My Killer Vacation — Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Taylor

rom the corner of my eye, I watch Myles’sF motorcycle drive past the house for the second time in an hour. The sky is beginning to darken, the smell of Saturday barbeques is in the air. Some cloud cover has drifted in, as it is wont to do on the Massachusetts coastline. There is a chance of rain, as usual, but it isn’t stopping vacationers from enjoying the ocean, their flower- laden wraparound porches and big, frosty pitchers of margaritas or cans of beer. The sound of laughing children and conversing adults drifts up from the beach on the snatches of music, breezing in through the open windows of the rental house.

I’m in the kitchen chopping up radishes. Onions are pickling in a bowl beside the sink.

Myles doesn’t know what he’s missing. I make insane tacos.

What is the big deal about coming to dinner, anyway?

It’s just food.

My knife pauses in the act of cutting a radish sliver.

What happened last night shouldn’t happen again, all right? I’m responsible for letting it get that far and I’m sorry. But I just want to solve this case and get back to hunting bounties. There’s no room for a diversion.

I’m distracting him. That’s why he won’t come eat my

delicious taco.

Tacos. Plural.

I’ve had some time to reflect since we came back from the disastrous snorkeling outing. I took a really long bath and walked on the beach while Jude read a Sedaris book in the backyard hammock. And I’m beginning to develop a suspicion. When I told Myles this relationship was temporary and I wouldn’t tangle him up in strings, he

clearly didn’t believe me.

Why would he?

I invited him to dinner. I told him about my childhood. I cried in front of him.

For godsakes, Taylor. The least I can do isact like hookup material. Of course he keeps retreating. He’s being…decent. Isn’t he? He’s trying to do the right thing by keeping me at arm’s length. Not only for the good of his investigation, but because he obviously doesn’t believe I can have a totally guilt-free, uncomplicated fling.

And maybe, just maybe…he’s right.

I don’t know what happened this morning, but when he carried Jude to the car, I might have felt a weird flop in my chest. A very noticeable one. That flop sent reverberations

all the way down to my toes and I…well. I did what any red- blooded woman would do when she experiences a very

distinct chest flop.

I came straight home and Googled him.

Detective resigns after kidnapping case misfire.

When I saw the headline, I almost closed the browser tab. What kept me scrolling was the picture of Myles.

Clean-shaven with dark, close-cropped hair, coming down the steps of a government building in a suit. All of his distinct lines were there. The brawn of his shoulders and the brittle irritation of his jaw. But he looked so different.

Younger, less road weary.

I already knew the beginning of the story. Myles was working the Christopher Bunton case. But the three-year- old article helped fill in the blanks. He focused the investigation on the wrong suspect. A neighbor with a record of assault. A man with no alibi. A loner. But it had turned out to be the stepfather, a man heavily involved in the investigation and respected in the community who also wanted more freedom. Less of a financial strain on his bank account. He’d conspired with his sister to take Christopher across state lines and sell him to a couple he’d found on the internet who were willing to pay for an under-the-table adoption. By the time the investigation shifted, Christopher had been living in his new home for a month. In bad conditions. Not being fed properly. Sharing a room with four other children. Sent out every day to beg on the street

and bring home what he earned.

Traumatized Boy Returned to His Mother.

That was the second article that mentioned Detective Myles Sumner.

He’d failed to mention he’d solved the case. Brought the boy home.

Of course he’d completely left that part out.

Myles is mean and rough—actually, more like serrated— around the edges and spectacularly crass. But thanks to him continuously proving he’s more than just his bad temper and surly attitude, I am utterly intrigued by him and my attraction to him is sprouting teeth. Sharp ones that dig in a little more every time he rumbles past on his bike and I feel the vibrations on my inner thighs, my belly twisting long and low. I’ve been left hanging twice now, reaching a sexual high and not seeing it through to completion and I’m not going to lie, it’s beginning to get to me.

Bright and early tomorrow morning, I’m going to the

local sex toy shop.

Needs must.

I must.

There is no way I can make it another five days without an orgasm after being driven so thoroughly to the edge. I’m going to buy the newest model they’ve got with all of the bells and whistles and then I’m going to take it with me on the longest clawfooted bath time in history. Tomorrow

morning, this vacation truly begins.

Myles rides past on his bike again.

I stab a radish with the tip of my butcher knife.

Something is different this time, though. He stops and parks outside of the house. I hear a woman’s voice mingle

with his guttural tone. Is he talking to someone? Setting down the knife, I leave the kitchen and cross the living room to look out the front window.

Lisa Stanley. Oscar’s sister is outside. She’s halfway up the steps to our porch, but she appears to have stopped to speak with Myles.

“I just thought I would swing by to check on the house.

And the Basseys, of course,” she says brightly. “The broken window is being replaced tomorrow and I wanted to make sure they’ll be here to let the men in.”

Myles’s grunt reaches me through the door. My mouth tugs at one end.

I’m starting to enjoy his caveman sound effects.

The silence ticks by.

“Anyway,” Lisa sings awkwardly. “I’m sure you’re busy with the investigation we hired you for…”

“I’ll be coming in with you. I have some questions to ask you, anyway.”

The bounty hunter’s tone leaves no room for discussion.

Is he…suspicious of Lisa? Before that question is fully formed, I’m shaking my head. Ofcourse he’s suspicious of her. Everyone is a suspect to Myles. Except us now, thankfully.

Not wanting to be discovered hovering behind the door, I open it and give Lisa a sad smile. I can’t imagine what this week has been like for her. “Hi Lisa. How are you?”

She’s obviously relieved to see me after Myles’s abrupt greeting. “I’m hanging in there, darling. How are you?”

I’m slightly caught off guard when Oscar’s sister embraces me. With my chin unexpectedly perched on her

shoulder, I watch Myles jolt forward on the stairs, his fingers flexing at his sides, like he wants to reach for me.

Or us? What is up with him?

“Hey Myles,” I murmur.

He dips his chin at me, his gaze intense but guarded.

“Taylor.”

I tug out of Lisa’s arms and gesture to the house.

Through the screen door, I can hear Jude hobbling in from the backyard. “We’re about to have tacos if you want to join us. I just have to brown the meat.”

“Oh no, I won’t keep you,” Lisa says, rubbing at the back of her neck. Probably because Myles is drilling a hole in it with his eyes. Oscar’s sister glances back at him with noticeable nerves. “Will you be here tomorrow between one and three? I just need you to let in the window guys for a few hours.”

“Of course. I’ll make sure one of us is here.”

Jude darkens the doorway to my right and holds out two uncapped beers to our visitors. “Thank God you’re both here,” says my brother. “Someone has to help us drink all this beer.”

Chuckling, Lisa only hesitates a second before wrapping her hand around one of the bottles. “I’ll just have a few sips. Lord knows I earned it. Today has been the day from hell. The second one this week!”

I gesture for Lisa to come inside and she glides past me, linking her arm with the one Jude offers. He explains his injury to our temporary landlord on their way over to the kitchen where Jude offers her one of the stools placed in a row along the island, then takes one across from her. Myles

watches them over the top of my head, a muscle ticking in

his jaw.

“What is up with you?” I whisper.

“Just stay close to me.”

He doesn’t give me a choice. He’s hot on my heels all the way back to the kitchen, positioning himself with a hip against the counter adjacent to the stove. His attention seems to be everywhere at once. On Lisa, on the meat I’m cooking. He tips my elbow up a little when I’m adding the chili powder and I smack his hand away—and the action causes an immediate pause in Lisa and Jude’s conversation.

“You two certainly seem to be well acquainted,” Lisa remarks, turning my face crimson.

“That buoy was a clear threat. She could have been hurt.” He is staring at Lisa with such intense speculation, it’s a wonder she hasn’t burst into flames. “I plan to find out who did it. In the meantime, the Barnstable PD can’t spare a patrol car to watch their Connecticut asses, so it’s just going to be me. For now.”

“You requested protection for us?” I ask, my spatula suspended in animation.

“I asked for protectionin addition to me. I wouldn’t trust you to someone else.” He takes a long pull of his beer.

“You’re going to burn that meat, half pint.”

So I am.

I fumble with the burner knob, twisting it into the off position. “What do you care if I incinerate it? You said you wouldn’t have dinner with us.”

“That was before I smelled what’s going on here.” He jerks his chin at the kitchen island where I’ve set up the

taco bar. “You pickling those onions?”

“That’s right.”

This time, his grunt has the clear ring of approval.

I’m shaking my head at him and smiling at the same time. I’m losing my mind. “Excuse me,” I say, shooing him back a few steps so I can get a bowl out of the cabinet he’s blocking. Before everyone got here, I was climbing up onto the counters to retrieve various serving dishes, since they are all on the top shelf. Now I stand there, frowning at the big bowl on the top ledge, waffling over doing the same thing with an audience. Especially the landlord.

“What do you need?” Myles asks, setting down his beer.

I point at the bowl on the highest shelf. His lips jump, but thankfully he manages to hold in whatever joke he wants to make about my vertical challenges. He steps into my personal space before I have a chance to move out of the way, his hand sliding along the small of my back to my hip, settling there. Squeezing. Twisting a bolt in my abdomen that seems to be connected directly to my sex. All while he easily plucks the serving bowl off the upper shelf.

Apparently I’ll be going vibrator shopping tonight, instead of tomorrow morning.

The speculative silence from Lisa and Jude is deafening.

“Um. Lisa.” I wet my parched lips. “Why has it been the day from hell?”

She groans loudly. After a moment of digging through her purse, she pulls out a neon green flyer and smacks it down on the island. “Would you look at this…this crusade to ruin the livelihoods of honest, business-savvy people? It’s Mayor Robinson again. Coming after folks like my brother

for renting homes. Homes theyown. This whole rigamarole about the peepholes is only adding fuel to her fire.”

Myles and I trade a look. He shakes his head very slightly and it’s obvious what he’s telling me. Don’t say anything about the press conference in front of Oscar’s house. I have to assume that means he doesn’t want me mentioning anything else about this morning, either, including the letter we found in the floorboard.

Jude picks up the flyer, gaze traveling across the page.

“She wants to put a ban on vacation rentals in Cape Cod?”

It’s a good thing I haven’t gotten around to telling Jude.

I haven’t told him a lot about developments in the case because a. I don’t want him to worry that I’m too involved.

And b. because I want him to focus on relaxing. Leave the murder to me.

“Yes, she does.” Lisa already has most of her beer drained. “To be fair, she is getting a lot of heat from the year-round residents to make changes. They don’t like the constant turnover of out-of-towners. A few loud parties are ruining it for the rest of us.”

“Don’t forget a murder,” Myles interjects, bottle poised in front of his lips.

“That is hardly dinner conversation,” I whisper at him, accompanied by an elbow nudge. To Lisa, I say, “Do you think the mayor will succeed?”

“I don’t know. She’s holding a big rally in town tomorrow. It’s building steam.” Lisa sighs and slumps in her stool a little, but when I set down the bowl of meat and plate of taco shells, gesturing for everyone to dig in, she begins piling her plate with the rest of us. “You know…”

starts Oscar’s sister. “I’ve been thinking.” She glances toward the back bedroom. “What if that buoy was meant as a warning for me?”

“What would the suspect be warning you about?” Myles gives me a pointed look. “It’s not likeyou’re meddling in the investigation. You’re not involved.”

“My boyfriend hired you,” Lisa points out.

Myles adds enough hot sauce to his taco to kill a goat.

“Yes. But if we’re operating under the belief that whoever threw the buoy through the window also killed your brother, they are almost definitely aware you don’t live here, Ms. Stanley. They’re close enough to the investigation to know the Basseys relocated to this rental property.”

Perhaps that fact should have occurred to me before, but it hasn’t. Not until now.

“You think we’re being watched.” When did I move closer to the bounty hunter? I don’t know, but his ample body heat keeps me from losing my appetite completely.

“Are we definitively ruling out the random buoy theory?”

“That was never a theory,” Myles answers, chomping into his taco. He chews for a few seconds while I try desperately not to name his throat muscles. Connor, Wilson, Puck…Jameson. “This is a good fucking taco.”

The race is on to stem the flow of pride that races through me. I don’t manage it. At all. “Thank you. I know.” I take a normal, human-sized bite of my taco. “Aren’t you glad you decided not to be stubborn?”

He tosses the other half of the taco into his mouth. The whole other half. “Yeah,” he says around the bite. “Could have added a little more chili powder, though.”

“You had to ruin it.” I kick him in the shin.

He pokes me in the side, eyes twinkling, his attention

drifting down to my butt.

He drains his beer.

My hips press unconsciously to the island, goosebumps rising on my neck. Down my arms. Dear Jesus, how late does this sex shop stay open? I swear if I get there and the doors are locked, I’m going to cut a hole in the ceiling and rappel in like James Bond.

“What makes you think the buoy was meant for you, Lisa?” I ask.

She shrugs jerkily. “Just a weird feeling I’ve been having. Like…I don’t know. An eerie presence is following me around.” Her laughter is forced. “I’m sure the weird feeling has been brought on by the terrible way my brother died.”

I reach across the island and squeeze her forearm.

“You’re traumatized. Of course.”

Jude hands Lisa a napkin to wipe her eyes, patting her back with a comforting hand.

I lean sideways a little too dramatically, trying to see

some actual tears.

Come on, woman, give me one.

Myles tosses a picture of the potential murder weapon down right in the middle of the taco bar. “Do you recognize

this gun?”

“Myles,” I gasp.

He weighs my outrage, then visibly decides to proceed anyway, the jerk. “Lisa?”

With a heavy swallow, she picks up the photograph. “I don’t recognize it.” She lets it drift back down to the island.

“Paul keeps a Beretta locked up in a safe. That’s the only

weapon I have access to.”

“I didn’t ask if you had access to it.”

She pauses in the act of reaching for a second taco shell, drawing her hand back slowly. Me and Jude are staring at each other like stone statues, eyebrows up near our hairlines. It reminds me of how we would freeze during rare arguments between our parents, not knowing how to intervene or if we should leave the room. “I’m going to head home. Oscar’s estate lawyer is dropping off a bunch of documents bright and early in the morning and he claims they’re important,” Lisa says finally, smile tight, sliding off the stool. “Don’t forget to let in the window guys tomorrow

afternoon.”

“We’re on it,” Jude says, saluting her.

Myles growls until she’s out the door.

I start to follow in her footsteps, intending to engage the lock behind her, but Myles hooks a finger in the back waistband of my skirt and tugs me backward, performing the task himself.

“Lisa is your main suspect, isn’t she?” I whisper when he returns. “Oh my gosh, that was like something straight off the ID channel. I didn’t see it coming. I mean, of course it’s always the people closest to the victim, but—”

“Take a deep breath, half pint.”

Jude slides me his beer and I take several gulps.

“You caught her off guard with the picture on purpose, didn’t you?” This comes from Jude.

Myles shrugs. Goes back to doctoring a second— possibly third taco.

“Come on, bounty hunter. Give us something.” I give him a flirtatious shoulder shimmy, but he only looks exasperated by it. “Don’t I get brownie points for finding the murder weapon?”

“Ballistics haven’t come back yet.” He frowns at me while devouring the taco. Is he caving on sharing information with us? He looks like he’s caving. I give another shoulder shimmy, just in case, and he sighs. “Spoke to Oscar Stanley’s lawyer today. Lisa Stanley is the beneficiary of her brother’s estate. All of these rentals become hers now.”

My brother and I slap the island in unison. “Follow the money trail,” Jude says. “Don’t I always say follow the money trail?”

“Yes. You do.” I nod at Myles. “He does. Any time we watchDateline together. My brother has a very analytical brain. It’s incredible.”

“Great,” Myles says dryly. “Look, it’s not a wrap. She’s just a person of interest. To me, anyway. The cops still have

a hard-on for the father.”

“I’ve seen that porn.”

“Jude!” I snort. Then I click an imaginary pen and get down to business. “So. Currently our suspects are Judd Forrester, Lisa Stanley and Sal next door?”

The bounty hunter’s eyebrows draw together. “I never said Sal was a suspect.”

“Don’t you watchFear Thy Neighbor? Salhates renters.

Oscar owned four properties on this block alone. Couldn’t

the revolving doors on all sides of his house drive Sal to a murder of passion?”

“There are a few holes in that theory.” He ticks them off on his long fingers. Donot name his fingers. Joe, Hubert, Rambo… “One, this wasn’t a crime of passion. Whoever murdered Oscar Stanley waited until the whole town was occupied with Fourth of July celebrations. Not to mention utilizing the fireworks to mask the sound of gunfire. All of that speaks to premeditation. Two, Sal nearly shit his pants when I told him to leave you alone or risk having that broom handle shoved up his ass. And three, he was at a barbeque in Provincetown on the night of the murder.

Confirmed by several witnesses.”

“Wow.” I’m so turned on I can barely breathe. “You’ve done a lot of work.”

He gives me a meaningful look. “That’s why I’m here.”

I’m back to wanting to kick him. “So right now, the suspects are Lisa and Forrester?”

“For now. Forrester has an unregistered Glock—like the one you found on the beach, Taylor. Barnstable PD brought him back in for questioning and he claims it isn’t his. I still don’t like him for the murder, but obviously we can’t rule him out.”

Jude hobbles to the fridge for another beer. “Okay, moving on to the second person of interest. Why would Lisa want the murder investigated ifshe pulled the trigger?”

“The perp likes to insert themselves into the investigation,” I murmur, recalling what Myles told me yesterday, echoing the criminal trait I’ve heard many times

before onEtched in Bone. They always return to the crime

scene.

Something else occurs to me and I gasp.

“If the murderer ends up being Lisa, you’ll have to break the news to your friend, Paul.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat hard, sets down his half- eaten taco. “I’m heading out now. Lock the door behind me.

Keep the windows closed and secure. I’m going into town to check in with the police, then I’ll be back.”

This is it. My chance to sneak out to the sex shop. I’m going to walk straight in there and ask for the vibrator with

the earthquake setting.

“Sounds good,” I respond with a grin.

His eyes narrow suspiciously at my bright tone and I busy myself with cleaning up.

Myles looks like he wants to say something, but he turns and leaves, closing the door with a firm click behind him.

Jude steps into my line of vision. “All right. What are you up to?”

There are some things a girl can’t even tell her non- judgmental best friend/brother. As in, I’m so hard up for an orgasm that I’m sneaking out while there is a murderer on the loose. “Nothing.” I hide my face behind a cabinet, pretending to search for something. “That was me trying not to point out to Myles that he’s finally sharing clues. I was trying to be casual.”

“Right.” Jude opens his mouth to say more, but his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks at the screen, shoving it right back into hiding. “If you’re

sneaking out behind Mad Myles’s back, I’m coming with

you, though. Just to be safe.”

“I’m going to buy a vibrator,” I blurt.

“Cool.” He limps over to the counter and scoops up his keys, waggling his eyebrows at me when the roar of the motorcycle engine recedes into the darkness. “I’ll grab a drink at the closest bar while you browse.”