Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) (13 page)

He grabbed the napkin from my plate, attempting to snap it out for me. Being made of paper, it ripped in two, bringing our brief formality to a screeching, chuckling halt.

He tossed the dish towel on the counter and slid into the chair next to me. "
Chan fhiach cuirm gun a còmhradh.
"

I blinked at him a few times. "Um, yes?"

"Roughly translated, it means 'a feast is no use without good talk.' At least, that's what my dad has always told me it meant." His eyes narrowed in thought. "Though, knowing him, it could mean something entirely different, like 'run through the woods naked, but mind the splinters,' and he's just waiting until I meet someone who knows how to speak in the old Gaelic tongue."

"Sounds like I'd like him. A lot." I smiled as I scooped a forkful of food into my mouth. "Oh my gosh," I prattled without even bothering to swallow first as the wonderful flavors danced across my tongue. "This is amazing."

As we ate, I kept stealing glances at him. The man was gorgeous, and unlike most of the guys I'd met like that in LA, including my most recent ex-boyfriend, he didn't seem caught up in himself in the slightest. He appeared to be pretty much what I saw: very grounded and fun loving with a penchant for the immature. So yeah, a lot like I was in so many ways. I felt my cheeks blush warm at the thought of an actual date with him.

"What's that smile for?"

"Um," I stumbled. "I was just wondering about you. Tell me about yourself." 

"Well, unless you're deaf, you know I spent some time in Scotland."

I crinkled my nose. "I kind of picked up on that."

"Smart lass," he teased. "Well, Dad was a detective with the New Scotland Yard. We moved around a lot as he worked his way up through the force. I learned to appreciate my brothers and parents as the only constant in my life during that time."

I bobbed my head. "I completely understand. We moved around a lot too. My parents were obsessed with renovations and rehabs." I waved a hand around the room. "You've done an amazing job, by the way."

"Thanks. My dad was raised and trained in the carpenter trade but broke his parents' hearts by joining the Metropolitan Police. Smashed them into tiny bits when he got shot while on a case."

The fork slipped from my grip, clanging to the plate. I placed both hands on his arm, a tiny spark dancing up my fingers at the feel of his skin. I paused to catch my breath for a second. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

He slid his fingers lightly over my hands, fanning the sparks into warmth that spread a little farther south. "No, nothing as devastating as that, though he did spend a bit of time in the hospital. Once the physical wounds healed, he realized he still couldn't deal with the mental shite."

"I can't even imagine," I whispered, pulling my hands away once I realized it was more of a fondle than a comforting gesture at that point.

"Mum was born in America, and after a few years she convinced him to move us all here for an extreme change of pace, instead of what most normal people would do. Like, you know, change your career but stay put. Since me gran and granda on his side were gone by this time, he agreed. The American way of life was quite the culture shock for me as an eleven-year-old. My older brothers struggled the most, though, being taken away from girlfriends and the like. Life in America is not at all the way the Scottish media portrays it over there."

"Expected to come here and pretty much own the American dream right off the plane?"

"Aye. Anyway, so my father taught me the tricks of his trade that had been passed down through generations in his family, and my mother taught me to cook. That's my life in a nutshell." He leaned over and nudged my shoulder with his. "Okay, your turn."

I regaled him with my stories of moving and friendless hardships, childhood woes of sibling rivalry, and awkward puberty as I finished eating. Basically covering everything that might be lighthearted and fun in an effort to steer us away from discussing the heavy, harsh reality of my recent family catastrophe.

"So," I concluded, "instead of getting the top-notch college education like my brother, I was stubborn and wanted to prove to my parents that I already knew it all. Which…" I framed my face with motionless jazz hands as I thought back to that fateful fall into the Prada buyer's lap that'd blacklisted me pretty much everywhere. "I obviously didn't, or I'd be a successful model or actress in LA right now, instead of returning to mooch off of my parents and sitting next to you, enjoying this fabulous meal." Tossing my napkin over the final few morsels, I huffed, "If I eat another bite, I might burst."

"So, you don't want another brownie?" He contrived a look of wide-eyed shock for a few seconds. "I'll leave the leftovers for you."

"Breakfast?"

"Only if you don't mind me joining you, since I'll only be a few rooms away in the morning."

I felt myself blush. "Not in the slightest." I busied myself gathering dishes and putting away extra food in the fridge.

As Mal and I were rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher, I had a weird feeling that someone was watching me. Looking over my shoulder, I expected Uncle Eddie to be standing there in his underwear, wanting the leftovers, but the room was empty. I was about to chalk it up to the events of the last few days, when I glanced out the window. Patricia, the neighborhood cougar, was glaring at me. I smiled and waved, but her scowl stayed put. That is, until Mal looked up and waved. Then she morphed into a smiling, posing, sexpot right before my eyes. Well, right before
his
eyes, anyway. She loosened her pink satin robe, drawing a finger under the fabric as if she was about to slide completely out of it. Did the woman own any other form of clothing? If not, grocery shopping was probably awkward for everyone involved.

Mal yanked the cord to the blinds, dropping them over the window as the robe slid down her shoulders more. He turned my way quickly. "So how about those Seahawks? Think they'll get another shot at the Super Bowl this year?"

"Nice save. Unless I'm keeping you from something." I waggled a finger toward the closed blind.

He shook his head vigorously. "Not anything I'd enter into willingly."

I shoved the dishwasher closed with my hip and pushed the button to start it. "Well, if you don't have anything pressing, how about a glass or three of wine?" Without even giving him the chance to answer, I crouched down and flung open the bottom corner cupboard doors. I dug past all of the paper products, revealing my mother's stash at the back. "Red or white?"

"If there's a moscato, that's my first choice."

I held up a blue bottle as I stood. "Asked and answered." Grabbing two glasses from the cabinet overhead and the corkscrew from the drawer, I carried everything into the living area and spread it out on the coffee table.

Mal followed, uncorking the wine without even being asked. As he poured, I had to admit to myself that I was kind of glad my brother had come to town and acquired all of Cris's attention along with her
wiles
. I briefly contemplated breaking out a few of my own, but Mal sat in my dad's chair instead of on the couch next to me. I felt my cheeks burn at my assumption that he had even the slightest bit of interest in me, other than making amends.

He set a full glass in front of me and raised his. "To what shall we drink?"

Slipping back into my old standby, sarcasm mode, I raised mine and clinked it against his. I channeled my inner
Miss Congeniality
Sandra Bullock and drawled out, "World peace?"

His forehead crinkled, making it obvious that wasn't what he was expecting. Or, probably more accurately, he'd never seen the movie, but he smiled anyway. "To world peace, then." After taking a sip, he started rocking the chair. "So, this ex-boyfriend…" He paused, looking perplexed. "Or maybe
boyfriends
? Will
they
be showing up anytime soon to whisk you back to LA?"

I relaxed against the cushions. "No." I shook my head vehemently. "There's just the one recent ex I told you about, and last I heard, he'd already hooked up with a friend of a friend. Obviously, he's still just
so torn up
about me." Placing a hand over my heart, I scrunched an overstated look of hurt to my face before rolling my eyes. I took a long drink and contemplated a shot to his ego since he'd unwittingly attacked mine by not sitting next to me. Running with that, I snickered, "No restraining orders needed here."

Totally shooting my best-laid plans out of the water, he laughed instead. "Unlike your ex, mine may very well show up one day. She somehow figures out where I'm working and just loves to pop by for visits. She especially enjoys making my new love interests miserable. It's a gift of hers."

I took another deep drink and muttered, "Oh goodie, something to look forward to." My eyes flew open wide when I realized I'd actually said my thoughts aloud. I scrambled for my next words, anything to wipe the puzzled expression from his face. Blame the wine? I'm not quite that much of a lightweight. I cleared my throat. "You know, if she mistakes you staying here for something like that."

It must have been a good save. He nodded, at least playing along.

We spent the next few hours swapping dating horror stories and working our way through past regrets.

And another bottle of wine or two.

A faint rustling noise in the kitchen pulled me from my deep, moscato-induced slumber. I wiped a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth as I sat up on the couch. The delivery guy from the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery was quietly clicking the back door into place behind him as he left. I practically purred when I spied the pretty pink-and-brown box on the counter.

Mal shifted in Dad's chair, tucking the Guns N' Roses throw blanket, which had been draped over the chair, tighter around his shoulders and sighing softly in his sleep. I watched him for a few moments. He was so peaceful. So damned handsome.

Thinking back over the past night's laughter, fabulous food, and ultimate rejection, I realized I might have indulged in a bit more wine than I should have. Perhaps opening the third bottle was a blurry mistake. The last thing I remembered was telling Mal I just needed to rest my eyes for a few seconds.

I quietly folded Dad's quilt, slid on my untied tennis shoes, and grabbed a scone before silently slipping out the back door. The birds were just beginning to wake up, a few of them singing their good-morning wishes as I walked down the driveway toward the ocean. I stared out over the calm, glittering water in awe for several minutes. The small waves swept the cove coastline, calming me to my soul. A narrow footpath wound through the pines along the rocky, shaded hillside, down to a flat rock that looked as though someone had long ago fashioned it into a bench.

What better place to eat my scone in peace?

I scaled my way down along the rugged trail, nearly skidding into the water at the end after tripping over my own untied shoelaces. The extra minute it would've taken to tie my shoes before my descent seemed like a great idea in hindsight.

A slow clap from behind startled me. I spun around and placed a steadying hand on the stone bench. Mal was following closely behind, a full grocery tote bag hanging from his wrist.

"Nice save," he chided, pausing on the path, hands spread wide. "But after spending the night with someone, it's not nice to up and disappear before the other person wakes up," he chastised.

I batted my lashes at him. "You must think I'm such a tramp,
sleeping
with you on the second I-don't-think-you're-a-murderer date." I flushed warmer with each of his steps, even in the chilly morning air, as he closed the gap between us. 

He flashed me a big, toothy grin as he reached my side. "It doesn't really count, since I was alone in the recliner all night," he purred seductively. The smile tumbled from his lips as his gaze dropped to his feet. "To be perfectly honest, though, that's why I didn't sit next to you on the couch after supper, in case you were wondering. I didn't trust myself being that close to you." He looked back up at me through his thick lashes. "Even without wine in the equation." He grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the bench, sitting so close our thighs touched. His gaze never left mine as he held up the bag and muttered, "I brought a few brownies. I hope you don't mind sharing."

I shook my head, staring up at him, wondering if he knew I'd agree to give him a lung or pretty much anything else he could possibly want at that exact moment. I glanced at the full bag, then right back to his handsome face. "Must be big pieces." I found myself staring at his lips as he leaned a little closer. Ogling his perfect mouth and that damned sexy five o'clock shadow.

"Well, the coffeepot was on a timer, so I didn't think it should go to waste. There's a thermos full in the bag too." He leaned a little closer still.

I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and hear it ringing in my ears. With my breath coming in short gasps as his lips neared mine, I really wished I'd brushed my teeth before wandering off.

A shushing noise surprised us both, calling our attention to the path behind us. There stood Uncle Eddie with his finger pressed against his lips, staring down at his dog. Champ bristled up and barked at us, jumping backward and shaking with each passive-aggressive yip.

"I really didn't mean to interrupt," Uncle Eddie whispered, backing away as though he could just disappear and save the moment. At least he had on pants.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing a smile to my face. "Did you need something?"

"Well, yes." He flashed me a haughty look, popping his fists to his hips and shaking his head like I was the unstable one. "I wouldn't have bothered you if it wasn't important."

When what felt like ten minutes passed (but was probably only a few seconds in all reality), I asked through gritted teeth, "And the important issue would be?"

"Oh, right," he wheezed. "Your parents' attorney called, and I can't find your brother anywhere. The arraignment has been moved up to nine this morning. I figured you'd want to know."

I jumped to my feet. "Of course. Thank you for telling me. I'll find Bradley."

Mal handed Uncle Eddie the bag as we passed him, climbing the hill. "Would you like a few brownies and some coffee?"

He lit up like Christmas. "Heck yeah. Thanks." He and the dog grabbed our place on the bench.

Mal took the lead as we climbed back up the path, waggling his hand toward me as I lagged behind. I didn't know if it was a
hurry the heck up
gesture or an
I'd really like to hold your hand
motion. One could argue that perception is the truth, so I voted for the latter as I entwined my fingers with his. The way he yanked me along didn't mean a thing, right?

He smiled over his shoulder. "Your parents should be home by noon, even with a worst-case scenario of bail."

His words made me feel like an entire load of his landscaping stones had been lifted from my shoulders.

He pulled me to a stop when he hit the driveway, still holding my hand. "I think that's the first real smile I've ever seen on your face."

"I think this is the first time I've actually felt like me since coming face to face, quite literally, with that dead guy."

"Touché," he mumbled within a sigh.

I reluctantly broke the bond of our hands, backing a few steps toward the garage. "I need to get ready so that I have time to look for my brother before I go."

"If we can't find him in time, would you like me to go with you? You know, for moral support?"

I didn't know which impressed me more: jumping in on the search for my brother without asking, or offering to be there with me if we didn't find him. "That would be very nice of you, thanks. I'm sure he and Cris are off somewhere doing God only knows what." I rolled my eyes.

"They make a cute couple, don't you think?"

He seemed sincere, which made my heart swell and feel like it was going to burst. There didn't seem to be any jealousy behind his words at all. If it was possible, my smile grew bigger. "They really do. I need a shower first though." I gestured toward the garage apartment.

"Me too." He tugged at the front of his shirt, wafting it a few times. "I'm sure you noticed."

I shook my head. All I'd smelled was his lingering sandalwood cologne. "I'll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes, then."

*   *   *

The courtroom looked as though it had leapt off the screen from an episode of
Night Court
, an old television show I used to watch reruns of with my parents, complete with similar dingy wainscoted walls and large round light sconces up high. Most of them even worked. A narrow aisle split four rows of well-worn wooden benches that looked like they might've been rehabbed from an old church. A railing separated the benches from two rickety tables: one for the prosecution and the other for the defense team, both with several folding chairs behind them. Along the far wall sat an immaculate, intricately carved judge's bench, the only thing that actually looked like it was original to the building, built up on a pedestal with a small witness seating area attached to the side. The entire wall behind it was paneled in the same dark wood as the desk, giving it an ominous feel.

I glanced around at the unfamiliar faces dotting the benches, hoping to find Bradley already there. No dice. I was a bit nervous that something had happened.

I'd made myself room keys to his room and to Cris's earlier, but neither bed had been slept in. Either that or they'd both spontaneously evolved into neat freaks. If my brother's childhood was any indication, and my roommate's recent habits a clue, that didn't happen.

I made myself put their disappearance on the back burner as my parents were led into the room from a door near the judge's bench. Mom's normally fluffy, shiny hair lay in listless, stick-straight pigtails cinched behind each ear. Dark circles and heavy bags weighed on her sunken eyes. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, her shoulders slumped and handcuffed wrists dangling in front of her, it was obvious her spirit was broken. I'd never seen her so void of emotion, so lifeless.

My father looked only slightly better as he followed behind her. His salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled, and he was dressed in the same orange getup. My mother had nagged him for years to wear matching outfits with her. I highly doubted this counted, for either one of them.

They both noticed me at pretty much the same moment, forcing smiles to their faces and little waves and thumbs-ups gestures as an officer removed their cuffs.

Mal and I slid onto the bench right behind them. I reached for my mom, but the man at her side swatted my hand. He was a short, balding man with a paunch that hung over his cinched trousers. Part of his white, nearly see-through shirttail was untucked, revealing a peek at his rounded belly. His tank top undershirt was visible through the thin shirt material, the brightly colored tie with gumball-sized polka dots taking some of the focus away, not that it was a good thing.

Please don't be George Ashland. Please don't be George Ashland.

He stuck out a meaty hand. "George Ashland, attorney at law. You must be Summer Breeze."

Damn it. I shook his hand and played nice. "Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you. Have you seen my brother?"

He shook his head, bottom lip popping out in thought. "Not since the other night. I've been staying at a chain hotel in Olympia. The firm won't cover bed and breakfasts. I hope you weren't offended that I didn't stay there."

"I understand."

Mom scooted her chair sideways and looked longingly at my father. "I really want to hug you right now, sweetheart."

Dad ran a hand up and down my mother's back. He leaned close to her, whispering, "I've missed you, my love. This is the first time we've slept apart since before we got married. It's been sheer torture."

She released a deep sigh and leaned back against his hand. "I've missed your touch."

I waved an erratic hand at them. "While I'm sure this is poignant to everyone else in this room, I'm right here."

I know they probably still did
stuff
, but as far as my screwed-up psyche went, my parents only had sex twice: once to conceive my brother and another time for me.

Mom smiled at me, tiny tears clinging to her lashes. "I'm sorry about all of this, Sum—" She paused and sat up straighter. "Bree."

Dad nodded, turning in his chair to face me. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but I know Mr. Ashland is going to set the record straight."

I nodded in agreement, forcing an optimistic expression to my face. My gut just wasn't feeling it. "Once this is over, we can all go down to the pier for lunch or something. Sound good?"

Mom inhaled a staccato breath. "Sounds like a little slice of heaven right now." She turned to my father. "Then a hot shower and a nap. Right, baby?"

His chin dropped to his chest, and I swear the man growled like a caged wolf. "Only after we…"

"Whoa!" I bellowed. "Again, your daughter. Right here." I pointed to myself with both hands over my head, just in case they didn't hear me. When this was all over, I was going to sit everyone down and discuss boundaries.

They both laughed. Not gratuitous snickers, but real belly laughs.

Dad winked at me. "You know most of this is just to antagonize you."

Mom's face morphed into overstated shock. "You want to sleep in your chair, mister?"

He did the growly thing again. "I know better than that."

Cris and Bradley slid onto the bench beside me, clearing my afternoon completely, since I no longer had to form a search-and-rescue party. I huffed out a huge sigh of relief.

Cris linked her arm through mine and dropped her head onto my shoulder, still dressed in the peach-and-pink dress from the night before, her hair and makeup only slightly mussed.

I turned toward her, dislodging her from my side to make sure she could see the chastising, scornful look I was attempting. "I bet you've never done the walk of shame into a court room before."

She scrunched her lips and cast her guilty look away from me before returning it with a wink.

"Anyway, where the hell have you two been? I've been worried sick. Neither of you even answered your damn phones." I cast an extra hateful scowl toward my brother, addressing him. "You of all people should know better."

Bradley leaned forward, still in the same clothes too, his face covered in a stubbly five o'clock shadow. "Geez,
Mom
, chill."