Dead Girl in a Green Dress (2 page)

Byrony
wound up staying at the same motel just off the interstate where she’d spent the night three weeks earlier. Her mind was equally as tumultuous as then. Even though her overwhelming impulse was to call the Mackinaw City police and demand to know why they weren’t looking for her sister’s killer, she fought down the urge.

Instead, she heard Tate Madison with his hint of a drawl warning her not to fly off half-cocked. He was right and she knew it. Being adversarial wouldn’t help her in the long run.

After calling for a pizza, she looked over the contents of her file for what felt like the hundredth time. She could almost recite the police report verbatim. The medical examiner’s findings were full of Latin terms she didn’t understand, so she started looking up words on her tablet while she waited. By the time the kid delivered her pizza, she’d learned that Tate was right. Jessica had both diazepam and
alprazolam
in her blood – two drugs
Byrony
was positive her sister wouldn’t take.

She gave up trying to choke down the pizza after one slice. Sticking the rest of it in the mini-fridge, she took a long warm shower, hoping that would help her sleep. No such luck. In spite of being tired,
Byrony
tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning, trying to figure out why anyone would want to murder her little sister.

The pizza wasn’t any more appealing for breakfast, so
Byrony
stuck with coffee. She tried to distract her mind by admiring the fall foliage as she drove, and it worked for a short while. By the time she reached the tacky tourist trap that was Mackinaw City, she was actually hungry.

However, first she went to get a ferry ticket, since that was the only way to get to Mackinac Island, and she was surprised to find space on the very next scheduled departure. Jessica had told her about long lines and one or two days advanced tickets during the summer. Obviously things changed drastically after Labor Day weekend.
Byrony
only had enough time to grab a burger and soft drink at a fast food drive through before she rolled her suitcase onto the two-story
hydo
-jet ship.

Fifteen minutes later, the vessel swept by the Grand Hotel and rounded the bend to the main dock. Feeling as if she were stepping into another century,
Byrony
followed the other passengers across the gangway and down the wooden pier. Her B&B was only three blocks away, and she just had the one small rolling case so she opted to walk instead of using either the bicycle porters or horse-drawn vehicles.

The clomp of horses’ hooves blended with the voices of the people wandering in and out of the shops as
Byrony
worked her way down the sidewalk. Every other store seemed to be selling fudge and the heavenly smells escaping from the frequently opened doors eventually wore down
Byrony’s
will-power. In the middle of the second block, she slipped inside and bought a half-dozen pieces of milk chocolate fudge with walnuts.
 

Munching the sticky candy, she double checked her phone’s GPS before turning on the next cross street. She recognized the ornate Victorian house before she reached it. Sky-blue with white ginger-bread trim, the house looked exactly like the photo on the internet, with roses and a profusion of other flowers blooming in the tiny front yard.

An elaborate black carriage rounded the corner right in front of her, and
Byrony
stared agog at the feathered plumes on the four high-stepping black horses and the top hat and tails worn by the driver. Then she saw ‘The Grand Hotel’ emblazoned on the vehicle’s side. A sudden chill swept through her, and
Byrony
clutched the front of her
hoody
as she watched the coach disappear down the street. For a reason she couldn’t name, the black conveyance made her think of a funeral.

"Excuse me." A couple jostled past and broke the weird spell that had gripped her. With a shake of her head, she walked briskly the remaining distance, opened the metal gate, and tugged her bag up the four steps to the front porch of the Ames House.

A middle-aged woman in a frilly white apron met her at the door. She frowned when
Byrony
introduced herself and said she had a reservation. "Check-in time isn’t until 3 PM." The woman peered at her over the top of her reading glasses. "But since you are my only guest tonight, I suppose you can go ahead."

She had
Byrony
sign the guest register, took her credit card info, and handed her an old-fashioned skeleton key on a blue satin ribbon. "Your room is here on the ground floor. Go through the parlor over there, second door on the right. What time would you like breakfast in the morning?"

"Eight is fine, thanks." As
Byrony
made her way through the small front room with the chintz decorated chairs and lacy curtains, she mused how the cutesy interior was in direct contrast to the innkeeper’s lack of friendliness.

More frills and flowers greeted her inside the room, which sported a canopied bed and a bay window with a built-in bench seat. She was pretty sure the room would have been a dream-come-true for an eleven year old girl, but she found it too busy for her taste. That’s what she got for booking the first place listed on the Mackinac Island accommodations website. Besides, it wasn’t like this was a vacation, she reminded herself. She was here seeking justice for her sister.

While
Byrony
hung her things in the cherry-wood armoire, she mentally reviewed her next possible steps. Should she talk to local law enforcement first? Or go directly to the Grand Hotel? As she put her comb and brush, toothbrush, and other toiletries in the tiny, adjoining bathroom, it occurred to her she should probably wait for Tate Madison to arrive. He was an investigator, after all. Wasn’t that why she’d hired him? Never mind those annoying hormonal surges she got just thinking about him. Finding Jessica’s killer was what mattered.

Once she’d finished unpacking, nervous energy consumed
Byrony
, so she slipped the room key into the pocket of her jeans, slung her purse over her shoulder, and went out for a walk. In addition to the numerous fudge shops, the vintage buildings on the two main streets had the usual tourist junk, but also some upscale art, antiques, and clothing stores. She went into a couple of the latter, but grew tired of walking idly around the displays.

The park at the base of the old fort on the hill looked more inviting with its swath of green lawn. Grabbing a handful of free brochures, she strolled along the paved path until she found an empty bench under a tree whose leaves were starting to turn. She poured over the various pamphlets and familiarized herself with both the layout of the island, sights, and even a bit of history.

The place might actually be a fun vacation spot under other circumstances,
Byrony
mused. Then, the memory of Jessica’s excited email flashed across
Byrony’s
mind. With her usual exuberance, Jessica had typed ‘I got hired’ in all caps with three exclamation marks in the subject line.
Byrony
didn’t remember if she’d answered the email, because one week later, her mother had died.

And now Jessica was dead too.

As if on cue, the Grand Hotel carriage with its plumed black horses rounded the corner and rolled down the street bordering the park. A burning clog of tears raced up
Byrony’s
throat and she found herself on her feet, rushing toward the roadway. By the time she got to the sidewalk, the carriage was already out of sight. Self-consciously, she looked down at the crumpled ball of shiny paper in her hand,
then
tossed it into a nearby trash can.

Before she could stash the surviving brochures into her purse, her phone chirped. Glancing at the number, her pulse fluttered like the dead leaf blowing across her sneaker. "Hello, Mr. Madison."

"Tate." His deep voice resonated in her ear and raised goose-bumps on her arms. "I’m here in Mackinaw City waiting to board the ferry, and I wanted to ask if we can postpone our meeting. I have a couple of people I need to talk to, so can we meet for dinner instead?’

"D-dinner?"
Byrony
smacked herself in the forehead for sounding like a simpleton. Faking a cough, she mustered up an all-business tone.
"Fine.
Will seven work for you?"

"Seven’s fine. Appreciate it. Just tell me the place."

After listening to a half-dozen words from him, her formal demeanor disintegrated. "Place? Oh, uh…" She focused her eyes down the street.
"How about the Harbor View Bistro?"

 
"Harbor.
View.
Bistro."
He spaced the words as if he were writing them.
"Sounds good.
See you at seven, Bryony."

"
Byrony
," she corrected. Then, as she’d done since she was in grade school, she added, "I was named after my father, who was named for the poet Lord Byron."

His chuckle made her toes curl. "Right, I knew that. See you then,
Byrony
."

***

Glancing at his watch, Tate muttered an expletive and pushed himself to walk faster. His meeting with Sergeant Nick Brandon ran longer than he anticipated and Tate was ten minutes late for his dinner with
Byrony
Long. His stiff leg protested and he grudgingly slowed his pace. Too many hours sitting in the car for the past two days, and now he was paying for it. As for
Byrony
, she was probably already pissed off at him anyway. He couldn’t believe he’d called her the wrong name.

Smooth move, dumb-ass
.

Before he could berate himself further, he saw the neon sign across the street for the Harbor View Bistro. He stepped off the sidewalk and narrowly missed an aromatic pile of horse shit.
Perfect
.
Talk about poetic justice.
Somehow, he made it to the other side without a mishap.
 
Ignoring yet another painful twinge from his left knee, he entered the restaurant.

Tate spotted her immediately. At a small table in the corner, she sat primly in another of those dark blue bean-counter pant suits. Not a promising sign. He didn’t wait for the hostess, but headed right for the table.
Byrony
saw him before he got there, and he saw a flash of pity cross her face at his obvious limp. Of course, Paige would have told her about the accident that had kept him from going back to active police work. But that brief look he’d seen so often still hurt like a fish
hook
in the thumb.

"Sorry I’m late." He hung his leather jacket on the back of his chair and sat down to face her. "I met with the local guy, and he’ll cooperate to the extent he can. He offered to show me the crime scene tomorrow morning."

The tense expression on
Byrony
Long’s
face softened. "What time?"

Tate wasn’t surprised she expected to be included, but he figured he’d give it a shot anyway. "Are you sure you want to come along? It might be pretty upsetting for you."

Actually that’s exactly what he figured would happen. She’d see the spot where her sister died, be overcome by it and then run home to Chicago and let him finish this investigation on his own. Admittedly not very admirable on his part, but Bean-Counter
Byrony
had been a stubborn little pain in the posterior thus far.
Appealing, but still a pain.

"I appreciate your concern, but I insist on being there."

Yep, major pain...

The appearance of the waitress prevented Tate from further comment. He glanced quickly at the one page menu while
Byrony
ordered some frou-frou salad.
To hell with it…
He ordered the steak, medium rare.

Over their first course, tomato soup with some green herb junk sprinkled on top,
Byrony
was all business. First she asked if he had a written agreement for his services.
Yeah, right.
Tate resisted the urge to roll his eyes, albeit with difficulty. Even after he assured her it wasn’t necessary to write things down, she scribbled notes about his usual expenses and what she deemed ‘terms of reimbursement.’

If that’s how she wanted to play, he was game.

"Generally, I requite a one thousand dollar retainer up front." A cheap shot, but he couldn’t resist adding with a meaningful lift of his eyebrows, "Cash."

That stopped her pain-in-the-ass note taking cold, her enticing lips fell apart and her golden brown eyes widened. Clearly his unexpected demand took her aback. "I – I don’t usually carry that much cash. Sorry…"

Trying not to smirk, Tate conceded, "Seeing as how you and Paige are good friends, you can give me a check." Then, when she still looked distressed he added, "Tomorrow."

The waitress arrived with their entrees and ended the uncomfortable exchange. Tate attacked his steak and baked potato with gusto. After a few minutes, he switched the conversation to a nice neutral topic -- the island and its lack of motor vehicles. He even admitted to his near miss with the road apples while crossing the street.

"I didn’t think about how we’d get around without a car."
Byrony
mused, pushing her salad around the plate instead of eating it. "I’ve never been on a horse before."

Tate actually didn’t like this dispirited Bean Counter as much as the pain-in-the-ass version. "Don’t worry, I seem to remember most folks use buggies, not saddle horses, and there are bikes too. The island’s not that big."