Asking Fur Trouble Page 12

  I quickly plastered a smile on my face, but I was gritting my teeth. Was I really that easy to read? “Everything is fine.”

  The look he offered told me he didn’t believe me. “Hmm. Can I give a word of advice?”

  I hesitated before giving him a slight nod.

  “When something is bothering me, I usually talk to the ocean.”

  “The ocean?”

  Tate smiled. “Yeah. It feels good to get it off my chest. You know, to sort of vocalize my frustrations or my worries or whatever it is that’s bothering me.”

  “Nothing is bothering me,” I insisted.

  But he continued. “And sometimes, you know what happens?”

  I asked almost grudgingly. “What?”

  His smile deepened. “Sometimes, if I listen close enough, I think I can hear the answer in the waves. Either an answer to the questions in my head or even just a word of comfort. But talking to the ocean always makes me feel better.”

  I stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was being sincere.

  He was.

  I stole a quick glance at the water, at the waves crashing over and over onto the shore. There was something peaceful about the repetition, both visual and auditory, and I felt compelled to move closer, to soak as much of it in as I could.

  “Thanks,” I said to Tate. “Maybe I’ll try that.”

  I tugged on Trixie’s leash and she followed behind me as I headed for the breakers. She kept her nose close to the sand, and I wondered what she was smelling. Was it critters lurking beneath the surface? The lingering scent of sunscreen and bug spray, of spilled soda or crumbs from potato chip bags?

  She stopped well short of the water, just as I kicked off my sandals and touched the first bit of wet sand.

  “Come on,” I said.

  But she wouldn’t budge.

  “Really?” I said. “You’re scared of the ocean?”

  If I could read dog expressions, I would say her answer was an emphatic yes.

  I sighed.

  She was just not going to be a water dog. Ever.

  Just like she wasn’t going to be a tricks dog.

  I shifted my attention back to the water and thought about what Tate had said.

  Talk to the ocean. Tell it your worries. Your problems.

  I took a deep breath and mumbled a few words about Daniel. My questions, my doubts, my concerns…everything came spilling out of me, the words tumbling out almost faster than my mind could form them.

  He was right, I thought. It did feel good, speaking what I was thinking, giving voice to the thoughts that were crowding my mind.

  I stopped talking and cocked my head, listening to the ocean, waiting for the response Tate had promised.

  But all I heard was wave after wave breaking on the shore.

  “Well?” I said. Maybe I hadn’t been loud enough. Maybe the ocean hadn’t heard me. “What do you think?”

  I strained to hear.

  Nothing.

  I raised my voice. “I’m waiting. What do I do now?” I went louder. “You need to tell me what to do!”

  I waited, and my heart skipped a beat when I heard a new sound.

  Finally, the ocean was responding.

  Tate was right!

  But it wasn’t the ocean.

  It was someone standing behind me, clearing their throat.

  I turned around slowly, already knowing who I would see.

  Tate was behind me, his hands shoved into his pockets. He offered me a lopsided smile.

  “Sounds like you might need someone to talk to,” he said. “And I’m not sure the ocean is available right now. But I am.”

  TWENTY THREE

  I didn’t think my cheeks could get any hotter.

  The water was lapping at my feet and for one brief moment, I entertained just walking forward, deeper and deeper into the ocean until I disappeared. I was that mortified.

  But then I remembered Trixie wouldn’t follow me.

  I sighed.

  “I’m sorry,” Tate said quickly. Surprisingly, his cheeks were a little flushed, too. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It was just…well, it was a little hard not to.”

  I nodded. “I think people on the mainland probably heard me yelling.”

  “It wasn’t that loud.” He smiled. “Close, though.”

  I felt a fresh wave of heat rush to my cheeks.

  “You know, sometimes it’s better to talk to people than inanimate objects.”

  “You told me to talk to the ocean,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, I know. But in certain circumstances, people can be a pretty good substitute. Like when you want concrete answers.”

  I looked down at the sand and watched as the water pooled at my feet before being sucked back out to sea. Tiny holes dotted the sand and I knew there were crabs lurking beneath the surface, burrowing, seeking a safe haven. Trixie had sniffed them for a few minutes but soon lost interest and was now staring intently at the waves. Probably trying to figure out why they kept coming and then going.

  And me?

  I was trying to figure out just what I should do.

  Tate Goodman was offering to listen, and I definitely felt like I needed an ear.

  A certain sense of vulnerability had come over me since finding Caroline and everything that had happened in the aftermath. The police chief and his lead detective considered me a prime suspect, no thanks to the chief’s wife, I was sure, and I the one person I thought might be responsible for the murder still didn’t one hundred percent make sense. Throw in all of the other things currently weighing down on me—the whole homeless, jobless divorcee thing—and it probably made sense that I was feeling a little low, a little unsure.

  But was Tate the one I should confide in?

  I stole a quick glance at him, then wished I hadn’t. Those green eyes of his were staring intently at me as he waited for my answer. His lips were curved into a small smile and the ocean breeze teased and tossed his hair.

  He looked like a super model. An approachable super model. A super model who had offered to listen to whatever it was I needed to unload.

  I immediately thought about our encounter at Clancy’s and who he’d been with there. Betsy, the local reporter. His girlfriend.

  I bit back a sigh. As much as that realization disappointed me, I took some comfort in it. I mean, at least he wanted to be friends, and he seemed genuine in his offer to help.

  And I really needed someone to talk to. Someone local. I knew I could call Shannon, knew she would talk as long as I needed to. I also knew she would offer lots of advice…even if I didn’t ask for it.

  But she wasn’t here. She was a thousand miles away.

  I needed someone right now.

  And the person standing in front of me was willing.

  I blew out a breath. “It’s a long story.”

  His smile widened. “I’ve got time.”

  He took a few steps back, retreating from the packed sand to the soft sand behind us, and sat down.

  “What? Here?”

  He looked up at me. “You wanna go somewhere else?”

  I realized I didn’t. It felt good to be outside and on the beach, with the sun setting behind us, the sound of the water creating a white noise background that was unbelievably soothing. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to take the first step toward him.

  But Trixie could. Tate sitting on the sand was an open invitation for her to seek out some pets and she tugged on the leash, bringing me along with her.

  She flopped down next to him and he rubbed her ears. Harry reappeared then, traipsing across the sand to join us.

  “Unhook her,” Tate told me.

  “Trixie?”

  He nodded. “She’ll stay with Harry. Let them run on the beach for a bit.”

  I hesitated.

  “I’ll chase her down if she runs off. I promise.”

  It was as if Trixie knew what we were talking about because she whimpered and pulled on the lea
sh, telling me in no uncertain terms that she wanted off. I unclipped her and she and Harry both sprinted down the sand.

  I watched, feeling the worry build inside of me.

  “They’ll be back,” he said.

  “But she’s already so far…”

  “Just watch.”

  And just like that, both dogs pivoted and started racing back toward us, their bodies like bullets as they hurtled in our direction. They stopped short and immediately began a wrestling match on the sand, with Harry pinning Trixie almost immediately.

  “See?” Tate said. He patted the sand. “Now sit and talk to me.”

  I dropped the leash to the sand and let my body follow suit. I dug my toes into the sand and planted my hands behind me and closed my eyes.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Tate asked.

  I nodded. Some of the stress and worry I’d been feeling ebbed away a little.

  We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes. Tate didn’t try to make conversation or ask questions, which made me relax even more. I was pretty sure that if I told him I’d changed my mind and didn’t want to talk, he would be perfectly okay with that.

  But I did want to talk.

  “I don’t know where to start,” I admitted.

  “How about the beginning?”

  I gave a short laugh. “Then it really will take a while.”

  “And I really do have time.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek, then let out a sigh.

  And I told him.

  About finding Arrow running loose. Returning him to Caroline’s house. Chasing him inside to get my extra leash back. Finding Caroline’s body. Calling the police and instead of them treating me like a witness, they’d decided to treat me like a suspect. Poppy’s less-than-friendly visit. My concerns about Daniel being involved, and his concerns about Ginny being responsible.

  It took me almost a half hour and he didn’t interrupt once, just nodded and grimaced and raised his eyebrows at different times during my monologue.

  “And that’s pretty much it,” I finished.

  He let out a soft whistle. “Wow. All that has happened since Wednesday?”

  I nodded.

  He scooped up some sand and passed it back and forth between his hands, watching as some of the grains sifted between his fingers.

  “So you really think it was Daniel?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I told him. “After the phone call I had with his former sister-in-law, it made me think he really might be behind it. But there are still things that don’t add up.”

  Tate nodded. “And why do you think Ginny might be a suspect? Just based on what Daniel told you?”

  “Mostly,” I said. “I mean, he was the one that suggested I go spy on her at Clancy’s, and he was the one who told me Caroline hated working with her. Amber sort of confirmed that, in a roundabout way, but I still have no idea what went down at the bar on Friday night.”

  “That was the envelope thing, right?” Tate asked.

  “Yeah. She wrote something down and handed an envelope to a guy.”

  He frowned. “Daniel didn’t give any more details?”

  I shook my head. “No. I guess I could ask him but I don’t know…after talking with Lucy, I’m a little…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t know how to describe how I felt about Daniel. I wasn’t scared of him, and I didn’t think he would hurt me, but I felt uncomfortable approaching him with questions about Caroline’s case. Maybe because I didn’t know if I could trust myself to not give away what I’d found out.

  “A little…?” he prompted.

  “A little on edge,” I finished. “I feel like anything I say or do might be used against me, you know? If the police find out. So if I go and poke around, talk to Daniel, and word gets out, Chief Ritter might think I’m trying to pin the crime on someone else or trying to come up with an alibi or whatever.”

  “Why would you think he’d do that? If you have genuine leads to share, wouldn’t he and his team be grateful?”

  “You would think so.” I rolled my eyes. “But when I told them about the missing statue, they completely dismissed me.”

  Tate’s brow furrowed. “Missing statue?”

  I frowned. “Did I forget that part of the story?”

  He nodded.

  “There’s a statue missing from Caroline’s house,” I said. “Amber was convinced it had been there recently, and the dust surrounding where it used to sit backed up what she said. Caroline died of blunt force trauma to the head. But when I went to the station to tell them about the statue, they didn’t think it was important.” I sighed. “I don’t know. I think a missing statue of a lady sitting in a rocking chair, a statue from a house where someone was murdered, might catch their interest. But nope.”

  Tate was staring at me. “What kind of statue did you say it was?” he asked slowly.

  “I haven’t seen it,” I said. “But Amber described it to me. It’s a statue of a woman sitting in a rocking chair. Quilting.”

  His eyes widened. “I saw it!”

  It was my turn to stare at him. “You did? At her house, you mean?”

  “No, no.” He was shaking his head. “At the consignment store in town.”

  My pulse ratcheted up several notches. “You did? When?”

  “Just last week,” he said. “I think Thursday?”

  My heart was now in full-on gallop mode. “Tell me.” My voice was hoarse.

  “I stopped by to grab some stuffed animals for Harry. He loves to tear them apart and the shop has a freebie closet, where they put things that don’t sell. It’s in the back of the store, right where the counter is where people bring in their items to sell.”

  “And you saw it there? Someone had dropped it off?”

  “No, someone was dropping it off. While I was there.”

  I was sure Tate knew what Daniel looked like but I wanted him to describe him to me. “What did he look like?”

  His lips tightened. “It wasn’t a he. It was a woman.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  “Do…do you know who it was?”

  “I think so.”

  My voice came out as a whisper. “Who?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think it was Ginny. Ginny Potter.”

  TWENTY FOUR

  “Ginny?” I repeated.

  “She had a scarf over her head, so I’m not completely sure,” Tate told me.

  I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and quickly opened Caroline’s web address. It took a minute, but I finally managed to open the page I was looking for.

  I held it out to Tate. “Is that her?”

  The screen looked especially bright in the twilight. “Yeah, that’s definitely her.”

  I tried to digest this piece of information.

  It certainly was a new clue, and it helped cast even more doubts on Lucy’s claim that Daniel was the one responsible for her sister’s death.

  More importantly, it thrust Ginny back in the spotlight.

  “What do you think it means?” I asked.

  Tate lifted an eyebrow. “You’re asking me? I rent umbrellas and beach chairs to tourists. I don’t know the first thing about solving crimes. Especially murder.”

  “Neither do I,” I said.

  He scooped another handful of sand. I couldn’t see the grains now—it was too dark—but I imagined they were still falling gently to the beach. “You told this to Chief Ritter? That the statue was missing?”

  I nodded.

  “So we need to let him know what else we know.”

  I squinted, trying to make out his expression in the darkness.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Tate said. “Tell him what I saw.”

  I felt the stirrings of relief. “You will?”

  He nodded. “Why not? If it helps solve the crime and helps clear your name, it’s the least I can do. And he should have no problem seeing that it is a little susp
icious. You know, Ginny having the statue and then getting rid of it at the consignment shop.”

  I expected to feel a wave of relief wash over me but it didn’t come. Apprehension was building instead. Because Tate was thinking about the best-case scenario: the police would believe him.

  And I was beginning to think about the worst.

  What if Chief Ritter thought Tate was lying? What if he decided Tate was really my friend—anyone could have seen us together on the beach just now—and that we’d concocted the whole story to clear my name? The rational part of me pointed out that Tate’s story could be corroborated by the workers at the shop, but the emotional, anxiety-ridden side was convinced that the workers wouldn’t remember…or that the police simply wouldn’t believe them.

  As much as I appreciated what Tate was willing to do, I also suddenly didn’t feel comfortable putting him in that position. Not yet, anyway.

  “I think we should wait,” I said.

  “Wait? For what?”

  It was a great question…and one I didn’t have an answer for.

  “I’d like to go and see the statue,” I said. “Make sure it’s the one that was in Caroline’s house.”

  “How will you know? You said it was already missing.”

  “Amber described it pretty well,” I said. “Maybe I’ll ask her to go with me, to ID it or something. She was pretty concerned when she noticed it was missing.”

  “Don’t you think time is sort of the essence here?” Tate asked. “What if the statue is already gone?”

  “Who’s going to want a statue of a woman in a rocking chair?”

  “Fair enough,” he conceded. “But what about the integrity of the statue as evidence? I don’t know a lot about police work, but it seems to me that the longer it’s out in public and being handled, the more prints it will have on it, which means they might not be able to tie it to the suspect.”

  “But what if it isn’t the same statue? Then I get accused of leading the police on a wild goose chase. Besides, I’m not sure there would be any useful prints at this point. If the people at the shop have handled it and customers have picked it up, there will be a ton on there.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “I still think I should just go to Chief Ritter and tell him what I saw.”