Chapter 7
Lori ended the call and couldn’t help but feel a small sense of excitement, and yet a sense of calm had settled from the moment she heard his voice on the other end of the phone. He’d obviously been asleep, but his voice was practically dripping sex—but then Ryker McKay was pretty much sex-on-a-stick, so that made sense. There was also something in the way he’d just assumed she was innocent of strangling Cobain that had made her nerves settle.
She set her alarm for a little earlier than she might have if she hadn’t been meeting Ryker for breakfast.
Settling down in the comfy bed, she pulled the covers up, closed her eyes and was soon fast asleep.
Her night was a jumble of frightening dreams intermixed with sexy ones. Ryker McKay seemed to star in both. The worst part was that when she exited from the shower, she took a long look at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she was attractive; she was. But McKay was take-your-breath-away gorgeous. He needed to be with a supermodel, not a romance author who had yet to really break out and become a Jessica Murdoch or a Christie Crofton. Even Fiona seemed to be enjoying a real resurgence in her career. She was happy for all of them; she just didn’t feel she was in McKay’s league.
Deciding not to look like she was dressing for a date, as opposed to a business meeting, Lori was ready far ahead of when she needed to be. She opened up her laptop and jotted down a few notes from last night. She’d share some of them with Ryker, but if she was being honest, she was also making notes to use down the road in a novel. Jess was right; everything was grist for the mill.
Her phone rang. Looking at her caller ID, she had to grin. Somehow the four of them were bound together by a kind of link or thread. It wasn’t that they could read each other’s minds or anything, but it seemed when one of them needed the other, they knew it. It was Jess. Just the person she needed to talk to.
“Hi, you. When I heard the phone, I knew it must be you,” said Lori.
“Are you okay? Thorn just heard through the grapevine that Antony Cobain was killed last night.”
“I witnessed it.”
There was an audible sigh from the other end. Lori grinned; she was so happy Jess had called.
“Thorn was afraid of that,” said Jessica. “He knew you were in Bleak Ridge so when he heard the rumor, he called the police department. The detective there told him they had everything well in hand. When Thorn mentioned he had a friend in town at the author’s convention, that dick—and I mean that in both ways—couldn’t get him off the phone fast enough.”
“Doesn’t MCU handle most of the murders in the state?”
“Yeah, but there’s a whole procedure they have to go through if they aren’t invited. Mind you, most cops are happy to have their help; but not the jackass detective there. You should know he has applied to MCU a number of times and can’t even get an interview.”
“Well, he wasn’t very nice and treated me more like a suspect than a witness,” said Lori.
“Hey, babe,” Jessica called out to Thorn. “Dickhead is treating Lori like he thinks she did it.”
“Sounds like Middleton.” Lori could hear Thorn speaking to her friend. “He wouldn’t know his ass from a hand grenade. Tell her if he even looks like he’s going to arrest her or violate her rights in any way, shape, or form she’s to call Ryker McKay. He’s a friend and publishes the local newspaper. He’ll run interference until Slade or I can get there.”
“Did you hear Thorn?” asked Jessica.
“I did. In fact, I met McKay briefly at the signing yesterday. We’re meeting this morning for breakfast. He wants to interview me, but I called him last night, so I think that’ll be the main subject of our meeting.”
“Are you okay? I don’t think you ever told me.”
“I didn’t, but I am. It was kind of awful.”
“What happened?”
“I was taking a walk, and something caught my attention. I saw the murderer kill Cobain…”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t know. If he did, I don’t think he saw me well enough to identify me. He took off in a boat, and I ran down to see if Cobain—although I didn’t know it was him until I turned him over—was dead or if I could help.”
“I take it he was dead?”
“I’m afraid so. Jess, he had a vintage typewriter ribbon pulled tight around his neck. I told the detective, but I don’t that he added anything to my initial report.”
“From what Thorn says about the guy, he probably didn’t. If you’re meeting with McKay, Thorn says you’re in good hands, and he’ll call in the cavalry if you need them. Bye, sweetie.” She could hear Jess kissing Thorn.
“I’m going to assume you were talking to Thorn.”
Jess laughed. “Yes, but now that he’s gone, please tell me you’re going to try and figure this out.”
“But of course,” Lori laughed.
“Oh goodie,” Jessica said deviously. “Fiona tells me McKay is pretty dishy…”
“Fiona knows?”
“No. McKay flew over after the wedding and took pictures for them.”
Lori groaned. “Tell me she’s not trying to set me up with him.”
“I don’t think even Fiona would go to the extreme of killing Cobain, although whoever did it, did the world a favor. She just mentioned that one of us might throw a party and make sure you were both invited. I, of course, then looked him up online. He’s not just dishy, the guy is romance cover model material.”
“God save Christie and me from the two of you. And on that subject, have you and Thorn set a wedding date?”
It was Jessica’s turn to groan. “No, and I think my excuses are starting to wear a little thin.”
“Don’t you want to marry him?” Lori asked, concerned.
“I don’t have an objection to getting married to him, I just never saw myself as being married. Don’t get me wrong, I love the man with every fiber of my being. It just seems like one of those milestones in life. You know—you grow up and find a great job, get married, and then you die.”
“So, you’re telling me you think if you don’t get married, you’ll never die?” Lori asked, laughing.
“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound silly. We’ll figure it out. Either I’ll get my head screwed on straight or Thorn will do it for me.”
Lori laughed. “I have faith in his ability to screw you into anything he wants.”
“God, you and me both. I just wanted you to know if you need anything we’re here for you—all of us.”
“I know, but I appreciate you calling. I’d better get going. We’re meeting down in the bistro for breakfast.”
“Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That doesn’t leave much out.”
“No, but it makes for a fun and exciting breakfast date.”
“It’s not a date…”
“Sure it isn’t. Just remember both Fiona and I said the same thing. Have fun!”
Jessica ended the call before Lori could make a retort. Instead, she stared at her phone and stuck her tongue out. Feeling only a little bit silly, she grabbed her bag and her laptop and headed down to the lobby. She could see the event planner headed her way with a determined look. She didn’t want to get into the details of what had happened last night so made a speedy exit out of the hotel.
The minute she hit the sidewalk, she deeply regretted not putting on her coat. It wasn’t just a ‘chilly morning,’ as the local weather person had deemed it; it was damn cold. Thankfully, the bistro was literally next door.
“Ms. Sykes?” said the waitress. “Ryker’s sitting at the table in the back. What can I get you to drink? I got Ryker his coffee—it’s actually a caramel latte.”
“Ooh, that sounds good. I’ll try one of those.”
“Right away.”
Lori made her way to the back booth—the same one she’d sat in yesterday morning. Along the way, two people stopped her to ask her to sign books they had with them. She caught Ryker’s eye and smiled. He nodded and grinned at her but stood when she got closer to him.
“Good morning,” he said. “You didn’t wear a coat?”
“Foolish me. When the weather girl said ‘chilly,’ that’s what I thought she meant.”
“Well, there’s ‘chilly’ and then there’s ‘Maine chilly;’ anything that doesn’t freeze the ocean solid isn’t cold.”
“Good to know. Sorry about having to stop for those readers.”
He waved it off. “No need to apologize. If people know your work well enough to stop you, that’s a good thing.”
“I think so. This is only my second event, and it’s the first time people have come to see me, not just an ‘oh, since we’re here…’ kind of thing.”
“It’s fun being recognized for your talent.”
“I’ll bet you had the same kind of thing when you worked for the Associated Press.”
“Not so much. If I’d been on television or something, maybe, but for the most part people didn’t recognize me at all, which given what I did was usually a good thing.”
“Ahh, the use of the sherpa.”
Ryker laughed. He had a great laugh. “You remembered. One of the reasons I needed the sherpa was that the totalitarian regime I was reporting on didn’t want me or my story to get out, so they had circulated my picture and put a price on my head.”
“They put a bounty on you?” she asked, askance.
He nodded. “Yes. Dictators aren’t big believers in a free press.”
“That would kind of figure, right?”
“Exactly.”
The waitress arrived and set her caramel latte down in front of her, giving her a menu and holding the other one in her hand. “Do you need one or are you having your usual?”
“If I had something else it wouldn’t be my usual now, would it?” he teased.
He had an easy charm and friendly, flirtatious demeanor.
“So, what’s your usual? Yesterday I just had bacon and pastries.”
“They make one of the best croque madames on the Eastern seaboard.”
“Those have a fried egg, don’t they?” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “I can only tolerate eggs in an omelet, and then only after ten.”
“Then, in that case, order the croque monsieur. It’s basically the same as the madame—thin slices of ham, lots of grated Gruyere on crusty sourdough slathered in a decadent Mornay sauce.”
“Sold!” she said, handing the menu back to the waitress who flashed McKay a dazzling smile before she left.
“In the spirit of transparency, I got a call from Thorn Wilder.” Lori groaned. “Oh, he doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re one of his fiancé’s closest friends. He knew you were here, heard about the murder, which of course Middleton has not classified as murder yet, and wanted me to make sure you knew you had an ally.”
“I take it he holds the same opinion of the detective that you do.”
“As does anyone who’s ever had to spend more than ten minutes with the guy. He’s not the brightest bulb on the holiday tree, and he compounds that with a fairly nasty disposition.”
“I talked to Jess this morning. I was told if Middleton gave me trouble to call you. I got the feeling he thought you’d run interference or call him. I don’t want you to feel obligated. I’m all grown up and come from Chicago.”
“Don’t take offense. Trust me, Thorn didn’t mean anything insulting. He’s just had to deal with Middleton and his like before. They don’t like calling the MCU. Instead of seeing it as helpful and allowing them to do other things, they want to solve the flashy crimes themselves and/or at least take the credit.”
“From what I’ve seen, neither Slade nor Thorn care much for the limelight.”
“Precisely, and that’s what makes them good cops. So, how’d you get into being a mystery novelist?”
“I blame Mary Stewart. When my friends were reading Nancy Drew, I was reading Mary Stewart. I loved her books. A good mystery with a romantic subplot. There were times those books and trying to figure out ‘who done it’ got me through. I’d dreamed of doing it, so when my aunt passed, she left me the money to take a sabbatical from teaching and give it my best shot.”
“From what I can see, it seems like it’s going well.”
“Not bad. I’m going to have to let the school know if I’m going to come back.”
“Which way are you leaning?”
“I thought a lot about that on the train coming out. I can’t imagine going back. I may never make the kind of money Jess makes…”
“Money isn’t everything.”
Lori nodded. “No, it isn’t, and I have loved being a full-time author. I think if I sell my place in Chicago and move somewhere with a cheaper cost of living, I could support myself.”
“No boyfriend pining for you back in Chicago?”
“Hardly,” she snorted. “It’s hard when you’re a teacher, and since I went on sabbatical, I’ve focused all my time and energy on my writing.”
“I can understand that. But all work and no play can make Lori a very lonely girl.”
“Oh, I play; I just have a dormant love life. I’ve never really had a close group of girlfriends I hung out with. Now, even though I live in Chicago, I spend a lot of my time here in Maine, as the other members of the Mystery Writers’ Murder Club live here.”
“Maine is a great place to live, and that’s an interesting group of girlfriends. At some point, I’d love to sit down with the lot of you. You ladies have solved some pretty old crimes…”
“And pissed off a bunch of old cops…”
“True enough, but what I’d like to focus on is the closure you’ve given those victims’ families. Closure they would never have gotten without you. Think about it—the interview, I mean.”
The waitress brought their food. Lori used her knife and fork to take a bit of the ooey-gooey sandwich and moaned. “Oh my god. This is amazing.”
He grinned. “I know, isn’t it? But don’t be fooled. There are a lot of places that advertise it but can’t really make one.”
As they ate, they talked a little about their pasts and got to know one another. She found it interesting that both had come to where they were through an inheritance. Ryker was good company and she felt herself more at ease with him than she had with any other man in a long time. Lori acknowledged to herself that her past experiences with men had not always been the best and had left her wondering if there might ever be someone with whom she could truly share her life.
The waitress came and cleared their dishes, and despite Lori’s protests, Ryker insisted on having both breakfasts put on his tab. Lori argued, and the waitress looked concerned, glancing back and forth between them.
“Just keep in mind,” said Ryker, “Lori’s just visiting. I’m the one who’s coming back to tip you again.”
The waitress grinned. “On your tab it goes, Ryker.”
Lori laughed and stood with Ryker, who held his coat out. “I insist. It’s too damn cold. I was hoping we could run by the dock where you found Cobain. I know you need to get back to the event. I’ll drive you back, and maybe we can meet when you’re done for the day.”
“Won’t you be cold?”
“Nah. I’m a born and bred Mainer. To me, it’s just chilly.”
Lori laughed and let him put his sheepskin duffle coat over her shoulders. She ran her hands down the garment, which felt incredibly luxurious. “If I’m moving to Maine, I’m getting one of these.”
He grinned. “I might be able to help you out with that. This one belonged to my dad. Come on. The Range Rover is just out front.”