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

Again, there was a growl threatening to escape, this time toward my folks. Again, I just smiled.

I split the pile of papers and put half in front of Cris. "Dry enough to dig some?"

She delicately touched a forefinger to her bright-pink thumb. "Still tacky." She sighed. "But I think I'll be okay."

"Thanks." I plopped down on my dad's comforter and started sorting through my stack. "We are looking for something that dates back to around the time my parents took possession. It won't be Mal's business. It'll be a company we don't recognize."

Cris blinked at me a few times, a vacant look on her pretty face. "I don't even know what Mal's company name is."

"You haven't seen his huge truck and trailer parked in the drive with his name in big black letters?"

She shrugged.

"O'Connell Construction and Landscaping. You can just flip past those, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense." Her blue eyes widened as her head bobbed in acknowledgement. The woman amazed me. I'd seen her waffle between maniacal genius and dumb blonde at the drop of a hat.

We dug through things from other rehabs, pictures of vacations, receipts from meals in 2010, and cards from relatives. Finally, we came across a pocket of receipts dating around the time they took possession.

"Bingo!" I bellowed, eliciting a startled squeal from Cris. "I found something." I spread the papers out on an open area of the table near her. "Jiffy James Home Renovations out of Seattle. These work orders are all signed by a Jeffrey James."

I scurried out to the computer, with Cris on my heels, and plugged the information into the search browser. When images of a shady-looking man accompanied by even shadier-looking people showed up, I felt like I'd just hit triple sevens on a slot machine.

"Look!" I waggled an erratic finger at the screen. A giant hulk of a man filled the frame. Even with a gray receding hairline and sweet smile, his squinty eyes and harshly angled nose told a different story. The tattoo on his forearm of crossed revolvers and the words "kill or be killed" in swirly script across them might have had a little to do with it, too. "He looks like a killer, don't you think?"

"Totes." Her head bobbed along with mine.

I glanced through a couple of articles that even claimed he had ties to the Mafia.

"Huh," I breathed, leaning back in the chair and lacing my fingers behind my head. "Perhaps I've been looking at my career goals all wrong. Maybe my calling in life is to be a private investigator?"

I remembered the laundry in the basement, knowing the job title of pest control most definitely wasn't even whispering to me. Though there would be a small amount of satisfaction knowing the job was done well, leaving behind no survivors. A shudder wracked my body. "I put a load of laundry in the wash earlier. I'll give you twenty bucks if you'll go put it in the dryer." Even as I said the words, I knew it was pretty much the same as asking my parents to turn on their cell phone. Neither of those things would happen in my lifetime.

Cris pulled a green pepper from atop the piece of pizza on her plate and popped it into her mouth. "Maybe you shouldn't just settle on being a private investigator. You could do the whole lawyer gig thing like your brother. If you start school now, you won't be too far behind him when he graduates next year. You could even, like, totally start a firm together and stuff. You could be the brains, and he could be the brawn." She gasped as she paused to pluck another veggie and hovered it at her lips. "I'd totally hire you. Maybe you could even bury Max's wife in so much legal paperwork that she'd have to be buried for real." An evil smile curled her lips as she popped the veggie into her mouth.

I took a bite of my slice of pizza, still piping hot from the oven, and contemplated her words, wondering if I should burst her bubble by telling her how many years a law degree took. But I was in my own ego bubble. I could still hear the police detective's words of encouragement after I'd called him with my find, telling me he'd heard of the guy and that he had well known ties to the Mafia. My ego swelled even more as I played the scene through my mind a few more times.

Cristal snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Earth to Bree."

"Sorry."

"The doorbell just rang. Don't you suppose we should check that out?"

"Right." I bounced to my feet and scurried out into the lobby. A burly, dark-haired man in a black suit and a loud, multicolored checkered tie stood beside the desk, arms folded over his chest. He had his chin jutted just enough that he was staring down his nose at me with an uneasy gaze.

"Which one of you is Bree Milford?" he snapped, glancing between Cris and me.

Cris bounded toward the stairs like a frightened deer, clinging to the wrought iron banister. She pointed a trembling finger at me as though he had a gun wavering between us.

Part of me wanted to flee too. The other part, full of stubborn pride and oozing sarcasm, just stood her ground. It was yet to be determined which half was the smarter of the two. I turned my attention to who I was sure was Detective Marshall. That was a voice you couldn't easily forget. I extended my hand, and he briefly shook it. "I'm Bree."

He flashed his badge as he cast a guarded scan around the room, his gaze stopping on Cris, giving her the up and down before returning to me. "Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

Without being asked, she flew up the stairs and disappeared into her room, the door punctuating her exit with a loud slam.

I gestured toward the sofa. "Will this work?"

He nodded. When I finally realized he was waiting for me to take a seat, I crowded myself into a corner, and he sat at the opposite end.

"I thought you'd want to know that Mr. James was found in New York and brought in for questioning there."

I tried to keep my inner beaming smile at an outwardly acceptable grin, but I could feel it kind of take over my face anyway. "Do you need the receipts and things with his signature on them? I made a folder, so it's no problem." I waved a hand toward the back area and shifted to the edge of the cushion to stand.

He blocked my way with a sturdy hand. "I don't think we'll need them, but thank you. He admits to signing off on those receipts, but he also claims he was in New York the whole time. He had someone else in charge of construction work here. Says the guy mailed the invoices for him to sign. He seems to have a pretty solid alibi for the time-of-death window that our ME set, which just so happens to land around the time your parents took possession of this place." His gaze shifted from lofted-haughty to lowered-suspicious as he looked at me though his lashes, producing a few extra chins. "Speaking of whom, have you heard anything from them?"

I shook my head emphatically. "No, sir. I told you I'd call in if that modern-day miracle happened. I swear." I placed my hand over my heart. "They just do this. They always have. I'm sure you've run a background check on them and have seen all of the addresses they've had over the years."

He nodded, still in suspicious-triple-chin mode.

"Then what could you possibly need with them when you have a known Mafia thug as a suspect?" It was my turn to do the haughty chin tilt.

"The Mafia ties have never actually been proven." His glare morphed into an almost-sincere smile. "Your parents need to come in and give their statements so we can clear them. Until then, unfortunately, they're on our list of suspects, but they also aren't the only ones we have. Mr. James lawyered up immediately and named the local contractor to whom he'd subbed out the Renauds' work."

It all seemed pretty simple to me, you know, being a born private investigator and all. "Then why are you wasting your time with me?"

He scoffed, smirking at me. "Because we thought you might know where he is, since he's currently finishing up your family's renovations. Have you seen Malcolm O'Connell today?"

Ego bubble burst. A stiff breeze through the screen door could've knocked me off the couch.

I stared, slack-jawed and stunned, at the detective. "Seriously? He said he had nothing to do with construction around here until Mom hired him to finish the job."

"It appears he may have lied to you, ma'am."

I felt my lashes flutter nervously as I processed the information. "He mentioned fixing something at Old Lady Winstead's when he stopped by earlier."

"Sophia must be visiting. There always seems to be some sort of landscaping emergency when her granddaughter is there so Thelma can pull out her matchmaking skills, rusty as they may be." He stood, nodded in my direction, and stated, "Thank you for your help. If he comes by here, please have him call." He flipped out a business card and laid it on the table in front of me. "Also, if you hear from your parents about where they may be headed, please call."

I nodded, still in shock, as I watched him leave. I was even nodding a few minutes later when Cris joined me on the couch.

"If you want, I can stick around until this all gets sorted out," she murmured as she brushed my bangs from my face, offering me an encouraging smile. "I even saw ice cream in the freezer. Maybe later we can have some. I know that always makes you feel better."

"Thank you so much. That would mean a lot to me."

"We need to go for a jog now though. That's some harsh info Five-O just dumped in our laps," she whispered as she threaded an arm through mine. She'd obviously been eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Yeah, we do."

I ducked into the back living room and quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants. We walked out onto the porch to find a brown sedan at the curb. Looking around the front yard, there was no one to be found. Cris and I walked around toward the garage to find a very tall blond man ascending the stairs to the apartment over the garage, where the body had been found.

"Can we help you?" I bellowed across the drive.

The man stopped abruptly, his shoulders slumping a bit before turning around. He was a nice-looking guy, but I had the distinct impression he was fully aware of that fact. He threw his shoulders back and descended the steps like royalty. "Ms. Milford?"

I nodded. "And you are?"

He traipsed across the drive to the porch stairs. As he ascended, he popped out a hand. "Duncan Pickles, reporter for the
Cove Chronicles
. Would you have a moment to elaborate on the police's press release about the body that was found?"

I shook my head emphatically and stared at his hand, not even sort of wanting to enter into any niceties with the guy even before I knew he was a reporter. I didn't get a good feeling about him. He had
slimy shock journalist
written all over his designer labels and fake tanned forehead. "I just got here yesterday. I have nothing to add and no comments on anything."

He leaned casually against the railing in front of me, crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, a lopsided smile on his face as though he wasn't quite convinced I was sincere. "Come on. Just give me a little behind-the-scenes dirt. What did Mr. Burke's body look like? I know he fell on top of you."

"Who?" I blurted without thinking.

"Shaun Burke, the dead guy in your closet. Was he a big guy? How old was he? Did you recognize him, or was his body too far decayed? Do you think the newest suspect, Malcolm O'Connell, actually killed the guy or just had a hand in…"

Cris huffed a huge sigh, stepped between us, and straightened the man's collar. At first I thought she'd break into full-flirt mode, which was exactly what the huge smile on Mr. Pickles' face hinted toward as well. But she was channeling a different side of herself—the dark side. I'd only seen this side once, used on Max's wife. She released the cold, hard bitch I always knew was lingering right below the surface some days.

Tightening his tie like a noose around his neck, she purred, "I believe my friend said she had nothing to add. Do you understand those words, or should we pull up the dictionary app on one of our phones for you?"

He grabbed her wrists and pushed her hands away, then loosened his tie. "
Honey
, I can make or break you in this town. You'd better watch your step."

Cris belted out a maniacal laugh, and then all expression fell from her face. "At this point, I've got nothing left to lose, big guy. If you think you can do more damage than the rag magazines in LA, I invite you to bring your A game and give it a shot."

His brow furrowed as he backed away from her. "You're Cristal.
The
Cristal. My, uh, ex-girlfriend," he muttered, looking intently at his feet, "used to watch that soap opera."

"And I happen to be a PMS-ing, raging ball of hormones with an attorney on speed dial. Feel like trying your luck at a little Russian roulette?"

I'd never seen such an arrogant, virile man slink away from a slim, willowy woman before, but that's exactly what happened. No other words. Just a berated reporter scurrying down the front steps to his vehicle.

"And don't bother coming back," Cris yelled as he got into his car.

He even squawked the tires as he punched the gas, disappearing down the hill quickly.

Uncle Eddie appeared at the side of the house in a short, worn terrycloth robe, long enough to almost cover his boxer shorts. "Are you ladies okay?" He stood a bit taller, tugging the robe closed more. "I can take care of that guy. I have ways of making a person disappear."

I bobbed my head toward Cris. "I think this situation is handled. Thanks, though."

"Okay," he muttered. "You know where to find me if things change." He glanced around the yard, his eyes darting from tree to tree as though the enemy could be hiding behind any of them, then scurried toward his apartment entrance and disappeared up the stairs.

Cris patted her hands together as though she was sloughing off actual dirt instead of the internal kind he'd made me feel. "My job as your self-appointed bodyguard is done. Let's go get us an endorphin rush."

The late afternoon sun cut through the crisp air as we jogged our way along the sidewalk of Cliffside Drive, wound down and jumped the trolley tracks on Main, wove through the crowd of people heading to the pier, then went back up the road until we made it to the other side of the cove. Two Mile Beach was spread out before us. The sand was dotted with beach chairs, huge colorful umbrellas, and people loading up their picnicking gear for the day before the sun set. We both jogged in place in front of the old lighthouse, taking our pulse rate and admiring the view. It had been a while since I'd actually jogged, so there were a few times I'd had to push through the feeling of grabbing a seat and waiting for Cris to circle back. Instead, I kept up with the neon-yellow yoga outfit I was following. At least there was no way to lose Cris in an ensemble like that. I was a bit more conservative in my gray sweatpants and blue Nike T-shirt.

Even our running clothes told the story of how different Cris and I were. She wasn't comfortable without full makeup and hair. I was a wash-and-go kind of girl. She had to keep up on the latest fashion trends. I loved to shop thrift stores and add to my T-shirt collection. Sure, I dressed up when the occasion called for it, but Cris had to be on death's door to dress down.

Cris bumped a hip into mine. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Inflation demands at least a dollar, but since you were pretty badass on the reporter back there, it's free today," I huffed playfully. I stared out over the shimmering ocean. "I was just thinking about how different we are. It's amazing we've stuck it out as friends."

She sat on a flat rock just under the lighthouse, gazing out at the setting sun. "That's probably why we're still friends." Looking over her shoulder, she patted the flat stone space next to her. As I joined her, she continued, "I know I'm high maintenance and a bitch at times, but it takes someone like you to keep me grounded. I didn't realize I needed that until I met you, someone who operates in the real world who's kind of normal and stuff. You're not caught up in the void that models and actresses pretend is real. Know what I mean?"

"That you need good ole plain-Jane me to see how the other half lives?" I asked, kind of put off.

Cris swatted my arm. "No, silly. There's nothing plain about you. You have all kinds of natural beauty that most of the girls I know would kill for, me included. Plus, you've got all sorts of stuff going on inside too, like being supersmart and stuff. You're too good for the kind of life I lead." She scooted sideways to face me. "Do you think I like doing all of this every day?" She paused and circled her face a few times with her fingers, then flipped her perfectly curled ponytail. "When you dress up a blonde with big boobs like me, no one cares what's inside, at least until I met you. You actually do care. It sucks that I'm like this, but it's who I am and the modeling world I work in. It pays the bills." She shook her head. "Or, at least it used to."