Dead Girl in a Green Dress (7 page)

"Not really." The bystander sounded perturbed. "Damn tourists!"

"
Byrony
, sweetheart," Tate murmured, the stubble of his beard rasping against her temple. "Can you walk?"

She swallowed hard to steady her voice. "Yes."

Reluctantly she pushed away from him, and wiped the last remnants of moisture from her eyes. With a groan, Tate regained his feet and offered her a hand up.

"I’m calling Sergeant Brandon." The middle-aged man standing nearby declared, and disappeared inside a nearby shop.

Tate offered his hand, and
Byrony
let him help her stand. Her hand stung when she gripped his and she saw that both her palms had bloody scrapes. When she rose, she saw a rip in the right knee of her jeans, but miraculously her leg felt fine. Hooking his arm around her waist, Tate pulled her close to his side. Since she still felt a bit shaky,
Byrony
leaned against him and let him guide her across the street and the short distance to the Ames House.

As they limped up the front stairs, Mrs. Giroux rushed out the front door. "What happened?"

"Horse jumped the sidewalk and almost trampled her." Tate’s tone was gruff as the innkeeper gasped and held the door open for them. "Did you get a look at the rider?" he asked
Byrony
as he assisted her to a wooden rocker.

She shook her head.
"Just someone wearing a yellow rain coat and hat.
I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman."

"Sounds like typical rain gear." Frowning, Tate settled on the small wooden footstool at her feet. "Probably most of the locals wear the same thing." He rolled up her torn pant leg, but the dirty graze on her knee wasn’t deep enough to draw blood. Squinting, he looked at her palms. "How are your wrists?"

Byrony
circled first one hand, then the other.
"Fine."

Mrs. Giroux materialized beside her with a cloth, bandages, and a container of alcohol.
"For your hands."
She pulled over a tiny round table, placed the items on it, and gave
Byrony
the damp cloth.

Dutifully,
Byrony
cleaned off the blood and grime, but the doorbell rang before she could finish. Wiping her own hands on her frilly apron, Mrs. Giroux rushed to answer. Tate picked up the bottle of alcohol, doused a wad of gauze and reached for
Byrony’s
left hand.

Behind them,
Byrony
heard Sergeant Nick Brandon’s voice. "Aunt Char? Mr. Holcomb said one of your guests was hurt by a runaway horse…"

A sudden burning on her left hand made
Byrony
suck in her breath sharply.

"Sorry,
Sunshine,
didn’t mean to hurt you." Tate’s smoldering blue gaze delved into her as he lifted her palm close to his mouth and blew a soothing breath over the scrape.

A different kind of heat flashed through
Byrony’s
nervous system.

"Miss Long? Mr. Madison?" Nick Brandon interrupted. "What happened?"

While Tate placed a couple of bandages over the deepest of the gouges,
Byrony
haltingly told Brandon about the horse and rider. Tate filled in with a few extra details when she paused.

Wearing a perplexed expression, Brandon scratched his head during their recitation. "Something must have spooked the horse and the rider lost control."

"That’s what I figure, too." But Tate’s face and tone remained grim.
"Can’t believe anyone would risk running a horse onto the sidewalk, that’d be plain stupid."

"Sure you don’t want Doctor Kelly to check you out, Miss Long?" Nick Brandon insisted.

"No, I’m just shook up, not hurt." But in spite of the two men’s conclusion about the incident,
Byrony
couldn’t shake the niggling thought that what had just happened was no accident.

"All right, if you’re sure." The mollified sergeant took his leave.

After Mrs. Giroux saw him to the door, she asked, "How about a nice cup of hot cocoa?"

Taken aback for a moment by the innkeeper’s change of demeanor,
Byrony
blinked twice before she could answer.
"Sounds wonderful, thank you."

As Mrs. Giroux disappeared into the kitchen, Tate picked up her right hand. Carefully, he blotted the scrape on her palm, lowering his lips to once again soothe the sting with his breath.
Byrony
shifted and bit her lip to stifle a moan. He raised his eyes to hers and the heat she sensed in them told her he felt the intimacy of the action the same as she did.

Yikes!
This was a really bad idea. But knowing, even admitting she should not be attracted to Tate Madison did not stop
Byrony’s
suddenly over-active hormones from flaring.

The sound of a throat being cleared made
Byrony
jerk her gaze up to see Mrs. Giroux standing behind Tate with two steaming mugs. "I brought cocoa for you too, Mr. Madison."

Tate turned slowly, a lazy grin on his face. "Why thank you, ma’am. Just give me a sec to finish."

Byrony
took her mug with her left hand while Tate stuck two bandages on her right palm. Still looking rather flummoxed, Mrs. Giroux handed him the mug as soon as he was done. Picking up the first aid supplies, the innkeeper hurried from the room. Tate rose and moved to sit on the nearby settee, but didn’t look any more comfortable than he had been on the little stool.

They sipped silently for several minutes before Tate stood again. "Okay, Sunshine, you chill here and I’ll check back after my meeting with Mr. Prince."

"What? No. I mean, I still want to go."

He gave her a stern look. "Don’t think so. You need to rest."

She glanced at her watch. "It’s barely noon, so I have plenty of time to rest and change. I’m not going to let a few little scrapes stop me."

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I suppose if I don’t take you with me, you’ll just come on your own." When she lifted her eyebrows in challenge, he muttered, "You are one stubborn little bean counter."

"Takes one to know one, Cowboy."

Tate rewarded her sassy remark with a throaty chuckle,
then
he threw up his hands in mock surrender. "All right, you win this round. I’ll be back at two thirty in my surrey with the fringe."

***

Since he’d never driven a horse and carriage, Tate opted to rent both a buggy and driver. Actually, he discovered there were several available, because they were the equivalent of taxi service on the island. The
sixtyish
driver Ben stopped his rig in front of the B&B and Tate climbed out. As he walked through the gate,
Byrony
rushed down the stairs to meet him. Apparently the couple of hours of rest had rejuvenated her.

Dressed in her dark blue pant suit, she once again looked like a straight-laced bean counter, but a smile lit up her features, and made his pulse beat a little faster. Then, when he helped her clamber into the carriage, the glimpse he got of her very fine behind sent a spike right through his nervous system.

You’re losing it, Madison
. He’d never had a problem putting aside an attraction to a woman before, but something about
Byrony
Long challenged his control like no one ever had.

The closer they got to the Grand Hotel, the more he could feel
Byrony’s
tension growing. By the time the large white building came into view, she seemed as tightly wound as a jack-in-the-box ready to spring.

"It’s only a half-hour appointment, Sunshine," he tried to caution her. "Don’t expect much."

Unlike their previous visit, the taxi driver pulled into the broad circular drive in the front of the hotel. "I’ll be waiting just down there." He inclined his head toward the far end of the drive as Tate and
Byrony
climbed out of the buggy.

"Appreciate it, Ben," Tate said
,
then pressing his hand lightly against
Byrony’s
back, he escorted her up the marble entrance steps.

He led the way to the customer service desk, and told the woman they had an appointment with Mr. Prince. She ushered them through the ‘employees only’ door. The third door on the left had a simple brass nameplate: M. Prince.

When they entered, a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back into a prim bun looked up from her desk. "Mr. Madison? Miss Long? Go right in." She motioned to the single door in the mahogany paneled wall.

"Nice place," Tate muttered in
Byrony’s
ear as he reached for the door knob.

And it got nicer. He caught a glimpse of more rich wood paneling and floor to ceiling windows with a fantastic lake view,
then
a dark-haired man rushed forward extending his hand.

"Mr. Madison? I’m Michael Prince." In a black three piece suit with a red and blue striped tie, the guy looked like an ad from GQ. His dark hair was perfectly styled and when he shook hands, Tate noticed Prince’s nails were manicured. When the guy turned to
Byrony
, he clasped her outstretched hand in both of his. "And you must be Jessica’s sister. Please, please have a seat."

The way the smarmy dude fawned over
Byrony
set Tate’s teeth on edge. As he and
Byrony
sat in the chairs facing the massive desk, Michael Prince leaned against the edge closest to her and casually crossed his legs at the ankles. No doubt to show off his expensive Italian shoes.

Tate didn’t worry that Prince would see his sour expression. Mr. GQ was totally focused on
Byrony
. "When my wife told me you were here yesterday, I wanted to personally express my sympathy. We were simply devastated about Jessica."

"Thank you."
Byrony’s
stiff tone gave Tate a nudge of satisfaction. Obviously she wasn’t going for Prince’s over-exaggerated sincerity.

"We gave the police our full cooperation." Prince’s dark eyes finally moved off
Byrony
to include Tate, who carefully schooled his features while the other man continued. "But they said with so many tourists on the island, they’d probably never find the monster
who
mugged and killed her." His voice caught ever so slightly, and he stopped and cleared his throat.

Nice try, Buster
,
but nobody’s buying it
. Tate had to call forth all his control to keep his voice impassive. "Miss Long and I have reason to believe Jessica’s death was no random act of violence." He narrowed his eyes to closely study Prince’s reaction. "And the Mac City police are taking a closer look at the case."

"Not random?" Prince repeated,
then
his façade cracked just long enough for Tate to see a flash of real anguish in his dark eyes. He turned away and took two steps to a credenza behind his desk. His back was to them but his voice sounded thick when he spoke, "Who would want to kill Jessica?"

"That’s what Miss Long and I are here to find out."

But Prince didn’t seem to be listening. He rummaged in a side door of the cabinet and pulled out a cut glass decanter, followed by three glasses. As Mr. GQ poured amber liquid into each glass, Tate could see his hand shaking a little.

"I’m s-sorry," Prince stuttered over the clanking of glass on glass. "This is news to me, and very upsetting. Please, join me…"

He handed each of them a glass with two fingers of the liquor, then grabbed his own and drained it with one gulp. Tate took a small sip – scotch, very smooth and undoubtedly very expensive.
Byrony
set her untouched drink on the edge of the desk while Prince poured himself a second round. This time he took two gulps to finish it.

As Tate took another slow sip, Prince shuffled over and sat heavily in his desk chair, momentarily resting his head in his hands. When he looked back at them, his smooth veneer was once more in place except for a slight flush on his neck. "Forgive me, please. My staff and I will, of course, assist you and the authorities in any way we can." He paused to give
Byrony
another of those phony too sincere looks. "Your sister Jessica was a very special girl, Miss Long. We all… loved her."

Byrony
gave him a golden-eyed glare. "Well, obviously not everyone, Mr. Prince, and I won’t stop until I get justice for my sister." Tate was glad he didn’t have a mouthful of liquor when she delivered her missive, and she wasn’t finished. While Prince blinked, open-mouthed,
Byrony
went on in a tone that would flash freeze boiling water. "Now, please have your assistant provide Mr. Madison and me with the names and contact information for every staff member on premises the night Jessica died."

Prince blinked one more time then replied, "I’ll have her get on it right away. Is there anything else?"

Byrony
inclined her head at Tate and raised her eyebrows.

"That’ll do for now," Tate replied, and took one last sip of the excellent scotch. Meanwhile,
Byrony
stood, extended her hand and gave Prince’s a single shake. Tate rose too, and shook the shell-shocked Prince’s limp palm. "Appreciate your help."

Tate could only follow as
Byrony
marched out the door and through the reception area. She didn’t stop until they reached the main entrance, and Tate skirted around her to hold the door. "Damn, Sunshine, you really went for the jugular."