Chapter 8
They made plans to meet the next morning for breakfast at the inn.
Tina wasn’t too worried about getting back to the Lightkeeper without a vehicle.
There was always someone headed that way, including the inn’s shuttle vans and golf carts.
If worse came to worst, she could walk. It was probably at the most a five-mile trek.
She caught up with Heather inside the newly renovated café, which glistened with black paint and smelled pleasantly of coffee and freshly milled lumber.
Sally McPhee was known for her caustic sense of humor.
Who else would name their café after a hangover symptom?
And who else, after it was burned down by an arsonist, would repaint the kitchen in pure black?
The seating area was a little less morbid, thanks to the windows that looked out on the busy dock below and the walls adorned with vintage fishing paraphernalia such as nets made of actual rope and yellow rubber rain hats.
These were interspersed with signs that proclaimed things like “Fishermen Like It Wet” and “The Fishing was Good. It was the Catching that was Bad.”
Heather gave Tina a hug, which surprised her. Since when had they gotten on hugging terms? Then again, it was true that Tina had appeared at certain very key moments over the past few months, with lives potentially in the balance. Apparently that deserved a hug.
“I heard you were on the island,” Heather said warmly.
“I literally just got here,” Tina checked her watch, “about five hours ago.”
Heather just laughed. “You’re on vacation, right?”
“Jesus. AI’s been watching me, hasn’t it?”
“Island grapevine. Even better.” Flipping her cinnamon-brown ponytail over one shoulder, Heather dragged her toward a table. “Come on, I’ll buy you a Mainland Mainline and you can tell me what you’re really doing here.”
“What’s in a—”
“You don’t want to know. But trust me, it works.”
“Define ‘works.’ Does it mean ‘make me blab about confidential case details’?”
Heather laughed. “You know me so well.”
Nonetheless, Tina accepted the espresso pot Sally plopped on the table.
The last food she’d eaten was this morning, when she’d lined her stomach with oatmeal in the hopes that it would stay in her belly during the boat ride.
So she also accepted the basket of fries that Heather snagged fresh out of the deep fryer.
As she sipped her Mainline, she eyed the young woman across the table from her.
If Tina had to describe Heather in one word, it would be scrappy, or maybe persistent.
When it came to the stories she investigated for her podcast, she was relentless.
But she was also fun to be around, a supportive friend to her co-host, Gabby, and openly passionate about Luke Carmichael, whom she’d gotten together with earlier in the summer.
Tina had no doubt the relationship would last; that was how clearly in love they both were, to win over a skeptic like her.
“Okay. So what’s going on?” Heather demanded. “The last time I saw you, you made some cryptic reference to a crisis and then you disappeared.”
“Can’t talk about that.” Then she smiled sheepishly. “I can’t talk about it because us locals got shut out. That’s really all I know. But if you spot any federal agents lurking around, you can try them.”
“Hmmm, sounds juicy. Are you saying there’s some kind of federal operation going on out here?”
Her police chief had made it crystal clear she wasn’t supposed to be involved. It would serve them all right if she sicced the Dirty Rotten Bastards podcasters on them. But she didn’t want to get Heather and Gabby in trouble.
“I’m saying I don’t know anything, and have been instructed to keep it that way. That’s not why I’m out here, anyway. I’m looking into this shady character who skipped out on Marigold Olson.”
Heather’s freckled face lit up. “Oh good. We were interested in that story too. But we got distracted by a cold case.”
Tina didn’t especially like referring to Marigold’s case as “a story.” But she wouldn’t get anywhere by pointing that out. “Sounds fascinating. Tell me more.”
“The Night Light Murder,” Heather said dramatically.
“A wealthy scion of industry stabbed to death in the middle of the night in the Lightkeeper’s most expensive suite.
The entire island put into lockdown until everyone can be questioned.
Suspicion falls on the staff since the victim was such a raging asshole that he’d offended just about everyone.
No one ever confessed or came forward, and the case was never solved. ”
Tina listened as she nibbled gingerly on a French fry. Had her stomach completely recovered yet? She’d find out soon enough. “You must have more than that. Any leads?”
“As a matter of fact, we do have a lead thanks to Gabby. Barnaby Carmichael let her go through the staff records of that time. It turns out that one of the kitchen staff quit her job about a week after the murder. She was one of the people who had complained about the victim. His name was James Schuyler the Third, by the way, and hers was Naomi Martin. She told her supervisor that Schuyler kept groping her. Nothing came of her complaint. But she was cleared because she had an alibi. Anyway, not only did Naomi quit, but she and her entire family left the island. She was a single mother with two kids. They never came back. So…right now, Gabby’s working on tracking her down. ”
Interesting, but not much of a lead so far. She’d never get clearance to spend more than an hour or so finding someone who had an alibi. “Good luck to her. Have you looked into the power outage that night?”
Heather did a double-take, looking up from her espresso with a line of foam on her upper lip. “You know about the case?”
“The basics, sure. It came up because of the location of the incident. The same suite where Marigold’s fiancé was last seen.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s a complete coincidence. Many people have stayed in that suite since then.”
“I didn’t say it was connected. I said that’s how it came up.” Tina was a stickler for precision, although she wasn’t good at keeping that to herself.
Heather’s face fell. “Right. So how’s it going with Marigold? I hope you find that bastard. Luke says he seemed like a perfectly nice guy to him. He was shocked to hear what happened.”
Tina squirted ketchup onto her French fries; so far so good in terms of food. “Luke met him?”
“Of course. He’s Marigold’s boss. He met Adam a few times.”
Tina decided to swing by the constable’s office and have a chat with Luke. “Have you heard anything else about Adam?”
“Me? No, but I know who has.” Heather waved at her mother behind the counter as she got to her feet. “Mom! Take a break. I’ll fill in for you.”
A moment later, Sally McPhee, a hand towel slung over her shoulder, her pink hoodie half-unzipped, slid into the seat in Heather’s place. Her face was weathered but still pretty, her look stuck in the early 2000’s. “You’re the Asian lady cop, aren’t ya?”
“That’s me. Asian Lady Cop. You should see my OnlyFans.”
Sally laughed so hard that she had to wipe tears away with the hand towel. “Heather said you were funny. What do you want with me? Don’t matter what you’re investigating, I’m innocent. Unless—”
Tina held up a hand. “You can stop there. I’m not here to bust you for some crime I don’t even know about. I was wondering what you know about Adam Johnson, Marigold’s ex.”
Sally’s expression darkened. “Took too much sugar in his coffee. Sent his eggs back, too. A dud. He pretended to flirt with me, like he was throwing me a bone. Little twerp.”
“Okay, okay. This helps. Did he ever mention any personal details to you? Like where he was from, places he’d been, that sort of thing?”
“Connecticut,” she said instantly. “He went to some fancy private school there. He mentioned it because I was making fun of how he ate his pancakes, and he said he learned it at boarding school.”
“Hotchkiss?”
“That’s a real place? Hot kiss? Crotchkiss?” Sally laughed and laughed.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Tina said dryly.
“Don’t take it as anything. He didn’t say a name. I don’t even know if it was real. Seemed like a poser to me.” She looked past Tina, at the door opening, and her eyes went wide. “Ho. Ly. Fucking. Shit. Guess who just walked into my establishment?”
Whoever it was had instantly inspired Sally to upgrade her coffee shop to an “establishment.” Tina turned to see—who else—Jack Finnegan step through the door.
“Do you know who that is?” Sally seemed to be frozen to her chair. Her only movement was that of her eyes tracking Jack’s entrance.
“Yes, that’s Jack Finnegan, who plays Denver Black on a TV show. He’s not some kind of god. He’s just an actor.” Tina heard the irritation threading thorough her own voice.
“Don’t say that. He’s not just an actor. He helped me quit smoking. I’d get all itchy and I’d pop in a DVD of Dark of Night and boom, no more urges. Other urges, maybe, but…oh my God in heaven, he’s coming this way. Do something.”
“Like what?”
Sally suddenly ducked her head under the table. Tina had never witnessed quite this level of unhinged crushing before.
“Sally, it’s all right. He’s just a normal person. I’ve met him myself and he’s honestly nothing like Denver Black. See for yourself.” She waved at Jack, who was hesitating a few yards away, probably trying to make sure he was welcome. “Come join us,” she called to him.
He smiled and made his way toward them, gracefully stepping between chairs, but when he was just a few steps way, all hell broke loose.
The sound of crashing glass came first.
Then a thud.
Tina’s brain put it all together before her conscious mind could.
“Everyone get down!” she yelled. She ducked low as something whizzed past her head.
A bullet lodged in the leather seat of a stool.
She dashed toward Jack, who had spun around and crouched behind a chair, staring at the broken window and the ocean beyond.
She tackled him to the ground. He landed with a hard “ooph.”
“Stay there,” she ordered. “Get under a table.” Staying low, she ran through the room, pushing shocked stragglers to the floor and upending tables so they could act as shields. No deaths that she could see, at least so far, but the bullets were still coming.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Luke’s number, which was already programmed into her phone.
“Shots fired at the Bloodshot Eyeball. Looks like they’re coming from a speedboat. No injuries. Still ongoing.” She switched to her camera app and took a few shots of the boat, making sure to stay below the level of the window frame.
The next thing she knew, pain streaked across her forearm and she was knocked backwards. Her head hit hard against something. Then—blackness.