Signed, Sealed, Fatal, I'm Yours Read online

  “You said Lester seemed surprised when you told him,” Hunter pointed out. “Which means they didn’t even make Lester aware they’d killed his friend. Not much of a warning if you ask me.”

  Cookie wrapped a strand of hair around one finger and twirled it. “So where does that leave us?” she asked. “They possibly meant to use Fleet to get to Lester, but things got out of hand and they poisoned him instead. Or his death had nothing to do with any of this and it’s all just a big coincidence.” She scowled at no one in particular. “And you know I hate coincidences.”

  “Yeah,” both Hunter and Dylan confirmed. Then they glared at each other in some testosterone-filled standoff.

  Cookie sighed. They’d only been brainstorming for maybe twenty, thirty minutes, and already she was exhausted from trying to keep the peace. Part of her was tempted to tell one or the other to back off completely, but as Hunter had said, they definitely needed all hands on deck for this one. Scarlett’s life could depend on it, and Cookie wasn’t about to let a little male rivalry screw that up.

  The ring of her phone startled her out of her introspection, and Cookie glanced at the screen, praying it was Carrottop offering to trade the security token for Scarlett. Disappointment settled in as Jared’s name flashed across the screen. She sucked in a breath and hit Accept. “Yo, what’ve you got for me?”

  “Whoa, there,” Jared Delgado protested with a laugh. “Slow your roll a little, missy. He’s already dead, so I don’t think he’s in all that big of a rush.”

  Cookie was tempted to tell him about Scarlett, but bit back her words. The fewer people who were in the know, the less chance there was of somebody screwing up and tipping off either Deputy Swan or the Hancock sheriff. And that would be a recipe for disaster. Neither specialized in abductions, and the likelihood for incompetence was high, especially if Swan was involved. One wrong move and the perpetrators could run, leaving Scarlett dead behind them.

  Stifling a sigh, Cookie forced some levity into her tone. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m wound a little tight at the moment.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “So, what’d you find?”

  The medical examiner laughed but relented. “Well, it absolutely wasn’t natural causes or an accident,” he started. “Our boy was most definitely murdered.”

  “Murdered,” Cookie repeated, not at all surprised. It was what she’d suspected all along. Glancing up, she spotted Dylan and Hunter both watching her intently. She silently cursed herself for not thinking straight. After setting her phone to Speaker, she held it out in front of her. “You sure about that?”

  “Absolutely.” Jared’s voice rang out tinny but clear. “We’ve officially confirmed that the cause of death was poison.”

  “Okay,” she said, waiting for the rest of his report.

  “We’re still working on figuring out what the actual substance was, but whatever was used was some really nasty stuff, and fast-acting, too. I’d say he had it in his system no more than three minutes before it shut down his lungs, his heart, everything else. No overt symptoms, so it’d look like a heart attack unless you had reason to be suspicious. Which you did, so props to you.”

  Cookie was glad to know her gut had been right, but she didn’t exactly feel like celebrating. “Any idea how he was poisoned?” she asked instead. “Did he ingest it?”

  “No, his stomach contents came back clean,” Jared replied. “I did find a small puncture wound on the neck, though, and that has to be where the poison entered his system. Once it did, he was toast.”

  “So we’re looking for something sharp,” Cookie confirmed. “Like a needle?”

  “No, the shape’s all wrong for that.” There was a rustling from the other end of the line as if he was consulting a file. “This is slightly bigger with a definite edge of some sort but not big enough to be a knife. I’ll put together some possibilities.”

  “All right, let me know when you’ve got something else,” Cookie replied. “Thanks.” She hung up and glanced back and forth between Hunter and Dylan. “Okay, so Fleet’s death definitely wasn’t an accident. And our only suspects are Carrottop and his goons.” She shook her head. They still didn’t have much of a working theory. “I’m not sure where we go from here, though.”

  “That’s easy,” Hunter told her, for once without his trademark smirk. “We keep working the Fleet case. Look at every lead, every suspect—only now, we’re also looking to see if we can learn anything about the guys who showed up here today, about Lester, about the money, about any of it. If we can find anything at all to use for leverage, we’ll stand a better chance of getting Scarlett back in one piece.”

  Cookie nodded, doing her best to ignore the other possible outcome he’d just implied when he’d stated ‘back in one piece.’ “Right, okay. We’ve already spoken to Lester, Stone, and Peaches. Where do we go next?”

  Dylan thought about that for a second, rubbing at his chin, then finally nodded. “Fleet was a ladies’ man,” he reminded her with a slow smile. “So how about we start with his latest lady?”

  Hunter nodded. “Makes sense to me,” he agreed, finishing his coffee and rising to his feet. “Shall we?”

  Cookie stood as well. She was still seriously out of sorts, but at least having a direction was something. And Hunter was right; every new thing they learned was another piece of the puzzle.

  She only hoped they could assemble enough of the puzzle to figure out the big picture while it still mattered.

  11

  Dylan and Hunter filed out onto the porch, but Cookie told them to give her a minute and disappeared into the kitchen. She found Rain sitting on a stool at the center island, her hands plucking the edges of a wadded up apron as she stared out the window toward the ocean.

  “You didn’t eat with us,” Cookie said. “You okay?”

  When her mother turned, Cookie saw the answer to her question was a resounding no. Rain had always worn her emotions right out in the open, reacting full-force to everything that came her way, good and bad, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise to see the tears rolling down her cheeks. But it still threw Cookie, because most of the time, nothing got Rain down for long.

  “No, I’m not okay,” her mother replied, balling the apron up tighter before throwing it at Cookie’s head. “How can you even ask me that? And how are you okay, anyway? She’s your best friend!”

  Cookie took a deep breath, held it a second, and despite the tremor running through her, she managed to maintain a modicum of calm. “I know that. Believe me. And I’m not okay either, not by a longshot. But I’m holding it together. I have to—for Scarlett’s sake.”

  Rain nodded, hopped off the stool, closed in on Cookie, and engulfed in her in a big hug. “You were always so strong,” she murmured. “Always so focused. I’ve always admired that, you know. You’re not like me. I fly off the handle at every little thing.” She pulled back enough to swipe at her eyes with the back of one hand.

  “Maybe,” Cookie agreed. “But you’ve always lived large, and I’ve always envied that. I just can’t let myself go the way you do. I have to be in control all the time.”

  Rain laughed. “It’s good we like each other so much, huh?” she said, brushing away more tears. “And you’re right. Right now you need to stay focused. If you come apart too, who’s going to go rescue Scarlett? The men?” She snorted. “In this family, we don’t need men to do it—we can take care of ourselves.”

  Cookie didn’t miss the newly formed glint in her mother’s eyes or the fact that Rain had just included Scarlett in their family. She felt the same way.

  “Just be careful, okay?” her mother said, reaching up to tap Cookie on the chin. “If they grab you too, then I’ll have to do all the rescuing… again. And nobody wants that.”

  “They wouldn’t know what hit them,” Cookie replied with a laugh, recalling the moment her mother had knocked out a woman with an entire cheesecake in order to save Cookie from being shot. She squeezed her mom and kissed her on the f
orehead. “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “And I’ll bring Scarlett back.”

  As she left the kitchen to catch up with Dylan and Hunter, Cookie promised herself that she’d never stop until Scarlett was back home at the inn, right where she belonged.

  “Dead? Oh, no!” Winifred B. Lassiter rocked back on her heels like she’d been slapped, her cheeks paling and tears coming to her eyes. One hand floundered for the desk beside her. Upon finding it, she leaned heavily on the scarred oak writing surface for support before slowly lowering herself into the equally ancient desk chair that creaked its objection. “This is awful. Poor Fleet.”

  Cookie nodded and, for lack of anywhere else to sit, perched on the edge of the desk. Dylan and Hunter were stationed on the other side of the librarian’s station, effectively blocking her and Winifred from view by any library patrons.

  Or at least they would have if there actually had been any patrons. The place was completely deserted save for one old gent curled up in a nook by the fireplace, reading the paper and puffing on a carved horn pipe. Apparently they weren’t overly concerned about fire safety in the Secret Seal Isle Library.

  It was a lovely place, Cookie had noted as they’d entered. When she and Rain had first arrived on the island, she had thought the big, grand old building was simply a large, handsome house with the good fortune of being placed on the main street, not far from the harbor. Then she’d learned it was the local library. She’d only been inside it once and had meant to return, but somehow never found the time… until now.

  She was pleased to see that the exterior’s impression of a classic manor house carried through the interior, with its high, vaulted ceilings, paneled pocket doors, stained glass windows, and built-in bookcases lining every wall. The rich but faded rugs covering old well-polished hardwood floors and the big, heavy leather sofas and velvet wingchairs only added to the image of a lord’s house.

  And Winifred herself fit that mold, too. Her handsomely ethereal features were only gently lined from age and offset by her snow-white hair that she wore up in a tight bun. Cookie couldn’t help thinking the older woman was the very image of the classic spinster librarian with her antique glasses perched on her nose and her fashion choice of turtleneck, matching cardigan, and heavy skirt.

  Except she was far from being a spinster considering that she’d previously been married and, that by all accounts, she and Fleet had been quiet the torrid pair recently. And her tears and general shock definitely showed that she’d cared for him. “I saw him just last week,” the older librarian said, a spot of color rising to her cheeks. “And he was fit as a fiddle then.” Cookie wondered just what sort of hijinks the couple had gotten up to that caused such a blush, but she chose not to ask. It wasn’t any of her concern.

  “When was that, exactly?” Cookie asked instead.

  “Oh, um, Thursday, I think,” Winifred answered. “We went out.” The blush deepened, turning her cheeks a light shade of maroon.

  “And you haven’t heard from him since then?” Cookie asked. She was glad Dylan and Hunter were both hanging back, letting her conduct this interview. Some people responded better to women, others to men, but she was fairly certain the librarian would never be this open about her relationship if Hunter or Dylan were asking the questions.

  “No, I haven’t.” Winifred sniffed. “Which explains some things. He often sends me little messages throughout the day. She lowered her eyes demurely, making Cookie wonder if those messages hadn’t been quite so innocent. “But when they didn’t come I thought… well it doesn’t matter what I thought.” Cookie could guess Winifred thought Fleet had found a new sexting partner. The thought of the two senior citizens sexting almost made Cookie chuckle, but she swallowed her laugh and asked, “Is there anybody you can think of who might’ve wanted to hurt Fleet?”

  “Hurt him?” Winifred started to shake her head but then stopped and considered it. “No, of course not,” she opined finally. “Everyone loved him.” She laughed. “Oh, he and Lester would mix it up a bit, of course, but that’s just the way they were.” Her eyes had flicked over to Cookie and back down again, however, and in Cookie’s experience that usually meant the person was either lying or just not telling the whole truth.

  Suspicious, Cookie asked, “So he and Lester, they didn’t always get along?” She suddenly remembered the bruise on Lester’s jaw she had previously discounted. This time she believed it might have been courtesy of Fleet’s fist.

  “They loved each other like brothers,” Winifred insisted. “Though, like brothers, they could be at each other’s throats,” she amended more softly. “We used to say that one day we’d wake up and find them both dead at each other’s hands.” Her own hand flew to her mouth as she realized what she’d just said. “You don’t think…?” Her voice trailed off in horror.

  “We don’t know anything yet,” Cookie rushed to assure her. “But we do need to consider all the possibilities. Do you know if they fought recently, him and Lester?”

  “Oh, well…” Winifred’s hand fluttered up to touch her bun, patting it gently. “It was no secret that Fleet and I were dating,” she explained, eyes firmly fixed on her other hand where it rested in her lap. “And not everyone was happy about that. Including my husband, though he lost the right to tell me what to do when I walked out on him. But he wasn’t the only one.”

  Cookie didn’t need any help figuring out who she was referring to. “You’re saying Lester wasn’t happy about you and Fleet.” She thought back to her conversation with Lester, and how he’d smiled when he’d talked about Winifred.

  “He may have been a little sweet on me himself,” she admitted with a true aristocrat’s mix of pride and humility. “I never did anything to encourage him. But I always thought that, while Fleet was the smoother of the two, Lester felt things a lot deeper. Took matters to heart, if you get my drift.”

  Cookie did, but she stated it aloud anyway. “So you think Lester and Fleet might have gotten into it over you,” she asked, “and that could have led to Fleet’s death?”

  “Oh, no. I certainly hope not!” Winifred declared, hands dropping to clamp together in her lap. “But yes, I could see them getting into an argument. Unfortunately. But a fight that led to death? I can’t even fathom that.” But there was something in the elderly librarian’s eyes, a sad acknowledgement that told Cookie she was genuinely considering the possibility. “I’d hate to be the cause of such a tragedy—and I know that Lester would never forgive himself if he’d had anything to do with Fleet’s passing.”

  Cookie was silent, giving the woman a moment to recover from the dark path her mind had just traveled. Then she cleared her throat. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Anyone else who might have had it in for Fleet? Like your husband maybe? You said he wasn’t very happy about the two of you.” After Rain’s brownie date with Jeremy, Cookie didn’t really think he had anything to do with Fleet’s untimely demise, but she had to pull at every thread possible.

  The white-haired librarian jerked her head up and let out a startled laugh. “Jeremy? Hurt Fleet? That would be the day. Did you ever meet Fleet?”

  Cookie nodded.

  “He was a strapping man in his youth and still fit at his age. Jeremy was a ninety-pound beanpole when he was young, and he never beefed up with age.” Her mouth twisted into a grim little smile. “He turned nasty toward me, which is why I left him, but if he’d ever tried raising a hand to me I’d have beaten him like an old rug. No, he wouldn’t have stood a chance against Fleet.”

  There was no doubt Winifred was right about her assessment. Jeremy wasn’t a large man, which could be why he might’ve resorted to poison. Setting that theory aside for the moment, Cookie pressed on. “Let’s get back to Fleet,” she suggested. “Anything else strange that happened with him or to him lately?”

  “Well, there was the melanoma that kept coming back,” Winifred answered after tapping the bridge of her nose a few times. “Did you hear about that?”

/>   “Lester mentioned it,” Cookie said.

  “It gave Fleet a real fright, I can tell you that much. He was convinced this might be the end of the line for him. Put everything into perspective, he told me, and made him realize that there’s no point in putting things off because you never know what tomorrow may bring, or which day will be your last.” She frowned. “I always got the impression he was thinking of something specific when he said that, maybe one of his causes, but what it was I couldn’t say.”

  That was interesting, Cookie thought. A near-death experience could shake anyone and make them change their habits, their views, their relationships. It was entirely possible one or more of those changes had led, directly or not, to Fleet’s death. But it wasn’t much to go on, not without more specifics.

  Still, judging by the fatigue lining the librarian’s face, Cookie had the distinct impression that she’d gotten all she could out of Winifred and that the librarian had reached the end of her emotional stamina as well. So Cookie offered her hand as she rose to her feet.

  “Thank you so much for your time and your help,” she told Winifred, who also stood and clasped hands with her. “We really appreciate it. If you think of anything else, you can always reach me at the inn.”

  “Thank you,” Winifred replied. “I know Fleet would be grateful that such a bright young woman was the one looking into his death.” She gave Cookie a tired smile. “And the fact that you’re so lovely would have tickled him pink.”

  That made Cookie chuckle. “Thanks again.”

  The librarian nodded and waved away Cookie’s gratitude, indicating it was unnecessary. “Stop by any time,” she called out as Cookie turned to go, Hunter and Dylan trailing behind her.

  Cookie took a second to marvel at the warmth evident in the older woman’s voice. She wished she’d made more of an effort to patronize the old library. Who knows, she and Winifred might have become fast friends by now. But she vowed to not be a stranger to this place or to the reserved but engaging woman who ran it.