Say Yes to the Death (Claire Hartley Accidental Mystery Book 2)

Chapter 1

To Do:

- Hunt for antique frames

- Take Rosie to the groomer

The blastof a horn roused her from sleep.

What was happening? Where was she? This was wrong. All wrong. Claire Hartley’s heart hammered in her chest. The neon lights of the city blinded her as she leaned against the trunk of a white sedan. She bent at the waist, breath coming in hitches. Her head was fuzzy, and her ears were ringing like someone had just hit a gong with a sledgehammer. The concrete sidewalk was warm beneath her bare feet. Something heavy and wet hit the ground beside her.

Was that a taco?

“Ma’am? Are you okay? That truck almost hit you.” A teenage boy with an afro and beat-up basketball sneakers knelt on the ground next to her, fighting with the buttons on his flannel shirt.

A truck? That must have been the source of the noise and light that had snapped her back to consciousness.

“I—I don’t know how I got here.” Dread snaked into her stomach, hot and heavy like molten steel. She glanced at her watch. It was one in the morning. What was that smell—moussaka? She scanned the city block. A Greek restaurant four blocks from her apartment stood on the corner. How in the hell had she gotten four blocks from her apartment in the middle of the night with no memory of leaving?

She hadn’t been this disoriented since she woke up in a parking garage tied to a pillar. At least this time there was a Good Samaritan standing in front of her instead of a knife-wielding maniac.

The teenager removed his shirt and handed it to Claire. She glanced down. She was totally wearing a shirt. Thank god. A startling number of people had seen her blood-drenched yet somehow still extremely pale breasts a few days ago. She wasn’t eager to add another to the list.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” he explained.

She glanced down again. Sure enough, she was standing in the middle of the city of West Haven, Pennsylvania, wearing her oldest, most comfortable underwear. Everyone on Market Street had an unimpeded view of her granny panties. Goosebumps ran down the length of her legs.

Luke was not going to be happy about this. But maybe he hadn’t noticed that she was missing.

“Thank you so much,” Claire said, taking the shirt and wrapping it around her waist. It didn’t cover as much as she had hoped, but it was probably enough to keep her from being arrested for indecent exposure. “Is this your taco?”

“No, ma’am, you were holding it when I pulled you off the street. Are you okay? Can I call someone for you?”

“I’m fine. I think I was sleepwalking.” She glared at her legs. They had completely betrayed her. She had a meeting with a new client in the morning, and she needed to have her wits about her. Midnight sleepwalk tacos were not on the agenda.

“Pretty impressive that you bought Mexican food in your sleep,” the boy remarked. He chuckled, a warm sound in the breezy night.

How had she gotten the taco, anyway? Her purse wasn’t with her. Was she a kleptomaniac as well as a sleepwalker? Or worse, was it a dumpster taco? Her stomach churned. There was no point in worrying about it now.

She shook her head. “Priorities. What’s your address? I’ll have your shirt dry-cleaned and sent back to you.” Wait, was it creepy to ask a minor for his address? It was too late.

He shook his head. The afro didn’t budge an inch. “You can keep it.”

“Please, I insist. Why are you out here at this time of night, anyway? Does your mother know where you are?”

“Relax, lady. I work the closing shift at the Greek place.”

“Claire?” A panicked voice came from down the street.

Claire and the teenager turned.

There he was. Luke Islestorm. Six feet and two inches of hunky, grumpy filmmaker. The gray sweatpants he wore rode low on his hips as he jogged up to them. She hadn’t had the chance to find out what lay beneath those sweatpants since getting stabbed by a serial killer last week, but her desire to find out was quickly eclipsing her body’s need to heal.

“What the hell are you doing?” Luke bent at the waist and put his hands on his knees. His arms rippled under the moonlight as he caught his breath. “I woke up and you were gone. I’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes. I almost called the police to see if Barney broke out of prison. And who’s this?” His sea-green eyes blazed under the streetlight.

“Oh, this is—” She hadn’t even asked the teen’s name. So embarrassing. Her mother, Alice, would be horrified at her lack of tact.

“Jemarcus. I pulled your girl off the street so she didn’t get hit by a truck.”

She bristled at his use of the phrase “your girl.” She didn’t belong to anyone. She and Luke weren’t even officially together. Were they?

Luke grasped Jemarcus’s hand. “Thank you. Claire, let’s go.”

Oh boy, he was pissed.

“Jemarcus, thank you so much. I’ll bring your shirt back to the restaurant.” She turned, but he was already gone.

“What the hell were you thinking? It’s the middle of the night. It’s a miracle no one recognized you. And where are your pants?”

“I was sleepwalking.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Her picture—thankfully a flattering one taken from the “About Me” page on her proposal planning blog—had been plastered over the news for the last week. People recognized her in the grocery store, and the press had been stalking her like she was a celebrity buying Ben and Jerry’s without a bra on. It was exhausting. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“Sleepwalking?” His brow furrowed. “Is that something you’ve always done?”

“No. This is new,” she admitted.

Why now, after twenty-five years of normal sleeping habits, would she suddenly start sleepwalking? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was abducted and stabbed the week before. She didn’t need to pay a shrink $200 an hour to figure that one out for her, despite her friends’ incessant, heavy hinting about therapy.

Luke shook his head. “Great, I’m going to have to invest in shackles now. Come on, I should change your bandage anyway.”

“Before we go back, do you have your wallet on you?”

“Yes, but we’re not going to Sephora.”

She shot him a dirty look. “Obviously not, they close at seven. Can we hit the taco truck? There’s a chance unconscious Claire may have stolen some goods.”

Luke sighed. “Never a dull moment.”