I can do afternoon shifts,” Dottie volunteered. “My knees won’t handle those stairs after dark.”

“Morning duty for me,” Deidre chimed in. “I’m up with the birds anyway.”

“Count me out for overnights,” Bea declared, swirling her drink. “Beauty sleep is nonnegotiable, darlings. I can only sleep in my own bed. But I’ll handle day shifts and bring the sidecars.”

I looked at Dash, expecting him to shut down this geriatric security detail, but he was nodding thoughtfully. I narrowed my eyes at him and he winked at me. Ridiculous man.

“Fine,” I sighed, recognizing defeat when it was staring me in the face. “But house rules apply—you’re welcome to the guest rooms, don’t feed Chowder too many snacks, and my kitchen stays exactly as is.” I smiled at Deidre. “Even if my organization system defies all logic.”

“A small price to pay for your safety,” Deidre replied with a good-natured wink.

“It’s been years since I had a good sleepover,” Dottie said.

While the Silver Sleuths worked out their rotating security schedule, I slipped away to my office, muttering something about checking messages. The truth was, I needed a moment to process everything—and to make a call.

Once alone, I pulled out my phone and dialed Jason Brooks.

He answered on the third ring. “Brooks.”

“Mr. Brooks?” I questioned. “This is Mabel McCoy.”

“I was hoping you’d call me,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I was about twenty-four hours from getting in touch with Hank and asking for your number.”

“You were?” I asked. “But why?”

He laughed and I imagined him sitting behind his massive desk, looking out over the Charleston skyline. “Because I wanted to hear your voice again. And I wanted to see if you’d like to have dinner with me.”

I had one of those out-of-body experiences that you read about in Cosmo magazine. A thousand thoughts drifted through my head at once and jumbled all together somewhere before the thoughts reached my tongue.

“Did you want to talk about the case?” I asked. “That’s actually why I was calling. No need for dinner.”

He laughed again and said, “That sound you hear is my ego crumbling. And no, I didn’t want to have dinner to talk about the case. I wanted to have dinner because I think you’re a beautiful woman and I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Oh,” I said, and my mouth froze in a perfectly formed O .

What was happening? I’d gone ten years as a widow and hadn’t even noticed that other men existed.

And in the span of a week I’d had two very attractive men want to take me to dinner.

Of course, Jason Brooks was a good twenty years older than I was, but Patrick had been twelve years older.

And then there was Dash—I couldn’t begin to guess how old he was, and I hadn’t asked.

“Oh,” I said again. “Umm, sure. It’s just I’m not used to?—”

“Surely you’re not going to tell me that the men in this state are too stupid to see you and not immediately be intrigued?”

I felt the blush heat my cheeks before I could control it and I glanced at the door, hoping no one picked this particular moment to barge in. Apparently I wasn’t immune to flattery. “No,” I said. “It’s just I’ve not really dated since my husband died.”

“Forgive me,” he said and I could hear the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t realize. I’ll tell you what. You have my number. The offer still stands. And when I’ve occupied your every waking moment because of my wit and charm you can call me back and accept my offer. Deal?”

I found myself laughing before I could help it. He was outrageous and very charming. “Deal,” I said.

“Now if you didn’t call me to flirt,” he said. “Why did you call?”

“Oh, right,” I said. “I had a question about the Elizabeth Calvert case.”

A beat of silence. “I had a feeling.”

“We’ve been tracking down those who would’ve been questioned previously, and we spoke with a woman who overheard an argument you had with Elizabeth in the courthouse stairwell, about a week before she died. She said it was quite heated. Do you remember?”

“Of course,” he said. “It’s impossible to forget.

We argued about the research she was doing for the Observer .

She was just a student and an intern. And she’d sunk her teeth into something even seasoned investigative reporters would shy away from.

Elizabeth had found evidence proving the Harbor Development was full of corruption and money laundering.

I was trying to convince her to be cautious, to let me help her and handle it through proper legal channels.

She wanted to confront the involved parties directly. ”

“So you were arguing about her approach, not the findings themselves?”

“She was angry because I insisted on following protocol rather than charging ahead,” he said.

“Elizabeth was…passionate. And impulsive. She saw injustice and wanted immediate action. Taking on the Harringtons and their allies wasn’t something to do without a plan.

They’re powerful people. I was worried for her safety. ”

“With good reason, apparently,” I noted. “Did you tell Sheriff Milton about this argument?”

He paused. “Unfortunately Milton wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t support his accidental drowning theory. And he didn’t want to hear from anyone who said otherwise.”

“You’re not the first person to say that,” I said. “Did you ever share the information that Elizabeth gave you with anyone else over the years?”

“No,” Brooks said. “Until your visit the other day, nobody’s asked me about Elizabeth in decades.

It didn’t seem relevant after all this time.

” He paused and then said, “My sister called from the island about twenty minutes ago. My family still lives there, you know. She said Vanessa Garfield was found dead this morning. Murdered. Is that true?”

“News travels fast,” I said.

“It always has,” he said. “I remember Vanessa. She worked at the county clerk’s office. Made her way through several of the higher-ups before she landed on Milton and decided he was her meal ticket. She was an ambitious woman.”

“And now she’s dead,” I said. “It’s hitting pretty close to home.”