Highway to Homicide Read online

  While he was gone, Cookie finished cleaning up the mess and then stood and put the tray of ruined treats on the table.

  The door swung open and Dylan appeared with Cade and Scarlett following behind him.

  Cade pulled out a notebook and was all business as he met Cookie’s gaze. “I’ve left a message with a contact at the Coast Guard that I’m looking into this. He’ll call with any information they learn on their end. So far, they’ve only located two men from the tugboat company, both intact with all fingers. They are holding off on releasing their names until a firm ID is made. No one suspects foul play with them, though. The finger victim hasn’t been found yet. In the meantime, I want to check the shipping logs of the barge and the vessel that was towing it.

  Cookie nodded. “We’ll need to get the shipper information from the condo developer.”

  “I’ll call him myself,” Cade said. “It’ll be faster, and then I can call the harbormaster and get the logbook information.”

  “Okay, sounds good.” Cookie held her hand out to him. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Anything for Die-cut over there.” He jerked his head toward Dylan and grinned.

  “Die-cut?” Scarlett asked.

  “Navy nickname,” Dylan said, taking Cookie by the hand. “Let’s go before it gets too late.”

  Cookie glanced at the clock. It was already late afternoon. If they didn’t get on it, the developer might lock up and leave before they got a chance to talk to him. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  “Do you want me to make dinner?” Scarlett called after them.

  “You cook too?” Cade asked.

  She gave him a big grin and nodded.

  “Yes,” Cookie called over her shoulder and then hurried out the front door, still a little surprised by the flirting going on. Especially the way Scarlett had morphed from her strong, intimidating lawyer persona to Betty Crocker. But truth be told, she was happy to see Scarlett all lit up by one of Dylan’s friends. She deserved to have a little fun. And there was no denying that Cade was perfect for the job. Unless he was another Hunter O’Neil, toying with her friend’s heart. “Dylan?”

  “Yeah?” he asked, opening the passenger-side door on his truck.

  “Cade’s a good guy, right?”

  He gave her a strange look. “Sure. Why?”

  “Just checking. If he’s going to be making goo-goo eyes at my best friend, then I want to make sure he’s worthy of her.” She gave him a smirk and climbed inside the truck.

  Dylan held the door open as he leaned in and said, “He’s a hundred times better than the last guy she dated.”

  “Still a little jealous of my former partner?” she teased, raising one eyebrow. Before Scarlett dated Hunter O’Neil, Cookie had almost gotten together with him, but she had ultimately chosen Dylan.

  It was his turn to smirk. “Nope. Just stating facts.” He winked, closed the door, and jogged around to the driver’s side. Once they were on the road and headed to the condominium building site, he slipped his hand into Cookie’s. “Cade is a great guy. You have nothing to worry about there.”

  “Good. I just want her to be happy.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “I know. Me, too.”

  The island wasn’t very large, but the development was on the other side of the island near the artist colony, which meant it wasn’t exactly walking distance. But it still didn’t take very long… or it wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for the arts and crafts show that was lining the main highway. Booths were set up on the shoulder of the road with artists selling everything from original paintings to hand-knit tank tops. Tourists’ vehicles were blocking the road as the owners walked up and down the sidewalks checking out the displays, while their kids ran excitedly in the street.

  Dylan inched the truck down the road as Cookie took in the spectacle. She’d forgotten about the arts and crafts show today. There was even a man dressed in a purple leotard doing a strange interpretive dance with a puppet as some sort of performance art.

  “Rain must be dying that she’s missing this,” Cookie said, her heart heavy as she thought of her mom locked away in a cell. The Pussycat Posse had been scheduled to play but cancelled when Rain was put in jail. “The Posse would have been killing this.”

  “No doubt. When we spring her from the joint they can come down here and put the gyrator to shame.”

  Cookie glanced at the purple leotard guy again and let out a choked laugh. “Is he… twerking?”

  “Yep. And to the latest Hayley Holloway song, too,” he said.

  Cookie couldn’t help it. She let out a snort of laughter. If she wasn’t so secure in their relationship, she might find it disconcerting that he actually knew Hayley’s newest pop song. “I kinda love that you know that.”

  His cheeks turned pink as he attempted to grimace. “Rain was listening to it on repeat last week. Then the Posse started practicing it.”

  “Sure,” she said, her voice full of faux skepticism. “Whatever you say, Dylan. Do you know the words, too?”

  He gave her a look of annoyance that was clearly fake when he belted out a few lines of the catchy tune.

  A little bit of the heaviness that had been weighing on her lifted, and she chuckled. “I love you. You know that?”

  “Yeah. I do.” He turned left and pulled the truck to a stop in a parking lot next to the condo development that sat right at the water’s edge.

  The moment Cookie’s feet hit the asphalt, she put Scarlett, Cade, and even Rain out of her mind. It was time to work. She took the lead and strode down the freshly paved sidewalk toward what she assumed was the office where she hoped she’d find Hank Romero, the developer of the condominium project.

  “They sure moved fast out here,” Dylan said, glancing up at the structure that was partially erected. The ground floor was finished, and steel beams had been put in place, indicating they were getting ready to start the upper-level condos. Or they would’ve been if the supplies hadn’t been blown to smithereens.

  “They likely want to get as much done as they can before winter,” Cookie said, trying and failing to open the locked door. “Damn.” She cupped her hands and peered into the window in the door at the dark office. “I don’t think anyone is—”

  The door swung open and Cookie stumbled forward into the office.

  Chapter 7

  The wide-shouldered man who’d opened the office door was holding an unlit cigar in one hand, and he sidestepped Cookie as she tumbled in and barely missed tackling him.

  “Whoa.” Dylan grabbed Cookie by the waist, steadying her before she fell headfirst.

  “Thanks,” she said, straightening and turning to greet the developer. “Hank Romero?”

  Hank took a moment to peruse Cookie, pausing at her ample chest longer than necessary. A crooked grin formed on his face. “I am now. Who might you be?”

  Cookie squinted her eyes at him as annoyance began to bubble inside her. “Are you or aren’t you Hank Romero?”

  The man chuckled as he looked at Dylan. “She’s a feisty one, eh?”

  “She’s Deputy Cookie James, and I’m her partner, Dylan Creed,” Dylan said with a steely voice.

  “It’s about time someone from this pinprick of a town came to see me. Yeah. I’m Hank Romero.” His voice boomed with a question. “Who blew up my barge?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Cookie said in an equally commanding voice. “We need to ask you some questions.”

  Hank let out a noise of disgust and turned his attention to Dylan. “Whaddaya wanna know?”

  Cookie bristled at his apparent disregard for her authority, but she’d dealt with men like Hank before. When you want as much information from someone as you can get, it’s not the time for demanding respect. She let Dylan take over.

  Dylan asked, “What can you tell me about the shipment? Was there anything unusual about it?”

  “Naw, business as usual. What’s unusual is the number of people on this isl
and who don’t know a gift when they see one.” He huffed as his dander rose. “Do you have any idea how much money I’m gonna bring in here?” Hank lifted up a beefy finger. “First, ya got the wages.” Another one of his digits rose in the air. “And then there’s the property taxes and—”

  “We understand,” Dylan said to cut him off from the rant that was ramping up to a boil. “But surely you’ve encountered objections to previous developments before?”

  “Yeah,” Hank contended. “There’s always some environmentalist who thinks I’m a cancer worse than global warming. Which, by the way, ain’t got a lick of truth to it. Those damn polar caps were gonna melt anyway. Besides what do we need polar bear for?”

  Cookie imagined Winter’s stormy eyes and the wrath that would be steaming from her ears if she’d heard what Hank just said. She was beginning to understand why Rain and her Posse disliked the developer so much.

  Dylan wisely ignored the man’s comments and jumped in before he could spout more. “Hank. It sounds like you’re saying you know a few people who might have wanted to interfere with your project. Anyone in particular you think was more than a complainer?”

  “Well, there’s that Julie.” Hank chuckled. “Pranced around here, talking to me like she thought I’d go for her uptight-librarian thing. She kept pestering me right up until I told her I didn’t give a hoot about hundred-year-old trees or where Benedict Arnold and his troops slept. The man was a traitor after all.”

  Dylan nodded so he’d go on while Cookie watched, impressed her boyfriend was so good at interviews. Or maybe just impressed with him in general.

  “So, she left,” Hank continued. “Panties all bunched up if you know what I mean,” he said with a wink at Cookie.

  Tempted as she was to call Hank out for just about everything that had come out of his mouth so far, Cookie managed to keep a straight face and nod the way Dylan had to keep Hank talking.

  “Anyways. She said something about ‘good luck getting the permits I needed.’ And then she had the nerve to file a lawsuit.”

  Dylan had pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, and he frowned as if he was concentrating while he scribbled on the pad. “I see.”

  “It was thrown out,” Hank said and gave Cookie a smirk as if to taunt her to test him too.

  Dylan asked, “Anyone else?”

  “That hippy-dippy chick. What’s her name? Water something. River!”

  “River Song?” Cookie offered, knowing that was the name of the head of the artist colony on this side of the island.

  “Yup. That’s it.” Hank shook his head as he chortled. “That one tried to hex me I think.” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “She told me karma would come along and bite me. I asked if karma was hot, because I could use a little of that.” Hank pumped his eyebrows at Dylan. “You know what I mean?”

  “Ahem,” Cookie said in an attempt to divert the man back to the subject at hand.

  He scowled at her. “What’s with the women in this town?”

  Before she could help herself, Cookie blurted out, “They have taste?”

  Hank laughed. “I like you, Cookie girl. You’re funny.”

  Cookie girl? Cookie inhaled sharply but managed to keep her cool.

  Clearly sensing the level of his girlfriend’s distress, Dylan cleared his throat and quickly recapped. “Julie Taylor sued you but lost, and River Song tried to use her powers of persuasion to get you to stop the development. Are those your only two enemies that you know of?”

  “Nope. There’s those protestors. More hippy-dippies, but the one with the red hair…” Hanks eyes got big. “Wow. She can walk a picket line all over my—”

  “Rain,” Cookie interjected before he said more than either Dylan or she needed to hear. And with the hope she could keep him off that subject, she said, “That’s my mother.”

  “Ahhhh,” Hank said as he gave her a lecherous grin. “Apple didn’t fall too far from that tree, did it?”

  “Wow. You sure have a way with women. Are there any who actually like you?” Cookie was hanging on to her composure by a thread with this man.

  “I do get around.” He looked at Dylan. “But I’m tellin’ ya, man to man. The women in this town are loco. Know Peaches at the salon?”

  “I do,” Dylan answered. “Did you have a run in with her too?”

  “I gave her a quick ride. That is until she decided to dismount because of my text messages.”

  Hank was digging his hole deeper and deeper with Cookie, and she had a feeling the messages he was talking about were not of the literary kind. She really didn’t really want to go there, but Dylan asked, “Peaches didn’t like what you were texting her?”

  Hank glanced down at his groin and shifted his hips, making Cookie’s stomach turn. “Oh, she liked it just fine,” he said. “She didn’t like that I was sharing the stallion’s good looks with other women. Lost it in a big way. I barely got out of the salon alive.” He put a hand on his chest as if in pain. “Still not sure the hair’s going to grow back in some places.”

  Peaches was the town’s manscaping specialist and the kind of woman who could hold her own. Cookie wasn’t the only one trying to stifle a laugh as she imagined Peaches telling Hank what he could do with his pictures as she demonstrated what she could do with wax.

  “Peaches.” Dylan scribbled down her name and glanced at Hank, asking with trepidation, “Anyone else?”

  Hank shook his head, and Cookie was tempted to run before the disgusting man thought of anyone else. “No. I think that does it.”

  Dylan must have been feeling as anxious to leave as Cookie, because he said, “All right then.” He stuck out his hand. “Thank you for your time, Hank. We’ll be in touch.”

  Hank grabbed Dylan’s fingers in what Cookie could tell was a death grip, but Dylan was prepared and gave better than he got, making Hank wince before letting go. They let themselves out and walked a good distance away before finally looking at each other.

  Dylan’s eyes danced with amusement, making Cookie pause and realize the situation had been kind of funny. “Well that was something,” he said.

  Cookie grinned back. “It most certainly was.” She chuckled as she imagined what Peaches might have waxed on the man. “Please tell me we can start with Peaches.”

  Dylan snickered, likely imaging a few scenarios of his own. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Chapter 8

  “What happened?” Rrrrripppp. Peaches tore a strip of fabric off her own shin without any reaction to the pain.

  Cookie and Dylan had gone to the Clip, Dip, and Rip and were in Peaches’ waxing room questioning the esthetician. Apparently with the arts and crafts show in town, the salon was unusually slow, and not a single customer was in the place.

  Peaches said, “Hank Romero makes every man I’ve ever dated look like a prince.” Her wooden paddle clattered against the tub as she scooped a glob of wax and then smeared purple goo next to the red patch of skin on her leg. “He started off strong with flowers, wine, and home cooked dinners using family recipes. They were good, too. His Bolognese…” She let out a sigh and then ripped another strip of wax off her leg.

  Cookie grimaced and asked, “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “Naw. I’ve been doing it so long I barely feel it.” Peaches twisted her foot to access her calf with a spatula full of wax. “Anyway. The shine of that penny wore off pretty quick. I think it was around the fourth date he began to spend a lot of time on his phone when we were together.” She let out a noise of disgust. “Then one day he came here for a complimentary wax. When I asked who he was texting, the idiot told me he was showing off the stallion.” She yanked a strip of fabric off with the kind of force that made Cookie’s eyes water with sympathy pain yet Peaches still didn’t seem fazed. “He said he needed likes!” Peaches looked at Cookie, who was blinking in disbelief over the idea of that kind of picture garnering likes. “The stallion is his—”

  Dylan interrupted, “He told u
s what the—what he—”

  Cookie chuckled before she decided to save her boyfriend from his discomfort. “He was sending inappropriate pictures to other women to get more likes on some site.”

  “Yeah. You know. DicPic4U. Can you believe it? Right here on my table!” Peaches slapped the wax paddle on her thigh with a splat.

  Cookie couldn’t watch Peaches torture herself any longer and averted her eyes. She wasn’t sure what society was becoming now that she knew there was a site dedicated to pictures of a particular piece of male anatomy. “Unbelievable,” she said.

  “I know,” Peaches said. “Cookie? Would you hand me more muslin strips please? No way does Hank have fans.”

  “Fans for his—? These—that’s a thing?” Dylan asked.

  Peaches took the fabric strips from Cookie and rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s a thing. Men. Willy wagging. It’s a competition as old as time.”

  Cookie snickered when she caught Dylan’s eye and he mouthed, Willie wagging?

  “But that wasn’t the worst of it,” Peaches said. “What really tipped me over the edge was his Russian girlfriend. Oh, he claimed she wasn’t, but she always called in the middle of the night. And when I asked who she was, Hank told me to mind my own business.” Peaches got a mischievous look in her eyes. “So I did. I cooked up a slightly stickier version of wax and tried a special interrogating technique I’m perfecting.” She ripped another piece of fabric off her thigh with gusto to emphasize her point. “Might be better than laser treatment because I’m not sure hair’s going to grow back in some places.”

  Cookie and Dylan exchanged glances mixed with amusement and horror, considering Hank had made the same comment about the hair growth on his chest. “Did it work?” Cookie asked.

  Peaches shook her head. “No. That’s when I ended it.”

  The actions Peaches described sounded consistent with the woman Cookie had known in the two years she’d resided on Secret Seal Isle. The esthetician may have extreme ways of dealing with conflict, but Cookie didn’t think she was the type to blow up a barge and kill innocent people. She decided to move on and asked, “Can you think of anyone else who might have a problem with Hank?”