Chapter 18
Dane marched right to the door and ripped the note from it. He turned to me with it held in the air. “This has to end.”
Well, duh. We couldn’t go through life receiving threats or living in Charleston. My boss was going to want a report about the case. Probably sooner rather than later.
“I agree, but how are we supposed to do that?” Unless Alma was missing a ton of cash, we were out of leads.
The rip of the envelope opening echoed loudly in the empty hallway.
He pulled out a small card, read it, scowled, and handed it to me. “They say the killer is at City Market.”
“The shopping center?” I’d wanted to stop in and look at the cool souvenirs. Now that I knew a killer was hanging out inside, I wanted to go even more.
I grabbed the card from him and read it.
The person you’re looking for is working at the tour booth today.
There was no signature, and the handwriting differed from the original note.
Why didn’t anyone ever sign their work?
“Why does this seem too good to be true?” Dane asked as he stood beside me.
I flipped the card over and checked the envelope just to be safe. “Why make it so hard? Why not just tell us the name? Like, hey, Colonel Mustard did it in the ballroom with a knife?”
It was weird. But we had to follow the lead.
“Look at this,” I said, handing the card back to Dane. “It’s written on Southern Hospitality Tours stationery.”
It was hard to see at first. The white card wasn’t printed with a large company image, but a small, embossed seal of the logo. It looked high-class. The tour industry must do well in Charleston.
“I guess we’d better check it out,” Dane said. “But from a distance only.”
“Do you think Lonny is the killer?” I asked.
Dane skimmed the note again. “Or he wrote the card. This looks like a man’s writing.”
He held it out for me to see again. It did.
“I need to call in the team,” Dane said, grabbing his phone.
I checked my watch. We’d spent the morning getting to, interviewing, and getting home from Alma’s house. The City Market wasn’t open late in the evening. We had to go now before they closed. Who knew how long that note was on the door waiting for us to find?
We might miss the killer. Then we’d be back at square one.
I scowled as he typed on his phone. Wasting time. “We can’t miss this, Dane. There’s no time.”
“Woman,” Dane said, barely lifting his head from his phone.
While his attention was on his device, I hit the down button for the elevator.
“Princess,” Dane growled. “What are you doing?”
“Dane, we can’t miss this.” Everything we’d worked for could be checking out of work right now, and we’d never find out who killed William.
The elevator doors opened, and I backed through them. “Delaney.”
Should I wave goodbye as the doors closed? That would be iconic.
The doors started their squeaky closure.
He was going to kill me when he caught up with me. Shit. He’d probably run down the stairs and beat me to the lobby.
Fingers slipped through the small opening, and the doors opened. “For real, princess?”
“This is important, Dane. We can’t wait for you to gather a playdate of SEALs.”
He rubbed his head in frustration as he stepped into the elevator. “We’ll look around, but nothing else.”
“Nothing else. Just a look,” I agreed.
We were only a few blocks from the City Market shopping center.
“We need a plan,” I said as we made it to the sidewalk outside the building and turned toward the market.
Dane walked quickly. “No making ourselves known.”
“Totally.”
A car slammed on its brakes at a stoplight, almost rear-ending the car ahead of it. “No talking to anyone. Even if they’re holding a sign with a confession.”
That seemed highly unlikely.
“Is this a plan or a list of things you think I’m going to do?” I asked.
He glanced at me as we crossed another street. “Both.”
“I won’t do anything reckless, Dane. Relax.”
His hand grabbed mine, and he looped our fingers together. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“I don’t know.” We stopped at the entrance to City Market. “You’re a very untrusting guy.”
Dane squeezed my hand. “Only with you, princess.”
“You should probably get it looked it. Talk with someone.” A stream of tourists walked around us as I tried to stand higher to see inside the actual market building.
He blew out a breath of frustration. “We’re not going in. It’s not safe.”
I walked along the outer edge of the shops. Large bay doors were open, allowing shoppers to view items. But we couldn’t see everything.
“Dane, most of the booths are inside. We’re never going to get a glimpse of the tour company spot like this.”
“It’s not safe, princess.” He moved us along the line of tourists.
A woman with a bag wider than both of us bumped into me with the straw contraption. “No one will see us.”
“The killer will,” he whispered.
“No, they won’t.” I shook my head while glaring at the woman with the killer bag. “They’ll think we’re just here shopping.”
Who would suspect us of being there to catch a killer?
I barely believed it myself.
“If they’re brazen enough to drug and kill someone, they think they’re too smart to get caught,” I continued when he didn’t immediately admit I was right.
We were going to have to work on that if he wanted us to have a future as a couple and coworkers.
“Fine, but stay next to me the entire time,” he said.
I started toward the main entrance. The City Market was basically a long, rectangular building now used as a strip of stores for local craftsmen.
I wanted to catch the killer, but I also wanted to get a look at the woman painting various Charleston scenes.
I thought she had one of the Pineapple Fountains.
We entered through the front, and I immediately scanned the area, looking for the Southern Hospitality Tours booth and the paintings.
“Dane, look,” I said and pointed by jerking my head forward. “That’s…”
“Unexpected.” He stopped walking as we did our best to hide between shoppers and spy on the tour booth.
People milled about the area, stopping to ask questions or sign up for tours, but only one person was standing at the table. Their smiles betrayed the killer beneath the surface.
“I would never have guessed,” I said.
He shook his head. “That’s because you’re too trusting.”
Only one of us worked for a podcast about murder. And it wasn’t him. Wait, actually… I guess he did, too.
What were we going to do? How did we get the killer to confess?
“We can’t trust a note from a random stranger. There has to be something we can do to prove their guilt.” I backed up, trying to put a little distance between us.
Now that we knew the possible identity of the killer, I wanted to make sure they didn’t see us. My butt hit a low table, and I jumped, causing the table to skid against the concrete floor before tipping.
Someone grunted, and metal wobbled as the same woman with the bag from earlier knocked over a tall metal rack of postcards.
A woman gave a quick squeak, and photographic images of Charleston scattered across the floor.
A chorus of yelps highlighted the sound of destruction as one display toppled another.
“Princess!” Dane said.