Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) (17 page)

I'd been dreading the calls back to LA, knowing they would stir up drama and eventually leak back to my ex. I dialed Shayla's number, another of Cris's old roommates, hoping she was the least gossipy of the group of girls Cris hung out with. That was kind of like sticking your hand into a wasp's nest looking for the one that was less stingy, though.

"Hey, girl!" she drew out in a singsong when she answered.

"Hey, you," I called back in the same way.

"How's life in the backwoods?"

"Uh, not exactly like I expected." Which was the understatement of the century.

"Didn't I tell you it would be awful?" she scolded.

"Hey, it's really not like that. It's very peaceful, and the view is amazing." I was kind of talking mostly about the ocean view, but I couldn't get the image of Mal out of my head. "Besides, that's not why I'm calling."

"Spill it, girl. I have a date in twenty minutes, and I haven't even started getting ready."

If it was possible, Shayla was more meticulous than Cris. "There is absolutely no way you'll be ready on time."

"If he wants a piece of this…" She paused. I knew she was looking in the mirror and fluffing, patting, and wiggling every last piece she was referring to. "He'll wait."

"Have you talked to Cristal recently?"

"Uh, yesterday she called to check on any gossip about Max. She's really hoping his wife leaves him."

Drawn off topic and worried about my brother getting his heart speared by one of Cristal's stilettos, I had to ask. "She wants Max back?"

"Oh, so not the case! She just wants him to suffer, the little weasel-eyed bastard. He deserves it, too. If his wife leaves, he won't have two pennies to rub together when she's done with him. Or at least, that's what we hope is in his near future."

Relieved, I shook my head to bring myself back to task. "So, nothing from her today?"

"Aren't you the designated Cristal-keeper these days?"

My only response was a drawn-out huff into the phone.

"Fine. I don't think I've had any missed calls. I've been out on auditions all day though, and they make you shut your phones off. Something about recording things to give someone the edge or whatever." I listened to her drone on and on about how she told us we'd be unhappy away from the lights and action of LA. I finally tuned her out, not really wanting to know how hard her latest auditions were. Instead, while looking at Mom and Dad's pictures on the wall over Dad's chair, especially the one of their graduation, I reminisced about my parents, actually missing their quirky banter and maybe even the occasional PDA.

That's when I saw it. The face I'd recognized and couldn't place when I was at Nick's.

"I'll have to call you back," I mumbled into the phone, swiping it off before she'd even acknowledged me.

After dialing Mom and Dad's attorney, I stood in front of the picture, staring at the face of the photo-bomber. The cranky kid glaring into the camera had the same expression as Nick, not to mention the same eyes, facial details—just thirty years younger and rounded by a few extra pounds.

"George Ashland," the man at the other end of the line proclaimed, pulling my rambling mind to a stop.

"I know it's an odd request, but can you meet me at the Danger Cove Police Department? I really need to see my parents about something I found. I doubt my charm will get me very far with the cops."

"I actually just left them. I can meet you back there in about ten minutes," he said enthusiastically, his tone dripping with the excitement of extra billable hours.

"Great!" I exclaimed, mindlessly hanging up without even saying good-bye. I pulled the picture off the wall and darted to my car, tossing it, frame and all, into the passenger seat, then tearing my way through Danger Cove to the police station. I screeched to a halt right in front and parked at the curb. Grabbing the photo from the seat, I tore across the road, up the stairs, and into the precinct.

I recognized the officer as the same one Pickles had tried to get to file assault charges against me in front of the newspaper office. He looked at me funny, his brow furrowed over narrowed eyes and lips puckered into a very unbecoming scowl. "It's awfully late. What can we help you with?"

Out of breath, I glanced at his nametag and huffed, "Officer Fields, I'm meeting my parents' attorney here. I need to see them. It's urgent." I pointed to the picture. "I think I have a lead, but I need to know who this is." Shoving the photo toward him, I reached around and pointed to the kid scowling at my dad.

"Looking at how the people are dressed in the photo, it has to be at least twenty years old, so it can't be all that relevant. This can't wait until morning?"

He'd obviously never met my mother outside of her orange jumpsuit. I shook my head emphatically. "It's actually closer to thirty years old, but that's not really important." I waved my hand through the air like I was erasing my words. "Can I see them now? Pretty please?"

George Ashland appeared through the front door in all of his ill-fitting clothed glory. At least this time it was just snug khakis and a way-too-short polo. "Can you please bring my clients back into one of the interrogation rooms? I'm very sorry for the inconvenience."

The officer nodded to him and disappeared down the hall.

I turned toward Mr. Ashland. "Thank you so much for coming back."

"Have you found something new? You sounded pretty excited on the phone."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss it with my parents first. It might be nothing."

He shrugged. "Certainly."

I paced the entryway, hugging the picture to my body. Time seemed to slow to a snail's pace. I looked down the hall, mumbling to myself more than anything, "How long does it take to walk a few people from their cells back there?"

Ashland looked around the room and back to me. Before he had a chance to speak, the officer appeared, motioning us down the hall.

We followed on his heels to the door of the same interrogation room I'd been in with my parents the last time I was there.

"Thank you!" I bubbled as I dangled the frame at my side and threw myself into the officer's stiff embrace.

He patted me uneasily until I released him. Then he left rather abruptly.

Mr. Ashland opened the door. My parents were handcuffed to the U-shaped hook in the center of the table and seated across from one another. Their faces lit up like the Vegas strip at night as I entered, though they were looking more at each other than at me.

I glanced back toward the attorney, pointing toward the handcuffs. "Is that necessary?" I balked.

"Yes, ma'am," he stated curtly.

Ashland retreated to the doorway. "I can give you ten minutes." I heard the lock click into place after he closed it behind him.

I flopped onto the chair next to my dad, and he wound me in a strong one-armed hug. Their handcuffed hands were entwined through the hook.

"What's going on?" he breathed into my hair as he repeatedly kissed my forehead.

I smiled up at him. "Can't a daughter just pop in for a visit?"

They both laughed.

I put the picture on the table between them and pointed at the snarling guy. "Is there any way this is your neighbor, Nick?"

Mom's brow knit and her lip crooked into a bad Elvis impression. "This is why you're here?"

Dad shook his head emphatically. "No, there's no way. That's little Danny Durham or, as I used to call him, Little Double D-Cup." He snorted, his eyes focusing on the wall as his mind obviously wandered back to high school. "He used to follow your mother everywhere during school. Never let her out of his sight. He was a bit on the creepy side though."

Mom swatted his chest playfully. "And you wonder why he never liked you. That used to make him so angry." She waved her hand toward me. "He was harmless."

I tapped a finger on the picture at Danny's face. "Add thirty years, a dye job on the hair, contouring makeup, about a hundred pounds, maybe colored contacts, and some very convincing flamboyant acting. I saw this exact expression on Nick, Mom. Are you sure this isn't him?"

Her eyes widened as she leaned across the table and whispered, "While I have to admit that I've not had the chance to get to know our neighbor, I rather doubt Nick is Danny. Why would he have changed his name and appearance and never told me it was him? We have had a couple of brief conversations from our decks, though he mainly keeps to himself, but plenty of time to come clean with me." She shook her head, her brow knit in confusion.

"What if he doesn't want you to know?" I hedged. "What if he's holding a grudge, Mom? Work with me, please. Could this be him?"

Mom gasped. "Danny did mention once in school that he wanted to be a Navy SEAL. Oh my God." Her words trailed off.

"What?" I begged, leaning over my side of the table to whisper back. "What aren't you saying?"

She shook her head and sat up straight. "He told me he was joking. This is ridiculous." She waved me off again. "That can't be him."

"Tell me anyway. Humor me." I grabbed her free hand and pulled her back toward me. Glancing over my shoulder at the mirror, I added, "Quietly."

In a blubbery whisper, she breathed, "He said he wanted to join the Special Forces to become a sniper, someone I'd be proud to date, so he could come back and steal me away from your father." She swallowed hard and breathed directly into my ear, "By any means necessary."

I looked back and forth between my parents and whispered, "Is there any way to know for sure if this is Nick?"

Mom waved toward the mirror, where at least one officer undoubtedly looked on, and muttered, "Maybe you should tell them who you think it is."

I cringed and shook my head. "I may have led them on a few tangents. I doubt they're ready to chase another false lead, just in case I'm wrong." I looked into Mom's troubled eyes. By the disturbed look on her face, I was pretty sure neither of us thought I was wrong though.

Officer Fields pushed the door open. "Time's up."

Mom grabbed me in a one-armed bear hug across the table. "I love you, my little Sum—" She backed up a little, tucked my hair behind my ear, and finished, "Bree, so very much. Please be careful."

I hugged Dad quickly before the officer cuffed their hands again.

As they were leaving, Dad looked over his shoulder. "Tell them what you think. Don't do anything stupid."

I nodded, but I totally had my fingers crossed behind my back.

After speaking with my parents, I'd come back to the bed and breakfast, but I was finding it hard to just sit around or concentrate on much of anything else. I had to find out what was going on over at Nick's. Or Danny's. Whoever he was. I knew in my heart it wasn't deer blood and couldn't wait any longer.

I slipped on one of my dad's black long-underwear shirts with my black yoga pants and grabbed the darkest ball cap my father owned, tucking all of my hair up inside as I put it on. Cris would've undoubtedly made me wear her black all-in-one bodysuit, but I really didn't have time to flip through
Cosmo
or Google the latest in breaking-and-entering fashions. I grabbed Dad's tiny key-ring flashlight out of his desk drawer and tucked it up my sleeve. I pushed my silenced phone up the other before slipping out the back door.

The wind whistled through the trees, threatening to un-snug my cap and release my curls. The pitch-black night sky was overcast, keeping my covert operation, well, actually covert. And waves thundered against the rocks on the shore, masking any noises I may have made as I crossed the lawn between my house and Nick's. I had to get into Nick's garage and find something that proved he didn't have a deer there and hopefully disprove it was Cristal instead. I scanned his windows for lights or any other signs that he was awake.

Nothing.

Creeping around the perimeter of his garage, it dawned on me that I knew nothing about breaking and entering. While I was pretty sure that was a good thing most days, this wasn't one of them. I stood there assessing my situation and briefly considered turning around and calling someone for help. Definitely not the local PD, because of the whole paint thing, but perhaps my brother had more experience with this kind of thing. With him almost finished with law school, this was probably more of an anti-Bradley experiment. Mal was undoubtedly still back home in Centralia, dealing with his demon-possessed ex, so that left me to figure something out on my own.

I jiggled the back door handle, hoping it would be
that
easy to get in, but it was locked. I tiptoed around to the big front garage door and pulled up on the handle. Nope. I looked through the side window, sliding the screen quietly out of the way. Well, it was quiet until the wind whipped it from my hands, screeching it across the siding. Letting the gust have its way, I watched it fly across the yard and clang against the side of the bed and breakfast.

I dropped onto my stomach in the rocky landscaping next to Nick's garage and waited for any movement the ruckus may have spurred. After a few minutes of inhaling gravel dust, I slowly inched my way to my knees, then rose to my feet on tippy-toes to peek into the garage again.

All was still dark.

Pressing against the glass and pushing up, the window groaned open, sticking halfway. It took me several jumps and attempts to wedge myself into such a small opening, but I finally made it. After wriggling like a salmon swimming upstream and having a panic attack that I'd be stuck until paramedics could use the Jaws of Life to free me (because I just hadn't embarrassed myself quite enough in Danger Cove, yet), I finally slid through, face first, onto the concrete floor. Using my hands to break my fall instead of my face probably would've served better than trying to grip the windowsill in an effort to turn my body.

Hindsight and all that.

I brushed at the road rash on my face and groaned lightly, pushing myself onto my knees. I froze in place. There seemed to be an echo. Only, the echo continued into a full-fledged moan. I crept around on my hands and knees, surveying the garage, trying to pinpoint the sound. It grew louder as I neared the trunk under the shelves.

Pushing it out of the way as quietly as I could, I stared at a half door panel with a dead-bolt lock that was on the foundation of the house. Who puts a dead bolt on the outside of a door, unless you're locking something or someone inside?

I flipped the lock and pushed the door open slowly, but the old hinges still creaked in protest. Shaking the flashlight down my sleeve to my wrist, I pulled it free and shined it into the cobweb-infested crawl space that seemed to span underneath most of the house, but the webs, uneven ground, and plumbing partitions made it difficult to assess. Pausing, I allowed the shudders to race down my spine as I regained a bit of my composure. The creep factor here, coupled with the cramped space and lack of headroom, made our basement look like no big deal. I swallowed my fear along with my pride and slid through the small opening, descending the few steps, one at a time, testing each first to make sure it didn't squeak with my weight.

The moaning in the area grew frantic, so I swept the light beam across the floor again with my better vantage point. My heart swelled with joy to find Cris, until I assessed her situation. She was gagged and duct taped to a chair in the corner. Considering that Cris normally had her makeup on perfectly, her hair done without even one out of place, and her clothes flawlessly pressed, she kind of resembled a homeless person now. Her hair was tangled, her clothes stained with dirt, blood, and God only knew what else, and her makeup looked a bit like a two-year-old had applied it for her, but she was very much alive.

Which was all that mattered.

I forgot all about the various vermin and arachnids undoubtedly hiding in the shadows (okay, so I might have been doing the hunched ninja flail through the webs, but I focused on my friend) and scurried to her side. I untied the strip of cloth that had been used to gag her.

She flexed her jaw a few times and smiled. "I knew you'd figure out I was here." She turned somber, glancing around at her surroundings. "I'd kind of hoped it would've been sooner, but at least you found me before he came back."

While picking at the tape to release her, I asked, "What the hell happened?"

She pulled her hands loose as I yanked off the last of the tape there, massaging her wrists as I concentrated on her ankles. "I returned from a jog and cut between the houses so I could go to the cliff and look out at the waves for a bit. Instead, as I was passing the window of Nick's garage, I saw him drag some guy across the floor…"

"I knew it," I power-whispered.

She blinked at me a few times, her expression full of disdain. Normally, she could pull that off without a hitch, but with her makeup smeared, it wasn't nearly as powerful of a statement.

"Anyway," she hissed, obviously upset that I'd momentarily shifted the focus from her. "I made the mistake of doing a double take, unsure of what I'd seen. I mean, how often do you see something like that? I was sure I was mistaken." She shook her head, a shudder wracking her body. "Only, I wasn't. And when I popped back to look, he came out the back door with a gun. He said all kinds of mean things to me." She pretended to be concerned with her ruined manicure as a tear slid down her cheek. "He said the only reason he was keeping me alive was that he didn't have any place to stash another dead body at that moment, and he might find another use for me. The way he stared at me, though…" She looked at me from the corner of her eye. "I don't think he's really gay. Either that, or he thought I was a dude. Anyway, he took the other body away a little while ago and said he was making room. I'm so glad you got here when you did." With her legs finally free, she pounced into my arms.

She still clung to me as I backed her through the hanging web minefield to the stairs, making sure she kept her head low so she didn't hit one of the floor beams. We climbed the few steps slowly together, trying to keep the creaking to a minimum. When we wedged ourselves back into garage, I eased the half door closed, but the click of the latch happened before it was supposed to. Confused, I turned around, and the business end of a suppressed pistol was waved in our faces. On the other end was Nick, a maniacal grin spread across his face.

I released a huge sigh and muttered, "Why the hell did I even mention wanting a bigger closet? Sure would have saved us all a lot of trouble if I'd kept my mouth shut."

"It'll fare you well to take your own advice now. Better late than never." He waved the gun toward the roll of duct tape and two camping chairs that hadn't been up there before my trek under the house. "I don't care which of you tapes up the other, but you need to make it happen. Now."

I glanced over at Cris, and her shoulders slumped as she made her way to the first canvas chair and flopped onto it. She draped her hands across the armrests and sighed. "I was just getting the feeling back in my fingers, too."

I stared at Nick, honestly wondering how far he would take this. He waggled the gun toward the tape, then aimed it back to Cris's forehead. I wasn't willing to find out.

Nick looked away for a few seconds as he checked the lock on the back door, but he kept the gun trained on us. I slipped my phone from my sleeve and managed to text the word
help
to Mal before dropping it facedown on a golf towel at my feet and nudging it under the workbench. I wound the tape around her wrists and ankles as loosely as I could, without making it obvious. When I was done, I glanced around at the various items I could dive for if he even so much as looked away for another second. I made note of an axe, his golf clubs, and a very heavy looking wrench left lying on the top of his toolbox.

As though reading my mind, he snarled, "I'll be on you like white on rice, little girl." He flung me into the other chair, tucked the gun into his waistband, and taped my wrists and ankles down tightly.

He was still wearing one of his alter ego's outfits, as it was obvious we were in the presence of Danny Durham. His pink gingham button-down shirt and crisp khakis screamed
fabulous
. His gruff voice and manhandling ways shouted Little Double D-Cup all grown up.

"If you even so much as whimper, I'll shoot you." He pulled the gun back out and waved it between us.

"But you'll let us go if we behave, right?" Cris blubbered.

"I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with you two." He paced the floor, tapping the pistol against his thigh.

"If you let us go and leave Danger Cove, we won't tell the police anything. We'll
totally
pretend like none of this happened," she begged.

"Yeah, right, and I'm
totally
a cross dresser at the Blue Banana," he mocked.

"Duh," Cris and I drew out in unison.

Anger clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "It feels so good to say it aloud. I've been stuck in this cover for far longer than I'd anticipated." He stuck out his arms and bellowed toward the ceiling, "I'm straight!" He turned his attention back to us. "A little makeup, some hair dye, someone mistaking me as gay, all led to the life I've been living since I moved in next door to your mother. I just had to keep everyone off of my trail until I got my plan worked out."

"What trail?" Cris asked.

I shook my head at her, knowing the more he told us, the less likely he was to let us live. I turned my head toward him and insisted, "We don't want to know."

He waved the pistol in our faces, inches from our noses. "What're two more bodies to hide, when it comes right down to it?"

Cris's eyes widened as it finally sank in that we knew too much to walk away.

"Your damned folks were supposed to get out on bail today so I could dump the body I've had stored and put that final nail in John's coffin. You know, the one that was supposed to be the deer?" His lips curled into a devious grin. "Good thing they didn't look under the house while they were here, huh?" He pretended to wipe sweat from his brow and fling it from his fingers. "You might not have looked quite so crazy. Though, your phone call about the red paint at the Kochs' house is probably what saved my ass, truth be told." He waved a flamboyant hand through the air, momentarily reverting into "Nick." He quickly tucked his pinkies down. "Anyway, it would've cinched the guilty verdict against him, and no one would have been the wiser. All I would've had to worry about was getting rid of the blonde chick, and my revenge on your father would be complete. Now, I've got you, too." He shoved the gun against my shoulder and released the safety.

My gaze narrowed on his. Inside, I wanted to cry and beg for him to spare us, but I knew that with a confession like that, we were too much of a liability. I'd watched my share of crime dramas. My stubborn pride returned at the realization I had nothing else to lose. "So, you really are Little Double D-Cup, then."

He reared back his gun and pistol-whipped me across the cheek, knocking me, and the chair I was attached to, across the room on its side. Stars filled my vision as pain shot through my head and flickered through the rest of my body. My hair even hurt. I squinted, fighting to bring everything back into focus.

He was standing over me, the gun wavering at my temple. "No one calls me that and gets away with it."

From the angle where I'd skidded to a stop, I could see a shadow moving at the window. Hope flickered to life again.

Cris blubbered, "Please don't hurt her."

Knowing the mystery shadow at the window would be discovered if Nick turned toward Cris, I flopped in my chair, struggling to free myself, causing as much of a ruckus as I could. Bursting into fake cries, I begged, "Please don't hurt either of us. We promise we'll do whatever you ask us to." Never. "We just want to live." Even I didn't believe the over-enunciated tone of my own voice. William Shatner had nothing on my overacting skills. Reasons behind my failure as an actress were now painfully clear. But, I did buy enough time for shadow person to wriggle through the opening.