Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) (16 page)

"Do you think maybe she just bailed on me and went back to LA? I came on kind of strong with the whole spending-the-night-together thing." He shut his eyes tightly and groaned, "I'm just like Dad. It's all or nothing—no gray area."

I popped my hands on my hips. "If she did, she's in so much trouble for not telling me, that I'd better never see her again." I kicked at his foot to get his attention. He finally opened his eyes again. "I've never, ever seen her act like she does around you, Bradley. She told me about your all-nighter on Two Mile Beach and couldn't wipe the smile off of her face for anything."

A lopsided grin curled the corners of his lips. "Really?" He paced a little way down the street and back to me. "I've never felt like this before. I've never met a woman I couldn't see myself just walking away from if she ever got to be too much of a diva or something."

"You already know she's one, and you like her anyway. Huzzah!" I popped my hands into the air. "Problem solved. Now, let's go find her."

With one last deep breath, he stood tall. "Yes, let's."

We walked into the bakery and made our way through the people milling about, finally reaching the register. My stomach growled as I noticed the same pink color on the walls as on the to-go boxes. The wonderful fragrance of baked goods wafting from the kitchen might have had something to do with it too.

A cute little brunette was behind the counter and greeted us. "What can I get for you today?"

"Nothing for us, thanks," I muttered while my rumbling tummy said otherwise. I slid my phone across the counter, showing her Cris's picture. "Have you seen her lately?"

Her face brightened. "She's jogged by several times over the past few days."

"Today?" Bradley nudged, sliding next to me at the counter.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. The place has been pretty busy, so I could have missed her though."

"Would you mind calling if you see her again?" I grabbed the pen next to the register and scribbled my name and cell number on a napkin. "We'd really appreciate it. Or just tell her to get her butt back to the bed and breakfast."

"Or both," Bradley muttered, smiling half-heartedly.

The girl grabbed the napkin, glanced at the number, and tucked it into her apron. "No problem. My name is Amber, and I'll pass it on to my boss, Riley, too. I hope you find her."

We wandered into several other places, canvassed the pier, spoke to a nice, well-dressed man at the florist, and even a group of older ladies outside of the museum. And while nearly everyone recognized Cris, no one had seen her that day. Almost every conversation went like the one at the bakery.

I felt pretty defeated as the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the roads, and the streetlights flickered to life. My brother appeared to be in the same spirits, his shoulders sagging as we walked up the hill toward the B&B. The lobby was dark, and the porch was empty, which meant Cris hadn't returned. We both stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the house.

I threaded my arm through his, dragging him past the stairs and the Kochs' house. "I heard the food was good at the Smugglers' Tavern, as far as bar cuisine goes."

He shook his head, staring at his feet as we walked. "I'm not hungry."

"Fine, I'll buy you a drink, then."

He glanced over at me. "That, I can use."

We walked the rest of the way in silence. I'm sure he was caught up in thoughts of Cris and where she might be, just like I was. Though his were probably interwoven with a few thoughts a little steamier than mine. We passed by a massive, beautiful Victorian. The wooden sign outside the front door read
Finials and Facades Renovation and Restoration Services
. I recognized it as the place my dad had wanted to hire for their renovations. After that, it was a short jaunt to the rustic old building housing the Smugglers' Tavern.

We walked through the front doors, our eyes taking a few seconds to adjust to the dark surroundings, not just due to lack of light but from the dark paneling and floor. We made our way to the bar and grabbed two stools next to each other.

A woman greeted us with a warm smile. She was dressed in a fun, oversized gypsy-style beaded top and leggings, and her long brown hair lay in a thick braid over one shoulder. "How are you guys?"

Bradley slid his phone across to her as she put napkins in front of us. "Have you seen this woman?"

She shook her head. "I've never seen her, and that's the same thing I told the police just a little while ago. Should I have?"

Bradley huffed out a defeated sigh. "Unless she jogged through here, probably not. Can we talk to the manager?"

Pointing to herself, she said, "That'd be me. I'm Hope."

I held up two fingers and pointed to the beer on tap. "Please and thank you."

She nodded and expertly filled two glasses with as little foam as I'd ever seen. Sliding them in front of us, her face was full of compassion. "You're the girl from the paper. I'm really sorry about what's going on with your folks. That's rough."

I nodded but didn't make eye contact. She took the hint and wandered off to wait on other customers.

I swiveled my stool to face my brother. "I'm going to personally make that Ken-doll reporter rue the day he ever set foot on our property. I should've done that when I had the chance." I fought back a smile at the thought of Pickles looking just like the naked doll—all smooth and missing his manly bits.

Bradley held up his glass of beer toward me, and I clinked mine against his. "To finding Cris safe and sound somewhere."

"Absolutely," I agreed, then took a long, deep drink.

The waitress came back and slid a plate of nachos between us. "On me. You two look like someone grabbed your tails and pulled you through the knothole backwards."

And that was a pretty spot-on description.

I'd no sooner gotten back to the B&B to check on things and wilted onto the couch when I heard a car door slam just outside. I didn't think much of it until the front screen door swung open, taking me by surprise. A petite brunette with thick blonde highlights paused in the doorway, a black Prada bag almost as big as her hanging from the crook of one arm, and matching patent-leather stilettos on her tiny feet. She ran her free hand down her tailored blouse, tugging it into place at the hem. Her cleavage, obviously enhanced, was barely contained by the plunging neckline. With every deep sigh the woman released, more threatened to spill forth.

I stood up from the couch. "Can I help you?"

She peered down her upturned, perfectly sculpted nose and gave me the cynical up-and-down look. Attempting to suppress her crooked sneer of disgust with a smile, she pranced my way, her heels clicking with each little step her tight pencil skirt would allow. I couldn't help but have flashbacks to old episodes of the
Carol Burnett Show
I'd watched with my mother as a child. This woman was a young, designer version of Mrs. Wiggins.

When she finally made the long trek across the short distance to me, she released a snooty sigh. "I'm looking for Malcolm O'Connell. I was under the impression that he was working here." She did the up-and-down look again, and this time recognition arched her painted-on eyebrows. "Oh," she drew out. "You're Summer Breeze Milford, the girl from the paper."

That was another strike against Pickles for putting my picture in with his article. I forced a smile to my face. "Were you wanting a room for tonight?"

She wafted a perfectly manicured hand toward me, a large row of tiny metal bracelets jingling at her wrist. "Oh, heavens no," she chortled as she glanced around, awkwardly fighting the sneer again. "I've got a room booked at the Four Seasons in Seattle." She held her free hand at her neckline and tossed me a knowing smile. "But I'm willing to bet I'll be canceling that reservation and staying with Malcolm instead." She looked at me through her lashes and winked as she puckered her mouth into glossy duck lips. "If you know what I mean."

I couldn't help the sting of jealousy that pierced my heart, but I fought hard to keep it from my expression. "You're dating…" I caught myself using his first name but drew it out. "Ma—ister O'Connell?"

She waved her hand casually before flouncing over to the coffee table to pretend she was interested in the old registry. As she bent over and mindlessly turned pages, she bubbled, "Well, it's complicated, but we've been together for years."

It was my turn to fight the smirk as I came to the realization I'd just met the infamous Kelsey Strong, psychotic ex-girlfriend. I figured I was safe around her, since I doubted she'd count our two I-don't-think-you're-a-murderer meals as actual dates. Though I'd be willing to bet our almost-kiss the morning after the last meal might piss her off a bit. Probably best to keep that detail to myself, though I did find myself wondering if she'd live up to the stories.

I didn't have to contemplate long, as Malcolm O'Connell, live and in the flesh, pulled open the screen door, completely engrossed in something on his phone's screen.

Without even looking up, he asked, "Would you like to accompany me somewhere for a bite, or are you in the mood for something a wee less crowded on the back porch? My treat." He finally looked up, his phone nearly slipping from his grasp, his face contorted in shock as Kelsey clip-clopped toward him. Her arms were open wide the entire, awkward time, eventually making it to stand in front of him.

"I'd love to have supper somewhere with you!" she squealed, clumsily hopping into his arms. Only, he never actually closed them in any kind of a hug. She just hung from his elbows, desperately trying to hitch herself a little higher in a frantic effort to wind her arms around his neck.

The look on his face was priceless as he stared at me, just like a deer caught in the high beams of a Mac truck barreling down the highway toward him. He didn't know what to do. He just froze in place.

Kelsey purred while still trying to climb his biceps, "Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

He slid her down his arms, but she clung to them. Finally he grabbed each of her hands and was successful in dislodging her, setting her on her feet. He backed away, both hands waving out in front of him, hunched in a defensive position. "We aren't going anywhere, Kelsey."

She jammed her balled fists against her hips, the giant purse sliding down her forearm, nearly toppling her when it smacked to a stop at her thigh. "So," she seethed. "You were talking to
her
about supper, then?" Her head whipped around, and she glared at me, her entire face puckered in anger.

I kind of half expected it to keep on spinning in a full circle and maybe spew green stuff.

"This skanky piece of white trash thinks she can replace me?" She clip-clopped toward me with her tiny little steps, but Mal grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop.

Seriously though? I could have sat down and done a crossword puzzle before she'd have made it to me. Not to mention that she was the size of a twig. I was pretty confident I'd have no problem holding my own.

Until she turned into a spinning Tasmanian devil hanging from his arm.

She was a blur of highlighted brown hair, black Prada, and blood-red nails, clawing against his arm, swinging her bag, kicking her feet, and beating on his chest. "You dirty, rotten son of a bitch. You told me you loved me. You said we'd be together forever, and you'd never leave me."

He winced against the pain of her attack but kept her secure with one hand, the other blocking most of her tirade, or the man would've been shredded. He looked me right in the eyes and mouthed the words "I'm so sorry" and "trust me?"

I nodded and mouthed back, "It's not your fault."

"Kelsey," Mal cooed. "Please quit yer flapping."

"Why?" she screamed. "I can do whatever the hell I want here. There's no restraining order against me in Danger Cove, Washington." She stopped struggling and pushed a finger to his chest. "I checked."

I was no law student, but I was pretty sure that didn't matter. A restraining order was a restraining order no matter where the person in question was. I was, however, smart enough to keep my mouth shut. At least in this instance.

Mal pulled her toward the door. "Why don't you go wait for me at your car? I just need to talk to Bree for a minute."

"Oh, hell no! I'm not leaving you with that slut for a second." She lurched toward me, but he grabbed her arm again. After the spectacle I'd just witnessed, this time I was grateful.

"There's nothing going on between us, not even a wee nip," he soothed, pulling her back to his side.

"Look me in the eyes and swear you haven't been screwing her."

He locked his gaze with hers. "I swear on my own life that you're the only lass in this room
that
has ever happened with."

She turned a beaming, wicked smile toward me. "Did you hear that?" Her entire expression morphed to match her tone as she pointed to herself and screeched, "I'm his girl."

I nodded. That wasn't exactly what he'd said, but who was I to quibble with someone I feared would cut me into chunks and eat me if I dared to even try? Again, I kept my mouth shut. I was on a roll.

He guided her outside, and the screen door slammed into place behind them. "You can go to my place tonight, okay?"

She smooshed her face against the screen and squealed, "I told you!"

"Let me walk you to your car," Mal calmly insisted.

I sneaked over to the door and backed against the wall next to it so I could eavesdrop.

There were heavy footfalls on the steps accompanied by the hurried click-click-click of her heels. "You go on ahead," Mal insisted. "I promise. There will be someone at my place to meet you." 

I heard her car door open and close. She whined, "Don't make me wait too long."

"Oh," he fussed. "I bet they'll beat you there."

With a crazy, giddy giggle, she sped off.

I heard Mal muttering but couldn't make out his words. I waited a few seconds, then rolled onto my shoulder to peer through the screen. He was standing right on the other side, cell phone to his ear. "Yes, sir. She's on her way."

He opened the door and stepped inside next to me.

"You call your dad 'sir'?" I asked.

A sheepish smile curled his lips. "Not unless I'm in a mess of trouble, but that hasn't happened in a few years. This?" He pointed to his phone before sliding it into his pocket. "That was the Centralia Police Department. You don't need any more bad publicity here. Besides, the officers in Centralia have already dealt with her on a few occasions. They may not like it, but they'll be more prepared for her than the DC force. They've been apprised of the situation and will be waiting anxiously for her arrival." He chuckled. "I don't think she'll be bothering anyone else for a bit."

"Whew," I huffed. "I hope they know to bring backup. That girl is batshit crazy." I whipped sideways to look into his eyes. "That wasn't very nice of me. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. That's actually pretty spot-on."

"So, uh," I purred, gently tracing one of the scratches on his arm and briefly contemplating what he'd do if I kissed it. Dismissing the thought and dropping my hands to my sides, I cleared my throat and switched to a more nonchalant tone. "If we are still on for supper, it'll have to be here. I promised Bradley I'd take the home watch while he searched for Cristal tonight, in case she came back."

He shook his head and sighed. "Unfortunately, I have to go sign paperwork for the police now." His shoulders slumped as he turned away. "I'm so very sorry you had to see that."

I stepped into his line of sight. "You don't have anything to apologize for. Obviously the woman needs help." I shook my head in disbelief. "And medication." 

Mal gave me a leery, cynical look. "When I leave, you promise that you'll actually stay put? That means right here. No more investigating things on your own, at least for tonight?" He pointed to the floor. "I'll help you in the morn."

I nodded, forcing as much innocence to my demeanor as I could. "I just said that I have to stay here in case Cristal comes home." I huffed out an exasperated breath and glared at my phone, then shoved it into my pocket. "This would be a non-issue if she'd just freaking text me or answer her phone." Then realization dawned on me at Mal's ulterior motive. "So, the meal was just a ruse so you could babysit me? That's low, man," I chided.

"No, I'm hungry and wanted the pleasure of your company. If you remember, I gave the option to take you out, if you preferred." He crossed his arms over his chest in a stalemate gesture and scanned me from head to toe. "I feel like you might be changing the subject to throw me off your promise to stay put."

I shook my head but avoided his gaze.

"Then why do I feel like I should make you pinkie-promise or something along the lines of a blood oath?"

I shrugged, adding innocuous doe eyes to my innocent mask when I finally looked his way.

He released a long sigh of resignation. "I'll be back after I deal with the police."

I shook my head. "I'm an adult and don't need a babysitter. I'll be busy making calls to help Bradley find Cris. I'm going to talk to some friends back in LA to see if they've heard from her." I had a momentary twinge, thinking about all of the possibilities behind her disappearance. I was beginning to think that her returning to LA to wreak havoc on her ex-agent or taking the bus across country to New York might be better scenarios to some of the more gruesome endings that I'd been plagued with. I threaded my hand into the crook of his arm and pulled, somehow delusional that I could make the man move if he didn't want to.

"You seem awfully anxious to be rid of me."

I pulled my phone from my pocket and wiggled it in front of him. "Because I have calls to make…" I looked around at anything but him. "And stuff."

"The 'and stuff' is what I'm worried about." He swiped the phone from my hands and messed with it. While handing it back, he said, "Now you have my number too,
and stuff
. Please call if you need me."

The gruffness in his voice made me pause and reflect on his definition of the term "need." Because his accent alone made me
need
things I'd sworn off when I dumped my ex a few months ago. I felt my cheeks flush.

"Thank you," I eked out, unable to look him in the eyes with all of the
needy
things currently steaming up my brain. I walked to the door and opened it.

He paused next to me, tilting my face upward with one finger. "I'm serious.
Cha robh dithis riamh a' fadadh teine nach do las eatarra
."

"What's that mean?"

"You'll have to stick around to find out." He winked and slowly slid his hand away as he backed down the stairs.

I watched him disappear into the dark night and leaned against the doorjamb because I didn't trust my wobbly legs. As soon as I was fairly certain I could walk without assistance, I grabbed my phone from my pocket and weaved my way back to the kitchen area.