A Walk on the Dead Side (Secret Seal Isle Mysteries Book 3) Page 3

  The one remaining kilo in hand, Cookie carefully opened the screen door and silently slid inside. Now, where could she hide the thing? The first place she decided to try was the office, even though she already knew that probably wouldn’t work. After all, she shared the space with Rain, which meant her mother was in and out of there multiple times every day. But it was right here on the ground floor, and worth a shot.

  The office wasn’t heavily furnished, just a pair of desks, a pair of desk chairs, an old wooden filing cabinet, and a big, heavy wing chair. Cookie’s desk was relatively neat. She thought Hunter would have been astounded to see she’d made progress in the organization department. Rain’s desk, however, was pure chaos, like a diorama of a hurricane in action.

  No sense even trying Rain’s desk, Cookie decided. Filing cabinet, perhaps? With three long strides, she was across the floor and tugging on the cabinet’s topmost drawer, causing the moisture-swollen wood to groan as she slid it open. But the drawer proved to be far from empty.

  “Swell,” Cookie muttered to herself as she reached in the pile and retrieved a plastic baggie filled with three generous pinches of a dark green herb that reminded her of oregano. Only she knew it wasn’t any such thing.

  There was only one explanation—she’d found the rest of Rain’s stash. That was the last thing she needed to deal with at the moment. Biting back a curse, she shoved the Mary Jane back in the drawer and tried to forget she ever saw it.

  4

  Cookie did a quick mental inventory of the inn and surrounding property. The shed? No, Rain had already demonstrated that she considered that her private outdoor boudoir, which was an image Cookie had been trying not to revisit. So where?

  And then it came to her.

  The office door creaked as she cracked it open to check the hall. Still no physical sign of her mother, though there were noises from the kitchen that suggested Rain was busy. Good.

  Moving as quietly as she could, Cookie slunk across the hall toward the stairs, but instead of heading to the second floor, she continued along the narrow hallway, stopping at a small door that led to an excellent storage space. All Cookie had been able to think when she’d first seen it was just the right size for an underage wizard, but she hadn’t actually wound up using it, which meant it should be nice and empty. And she’d barely remembered the space was here, so hopefully Rain had forgotten about it completely.

  The door didn’t have a proper handle, just a small latch. Cookie pushed the little lever, hauled the door open, and froze, staring.

  She blinked, unable to process what she was seeing. Had she somehow time-traveled back to the 1960s?

  The little crawl space had clearly not been forgotten at all. Instead it had been fully outfitted with a thick, colorful shag carpet on the floor, a beanbag chair at either end, and a small, curving table in the middle with a lava lamp standing proudly at its center. Then when she flipped a switch, multicolored lights flickered and swirled everywhere, making her think she was on an acid trip. A bad one apparently, because it was enough to make her seasick. And the thick odor of pot permeating the tiny space certainly wasn’t helping much.

  Evidently Rain had claimed this little space as her private getaway.

  “Never mind,” Cookie muttered, stepping back and closing the small door again. She took several deep, gasping breaths of untainted air to clear both her lungs and her head. “I’ll figure something else out.”

  She hefted the kilo she was still carrying around. With its shrink-wrapping and the white of the drug itself, it almost looked like a paper-wrapped package instead. Like a pound of sliced deli meat. Which gave her an idea.

  “Done!” Cookie lowered the lid with a thud and dusted her hands off on her shorts. Then she exited the shed, turning off the light and latching the door shut behind her. When they’d bought the place it had come largely furnished already, which was a definite advantage for two women who had basically picked up and fled with only what they could carry. That had included the contents of the shed, which held a bunch of lawn chairs, a mower, a snowblower, and random gardening implements, as well as a large outdoor freezer. The kind where the lid lifted up to reveal nothing but a single big space that could easily fit a full-sized body. Or a few dozen kilos of illegal drugs.

  They’d tossed a few emergency supplies in it, frozen peas, bottled water, and some meat, just on the off chance the fridge and freezer in the house died and they couldn’t get food from the store for a few days. They hadn’t opened the freezer since.

  Until now. It was easy enough for Cookie to shove all the coke inside it and then heap the other contents on top to cover the drugs. She’d even been able to stow the now-empty lobster trap atop the freezer, which both kept all the evidence in one place and made it harder to get to the freezer itself.

  As long as they didn’t have a blackout coupled with a hurricane in the next few days, everything would be fine.

  “Sweetie?” she heard Rain calling as she headed back around to the front porch.

  “Here, Mom,” Cookie shouted back, crossing the threshold once more.

  Rain stuck her head out from the kitchen. “Oh, there you are! I thought I heard you come back.” A second later her mom emerged fully, wiping her hands on a dishtowel slung over her shoulder as she came down the hall. “How did it go?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief and the hope of good gossip. “Did you even get to the food?” Rain typically had only two things on her mind—getting high and getting laid. People who knew them already remarked how astounding it was that she and Cookie were even related, much less mother and daughter.

  Of course, given that she was asking about what was supposed to have been a romantic picnic on a private island, for once Cookie could hardly blame her. She sighed. “Yes, we got to the food,” she answered slowly, then frowned. She’d suddenly gotten a very clear image of the lobster roll Dylan had made sure she’d eaten. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of? What does that mean?” Rain demanded. “Either you were so distracted you didn’t even remember to eat, or you ate first to make sure you had strength enough for dessert. Which was it?”

  “It wasn’t either.” Cookie’s locks were smooth in her hands as she grabbed her long hair and pulled it atop her head, twisting it into a messy bun just to have something to do. “We… found something out on the island. Something for the cops.” She couldn’t say what it was, of course. If Rain got even a hint that there was a whole mess of drugs hidden somewhere on their property, she’d tear the place apart looking for them. “We were so busy dealing with it we… kind of forgot to eat.”

  Her mother grinned and gave her daughter an exaggerated wink. “So you got right to it then. Good for you. I always knew you had it in you.”

  “Slow down, Blanche Devereaux. Nothing happened.”

  It took a second for Rain to process that, but when she did her smile vanished as suddenly as a rabbit down a hole. “Wait a second,” she said, hands going to her hips. “Are you telling me that sexy-as-all-hell Dylan takes you all the way to this little island, just the two of you, with a gourmet lunch, oodles of privacy, and plenty of protection, and not only do you two not get busy but you don’t even eat? Charlene Jamison, if I didn’t have the stretch marks to prove it, I’d wonder if you were my child at all!”

  “Tell me about it,” Cookie muttered to herself. But her mother had a point, for a change. From a romantic standpoint, their lunch date had been a complete and utter flop. “We didn’t mean for things to go the way they did,” she explained, to herself as well as her mom. “And it started off really well. But then stuff happened, and, well—”

  “Some crime or murder or something got in the way of you living an actual life,” Rain finished for her. “I know. Seems like that’s what always happens with you, doesn’t it? Whether you want it to or not.” She sounded unusually glum for a second, but then she shook her head, her spiky red-dyed hair swishing. “You didn’t actually eat did you? How about Dylan?”

  “I h
ad a lobster roll. Dylan didn’t get a chance.”

  Rain nodded. “Right. Call him.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Call him,” her mother repeated. “Tell him to meet you in the back down by the water in twenty minutes.”

  Cookie stared at her mother. “You want me to call Dylan and order him back here?” Her mother was grinning again, which was often a bad sign. “Mom, you do realize I’m not going to just throw myself at him when he gets here, right?”

  “I know,” Rain replied. “Shame, too—waste of a totally hot guy. But I know, morals, standards, public decency, yada, yada, yada. So we’ll do it your way.” She gave Cookie a wicked little smile. “Trust me, sweetie. I got this one.” Then she sashayed back into the kitchen. Immediately the sound of pots and pans banging about filtered through the door...

  I have absolutely no idea what she’s got up her sleeve, Cookie admitted to herself, throwing up her hands. But while Rain could be totally out of control, and had no compunctions about breaking the law when it came to things like public nudity or recreational drug use, Cookie knew her mother did love her and worry about her. And Rain was really good with people, especially men. So if she had some sort of plan for how to salvage the day with Dylan, Cookie was all ears.

  I just hope, Cookie thought as she retrieved her phone and tapped out Dylan’s number with her fingernail, that it really doesn’t involve me stripping for him. Because that’s not happening until at least the third date.

  Or second at the absolute earliest—if they ever managed to complete one.

  5

  “Hey,” Dylan called out as he came around the side of the house at a brisk trot. “Everything okay?”

  “Hmm?” Cookie had been staring out at the ocean. The sun was just starting to set, casting tracks of color across the water like a laser-light show from beneath the waves that lapped mesmerizingly against the dock, so it took her a second to focus on his question. “Sure, everything’s fine.” Then her brain caught up to her eyes, registering the concern on his face, and she smiled. “Yes, I’m good,” she promised.

  “Oh. Okay.” She watched him visibly relax, though the slight scowl he’d been wearing morphed into a puzzled frown. “Sorry. It’s just, when you called and told me to get my butt on over here—”

  “I did not say that!” Cookie placed both hands on her hips and started at him, slightly perplexed. “I told you—no, I asked you to come out here and see me right away.”

  Dylan grinned at her. “Sure, sure. It’s just that your questions sound an awful lot like commands.” He raised an eyebrow. “Were you ever in the Army, by any chance? Drill sergeant, maybe?”

  “Ha, ha.” But she couldn’t help smiling back. He seemed so amused and so pleased with himself. What was it about men? You could take the biggest, toughest, meanest of them and the second he cracked a dumb joke or made an awful pun, he reverted to being a little kid eager for approval. Not that she was complaining, especially since the goofy version of Dylan was pretty darn adorable, but it was one of those things she and Scarlett had pondered for many hours. Usually over stiff drinks.

  Just then, the screened back door swung open with a squeak, and Rain stuck her head out. “Oh, hi, Dylan,” she called out, waving. “Be right there!” Then she disappeared back inside.

  Dylan glanced at Cookie, who shrugged. “No idea,” she answered his unspoken question. “Easiest just to roll with it.”

  When Rain reappeared a minute later, she was carrying a large serving tray. Balancing it carefully, she made her way down the back steps and across the backyard toward them. Rain headed straight toward a small table that sat between two lounge chairs and set the platter down atop the table with a small sigh of relief. Then she straightened, tossed her head back, and smiled. “Dinner,” she declared, “is served.”

  Curious, Cookie moved closer to investigate. They tray was packed with fruit salad, pasta salad, a plate of small sandwiches, another plate with cheese, crackers and sliced sausage, a bowl of olives, another bowl of hummus, and a third bowl with carrot sticks and celery stalks. There were also two beers, dripping condensation, and two bottles of water. “Mom, what is all this?” Cookie asked, completely stunned.

  “Well, you said you and Dylan didn’t really get to eat lunch, and I figured you must be hungry. So I threw together a few things for you.” She waved at the food. “Sit. Eat. Enjoy.” Then after giving Cookie a pointed look, she turned and beat a fast retreat for the house.

  “Is this why you wanted me to come out here?” Dylan asked, startling her with his close proximity. He’d approached so quietly Cookie hadn’t even heard him move, and now he slid past her to claim one of the lounge chairs. “Because it looks really good, and I am hungry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Cookie sank down onto the other lounge chair, shaking her head. Even after all these years, Rain was a mystery to her. Half the time the woman was the flightiest person on the planet, only thinking of herself and often barely thinking at all. Mostly she operated on pure instinct and a whole lot of lust. But then there were times like this when she opened up her heart, and she was the warmest, sweetest person in the world. The mom who would do anything, give up anything, take on anyone for her little girl. It was why, no matter what Rain did, no matter how irritating or embarrassing she got, Cookie was always able to look past it. Because she always knew, deep down, just how much her mother loved her.

  For a few minutes the only sound was crunching as they ate, enjoying the food, the fine weather, the lovely twilight sky, and each other’s company. But eventually, when a large portion of the meal had been demolished, they began talking again.

  Dylan opened. “So,” he asked slowly, glancing back behind him to make sure Rain wasn’t listening in. “How did it go with the… ah, contraband?”

  “Oh, good,” Cookie answered quickly, keeping her voice low. “Safely tucked away, no worries. How about you?” Did she really just ask that? Now she felt like an idiot. “Not that you had anything to take care of,” she corrected herself. “I’m the only one who would, right? Not that I would normally. I mean, this totally isn’t my thing. But just this time, you know, under these circumstances, it was kind of all me, I guess. If that even makes any sense.” She realized she was babbling and shut her mouth with a snap before she could say anything else even more foolish.

  Dylan smiled, his dimples winking at her to match the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Something wrong?” he asked. He made a big show of looking around. “You seem a little nervous. Are you waiting for the next dead body or something?”

  “What? No! Not at all. I mean, maybe, okay, it’s best to be prepared, sure, but I’m not expecting anything, if that’s what you mean. I don’t have one on order.” You’re doing it again, she warned herself, winding down with a muttered, “That would be weird.”

  Dylan was openly laughing at her now. “Weird does seem to be your speed,” he pointed out. “Also dangerous, risky, and deadly.” He shook his head as he reached for his beer. “You and your simple life, I guess.”

  She wanted to deny that charge, but knew she couldn’t, so she snatched up her own beer bottle instead. It was cold in her palms as she rolled it back and forth between both hands. “I can’t help it,” she said finally, eyes on the bottle instead of the man across from her. “I don’t mean for these things to find me, but somehow they do.” She shuddered. “It’s like I’m a crime magnet or something.”

  “You don’t have to be.” She could tell from his voice that he was being serious again, and she glanced up at him through her hair, which had come loose and was hanging over her face as she leaned forward. Sure enough, the dimples had fled as he said, “Hand the drugs over to Swan. Or, if you don’t trust him, directly to Watkins. Give them to the cops and let them handle it. It’s not your problem. Not unless you insist on making it yours.”

  Cookie knew he was right. They’d stumbled upon the lobster trap. That hadn’t been her fault, but instead of bringing the trap
and its contents to the authorities, Cookie had opted to bring them home with her instead. That wasn’t just foolish, it was potentially criminal if her actions impeded their eventual investigation. That could be a problem if the sheriff or deputy ever looked into the matter. If, on the other hand, Deputy Swan just let it drop as he’d done in the past with other investigations, then Cookie was the only one willing to figure out exactly what was going on and how to stop it.

  So apparently Dylan was right. When faced with the choice to cast it all aside and trust others to handle the investigation despite her claims of wanting a simple life, Cookie didn’t hesitate even for a second.

  It was full speed ahead.

  Still, she wasn’t quite ready to consider that a bad thing, not yet. “Okay, so I don’t turn my back on cases when they fall in my lap. But that’s a good thing. Especially considering all that’s happened here. You can’t drop me at ground zero and then accuse me of starting the fireworks.”

  “You’re right,” Dylan agreed. “You didn’t cause all this to happen. But you’ve been here for all of it. That sure doesn’t feel like a coincidence.” He shook his head. “Whether you’re somehow a magnet for this or just unlucky, I’ve got no idea. You have to admit that you like it, though. You’re drawn to the danger, and the craziness. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  She met his eyes, which had darkened to flint, and couldn’t say anything.

  “Right.” He sighed deeply. “So what happens when the excitement ends? When the crime stops? Because before you moved here, it was nice and quiet. Peaceful. Safe. So what are you going to do when all that comes back? When there isn’t anything dangerous to hold your interest?”

  With a sudden flash, Cookie understood what Dylan was asking and why. “I’m not going anywhere,” she vowed, leaning in toward him to catch a whiff of woodsy-scented soap. “I promise.”

  He started to respond, the look on his face suggesting that he planned to argue. But then Cookie suddenly lunged forward, barely avoiding the tray, and kissed him, her lips slamming into his with enough force to push him backward.