A Novel Death: a Danger Cove Bookshop Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 10) (14 page)

There were not a lot of choices for dinner on a Monday night in Danger Cove, and Adam and I found ourselves in a quiet corner booth at the Lobster Pot, the town's best seafood restaurant down by the marina. Adam cleaned up nicely—a dark-blue shirt, untucked, and a pair of jeans that managed to not look sloppy or like he was about to go chop firewood. His hair was slightly neater but still a bit mussed. And I had even managed to get him to smile several times already.

It was such pleasant company and a lovely view that I could almost put all of the recent trouble out of my head. At least for a little while.

"When did you move to Danger Cove?" Adam asked as the waitress walked away with our order.

"I grew up here, but I've been gone since I went to college. I just moved back two months ago, when my grandmother died," I said.

"I met her once in the bookstore. She helped me find a rare textbook about rabbit veterinary science," he said. "We ended up talking for a half hour about classic noir novels. I very much enjoyed her company. I'm sorry for your loss."

Adam's condolences and his memory of my grandmother touched me, and I had to blink back the tears that stung my eyes. "Thank you. She loved Chandler, but I think Hammett was her favorite. Before I was born, she was lobbying my dad to name me Dashiell if I were a boy."

Fortunately for me, my mother wasn't sold on the literary namesake idea—or I would be Agatha Christie Sinclair, after another of Grandma Ruth's favorites.

Adam poured more red wine into both of our glasses. "You were living in Seattle, right? I think she mentioned it when we spoke."

I nodded. "Yes, I worked in PR for a tech company."

"Why did you move back?"

It was refreshing to meet someone who hadn't heard about my colossal screwup. I hated to educate him. "The short version is that a bad breakup led to an…abrupt career change."

He smiled. "What's the long version?"

"Any internet search of my name will give you the long version," I said, and his eyes widened slightly. "Oh, not like that. There's not, like, naked pictures of me on the internet. Just a minor scandal that a PR professional should have known how to avoid."

He smiled and shook his head. "How bad is it?"

I shrugged. "At the time, it seemed like the end of the world. But my grandmother had just died, and perhaps I was overreacting."

Someone told me recently that I did that, I thought, recalling my fight with my mother. Still, I thought my response to Hunter was justified, just too broadly distributed.

"How did you end up in Danger Cove?" I asked.

"I went to veterinary school in California, but I'm originally from Portland, and I knew I wanted to come back to the Pacific Northwest eventually. Last year, I heard the vet here was retiring and his practice was up for sale, so I bought it," Adam said, pouring himself another glass of wine, as well.

"Where were you living before?" I asked.

"Near San Diego," he said. "I played hockey in Southern California for a couple years before going back to school. My ex-wife is from that area, so that seemed like a good place to settle down."

There was so much to unpack in those last two sentences. Where to start?

"You're divorced?"

He nodded with a tight smile. "Yes, I am. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," I said. "Do you have children?"

"No, we didn't have children," he said.

"And you played hockey? Professionally?"

Adam grinned and pointed to the slight bend in his nose. "Yes."

He seemed relieved that I'd moved so quickly off his marriage. Not that I didn't want to know more, but I also didn't want to spend the night talking about his ex-wife. I doubted Adam wanted that either. I'd just have to bide my time to get more information about this.

His smile, or maybe the wine, sent a flood of warmth through me. "That sounds like a fun job."

"Except for taking an elbow or a puck to the face, it was," he said. "But I prefer my current job. Less travel. Fewer fistfights."

"And more kittens," I said.

He gave me a slow nod as a smile spread across his face. My stomach fluttered at the warm expression, and I was sure it wasn't the wine this time.

"What are you going to name your kitten?" he asked.

"I suppose I'll wait until I can bring her home and get to know her first," I said.

Our appetizers arrived, and the waitress set a plate of oysters on the half shell in front of Adam.

"Would you like an oyster?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I've never cared for oysters."

As soon as I said it, a thought occurred to me. How did I know that? I couldn't ever remember trying one before.

"Is something wrong?" Adam asked.

"I don't know if I like oysters. My mother always told me I didn't. But she could have been lying to me about that too."

He pushed the plate between us. "Do you like sushi?"

"Yes, I do. Very much."

"It's not that different," Adam said, picking up one of the shells. He squeezed a lemon wedge over it, so I followed suit. Then he added several drops of hot sauce. "They taste like the ocean. A little salty. A big burst of flavor, because you eat them all in one bite."

He tipped the shell back, and the oyster slid into his mouth, so I did the same. The taste and the texture were completely foreign, and I tried gamely to look like eating it was a great adventure.

It wasn't.

It was terrible.

I managed to swallow it but could feel my expression contorting into a grimace of disgust. When I looked up, Adam was biting his lip to keep from smiling.

"I guess she was telling me the truth on that one," I said, chasing the oyster with a large gulp of wine.

"Well, you gave it a try," he said. "They're not for everyone."

I took another large drink of the wine, then water because I was too much a lightweight to drink that much wine that fast. At least I now knew that not everything my mother had told me was a lie.

Our meals arrived, and the food barely slowed our conversation. Adam was comfortable to be around, easy to talk to, and of course, not hard on the eyes. Beyond our shared love of cats, though my love had been at a distance until today, we also had very similar reading tastes. I preferred hard-boiled detective novels, and he liked the classic noir tales, but there was plenty of overlap, and we each made recommendations that would keep the other in reading material for weeks. The rest of the evening flew by, and too soon we were walking out of the Lobster Pot and into the cool night air.

We strolled along the pier toward the street, deep in our debate over the best movie adaptation in the noir genre, and to my relief, he agreed that you couldn't beat
Double Indemnity
. I was so caught up in our discussion that I almost didn't see the woman crossing the street about 30 feet in front of us. It wasn't until a car's headlight lit up her slight figure and the lights reflected off her long gray hair that I recognized her.

"Oh my God," I said, stopping in my tracks.

"What is it?" Adam said, looking where I was staring.

The woman looked up as she stepped up onto the sidewalk, and we made eye contact. In the dark, I couldn't see the color of her eyes or the detail in her face. But I could easily see the way her mouth formed into a perfect
O
, and her eyes widened—probably alarmed by my own surprised expression. She wore the same shapeless style of dress that she'd worn in the bookshop and again in the cemetery. My heart thumped at the realization that she was still in Danger Cove. Why was she here when the funeral was a day earlier? If she had come here because of Cal, there was no reason to stick around now.

Except—Cecilia. There was something going on between the gray-haired lady and Gibson Knox. And they could well have been talking about Cal's niece in the cemetery.

I needed to talk to her. I took a step in her direction.

She turned and walked quickly in the other direction—far more spry for a woman of her advanced age than I would have guessed. There was no doubt in my mind that she recognized me from the cemetery.

"Stop!" I yelled, bolting after her.

That just made her run. I wove through the few people strolling near the marina and heard Adam's heavier footsteps behind me. I cursed myself for trying to impress him and choosing a pair of boots with a two-inch stacked heel. But at least I hadn't gone with the tall wedge sandals.

"Meri, wait!" Adam yelled.

I was gaining on the woman now that we were away from the crowds.

"Astra, I just want to talk to you," I called out.

The woman stumbled as I said her name and stopped so quickly that I nearly took her out. Adam wasn't expecting the sudden stop either and grabbed me in a tackle hug as he tried to stop.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his hands on my shoulders.

I nodded, slightly winded from the sprint.

"You're Astra Clements," I said, looking the woman in the eye. The words tumbled out of my mouth in my haste to get my questions answered before she disappeared again. "You were at the store. I saw you at the cemetery. You were with Gibson Knox."

She looked between me and Adam, then she reached up and tugged, and the long gray hair came off in her hand. She removed a few hairpins, then fluffed a short blonde bob around her face, losing about 20 years of age in the process.

"Yes."

"Are you Angel?" I asked.

"What?" Adam asked. I glanced up at his face, and his usually calm demeanor was definitely rattled.

"Yes," Astra said.

"Why are you here?"

"I came for Cal," Astra said.

"Meri, what is going on?" Adam asked, taking my arm.

I put a hand on his, enjoying how the warmth seeped through my sleeve. "It's okay, Adam," I said. "I've been looking for her."

Astra smiled, and I saw why Burt's crush hadn't faded all these years later. She was a beautiful woman, who had maybe spent a little too much time in the sun, but she was still a looker, as Burt would say.

"I saw you at the cemetery too. And then I heard you were asking about me," she said. "I know why you're looking for me. I'm the only one with a motive to kill Cal."

The Owl's Nest bar was dark and quiet, seeing as it was a Monday evening. Astra headed to the ladies' room, and while she was gone, I tried to fill Adam in on what was going on.

"She was at the bookshop the night of the shooting?" he asked, waving for the bartender.

"Yes, but no one recognized her," I said.

"Could she have shot Cal?"

My mind raced through the mental catalogue of evidence I'd acquired in the last week—the timeline of the event, the photographs, the discovery of Cal's body. "I don't think so. She's in one of the photos shortly before Alicia made the announcement. I don't think she'd shoot someone, then hang out and wait for his body to be discovered."

Adam gave me a skeptical look, then ordered himself a beer. I ordered a red wine. Astra walked back from the restroom, her face scrubbed clean of the makeup that had aged her. Now she looked like a pretty woman who was aging exceptionally well.

"I'll have a white wine, please," she said to the bartender, a charmer who had real fishhooks piercing his eyebrow, then paid for our drinks. "I insist. You're going to need a drink once you hear this story."

That sounded promising, I thought as we took our drinks to a dark corner booth. Astra fiddled with her napkin and then took a deep breath.

"I didn't kill him," she said. "I just want to make sure you understand that. No matter what he did, I loved Cal, and I could never hurt him."

I nodded. "What did he do?"

She let out a long sigh. "It started when we were in London. Well, it started a year before that, actually, when I fell in love with him. But I was living with someone, and he was married, and I knew it wasn't going to ever work out."

Cal had described Angel, or Astra perhaps, as his soul mate, and it seemed that she believed that too.

"I was so conflicted about Cal. He was married, and he had a son, and I felt horrible about it. I broke it off, told him that I wouldn't see him until he was divorced. But it never lasted. I couldn't stay away more than a few weeks each time I tried to end things."

She stared into her untouched glass of wine for a long moment. I wasn't sure if she had changed her mind, but then she kept going.

"When I got an offer to play a small part in a film that was shooting in London, I accepted it. I saw it as a way to break up with my boyfriend and to get away from Cal. To get some breathing room, figure out what I wanted to do."

I nodded. "But he went to London too."

She smiled and nodded. "The actor who was supposed to play the supporting role was in a motorcycle accident a week prior to production. Cal was asked to step in. When he walked on set that first day, I thought that it was a sign. We were supposed to be together."

I glanced up at Adam, feeling a little guilty that I'd dragged him into a drama of which he was only vaguely aware, but he was glued to Astra's story. When he saw my worried glance, he gave me a half smile and put an arm around my shoulders.

"London was just an incredible time in my life. I've never been so happy. Cal made plans to divorce his wife, and we found a house to lease outside of Los Angeles when we returned."

Her face clouded over with sadness. "And just a few days before we were scheduled to return to California, I found out that I was pregnant."

My brain scrambled to do the math on that, and when things clicked into place, I met her gaze across the table.

"Cecilia."

She nodded.

"Oh my God. I knew she looked like Cal," I said, my voice low in the quiet pub. Even as I said it, though, I could also see a very strong resemblance to Astra—the same blonde hair, pert nose, and petite figure.

"Does she know?" I asked.

Astra shook her head. "I didn't know who adopted her."

"Why did you put her up for adoption?" Adam asked.

Astra sighed. "It wasn't what I wanted to do, but when we got back to the States, Cal was different. He didn't file for divorce like he said he would. I didn't know what to do. I didn't hear from him for several months, and so I had to make a decision."

Her face was anguished, and though I knew she was a trained actress, no one could have faked that sad expression. Her voice cracked as she continued.

"I was broke, and I couldn't work when I was pregnant. I was barely working before I went to London. I went to live with some friends in Santa Fe, and I tried to forget about Cal and just focus on what was best for the baby."

My stomach was in knots as I listened to Astra's tale. It was like listening to someone read a lost chapter from Cal's book aloud, but from a different point of view. I took a sip of the wine, but it tasted like vinegar.

"But then Cal found me. He came to New Mexico and wanted to know what I was going to do, and I told him that I had decided to put the baby up for adoption," Astra said. "And he agreed that it was the best thing to do."

Adam and I were both leaning forward slightly, waiting on her to continue. She had worn the paper napkin to a shredded mess, and I slid another one across the table to her. She gave me a sad smile and dabbed at her eyes.

"All these years later, it's still hard to talk about," she said. "So just before my daughter was born, Cal called and said that his lawyer had found a couple who wanted to adopt the baby. He said with a private adoption through a lawyer, everything would go easier, and it would be more private. And he said that he made sure that his lawyer had vetted the couple and that they were the best possible family for her."

"He didn't tell you it was his sister?" I asked.

"His sister?" Adam asked.

Astra gave us a grim smile. "No, he didn't mention that."

Astra must have had a saint-like capacity to forgive if she still maintained fond feelings for Cal after that sort of betrayal.

"How did you find out?" I asked.

"Gib told me," she said. "He saw the resemblance to Cal as soon as he met Cecilia. And he put it together while researching Cal's book. I was stunned when he tracked me down several months ago and told me he thought he knew my daughter."

"Who is Gib?" Adam asked.

"He's Cal's ghostwriter," I said. The mention of Gibson Knox made me nervous all over again. "Why is he in Danger Cove?"

Astra bit her lip. "He wanted to tell Cecilia about her biological parents, but he felt that it would be better if Cal told her."

"And Cal refused?" I asked.

Astra nodded. "He absolutely wouldn't do it."

"Why not? I mean, Cal obviously loved Cecilia. He provided generously for her growing up, and he split his estate between her and David in his will," I said.

"How do you know this?" Adam asked.

"Someone told me," I said, not wanting to rat out my source.

"I heard about that, too," Astra said. "I just wish Cal would have told her."

"What about you? Are you going to tell Cecilia?" Suddenly, their discussion in the cemetery made perfect sense.

Astra frowned. "Gib wants me to. He says she deserves to know her biological parents. But I hate to disrupt her life. And she may hate me. I did abandon her, after all."

Her blue eyes filled with tears, and Adam handed her his napkin. She gave him a watery smile.

My suspicions about Gibson Knox were not lessened one bit by this information. What if he was just hell bent on revenge after getting fired by Cal? Cecilia was in a vulnerable state now, having just lost her beloved uncle. Plus, she now had some money since she'd inherited half of Cal's estate.

"I really think Detective Marshall needs to know about all this, and about Gibson Knox," I said. And this time, I wouldn't stop at just leaving another voicemail message that he would roll his eyes at. He needed to know the backstory about Cal and Astra and how Gibson had tried to manipulate the situation.

"Oh no, don't do that," Astra said, her eyes wide. "He's a nice man."

"He was arguing with Cal just before the murder," I said.

Astra shook her head. "He'd never hurt someone—I promise. Especially not Cal."

I'd seen the emails and heard the message from Cal to Gibson. In my mind, I could easily see how a confrontation between the two men might lead to a struggle. Maybe he didn't mean to kill Cal, but things just got out of control. It didn't quite fit though. The police hadn't mentioned that there were signs of a struggle in the alley.

"Why is Gibson Knox so invested in Cal's personal life? I mean, Cal fired him," I said.

Astra dabbed at her eyes. "He came up here last year to interview people who knew Cal, and that's when he met Cecilia. They fell in love."

My eyes widened. "And he hasn't told her about her father?"

Astra shook her head. "He wanted Cal to do it."

"Is that what they fought about the night of Cal's murder?"

Adam leaned back. "I agree with Meri. It's time to bring the police in on this now."

If I called Detective Marshall, I could point the detective at Gibson Knox now and give them a motive—the argument over unveiling Cecilia's true parentage. And show them the photos as proof that he was with Cal right before the shooting.

With an uneasy churning in my stomach, I studied Astra Clements. She wasn't in the clear herself. What was she even doing in Danger Cove?

"What's with the disguise?" I asked.

She blushed and looked down with a sheepish smile. "I was going to talk to Cal, and Gib was going to help me with that. But first, I wanted to see my daughter. I knew she'd be at Cal's signing, but I didn't want Cal to recognize me."

She gave a small shrug. "Then I realized how easy it was to get around with the wig. Believe it or not, sometimes people recognize me. But with some makeup and a wig, no one looks twice at me. Except you."

Adam frowned. "Did you talk with the police after the shooting? Did you tell them your history with Cal?"

Astra bit her lip. "No, I didn't. I was so upset when the announcement was made, and there was such chaos in the bookshop, I just left. I know I should have stayed…"

She wiped a tear from her eye. "I couldn't bear it. I was scared and sad and worried—"

"Worried?" I asked. "Worried that Gibson shot him?"

She paused for only a second before she gave a quick nod. "I admit that for a split second that thought did cross my mind. I knew that there was no love between them, and I had seen him in the store. But I don't believe that now."

I decided to let Detective Marshall figure out if Gibson or Astra had the better alibi—or motive—and reached into my purse for my phone.

"I'm sure the detective will understand why you didn't stick around," I said. That wasn't entirely true. As I scrolled through my contacts for his number, I could imagine Detective Marshall's expression of perpetual skepticism.

"Oh, please don't call the cops yet. Maybe you could just talk with Gibson. I know he'd rather talk with Cecilia first, before the police are brought in. I'd hate for her to associate her first meeting with me with a police investigation," Astra said, reaching across the scarred table and putting her hands on mine.

Her heartfelt plea stirred something in me. Maybe I wanted to believe her. Or maybe I had a weakness for the thought that Cecilia could have a relationship with a parent she didn't know existed. Either way, I paused, and she gripped my hands tight in hers.

"Let me call Gib," she said. "Just give him a chance to explain."

I glanced up at Adam, who looked as skeptical as I felt. Then he gave me a half shrug, and I got the feeling that he wanted to know Gibson's story as much as I did.

Astra grabbed her own cell phone.

"Thank you. No one wants to upset Cecilia. Especially me. And she's been through so much the last week," she said, her voice breathy with relief.

That was true, but I was also feeling a lot of pressure to turn the police investigation in another direction—away from me.

"I still think we should let the police know what's going on," Adam said.

"I will. I'm just not anxious to have to deal with them yet," I said.

I could imagine how Detective Marshall would interpret my dragging Gibson and Astra down to the station so he could interview them. At best, meddling in his case. At worst, throwing two innocent parties under the bus so I could escape a murder conviction.

Adam shook his head. "But this is their job. Not yours."

This would be one of those dates that he'd tell for years to come whenever someone trotted out a weird or bad first-date story.
This one time, I went out with a woman who fancied herself an amateur detective, who chased down an old lady, and then dragged me into a murder investigation.
He'd dine out on this for years to come.

"I'm really not on all that good terms with the detective investigating the murder," I said.

"Why not?" he asked, exasperated.

"Because he thinks I shot Cal."