Midnight Mysteries: Nine Cozy Tales by Nine Bestselling Authors Read online

  On the number of people in the room.

  Two adults, it said.

  Curiouser and curiouser. Behind the receipt, the unmarked folder held an inch-thick stack of papers.

  It wasn’t compromising anything if I didn’t move it. Mostly.

  Striding to the tree line, I snapped a forked stick off a low hanging oak branch, hurrying back to the car trunk.

  I hooked one end of the stick under the corner of the folder and flipped, clicking up the flashlight on my phone.

  HGTV letterhead. Salary, 401(k), staff, budget.

  Leaping Louboutins. The stick hit the ground.

  Jessica Fanelli had a new job.

  Had someone killed her to keep her from taking it?

  Planting both hands on my hips, I turned a slow circle. The wind kicked up, howling through the turning leaves.

  “Give me a break,” I muttered, stomping one foot and wincing when it jarred my shoulder. “This woman’s neck was broken, so I’m hunting a flesh and blood killer. And Lord knows I have experience with those.”

  The wind died down.

  I leaned against the van. What did I know?

  Remote location plus mystery companion plus professional jealousy plus dead body…seemed like a pretty straightforward equation.

  “And I’m not even that great at math,” I said to the trees.

  Now if I could just figure out the variables: who was in Jessica’s hotel room the past two nights? And who didn’t want her to leave the show?

  Be a whole lot easier with cell service. I dug my phone out of my pocket, saying a silent prayer as I clicked the screen to life.

  Nope.

  I turned back to Jessica’s rental car, touching the little camera square on my screen and taking photos of every inch of the interior and trunk. The purpose was twofold: maybe I’d missed something.

  Or maybe something would change after I walked away.

  SIX

  I MET PARKER and Mel halfway back to where I’d left Amy and Drew. “There you are!” Mel threw both arms around me with a squeal and I yelped when my stitches strained.

  “Sorry!” She stepped backward and Parker laid one hand on my good arm. “She flipped out when we couldn’t find you. I wasn’t too excited myself.”

  “I told them I was going to check out the parking lot. Found the victim’s rental.”

  “And?” Parker’s brows shot up.

  “Nothing solid. For now, anyway.”

  Wait.

  Nothing.

  I clapped one hand over my mouth. “No bags,” I said through my fingers.

  “Huh?”

  I let my hand drop back to my side. “There was a receipt showing she’d already checked out of her hotel, but I didn’t find a suitcase in the car.”

  “Maybe she left it with the bellman,” Melanie said.

  “Maybe. Or maybe there was something in the bag someone else didn’t want the police to find.”

  Parker nodded, pulling Mel close to him. “What now?”

  “Hang tight and wait for the police.” Possibly come up with something that’ll help them in the meantime. I didn’t say the last part out loud because Parker wouldn’t approve.

  “Where did the other two go?” Mel asked. “The bald guy and his snippy friend?”

  “They were right down there with…” I looked past them, letting the sentence trail. Not a soul in sight. I took a few steps. Where indeed?

  I paused in front of the doors to the pub, my gut twisting. Surely not.

  Nudging the swinging door with my good shoulder, I cleared my throat, trying to keep my eyes off the body slumped over the table. It seemed weird to leave her there, but I knew better than to let anyone tamper with the scene before the police arrived. “Drew? Amy?” It came out at least three octaves too high. “Mrs. McIntosh?”

  No answer.

  A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding escaped as I stepped back—right into Parker. He caught my elbow when I stumbled.

  “Sorry,” I said, catching my balance.

  “Why do you have ‘Detective Nichelle’ face?” His green eyes narrowed. “This is not your job. It’s not even like, tangentially your job. You’re not here to write about murder. You’re here to write a feature. Remember?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I can’t exactly ignore the body,” I whispered. “And keep your voice down. These people don’t know what I do for a living. Or, not the more Nancy Drew-ish parts of it, anyway.”

  “Why do you care?”

  I jerked my head toward the door to the pub. “She was getting set to bolt. Had another job all lined up at HGTV.”

  His mouth fell open. “No kidding?”

  Puzzle pieces started clicking for him, his facial expression morphing from stern to surprised, to oh shit. “So these people…”

  I nodded. “But which one?”

  “Is for the cops to figure out. The only thing worse than being stuck in the woods with a killer is pissing them off by figuring out their game.”

  “So you’d rather not know who we should be afraid of? Then we’re sitting ducks until the cops can get here.”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it before any words escaped. Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he sighed.

  “Some of us aren’t used to dead people popping up in our days.”

  I flashed my most practiced reassuring smile. “It’s a weird thing to be thankful for, but I’m kinda glad I am, at the moment.”

  “All the talk about the ghosts and the dead people before, it has Mel all kinds of freaked out,” Parker said.

  “Listen, no ghost broke this woman’s neck. I’m not sure it’ll help Mel to know we’re facing a carbon-based killer here, but we are. I’m sure of it.”

  “What can I do?” Parker tried for the trademark grin that made women in five counties call for smelling salts on the regular—and got most of them to read our sports page.

  “You stay on Bride duty,” I said. “I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Injured and by yourself? Not hardly.”

  “I’m not challenging anyone to a boxing match. I’m just trying to figure out what happened to this woman.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad I found you!” The high voice came from behind me, nearly sending me out of my skin. I spun on one heel and smiled at Mrs. McIntosh.

  “I wasn’t aware I was missing.” Especially since I’d told her where I was going.

  She sighed. “I just can’t believe such a horrible thing happened here. This is God’s country. People leave doors unlocked. Your nearest neighbor might be five miles down the road, but they’re there if you need them. We haven’t had a tragedy since…” she trailed off. “Well, since the last time there was one here. I’m not much for all their hocus pocus nonsense, but you know… maybe this place is cursed.”

  I watched her eyes well up, inching in front of the door to the pub. Hearing about a body and seeing one are two entirely different animals, and she had to be in an age bracket where the shock of walking up on a corpse wouldn’t be healthy.

  Parker stepped across the space between us, turning so he was shoulder to shoulder with me. And blocking the door. I shot him a thankful smile.

  “I just don’t understand it. It’s been quiet since those faire folks left. A stray bat in the rafters was the most excitement I’d seen here in years until the bear. And now this?”

  Amy’s ghost in the woods. “Do you ever see anyone else? Around here, I mean?” I kept my voice carefully even.

  “Heavens, no.” She shook her head. “I’m happy to look after the place as long as they want to pay me, but it’s not really necessary. We’re too far out in the woods for anyone to stumble across us.”

  Something in her tone sent the hair on my arms up, and my laugh sounded forced because it was. I needed to get rid of her so I could find Amy and Drew and get to the bottom of this mess. “I guess the peace of mind is more important than the money,” I said.

  She shrugged. “My lovies appreciate the ex
tra treats and fancy food.”

  I kept the smile in place, nodding.

  She turned for the back end of the road. “Hope you all get what you came for,” she called with a smile as she waved.

  I kept my eyes on her back until she couldn’t have been in earshot. “You really didn’t see where Amy and Drew went?” I asked Parker.

  “What motive do I have for keeping secrets from you?” he asked.

  “The mistaken idea that it might stop me from digging into this?”

  He shook his head, taking a step toward Mel, who was hanging at the edge of the street. “I know better. We’re going to stay out here and wait for the cops to show.”

  Melanie shook her head. “We aren’t doing any such thing. If Nichelle is poking her nose into this, then so are we.”

  Parker and I both turned dropped jaws on her.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not super fond of ghost stories or slasher movies, but look—we’re here, aren’t we? I can’t just sit here and do nothing while there’s a dead woman in there and Nichelle is off playing Mystery Incorporated. Besides,” she tried for a smile, “the fraidy cat girl who stays put is always among the first people to bite-it in the movies. And I did always want to be in the Scooby gang.”

  I grinned at her earnest tone, and Parker hugged her. “Okay Velma, where have our suspects gotten off to?”

  Mel turned to the blacksmith shop. “You think they went back in there?”

  “Have to start somewhere, right?”

  We hurried across the street as a unit. I winced at the creaky door, poking my head inside.

  Nothing but the gross severed head and piles of equipment. “Strike one,” I sighed, letting the door close. “We’ll get through town faster if we fan out.”

  We split the town down the middle, me peeking into buildings on my own and Parker and Mel together. I watched them dart across the road, wondering what it must be like to have someone you feel safe with there whenever you need. Not that I didn’t feel safe with Joey. I just still wasn’t sure how (or if) my deepening relationship with a sexy businessman who had ties to organized crime was supposed to actually, you know, go anywhere.

  Not that this was the right time to ponder my love life. I swiped dirt off a square windowpane and peered inside the building past the pub. No Drew or Amy, just a loft with rotting bales of hay hanging over the edge, straw fluttering to the dirt floor.

  The barn. Bears. No thanks.

  Four more empty buildings later, I began to wonder if I’d been stupid enough to let them take off.

  Surely they wouldn’t leave without all their electronic ghost hunting doodads.

  I whirled for the blacksmith shop, run-walking as fast as my shoulder would let me.

  Pulling the door just wide enough for me to slip through sideways, I paused to let my eyes adjust to the dim, filtered light.

  Everything still in place, down to the now-particularly creepy faux Jessica Fanelli head.

  My eyes shot to every corner as I edged along the wall, my heels scuffing softly across the dirt floor.

  Quiet as a…well, a ghost town.

  I surveyed the stack of equipment, spotting a purple leather messenger bag propped against the foot of one of the massive lighting rigs.

  Right in front of a black hard-sided Samsonite suitcase.

  Hot damn. Could it be Jess’s?

  I knelt and reached for the zipper tab.

  Locked.

  Of course. Glancing back at the door, I laid the suitcase flat and studied the lock. The built-in kind where the tab of one zipper clicked into a housing on the back of the case.

  The key hole was tiny, too. Could I even fit a pin in there? I pulled one from my hair and straightened it, but the rubber tip kept it from sliding home. I lowered it to my painful-to-move right hand and started bending it back and forth in the center. Four hours (Okay, maybe minutes. Long ones.) later, it snapped in two. Fitting the narrow ends of the wire into both sides of the lock, I wiggled them slightly, trying to figure out if it was a tab or a tumbler.

  Not that I’m an expert lock picker. But Joey had taught me about a few things besides weak-kneed kisses and shady sources.

  Ten seconds before I could give up, the first tumbler slid.

  My heart threatening to jackhammer right through my sweater, I wriggled the second one and whispered a quick prayer.

  Pop.

  The zipper slid free.

  I dropped both pins into my pocket and pulled, crossing the fingers of my good hand as I lifted the lid.

  Five pairs of boxer briefs, a stack of neatly folded Polos, three pair of jeans and a bottle of Cool Water.

  Drew.

  Damn.

  I tapped a finger on the zipper’s teeth, glancing at the door again.

  All quiet.

  Lifting the jeans and the shirts got me nowhere, but under the boxers (They were clean, right? Right.), I found a little black leather book.

  Sitting back on my heels, I opened it to the ribbon-marked page. Dated today.

  She’s really going. I found her signed contract in her bag and she didn’t even bother to deny it. It’s a dream opportunity to live and work in Paris, and she’d be a fool to stay. I suppose I’m the real fool for thinking I mattered.

  Flipping back a few pages, I found a photo of Drew and Jess at the orchard in Charlottesville, holding cups of cider and smiling in front of the haze-tinged vista from the mountaintop.

  So he was the mystery hotel plus one. And he didn’t know she was planning to take off.

  Enough for motive to break her neck by itself? No. At least mildly circumstantial? Sure.

  Added to his failure to mention spending the night with her? Better than nothing.

  I raised my phone and snapped quick photos of the pages, settling the journal back in place and checking the pockets in the top of the suitcase. Toothbrush, hair goop, and shower gel.

  Clicking the lock shut, I put the suitcase back where I’d found it, turning to the purple bag.

  Three file folders, a laptop, and a clipboard.

  I pulled the latter free, scanning the top page. A shot list with notes on each building. Before I could flip the page, Amy’s voice registered from outside.

  “Fine. Do every bloody thing your way. Jess wouldn’t stand for it, but I guess without her around to tell you what to do, you get to be an artist or some bollocks, yeah?”

  I flipped the bag shut and stood, flattening myself against the wall behind the lights.

  “Jess appreciated my vision,” Drew’s voice was low and tight.

  “So much she was leaving you. On both counts.” Amy’s dripped sarcasm, further away than before. “Don’t push me, you bloody idiot. Let’s just get the shot done and get the hell out of here. Like it or not, we still have a show—” The last word dissolved into a shriek Janet Leigh would’ve been proud of, followed by a crash that shook the wall behind me.

  Again? The edges of the clipboard digging into my fingers, I broke into a run, ignoring my shoulder’s protest of every stride.

  SEVEN

  I SKIDDED TO a stop thirty feet from them, raising my phone and firing off a couple of photos. Either would’ve convinced any jury Drew was our killer.

  Amy lay on the ground amid a small explosion of shattered glass and plastic, one shin bent at an impossible angle and blood flowing across her forehead to the dirt.

  Drew stood over her holding a large black metal cylinder, a blank look on his ordinarily handsome face.

  Great. I caught him right in the act. Now what?

  I stepped backward, my heel hitting the loudest twig that ever snapped in the history of the world.

  Drew’s head swiveled my direction, then to the large thing in his hands. His eyes flicked to Amy. Back to me. He chucked the metal thing like it weighed less than my toy Pomeranian and stepped toward me.

  “No, wait,” he said.

  “Stay there,” I called, my voice so strong and clear I impressed m
yself.

  Running footfalls rounded the corner. “Clarke?”

  Parker. Thank the Lord.

  Mel let out a gasp behind me, and Parker’s hand landed on my good shoulder. “What’s up?” he asked. I didn’t have to look to know his eyes were on Drew and Amy.

  “I think this picture is worth more than a thousand words,” I murmured.

  “You don’t understand—” Drew began.

  “Let me give it a shot,” I said. “Your girlfriend was getting ready to bail on both you and this ‘passion project’ you believe so strongly in. So you fought. She’s dead. Maybe an accident, maybe not—that’s for the police to decide. Then you thought Amy might have figured something out, so you attacked her.”

  “Sounds pretty logical to me.” Parker stepped forward.

  Drew shook his head. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. The same green pallor I’d seen this morning washed over his skin. “I loved her.” His voice broke, his eyes going in the direction of the pub. “This place. This bloody curse. We should never have come here.”

  A guttural scream tore from his throat before he bolted, sprinting into the trees.

  Parker swore under his breath, jumping forward. I reached for his arm. “Leave it. The cops will find him.” I turned to Mel, eyeing her orange scarf. “Can I borrow that?”

  Kneeling next to Amy, I pressed the scarf to her head wound, ears pricked for any sort of sound coming from the trees.

  “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” Parker asked from his perch on a stump near the tree line.

  Mel peered at Amy’s leg. “This is broken. She needs a doctor,” she said.

  I nodded. “Now, we wait. Try to help her as best we can and hope the cops hurry.” I checked my phone. “It’s almost two. Maybe they’re getting close.”

  “I can’t believe the guy would just kill his own girlfriend,” Parker said, his voice deepening with melancholy. “How could you do such a thing to someone you love?”

  “You have no idea how glad I am to see you so distraught about that.” Mel laughed.

  Amy’s forehead twitched and I leaned closer. “Amy? Can you hear me?”