Whiskey Beach (24 page)

Naked in bed. That’s how he wanted her.

He peeled the snug, stretchy pants over her hips, down her legs, exploring her inch by inch all the way to her ankles. And up again over the taut curve of calf, the delicate back of her knee, along the firm length of her thigh to that hot, damp core.

She arched, a hand digging into the sheet, fisting there as pleasure struck and quivered. And it built, built, built until she broke, until she cartwheeled into the tumble of sensations.

She levered up, dragging him to her, latching her arms around him when they knelt body-to-body on the bed.

Heat flooded her, sent even her blood to sizzling under her skin as the breeze whipped in the open doors to flow over them.

It danced through her hair, he thought, and the sun streamed over her like molten gold. They might’ve been on some lost island with the relentless voice of the sea, the tang of it on the air, the mocking laugh of gulls winging across the blue bowl of sky.

Now those limbs wrapped around him—demand, invitation, plea. He took what she offered, gave what she asked. His body plunged to hers while lips met in unsated appetite.

Faster, stronger, with her head flung back and his mouth on her throat where her pulse beat in mad time.

Then she cried out his name, just his name, and he felt even his slippery hold on control snap loose.

He lay facedown, she faceup, and both struggled for breath. With her eyes closed, Abra slid her hand over, found his arm, trailed down until she could link fingers with him.

“That was a hell of an afternoon break.”

“My new favorite kind,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against the mattress.

“I really have to get up and get back to work.”

“Let me write an excuse note to your boss.”

“She won’t buy it. She’s really strict.”

Now he turned his head and studied her profile with sleepy eyes. “No, she’s not.”

“You don’t work for her.” She curled toward him now. “She can be a total bitch.”

“I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“Better not. She might fire me, then who’d clean the house?”

“That’s a point.” He draped an arm around her. “I’ll help you deal with the rest of the house.”

She started to decline, quickly and gently. She had a routine, and he’d be in her way. But she let it go—for now. “Why aren’t you doing your own work?”

“I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“Dog love?”

“No.” He trailed his fingers through her hair before he sat up. “I have enough finished and polished up to send to my agent. So I did.”

“That’s great.” She popped up beside him. “Isn’t it?”

“I guess I’ll find out in the next few days.”

“Let me read it.” When he shook his head, she rolled her eyes.

“Okay, I get that, more or less. How about letting me read one scene? Just one. A page?”

“Maybe. Maybe later.” Evade now, he thought, as she had a sneaky way of talking him into things. Like a dog. “I’ll ply you with wine first so you’re mildly impaired.”

“I can’t get mildly impaired tonight. I have a yoga class at home.”

“Sometime. Later. I’ll help you get some of the stuff the cops jumbled up put back.”

“Okay, you can strip the bed, that’s basic.”

Even as she rolled out of it, the dog let out a trio of warning barks.

“Perfect,” Eli muttered, grabbed his pants. He heard the dog charge down the steps, barking like a hound out of hell.

“You win that one.” He dragged on his shirt. “And you’re naked.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“Too bad. Naked housekeeping might’ve been fun.”

She grinned as he hurried out, as he called to the dog.

Eli Landon, she thought, was coming back strong.

Downstairs he ordered the dog to stop. She surprised him by doing just that, butt sitting right by his side as he opened the door.

He tried to block that first, automatic strike of panic when he saw cops. Pushed back against the dark cloud that habitually followed.

Not Wolfe at least, he thought.

“Detective Corbett, Vinnie.”

“Nice dog,” Corbett began.

“Hey, is that Barbie?” When the dog immediately reacted with a greeting woof and wagging tail, Vinnie bent down to pet her. “You’ve got Barbie, Mr. Bridle’s dog. He died in his sleep a couple weeks ago. The neighbor came to check on him as she did most days, and found Barbie here guarding the bed. She’s a good dog, she is.”

As if remembering himself, Vinnie straightened. “Sorry. I’m just glad to see her in a good home. She’s a great dog.”

“Pretty girl,” Corbett commented. “Do you have a few minutes, Mr. Landon?”

“I get that question from cops a lot.” But he stepped back to let them in.

“Deputy Hanson told me about the latest break-in so I asked him to come with me to speak to you. Have you had a chance to go through the house thoroughly, check for anything missing or out of place?”

“Things were already out of place from the search. We’ve been putting it back together, and so far I haven’t found anything missing. He’s not a thief, not in the classic sense anyway.”

“I have your statement from last night, but I wonder if you could go over your activities yesterday evening for me.”

Corbett looked up as Abra, fully dressed, walked downstairs with a laundry basket. “Ms. Walsh.”

“Detective. Hi, Vinnie. Cleaning day. Can I get you coffee? A cold drink?”

“No, but thanks.” Corbett shifted his stance. “You were with Mr. Landon when the break-in was discovered?”

“That’s right. I work at the Village Pub on most Friday nights. Eli came up—when was that?—nine-thirty or so, I guess. He and Stoney Tribbet hung out at the bar swapping lies.”

“Stoney’s a local character,” Vinnie explained.

“We stayed till closing,” Eli continued. “Abra and I walked Stoney home, then walked back here.”

“Deputy Hanson logged your call to him at one-forty-three.”

“That’s right. We went into the kitchen, and I saw the alarm pad smudged, then checked the door and found fresh jimmy marks. And yeah, I’ve changed the code. Again.”

“And added backup,” Abra said, giving Barbie a rub.

“Did you see any cars you didn’t recognize, anyone either on the beach or on the street?”

“No, but then I wasn’t looking for any. I’d been outside earlier, doing some research, reading on the back terrace. I didn’t notice anything or anyone. I hadn’t planned on going to the bar. I didn’t tell anyone I was going. It was impulse.”

“Do you tend to go in on Friday nights?”

“I’ve only been in there once before.”

“Did you see anyone in the bar who struck you in any way? Anyone who seemed to be acting unusual?”

“No.”

“I’m going to put this load in,” Abra began. She took two steps away, turned back. “Tonic and lime.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I did serve a table of one, a man I didn’t recognize. He sat in the back, alone, drank tonic and lime. He ordered three, but he didn’t stay for the third.”

“Why unusual?” Corbett asked her.

“Most people who come in come with friends or to see them, or if they’re just passing through, they’d likely have a beer or a glass of wine. Still, maybe he just doesn’t drink, and he just wanted to hear the band. They’re good. But . . .”

“Go on,” Corbett prompted.

“It’s just that, now that I’m playing it back, he left right after Eli came in. I’d taken his order, added it to the others and gone to the bar to put it in. I stood there a couple minutes—if that—talking to Stoney. I was facing the main door, so I saw Eli come in. I introduced them, then picked up my orders. And when I went back I saw he’d gone, and just left money on the table.”

“I know the bar.” Corbett’s eyes narrowed as he thought of it. “There’s another exit, but you have to go through the kitchen.”

“That’s right. I don’t think I’d have seen him leave if he left after Eli came in because I’d shifted—you know—so I wasn’t facing the door. Unless he went through the kitchen, he left between the time Eli got there and I went to take him his drink. Either way, he left about five minutes after he ordered the tonic.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“God. In vague terms. White, late thirties, I think. Brown hair, or dark blond—the light’s dim in there—and longish, over the collar. I couldn’t tell you his eye color. I don’t really know his build as he was sitting. He had wide hands. I might remember more if I just clear my mind.”

“Will you work with a police artist?”

“Well, yes, but . . . Do you really think that could be the man who broke in here?”

“It’s worth pursuing.”

“I’m sorry.” She looked from Eli to Vinnie. “I didn’t think of it last night.”

“That’s why we do follow-ups,” Vinnie told her.

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be. You know the lighting in there, especially when they have music. And he was sitting in a back corner where it’s darker yet.”

“What did he say to you, talk about?” Corbett asked.

“Not much. Tonic and lime. I asked if he was meeting anyone because chairs get to be a premium on the weekends. He just repeated the order. Not the friendly sort.”

“We’ll arrange the artist when it’s a good time for you. We’ll be in touch.” Since Barbie was sniffing at his shoes, Corbett leaned down to rub her head. “Oh, and the dog’s a good idea. A big dog barking inside a house makes a lot of B-and-E men think twice.”

When Eli let them out, Abra stood there, the basket of laundry on her hip. “I’m sorry, Eli.”

“For what?”

“If I’d remembered that guy last night, we might already have a sketch. And I’m already sorry because I don’t know how well I can describe him. I really didn’t pay close attention to his face after it was clear he wanted to be left alone.”

“We don’t even know if he has any part in this. And if he does, however vaguely you remember, it’s more than we had.”

“I’m going to meditate later, see if I can clear things out, pull it back. And don’t dis meditation.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You thought several. I’m going to put this laundry in.” She checked the time. “I’m definitely behind schedule. I’ll just take some time tomorrow to do the bedrooms I didn’t get to today. I’ll finish your grandmother’s, and get what I can get done by five. I have things to do at home before class.”

“Will you come back after class?”

“I really have things I’ve neglected, and I’m going to want my own empty house—without your doubting vibes—to meditate. Plus, you and Barbie need to finish bonding. I’ll be back tomorrow. Gotta get this load in,” she repeated, and hurried off.

“Just you and me, Barbie,” Eli told her. Probably for the best. He was getting just a little too used to having Abra there. Probably better for both of them to have some time, some space.

But it didn’t really feel better.

B
LOCKED,
A
BRA DECIDED.
S
HE WAS BLOCKED, THAT HAD
to be the answer. She’d meditated, worked with the police artist, tried active dreaming—which she wasn’t very good at—and still the time, effort and skill of the artist produced a sketch that could be nearly any man between thirty and forty.

Any man, she thought, studying her copy of the sketch yet again, with a thin face, long, somewhat shaggy medium brown hair and thin lips.

She couldn’t swear to the lips, if it came to that. Had they really been thin or had she projected thin lips because he’d struck her as such a tight-ass?

So much for her powers of observation, she decided in disgust, which she’d considered above average before this.

Of course, there wasn’t any proof her tight-assed, tonic-and-lime-drinking customer had anything to do with anything. But still.

Nothing to be done about it, at least until after the holiday weekend. She added the last little silver ball to finish the pair of citrine and silver dangle earrings. As she filled out the description card, she imagined Eli’s family already on their way.

That was one good thing. Another? The house hit “family holiday” perfectly on her scale. At least fussing with that had taken her mind off her pitiful failure with the artist.

She wanted progress, as she took off the glasses she wore for close-up work and reading. She admitted she’d hoped to play a part in identifying the intruder and potential murderer, in helping Eli resolve his problems, with the little rush of solving a mystery. She wanted to make it all neat and tidy when she knew, absolutely, life was anything but.

Now she couldn’t shake off the nagging sense of annoyance, and the underlying sense of unease.

At least her new jewelry stock turned out well, if she did say so herself. But her hope that the creative energy would unblock the block fell short.

She straightened up her worktable in her tiny second bedroom, put her tools and supplies away in their labeled bins. She’d take the new stock into the gift shop, and maybe buy herself a little something with the profits.

She opted to walk, to give herself a chance to admire the play of daffodils and hyacinths cheerfully showing off their blooms, the colorful Easter eggs dangling from tree branches, the bright pop of forsythia.

She always loved the birth of a new season, whether it was the first spear of green in spring or the first drift of snow in winter. But today anxiety plagued her so she wished she’d stopped at Maureen’s, talked her friend into going into the village with her.

It was stupid to feel she was being watched. Just a residual reaction to what had happened at Bluff House. And the lighthouse, she thought as she turned to study its sturdy white lance. No one was following her, though she couldn’t resist a look over her shoulder, or the rising chill up her spine.

She knew these houses, knew most of the people in them, or who owned them. She passed Surfside Bed & Breakfast, fought off a dragging dread and a sudden urge to turn around, run back home.

She wouldn’t be chased away by her own silly thoughts. Wouldn’t deny herself the pleasure of her walks in the place she’d made her home.

And she wouldn’t think of being grabbed from behind in a dark, empty house.

The sun shone, birds called, holiday traffic chugged by.

But she let out a relieved breath when she entered the main village with its shops and restaurants, and people.

It pleased her to see customers milling around the window of the gift shop. Tourists taking their holiday at the beach, families like Eli’s spending the weekend. She started to go inside, then saw Heather behind the counter.

She stepped back, started to walk on. “Crap,” she muttered. “Just crap.”

She hadn’t seen the shop clerk since Heather had run out of yoga class in tears. Heather hadn’t made the in-home practice, nor the next on her schedule. And inside, Abra harbored enough anger and resentment to prevent her from calling to check.

Negative energy, she told herself, and stopped. Time to expel it, rebalance her chi. And maybe she’d break that block after all.

In any case, Heather was who she was. There was no point in hoarding bad feelings, on either side.

She made herself walk back, step inside. Good smells, pretty light, the strong sense of local arts and crafts. Take that mood, she ordered herself, and go with it.

She waved casually to the other clerk, noted the woman’s slight wince as she continued to wait on a customer. No doubt Heather had unloaded her perceived slights on her coworkers.

Who could blame her, really?

Deliberately, Abra made her way back to Heather, waited patiently as she was studiously ignored. When Heather finished ringing up a sale, Abra stepped forward.

“Hi. Busy today. I just need five minutes. I can wait until you have it.”

“I really can’t say when that might be. We have customers.” Stiff, jaw tight, Heather skirted around the counter and clipped her way to a trio of women.

Temper rose up high enough to actually tickle the base of Abra’s throat. She breathed it down again, then impulsively picked up a set of handblown wineglasses she’d admired for weeks but couldn’t really afford.

“Excuse me.” With a smile plastered on her face, Abra took the glasses over to Heather. “Could you ring me up? I just love these. Aren’t they great?” she said to the other women, and got admiring assents even as one of them shifted to pick up a set of champagne flutes by the same artist.

“These would make a wonderful wedding gift.”

“Wouldn’t they?” All smiles, Abra turned one of her glasses in the light. “I just love the braided stems. You can’t go wrong with anything in Buried Treasures,” Abra added, beaming toward Heather as she held out the glasses.

“Of course. If you have any questions, just ask,” Heather said to the shoppers, then walked back to the counter.

“Now I’m a customer,” Abra announced. “First, we’ve missed you at class.”

Jaw still tight, Heather got bubble wrap from under the counter, began to roll it around a glass. “I’ve been busy.”

“We’ve missed you,” Abra repeated, and laid a hand over Heather’s. “I’m sorry we argued, and I said things that upset you and hurt your feelings.”

“You made it seem like I was just a busybody, and I— The police
were
there.”

“I know, and now they’re not because he didn’t do anything. Someone broke into Bluff House twice, that we’re sure of. The first time, whoever it was grabbed me.”

“I know. It’s just another reason I’m concerned.”

“I appreciate your concern, but Eli’s not the one who tried to hurt me. He was in Boston. And he’s not the one who . . .” She took a quick glance around in case any of the customers were standing close enough to hear. “Who hurt the detective from Boston, because I was with Eli when that happened. Those are facts, Heather, verified by the police.”

“They searched Bluff House.”

“To be thorough. They may search my cottage.”

“Yours?” Shock and genuine concern popped through. “Why? That’s ridiculous. That’s not right.”

Barrier cracked, Abra thought when Heather’s voice rang with insult. “Because there’s one—just one—cop in Boston who won’t accept the facts and the evidence, and he’s hounded Eli for a year. Now he’s done some hounding in my direction.”

“I think that’s terrible.”

“So do I, but since we’ve got nothing to hide, let him hound. Our local police are investigating now. I have a lot more faith in them finding out what’s happening and who’s responsible.”

“We take care of our own,” Heather said with a nod of civic pride. “Just be careful.”

“I will be.”

Abra tried not to flinch when Heather rang up the glasses. Bye-bye, cute new yoga outfit. But she dug in her bag for her credit card, and remembered the jewelry.

“I nearly forgot. I made about a dozen pieces.” She took them out, set them on the counter, all sealed in their clear bags. “You can take a look at them when you have time, let me know.”

“I will. Oh, I love these!” She held up the citrine and silver, the last pieces Abra made. “Little silver moons and stars, then the citrine’s like sunlight.”

“Those are really nice.” The woman with the champagne flutes walked over to the counter.

“Abra’s one of our artists. She just brought in some new pieces.”

“Aren’t we lucky? Oh! Joanna, come look at this necklace. It’s so you.”

Abra exchanged a smug look with Heather as she handed over her credit card. The way the three women huddled around the new pieces, she might justify a cute new yoga outfit after all.

Thirty minutes later, Abra treated herself to an ice cream cone and walked home in a much more positive state of mind. She’d sold half her new pieces on the spot, and two more from what the store already had in stock. Definitely new outfit time, and she had just the one bookmarked on her favorite site.

Plus, she’d
earned
the gorgeous wineglasses.

First chance, she’d have Eli to the cottage for a little wine and candlelight dinner and use them.

But now, she’d try meditation again. Maybe with some incense this time. Usually she preferred the fresh sea air, but that hadn’t been working. Change it up, she decided.

She let herself into the house, entertained herself by unwrapping and washing her new glasses before setting them out on display on her kitchen shelves. Admiring them gave her positive outlook another boost.

In anticipation she got a pencil, a pad, the copy of the sketch, set it all by her meditation cushion in her bedroom. Though an average artist at best in her own estimation, she thought she might be able to make any changes or additions that came into her mind right then and there. Already starting her breathing, she went to the closet for the box that held her incense—cones and sticks—and the various holders she’d collected over time.

Maybe the lotus scent, she considered, to open the mind’s eye. Really, she should’ve tried this before.

She got the box off the high shelf, opened it.

And with a strangled gasp, dropped it as if it held a hissing snake.

Her incense rained down, the holders clattered. And the gun thudded on the floor. Instinctively she backed away from it. Her first gut reaction was to run, then logic clicked in.

Whoever had put the gun there wouldn’t be waiting in the house for her to find it. They’d put it there, she thought as she let herself breathe, so the police would find it.

That meant, had to mean, whoever had held that gun last had committed murder.

She went straight to the phone.

“Vinnie, I’ve got a really big problem. Can you come?”

In under ten minutes, she met him at the door. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did just right. Where is it?”

“In the bedroom. I didn’t touch it.” She led the way, then stood back while he crouched to examine the gun. “It’s a .32.”

“Is that the same kind that . . .”

“Yeah.” He straightened, took his phone out of his pocket, took several pictures.

“You’re not in uniform,” she realized. “You weren’t even on duty. You were home with your family. I shouldn’t—”

“Abs.” He turned, took her in for a hug, patting her back like a daddy. “Relax. Corbett’s going to want to know about this.”

“I swear it’s not my gun.”

“I know it’s not your gun. Nobody’s going to think otherwise. Relax,” he repeated. “We’ll sort this out. Have you got anything cold?”

“Cold?”

“Yeah, a Coke, iced tea, whatever?”

“Oh, sure.”

“I could use something cold. Maybe you could go take care of that, and I’ll be right out.”

He’d given her a chore to calm her down, she knew. So she’d calm down.

She got out a pan, added water, sugar, then set it on heat to dissolve while she juiced lemons.

By the time Vinnie came in, she was pouring her mix into a tall glass pitcher.

“You didn’t have to do all that.”

“It kept my hands busy.”

“Fresh lemonade, from scratch.”

“You deserve it. Tell Carla I’m sorry I interrupted your weekend.”

“She’s married to a cop, Abra. She gets it. Corbett’s on his way. He wants to see it in place.”

She wanted it, and the death surrounding it, out of her house. “Then you’ll take it away.”

“Then we’ll take it away,” he promised. “So go through it with me.”

“I went out, walked to the village, spent a little time in the gift shop. I bought an ice cream cone, came home.”

As she spoke she poured the lemonade over ice, added a plate of crispy cookies to the table. “I couldn’t have been gone more than an hour, an hour and fifteen.”

“Did you lock the doors?”

“Yes. I’ve been careful, or mostly careful, about that since the break-ins at Bluff House.”

“When’s the last time you looked in that box?”

“I don’t use incense often, and I haven’t bought any in a while. I end up buying it, not using it, giving it away. And I’m rambling.” She took a drink. “I don’t know exactly, but I’d say at least a couple weeks. Probably three.”

“You spend a lot of time out of the house, a lot of that time at Bluff House.”