Witchin' USA (A Moonstone Bay Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 2

  “You seem to know a lot about my mother despite the fact that she was older than you.”

  “It’s a small island. Gossip spreads like mustard on a ham sandwich.”

  I tilted my head to the side, dumbfounded. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that saying before.”

  “Then you haven’t been hanging with the cool kids.” Booker put the bus into park and killed the engine, his eyes bright as they caressed the lighthouse’s bright façade. “I’m glad you’ll be staying here. It’s been sad to see the place so dark and quiet the past three months.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure I was going to come at all,” I admitted. “When I got the letter … well, let’s just say I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I had no idea I had a grandmother. For some reason I always thought my mother was alone in the world.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “My father knew very little about her, and apparently she never volunteered information.”

  “Maybe she thought she would have more time.”

  “Maybe.” I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead as I reached for the door handle. “Well, thanks for the ride. I appreciate the tour.”

  Booker snorted. “You’re a poor actress, but I appreciate the effort.” Instead of waiting for me to collect my luggage and head toward the lighthouse, Booker pocketed his keys as he exited the vehicle. “Would you like some help?”

  Of course I would. I didn’t want to get a reputation for being needy, though. “I’m sure I can manage.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I … can figure it out.” I struggled with the answer, but managed to muster a smile. “It’s just a lighthouse, right?”

  Booker snorted, legitimately amused. “Yeah. How about I give you a tour and we’ll see if you still feel the same way? How’s that sound?”

  It sounded like the best offer I’d had all day. “It sounds like you can carry the big suitcase.”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  2

  Two

  The lighthouse wasn’t what I expected. Actually, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d seen my fair share of lighthouses in Michigan – it is the Great Lakes State, after all – but they were nothing like what I found when I walked through the front door of my new home.

  Booker seemed at ease, as if he knew the layout and where May Potter (I was still having trouble referring to her as “my grandmother”) put everything. The main floor consisted of a homey living room and kitchen, a metal spiral staircase cropping up out of the middle of the floor, and kitschy wall decorations that made me smile even as I internally cringed at some of them.

  I left my luggage in the middle of the living room and gave the kitchen a cursory glance – I’m more of a takeout person – before heading up the staircase. The lighthouse boasted a tall tower but the secondary structure was more of a square. The staircase went all the way to the top, but I stopped for a brief sojourn on the second floor – the top of the square – and found a beautiful bedroom waiting for me.

  The floors were hardwood; the bed frame made of reclaimed wood and covered in a homemade quilt. There was a blue settee in the corner and an ornate makeup station against one wall. There were windows on three sides, and I immediately fell in love with the illumination the sun offered.

  “You’ll get used to the sun,” Booker explained, appearing in the doorway behind me. “You’ll want to close the blinds on the ocean side during the morning hours and the other side during the evening hours. Otherwise it will be steaming hot in here.”

  “No air conditioning?”

  “Yes and no,” Booker shrugged. “The building has air conditioning, but it’s a big building and it will cost an unbelievable amount of money to cool it. I’m not sure how you’re set for funds, but … you might not want to risk running the central air system twenty-four hours a day. It’s better to leave the windows open. The proximity of the water makes for a nice cross breeze.”

  “That’s a good tip.” Speaking of my finances … I shifted a bit so I could look Booker in the eye when I continued. “Did you know that May – I mean, my grandmother – was going to leave me … um … what she left me?” I wasn’t comfortable talking about money, but I had to talk to someone. I knew exactly one person. “Does everyone else know?”

  Booker scratched the side of his nose as he considered the question. “It was well known that May’s family was, well, I guess the term would be ‘independently wealthy.’”

  “Did you also know that her will had a stipulation that I had to move here to inherit?”

  Booker cracked a smile. “No, but that sounds just like her. I’m sure she didn’t mean it as a source of blackmail. She probably only wanted you to get a gander at your heritage before making an important decision … like abandoning it. She was big on family history.”

  “So why didn’t she get in touch with me when I was growing up? I mean, to hear you tell it, she knew she was sick and probably not long for this world. Why didn’t she contact me so we could talk before it was too late?”

  “Are you sure she didn’t?”

  “My father would’ve told me.” I was certain that was true. “He’s an attorney. The will notification came to his office. He was as surprised as me.”

  Booker held his hands palms up. “I don’t know what to tell you. I do know that May mentioned you over the years, although in a vague sort of way. She’d say things like, ‘I’m leaving this for my granddaughter’ or ‘Maybe someone will spruce up the flowerbeds when my granddaughter arrives.’ I really don’t know why she didn’t contact you.”

  “That makes two of us,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck as I glanced around. “The house looks clean, but … cluttered.”

  “She had a lot of stuff. She liked stuff. A lot of people are like that.”

  “A lot of people have hoarder tendencies, too,” I noted. “I guess I’ll have my hands full sorting through things over the next few days.”

  “And then what will you do?”

  The question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re independently wealthy as long as you stay here,” Booker pointed out. “You just told me that yourself. Once you get the place fixed up to your specifications, what do you plan to do with your time?”

  That was a very good question. It was something my father asked before I left Michigan. He kept trying to get me to stay, insisting that knowing the history of a dead family wasn’t important. I considered the argument and ultimately disagreed. I was doing nothing but treading water at a dead-end job in corporate website design anyway. If I really wanted to pick up where I left off professionally, I could do it anywhere – including here.

  “I haven’t decided,” I replied, opting for honesty. “I want to look around and get a feel for the place first. After that … I’m not sure what will happen.”

  “You’re staying, though, right?”

  “I … for now.” I didn’t have a better answer than that. I didn’t know if I could stay here. I only knew I wanted to investigate, perhaps get a feel for the roots I didn’t know I had. Other than the next few weeks, the future was cloudy. It had always been that way for me. I could never see next year when tomorrow was murky. “I don’t know what will happen a month from now, but for the time being, I will be here.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Booker awkwardly patted my shoulder. “If you need help or someone to give you a walking tour, give me a call.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and rested it in the palm of my hand. “I know you’ll be busy for a bit, but make sure you take a look around town. I promise you’ll like it here.”

  “I’ll get right on that.” I offered up a mock salute as Booker moved toward the staircase.

  “Just out of curiosity … .” Booker stilled with his hand on the railing. “Did you only come for the money?”

  I expected the question. It would’ve been the first one I asked, too. “No
. I came because I always felt as if something was missing from my life. I grew up with, like, ten photographs of my mother, an old quilt that looks a lot like this one and thousands of questions. I might not stay, but I have to know.”

  “That makes sense.” Booker’s shoulders relaxed as he offered up a heartfelt smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I’d be lying if I said the money wasn’t a bonus,” I added. “I wouldn’t be able to do things this way if I didn’t have access to money.”

  “That makes sense, too.” Booker held two fingers up in a peace sign. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

  I smiled as I watched him go, thankful for the offer even though I wasn’t sure if that was a comforting or disturbing thought.

  I DIDN’T SLEEP well. The sun was nice to wake up to, the sound of the water soothing as the waves slapped the beach, but my muscles ached from moving stacked boxes and looking through closets.

  Instead of risking a trip to town yesterday when I wasn’t ready to answer questions, I’d found a can of Campbell’s soup in the pantry and heated that up for dinner. I’d have to go shopping – and soon – but I was more interested in sifting through a life left behind. May Potter’s life, that is. It was sort of my life, too, but it wasn’t something I left behind. It was something I didn’t even know existed.

  There was coffee in the cupboard, but it belonged to one of those old-school drip coffee machines. A day without caffeine is akin to a day without oxygen, so I suffered through and made a mental note to find a place to buy a Keurig. A coffee shop that offered something with a gourmet twist to drink would be a nice find, too. I carried my coffee mug to the back patio and settled on one of the loungers there, thankful that the area was so quiet. I’d taken enough time to wipe down the furniture before the sun set the previous day, but I’d had very little time to explore outside.

  Even though it was early, the sun barely drifting above the water’s edge, the temperature was already in the high seventies and I could tell it was going to be a stifling sort of day. I sipped the coffee as I leaned back in the lounger, inhaling the salty air as my lips curved. I wasn’t used to living on the beach. Heck, this was the beach to end all beaches. I would never get used to living like this. It was my first morning in a new and exotic locale, so I saw no reason not to enjoy it.

  So far I’d found nothing in the house to hint at a reason, and a reason was what I was looking for. I needed a reason why my grandmother knew about my existence and did nothing to contact me. I needed a reason why my mother had another life and never told my father. I needed a reason for living a half-life for twenty-seven years and having nothing to show for it.

  Er, well, I had something to show for it now. I had a lighthouse … and money. Sure, it wasn’t “let’s buy a yacht” money, but it was certainly “rent a boat on alternating weekends” money. I couldn’t complain about that – and because I can complain about anything, that’s saying something.

  I exhaled heavily, thoughts of continuing my cleanup forcing their way to the forefront of my brain. It wasn’t as if I was on a timetable, yet putting it off didn’t hold much appeal. I needed something to do with my time until I settled in, and organizing was the easiest option.

  I drained the rest of my coffee before standing, a dark chunk of beach debris catching my eye about fifty feet down the sand. Initially I moved to return to the house, but something about the misshapen form bothered me. On a whim, I descended the steps and moved toward the lump.

  My heart started thumping as I approached, even though I wasn’t sure what I was looking at, and I cocked my head. I’m sure I resembled a curious dog rather than a muddled woman, but I was drawn toward the dark item and couldn’t force myself to turn around.

  With each step my heart pounded louder, my stomach twisted harder and my mind rebelled further. I couldn’t be seeing what I was seeing. It simply wasn’t possible. This was paradise, after all.

  It couldn’t be what it looked like.

  It shouldn’t be what it looked like.

  It was, though, and paradise was suddenly lost.

  “WHEN DID you find the body?”

  Galen Blackwood, Moonstone Bay’s top cop, was six feet of hard muscle and luscious black hair surrounding a face that would’ve made angels weep. No, I’m not being dramatic. The man was a fine specimen of the male form. In fact, he was the finest specimen I’d seen outside of a television show revolving around hot biker dudes. That’s what he reminded me of, a biker dude. Not a dirty one who sold drugs or anything, of course, but a more sanitized version.

  Wait, that made me sound like a special snowflake, didn’t it? I hate that.

  Galen yanked me back to reality by snapping his fingers in front of my face. He may have been hot, but the gesture was unbelievably annoying. “Are you listening to me?”

  I offered up a scowl as I shoved my girly thoughts about his hot body and sinful face out of my mind. Looks have nothing to do with personality, and I was starting to think in this case that the only thing Galen had going for him was on a superficial level. “I was listening,” I gritted out, fighting to maintain my temper. “I was just trying to decide what time it was.”

  “You do know how to tell time, right?” Galen asked dryly.

  I narrowed my eyes. “I must’ve missed that lesson. Bummer.”

  Galen’s lips curled but otherwise he didn’t react. “So when did you find the body?”

  “Right before I called 911.”

  “You didn’t do anything else?”

  “Like what? A rain dance?”

  “Like touch the body or try to think up an alibi to cover your actions for the past twelve hours,” Galen answered, not missing a beat.

  “You think I did this?” My eyebrows flew up my forehead as I gestured toward the body. Galen had brought two individuals dressed in paramedic garb when he arrived. They were busy poking at the woman – who looked to be in her sixties and really, really dead – while pretending they weren’t eavesdropping on our conversation. They weren’t doing a very good job. “I didn’t do this. Why would I do this?”

  Galen wore khaki shorts and a black shirt that showed off a pair of impressively buff arms, so when he shrugged things rippled in odd places. I couldn’t stop myself from staring.

  “I’m not saying you did this,” Galen clarified. “I’m merely trying to understand what happened.”

  “What happened is that I woke up this morning, made some really bad coffee in a machine I’m not sure how to use because I thought they only existed in museums these days, and then I saw something on the beach,” I supplied. “I decided to look closer, realized it was a body, and called you. That’s the extent of my knowledge on this situation.”

  “And where were you during the overnight hours?”

  “In bed.”

  “In the lighthouse?” Galen inclined his chin in that direction. “You’re Hadley Hunter, right? You’re May Potter’s granddaughter. I heard you hit town yesterday.”

  “Yes, and I’m so thankful for my welcome party,” I drawled, refusing to tamp down my irritation. “Yes, I was asleep in the lighthouse. I didn’t want to risk sleeping on the beach until I knew the Moonstone Bay Downtown Development Authority’s position on that.”

  Instead of being offended, or even a bit annoyed, Galen merely smirked. “I see you’ve been talking to Booker.”

  “He drove me from the airport to the lighthouse.”

  “He also hates the DDA. He thinks they’re evil and out to get the unsuspecting Moonstone Bay populace.”

  “Are they? I mean, just because you’re paranoid, that doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”

  Galen shrugged. “Anything is possible.”

  “So I should refrain from riding a bicycle on the sidewalk, right?”

  Galen bobbed his head. “Most definitely. He wasn’t exaggerating about that.”

  “Awesome.” I flashed a sarcastic thumbs-up and rolled my neck until it cracked. It was only
after glancing down at my feet, which were growing hot in the baking sand, that I realized I was still dressed in pajamas. Sure, nothing was on display, but the cotton sleep shorts rode low on my hips and the tank top didn’t have a shelf bra, so very little was left to the imagination. Son of a blistering headache!

  I did my best to cross my arms over my chest without drawing attention to that particular area. “This place just keeps getting better and better,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Did you say something?” Galen arched a challenging eyebrow.

  “I said that I have nothing to do with the dead body on the beach,” I replied, changing course. “I mean … why would I kill someone my first night in town? That seems a little reckless, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t a smart person feel out the area before committing murder?”

  “You’re assuming you’re a smart criminal,” Galen pointed out. “I’m not yet sure that’s the case.”

  Oh, well, screw him. He may be hot, but he’s a complete and total tool. Tool quotient trumps temptation. “Do you have any other questions you want to ask me?”

  “Surprisingly enough, I do,” Galen replied. “They’re not germane to this case, though, so they’ll have to wait. As for murdering the woman on the beach, I’m fairly certain you’re innocent. I can’t rule you out completely, but you’re not on the top of my list of suspects.”

  “How reassuring.” I mustered as much mock enthusiasm as I could manage. “That’s such a relief.”

  “The deceased is a local,” Galen explained, ignoring my sarcasm. “Her name is Bonnie Wakefield.”

  “You knew her?” I swallowed hard, sympathy rising. “I’m sorry.”

  “I knew her. That doesn’t mean I liked her.”

  “Oh, then I’m not sorry.”

  Despite the tense situation, Galen snickered. “I like your attitude. I can see a lot of May in you.”

  “I didn’t know her, so I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “That’s a shame.” Galen planted his hands on his narrow hips. “As I said, you’re not a suspect, but I need to make sure I’ve covered all my bases if I want to track down the real killer.”