Dead Girl in a Green Dress (10 page)

"Somehow, I think you’ll live." Shaking her head,
Byrony
walked away, and Tate found himself watching her very fine ass like some love-struck school boy.

Knock it off, Madison!
He had to get this case solved before he slipped and made some other idiotic move on
Byrony
Long.

Tate bought their ferry tickets and while he waited for
Byrony
to return, he made some case notes and a call to one of his police buddies in Chicago. He’d asked Tommy
Finlay
to check for priors or anything else on Cody Henry, Justin Saunders, and Michael Prince. Now he told him about the latest wrinkle in the case and asked him to look for anything involving missing shoes, or
perps
changing
vic’s
clothes. As
Byrony
approached, he rang off.

"Sorry, but we have almost an hour to wait," he told her, handing her the ticket. "Want to sit inside?"

The small waiting area was empty, and after ten minutes of sitting on the hard plastic seats, Tate understood why. He paced over to the free pot of coffee and poured half a cup. "So when did you change your mind about your sister having a boyfriend?"

Byrony
glanced up from messing with her phone. "Actually, it was what you said in St.
Ignace
. We all do dumb stuff when we’re young." A flash of pain shadowed her features, but she quickly hid it. "Plus, Jessica’s mother got involved with an older man – my father, and like mother, like daughter…"

Sorry he’d inadvertently brought up the
subject,
Tate took a sip of the free coffee and regretted it. Ditching what was left, he threw caution to the wind and asked, "Is that why you’ve never tied the knot?"

"One of the reasons," she confirmed, surprising him. Then she challenged, "So what’s your excuse? Why aren’t you married?"

That’s what he got for prying, and she’d answered him honestly so in fairness, he needed to do the same. "I was married once.
One of those young and dumb things.
She couldn’t handle being a cop’s wife, and truthfully, I did put the job ahead of her." He lost himself staring into her brilliant golden eyes. Shaking his head to free himself, Tate turned back to the window.

"What happened to her?"

He hadn’t thought about Valerie in years. It almost felt like she had been part of someone else’s life. "Last I heard, she married some three piece suit type and lived happily ever after."

"Lucky her,"
Byrony
murmured, but she didn’t sound very convincing.

Uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Obviously he’d blown it by asking too many personal questions. Tate decided to keep quiet until the ferry arrived. Even when they boarded, he sat in the enclosed cabin reviewing his notes and making new ones while
Byrony
stayed up top on the open deck. Which was for the best, he told himself. He didn’t need any more distractions if he was going to solve this case.

***

Byrony
knew getting involved with Tate Madison would be a disaster. But in spite of her determination, the attraction to him seemed to increase by the minute.
So not good!
She was here to find Jessica’s killer.

When they arrived back on Mackinac Island, they stopped and bought sandwiches at the deli a few doors from the ferry terminal. She could only finish half of hers so she wrapped up the rest and stuck it in her purse for later. Then over her protests, Tate insisted on walking her back to the B&B.

"I’ll be paying our friend Mr. Prince another call this afternoon," he said when they reached the front gate. "Sure you don’t
wanna
come along?"

Stifling a yawn,
Byrony
shook her head. "But I may talk to Mr. Saunders when his shift ends."

"Then we can rendezvous at the pizza joint for dinner and compare notes. See you at six?"

"Okay." She tore her eyes away from his sensual lips and hurried down the walkway, not daring to look back.

Back in her room,
Byrony
curled up on the window seat under a fisherman knit blanket and tried to make notes on her tablet. Tate always seemed to be scribbling in his funny little notebook, and she hoped if she did the same thing, maybe she could get her jumbled thoughts in order. Fighting to focus, she typed the incongruous bits of information, but rather than settling her mental turmoil, each thing seemed to agitate her more.

Since when had she become such a basket case?
 

She’d thought she could detach enough to look at the police photos, but she’d been wrong. Just like when she’d visited the crime scene, haunting images of Jessica had intruded into
Byrony’s
consciousness. After the nightmare of losing her mother, Jessica’s murder had loosed a whole new rip-tide of sorrow, guilt, and frustration. Try as she might,
Byrony
couldn’t control her overwhelming emotions, and unless she discovered the killer’s identity, she didn’t think she ever would. Throwing an unexpected sexual attraction to Tate Madison into the mix and no wonder she felt off kilter to the point of exhaustion.

Putting away her tablet, she threw herself across the bed, intending to shut down her buzzing mind with a nap. But a knock on her door made her jerk upright. Smoothing her hair, she peeked out. "Mrs. Giroux? Is something wrong?"

"This just came for you." The innkeeper held out a stiff white envelope. "Since it was special delivery, I figured it must be important."

"Yes, thank you."
Byrony
plucked the envelope from the other woman’s hand and closed the door, leaning against it as she ripped the paper open.

The two inch metal key fell into her palm. Her step-mother hadn’t included any kind of note, only the key, which looked exactly as she’d described it – a flat door key with the word "
kwikset
" engraved on one side. Someone had threaded a loop of red satin ribbon through the hole on top.
Byrony
fingered the slick fabric, thinking it seemed like a silly little thing Jessica would do.

She quashed the hot tears forming in her throat, shoved the key into the front pocket of her jeans, and went into the bathroom to wash her face and comb her hair. Feeling more in control, she glanced at her wrist watch. Still plenty of time to do something useful, like seek out Justin Saunders.

Her mind made up,
Byrony
found his phone number and address listed in the slender local telephone directory, and used the GPS on her cell to get directions. Sticking the phone in the same pocket as the key, she pulled on her sweatshirt and went in search of Mrs. Giroux.

The innkeeper hesitated at
Byrony’s
request to borrow a bicycle. But she relented with an annoyed sigh when
Byrony
pointed out that bikes were included on the list of the B&B’s amenities.

"After your accident yesterday, I’d think you would try to be more careful," the woman scolded.

"Considering my accident involved a horse, I think you can understand why I’d rather use a bicycle,"
Byrony
countered, hoping that old saw about never forgetting how to ride a bike was true. She hadn’t ridden since college more than a dozen years ago.
 

With another theatrical sigh, Mrs. Giroux led the way out the back door to the garden shed. "Take your pick." She motioned toward three heavy coaster bikes. "But none of them have lights, so be sure you’re back before dusk."

"Not a problem." Her GPS indicated Saunders lived about two miles away on the outskirts of town.

Byrony
guided the closest bike, a bright yellow one, out of the shed and down the path to the gate. When she reached the sidewalk, she took the white plastic helmet off the handle bars and put it on. Pulling the zipper on her sweatshirt all the way up, she mounted the bike. Thank goodness the old saying really was true. She stopped wobbling after the second block. At the end of the third block, she stopped to zip her
hoodie
halfway way down. Soon, pedaling and feeling the rush of air on her face actually invigorated her.

Far better than those big, clomping horses…
At least until she turned off the main street and had to negotiate a rough road going uphill.
Since the bike was a single speed, pedaling got progressively harder and soon perspiration started to gather in her hair under the helmet. Finally,
Byrony
gave up, took off the helmet, and walked the bike.
 

The houses were farther apart than back in town, and she had to look at each mailbox to follow the addresses. Justin Saunders’ place had two boxes on a single post but only one driveway. Squinting,
Byrony
saw what looked like a small cabin beyond the garage of the front house. Smoothing her hair behind her ears and steeling her resolve, she pushed the bike past the garage right up to the cabin’s door.

Leaning the bike against one of the porch columns, she raised her hand to knock when something caught her eye. On the center of the shiny brass deadbolt, she saw the word ‘
kwikset
.’ The same word engraved on the key? She dug in her pocket to be sure. Impulsively, she stuck the key into the lock. It glided in smoothly, and the bolt clicked over, the sound echoing like a gun shot in the still air.

Chapter 7

"Excuse me! Can I help you?" A voice called out, causing
Byrony
to jump in surprise.

She snatched the key out of the lock and jerked around to see Justin Saunders jogging toward her.

"Miss Long?" Saunders’ T-shirt had sweat rings under his arms and around his neck, and his headband dipped into one eyebrow. However, the band didn’t affect his vision for he quickly demanded, "Why do you have a key to my house?"

Shoving the key into her pocket, she countered with her own demand. "Were you having an affair with my sister?"

"
Wh
—
what?" He looked taken aback. "No!"

"Then why else would she have a key to your house?"
Byrony
pressed, trying to use his surprise to her advantage by putting him on the defensive. She took up a belligerent stance, hands on hips. "Where were you on the night Jessica died?"

"I had to work a double shift." Saunders defended himself loudly, red staining his neck and inching up his cheeks. Then, he flexed his fingers, which had been clenched, and he lowered his voice. "Ask the police. I’ve already told them."

Her ploy had worked.
Byrony
narrowed her eyes. "You didn’t tell the police Jessica had a key to your house."

As she watched, Saunders pulled on a façade of calm, but at his sides, his hands curled back into fists. "I had no idea she had a key. I certainly didn’t give it to her."

"I think you’re lying, Mr. Saunders. Where else would she get it? And why would she want it unless you were lovers?"

Saunders rolled his eyes and a nasty smirk spread over his face. "I don’t know where she got it, but believe me, Jessica was not my type. Not only was she too young, she wasn’t even the right gender."

Now
Byrony
was the one with her mouth hanging open in surprise at his sudden admission.

"That’s right, Miss Long, I bat for the other team," he taunted. "And I have a boyfriend who lives in Dearborn." While
Byrony
squirmed with discomfiture, Saunders held out his hand. "So can I have my door key, please?"

"No, it’s evidence." She stepped around him and plunked the helmet on her head. "You can lie to me, Mr. Saunders, but the police will find out the truth."

She grabbed the bike, jumped on, and started pedaling for all she was worth. Fully expecting him to come after her,
Byrony
was surprised when she reached the end of the driveway and turned to see Saunders still standing at his front door, staring after her. But she didn’t slow, even though the unpaved road proved jarring. She continued to pedal hard until she realized the downhill slope was making her pick up speed.

A lot of speed!

The air whipping across her face made her eyes tear and blurred her vision. The bike’s only brakes were on the pedals, which she had to push backwards. The bike careened from one side of the road to the other, while
Byrony
hung on with a white-knuckled death grip and kept pushing on the brakes.

Oh please, oh please, don’t let there be any cross traffic
, she prayed, clenching her teeth to stop them from banging together.

Even though she managed to decrease her speed, the bike skidded sideways when it hit the paved road.
Byrony
fought to stay upright, and brought the bike to a screeching halt with the back wheel hanging over the edge of the ditch on the far side of the road. She stuck her feet on the ground just in time to keep from completely going over. Breathing heavily, she glanced backward then up and down the empty road. Good, no collision danger and no witnesses to her really stupid close call.

After a couple of deep breaths to steady her badly rattled nerves,
Byrony
hauled the bike completely onto the asphalt and started to pedal again. Her legs felt rubbery and within a couple of hundred yards, she stopped and
slumped
her head against her arms on the handlebars. She stayed in that position several long moments before she heard the distant sound of hooves.