Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) (10 page)

He reached over and patted my hand. "There are other fish out there in that big, wide ocean." He stretched his arms out toward the Pacific. Closing his eyes, he stayed in that pose while the ocean breeze desperately tried to ruffle his hair-sprayed locks. The man was even wearing makeup. I could see the foundation beading with his perspiration at his temple, and being this close to him, I could tell that he contoured his cheeks and wore mascara too.

"It's not that." I didn't think, anyway. I sat a little straighter and contemplated why
I
was so upset about
Mal
being upset. Maybe it
was
that. A little of that, anyway. I slumped down again.

Nick dropped his hands and peered at me through his lashes while clicking his tongue. "Tsk-tsk. It's not nice to lie to your neighbor." He put his hanky to his lips and giggled. He flipped a light hand toward me. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me." He gently pinched his lips together in a lip-sealing gesture.

"So, what do you do for a living, Mr. Lafollette?" I asked, drumming up small talk so we were chatting about pretty much anything but my love life. Or, as the situation was, lack thereof.

He smiled, blushing as he stared intently at the sweating glass in front of him. "Honestly?" He crooked a brow.

I nodded. "Of course."

"Well, don't judge." He sat up straighter, folding his hands in his lap. "I know this may come as a shock, but I'm gay."

I faked as much surprise as I could muster under the glum circumstances. "You don't say? Well, good for you."

His forehead wrinkled, and he waved the hanky in front of his face. "Thank you for not being a big ole hater." He blinked back a few tears, then continued, "I'm a cross-dresser slash exotic dancer at the Blue Banana in Olympia. Great money, so it's worth the drive."

I looked across the table at the burly guy, trying to picture him in drag, the surprised look much easier to pull off now. To each his own. "So, that's why you wear makeup?" I blurted before running it through common sense.

His gaze shifted around wildly as he used his hanky to pat at his face. "Um, yes."

In a huge effort to diffuse the uncomfortable situation I'd accidently created, I bubbled, "Sounds fun. Is this a dream of yours?"

He finally stopped fidgeting and smiled at me. "Well, since we're being candid…" He glanced over both shoulders, then leaned closer to me. "A man gets to a certain age and just decides to toss off the mask. I had a wife. We have two kids. It's just amazing what a man can do if he concentrates on it hard enough." He tossed me a wink and brow wiggle as though I didn't get his meaning.

Oh, I understood and really wanted to wind things up and pretty much be anywhere else. Suddenly, I was ready to discuss my own love life now that I realized there were more uncomfortable scenarios on the table.

"Now," he breathed, sitting up straighter. "I just concentrate on me." His smile widened and chin tilted with pride. "Instead of being the man of some woman's dreams, I'm looking for the man of mine. Know anyone?" He followed Mal with great interest as he made a lap by us on the mower. "If Malcolm isn't your boy toy, do you know if he's seeing anyone else?"

Mal nodded toward Nick but cast me a glare. "I'll ask."

As the sun was setting, sirens screamed in the distance, pulling me from yet another mind-numbing internet search after researching the dead guy's company to see if there were any articles about rival companies or any ugly press. Other than glowing reviews, there was nothing. This time, I'd landed in
Real Housewives
hell somehow. I clicked the browser closed as the ear-piercing wail came to a stop in front of the bed and breakfast, but the red-and-blue lights still lit up the lobby like a seventies disco.

I walked out onto the porch to see about the ruckus, the chilly breeze off the ocean making me wrap my arms around myself, my hands rubbing up and down my biceps for friction. 

"Summer Breeze Milford?" an older police officer barked as he wound his way up the path toward me.

Malcolm stood next to his mower, looking back and forth between the officer and me. He finally made eye contact with me, snickering, a knowing smile curling his lips. Had he not been mocking me, I might have been glad to see a smile on his face after the lunch debacle.

I shot him my best squinty-eyed look of death.

He cleared his throat, regaining most of his composure except that stupid, fully dimpled grin.

I descended the steps toward the burly cop. "Please, call me Bree."

"We need you to come down to the station with us." He gently grabbed my arm, guiding me toward the car.

"What's this pertaining to?" I dug my feet into the gravel, pulling us to a stop as his grip tightened on my arm. Panicked thoughts of the myriad of reasons they could be summoning me raced through my mind. "We can talk right here. I don't think this is necessary." I nodded toward his hand on my elbow. "Please, let me go."

"You can either come willingly or we can arrest you for withholding information. It's your choice." The older gentleman pulled the cuffs from his belt with his free hand and dangled them in front of me.

"What information?" I batted my eyes, hoping they portrayed the unwitting innocence I was going for.

"Your parents' whereabouts. You told us you didn't know. According to them, you were told exactly where they were headed."

I heaved a sigh of resignation. At least I knew my parents were safe. Attempting to cross my arms over my chest, the officer tightened his grip on my elbow. "But I didn't know where they were
at that very moment
when the other officer asked me," I clarified, nodding my head in a rapid bob.

His gaze narrowed on mine. "You knew very well what we were asking."

Mal snorted.

I whipped my glare back toward him. Shoving my thumb to my ear and dropping my pinky to my mouth in a makeshift phone, I immaturely touted, "Hello, Pot? This is Kettle. You're black." Yeah, a little on the childish side, but it was the best I could come up with on short notice.

I followed the officer to his car. "My parents were just heading to a concert in…"

The officer whipped around, a weary look narrowing his eyes as he shook his head. "You do understand that you have the right to remain silent…"

Mal scoffed. "She has the right, but I'm fairly certain she lacks the ability."

The officer shook his head as he glanced between us. "There have been some new developments in the case. Please, just come with me."

When we reached the vehicle, I finally broke the locked stare-off with Mal, addressing him as I stared at my shoes. "Would you mind watching the place for me?"

"No problem."

The officer helped me into the backseat, pushing down on the top of my head and everything, just like on television. Just like I was a common criminal.

Mal jumped on his mower and finished the strip of grass he'd started on at the curb, which just so happened to follow along with the car as we drove away. As an added touch, he waved the entire time. I glared straight ahead, pretending to focus on the officer, even though he was talking with the precinct and not me.

*   *   *

I stared at my parents across the wobbly table in the interrogation room. Mom gazed back, dressed in a neon-yellow tracksuit and an old T-shirt that read
Frankie Says Relax.
Her hair was in a ponytail cocked to the left side of her head.

On purpose.

Dad had his head down on the table, resting on his hands. He was decked out in a Def Leppard T-shirt and, thankfully, a pair of jeans.

It had been at least five minutes since I'd been led into the tiny room and left with them, and no one had said a word. Mom dropped her gaze, intently studying her chipped manicure, while Dad sat up, turned sideways, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set, staring at the two-way mirror.

Finally, Mom looked up at me again, her lips quivering as she spoke. "Why did you lie to the officers, honey? That makes us look guilty."

"What?" I snapped, partly from shock and maybe just a smidge of guilt. "No, the fact that you own a house with a dead body in the wall makes you look guilty, Mom." I dropped my face into my hands, releasing a huge sigh. I probably should have been straight with the police from the get-go. Hindsight and all that. I raised my head again to see her glaring at me and lost my cool. "Why didn't you turn on your freaking phone,
like you said you would
, so I could let you know what the hell was going on?"

Dad whipped around in his chair, shaking his head. "Don't talk to your mother that way."

I shook my head, looking at my hands. "Sorry."

Mom continued on as though I'd said nothing, her eyes welling with tears. "They made a big scene at our campground in Humboldt Redwoods Park. They busted in, screaming at us in front of all of the other campers as we sat around a fire. I was mortified. They even handcuffed your dad without letting him put his pants on."

I briefly pondered lecturing my father on the newfangled wonder that was pajama pants but didn't have a chance.

Detective Marshall shoved open the door, slamming it against the wall. He filled the doorway like a wall of dark suit and bad tie. "Have you all been briefed on the new information in the case? We originally just wanted you brought in for questioning, but I received this file about thirty minutes ago." He waved a manila folder in his hand.

Mom spun toward him, tears now flowing freely.

Dad placed a hand over hers and whispered, "I'll take care of this, honey." He stood to address the officer. "All we know is that there was a dead man built into the wall of a room over our garage, and the time of death is roughly the time we bought the place."

Detective Marshall stepped inside the room and swung the door closed behind him, the force shaking the walls. "You've been read your rights, correct?" Mom and Dad nodded, so he continued. "Have you retained an attorney? Because one can be appointed to you."

Dad tried to match the detective's wide, powerful stance but just looked like he was awkwardly trying to straddle the crack in the floor. "Our son is on his way with a member of his firm."

The detective's stern expression faded a bit. "Your son is an attorney?"

"He will be very soon. Only one more year of law school." Dad's chest puffed with pride. I, on the other hand, felt like even more of a failure and slouched in the chair.

"Will you be waiting for your counsel before hearing the case update?"

Dad shook his head. "I'm sure they'll have any updates when they arrive. I just want to set the record straight and get out of here."

The detective gazed down at my father, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "I'm afraid that won't be happening anytime soon."

Mom bounced to her feet and slapped her hands to her sides. "Why not?" she bellowed between gut-wrenching sobs.

I rounded the table and took Dad's seat, pulling Mom into her chair and wrapping her in my arms. I rocked her a bit, tucking stray hairs behind her ears like she always did for me when I was upset or sick as a kid.

And maybe a few times after that.

The detective nodded in my direction, a look of thanks softening his features ever so slightly before he turned his hard-as-nails look back to address my dad. "It appears that the body they found above your garage wasn't the only one."

I stopped rocking my mother. "In the bed and breakfast?" I asked loudly. "Not since I got here. There hasn't been anything else done to the garage apartment or even the main house, for that matter."

He turned toward me. "No, but another body washed up on the beach earlier today."

Dad roared, "So what in the fluffy hell does it have to do with the one found at our place?"

I stared in shock. I'd never seen my dad lose his patience. His face was red, his eyes were wide, and he kept pacing the tiny space. But then again, I'd never seen him in an interrogation room either. So what did I know?

The detective crossed his arms over his broad chest. "The other body was found wrapped mummy-style, just like the one found in your place."

My dad's face grew even redder until he finally snarled, "So? It seems like a copycat killer. I still don't understand why we are here. I demand you let us go. This is outrageous. I just want a hot shower and a soft bed." He invaded the detective's personal space, bumping bellies, even. "Now."

Detective Marshall stood his ground like a brick wall and lowered his face closer to my dad's. With a calm that belied everything that had been said and everyone's temperament in the room, he stated, "This one also had a single gunshot wound to the head." He dropped his chin, almost touching noses with my dad. "Just like the man from your place, and the gun used in both murders washed up with him, though the serial number had been filed off."

Dad shook his head as he inched away, his eyes wide with anger. "I still don't understand why you are wasting your time with us. I've never even owned a gun."

Never losing his temper or even raising his monotone voice, Detective Marshall stated, "That we know of, anyway. The most recent body that washed up on Two Mile Beach has an estimated time of death of two days ago. When was it that you left on your trip?" He flopped a paper on the table. "And while there was also a gunshot wound to the head, this man died from having his throat cut first. The body was sealed well enough to preserve a few fingerprints on the murder weapon, a utility knife found inside with the body. Yours, Mr. Milford, and only yours."

Dad wobbled backward toward the table to steady himself. Mom wilted to the floor, out cold. I just sat there, speechless for a change.