4. Nightcap
FOUR
Nightcap
A DRINK CHOSEN FOR THE END OF THE NIGHT
Maggie’s cheeks burned like the embers of a summer bonfire as she climbed the steps of Vee’s Lady Garden, her heart still fluttering like a nervous bird from the lingering taste of Trent McGarvey’s lips. The kiss had left her in a state of delicious disarray, and she struggled to compose herself as she pushed through the door for her rendezvous.
“Lord Almighty, honey,” Myrtle said, her eyes widening behind her oversized, red-framed glasses as she took in Maggie’s flustered appearance. “You’re redder than a lobster’s ass.”
Myrtle, on the other hand, looked like a burglar from a vintage heist movie, complete with black leggings, black turtleneck, black beret, and, of course, black fingerless gloves.
“You look very fetching,” Maggie said, setting down her bag and shrugging out of her coat.
“Darling, I’m just embracing my inner femme fatale.” Myrtle winked, striking a dramatic pose.
“We were starting to worry about you,” Gabe said, rocking back in the velvet vulva-shaped lounge chair in the corner. “Thought maybe you’d changed your mind about our little adventure tonight.”
“Me?” Maggie laughed a little too forcefully. “What would make you think that?”
Gabe’s massive shoulders bunched in a shrug. “You just sounded a little weird on the phone. Kinda out of breath.” He pinned her with a knowing smirk. Like his brother, Mark, he’d proven annoyingly adept at reading people.
“Aw, honey,” Myrtle cooed, patting Maggie’s hand reassuringly. “There’s no need to be nervous. I’ve been sneaking in and out of places since Obama was in diapers. And besides, I’m stealthy as a panther.”
In her enthusiasm, Myrtle demonstrated her feline agility by throwing an impromptu ninja chop at the air with a theatrical “Hi-yah!”
Unfortunately, the blade of her hand caught a display on the counter, sending a wave of red, purple, and neon-green silicone butt plugs skittering across the floor like rubbery bowling pins. A few even bounced into the corner, where a life-sized cutout of Fabio adorned in fairy wings and a glittery fig leaf stood.
“Huh,” Myrtle said, papery skin creased in confusion. “That almost never happens.”
Maggie and Gabe shared a tense look.
“You got the blueprints?” Maggie asked.
Gabe reached into the messenger bag beside his engine-oil-spattered work boots. “Gemma wanted me to tell you that you owe her a drink. She had to do some seriously fast talking to borrow these without the Townsend Harbor Historical Society or the city council knowing.”
“If this works, she can have free drinks on me for life.”
Maggie stared at the blueprint of the Palace Hotel spread out across the table in the dim after-hours lighting.
“All right,” Gabe said, tapping the building schematic. “Myrtle says the best time to hit it is at exactly eleven p.m.”
“Oh really? Why’s that?” Maggie asked, hoping the question wouldn’t insult the mission’s self-appointed matriarch.
Myrtle reached into the pocket of her turtleneck and pulled out a small packet of chewy caramel candies. Unwrapping one, she popped it into her mouth, chomping down with a satisfied sigh.
“You know Caryn Townsend’s nephew, that Jenkins boy? The one who can’t stop tripping over his own feet? He’s the only security guard they’ve got for the night shift.” She paused to suck on the candy thoughtfully before adding, “Poor guy has narcolepsy, and the second he sits down in his Corolla for a lunch break, pow . Out like a light for at least a good hour.”
“What about security cameras and the alarm system?” Maggie asked. “Were you able to learn anything about the setup?”
“Oh, there are cameras, all right, but they’re not actually on ,” Myrtle said, crumpling her candy wrapper and sticking it in her pocket. “Seems Mayor Tightwad thought just having them there would be enough to scare people off.”
Gabe shook his head disgustedly. “This fuckin’ town.”
Myrtle arched a penciled eyebrow at him and cleared her throat.
“—that I’ve dearly come to love with my whole heart,” Gabe quickly added, scooting off the chair to begin gathering the butt plugs. “How much time do you think you’ll need once we’re inside?”
“If the accounts I read online are accurate, Madame Katz’s room should be on the fourth floor on the side facing the water. As long as there are no obstructions blocking off the stairwell, I’d say fifteen minutes tops?”
“No problem.” Gabe grinned, flexing his tattooed arms. “I can disable the security system for at least that long.”
Yet another skill he’d picked up from his infamous family.
Maggie took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “All right, then,” she said, determination surging through her veins. “I guess it’s a go.”
“Let’s get a move on,” Gabe said finally, rolling up the blueprints and tucking them into his messenger bag before slinging it over his shoulder.
Deciding it would be best to avoid parading conspicuously down Water Street, they exited through the back door of Vee’s Lady Garden and picked their way down the alley.
The moon was high in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the Victorian brick buildings. Shadows danced along the uneven cobblestones, giddy with their nightly freedom. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of ocean brine and damp earth, punctuated by the lingering aroma of garlic from Waterfront Pizza.
Just ahead, the sharp edges of the Palace Hotel loomed ominously against the star-splashed canvas of night. The ivy-clad walls seemed to shimmer in the spectral light, lending an almost otherworldly quality to the grand old dame.
Gabe fell into step beside Maggie, giving her a friendly nudge with his elbow.
“So, where were you when I called earlier?”
Maggie hesitated, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks as she remembered the kiss she’d shared with Trent McGarvey not half an hour before.
Lie?
No good. Probably at least five people had seen her, and the way gossip circulated in this town, Gabe would probably find out anyway.
“Uh, I was at Trent McGarvey’s,” she admitted reluctantly. “He offered to teach me to make some cocktails.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Gabe teased, waggling his eyebrows.
“It’s not even like that,” Maggie protested.
But…wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it exactly like that?
A dizzying flash of sensations produced a rollercoaster flip in her middle.
“Just be careful, Mags,” Gabe said, slowing as they approached their destination. “You know I’m not tryna crawl up your ass or nothin’, but if living here has taught me anything, it’s that getting involved with a local is a one-way ticket on the gossip train.”
“I’m not getting involved with anyone, Gabe,” she said. “Promise.”
And she meant it.
Because even in the wake of the searing uncertainty their impromptu clinch had caused, Maggie already knew one thing with perfect surety.
Women like her didn’t end up with men like him.
The thought spilled over her like a bucket of ice water, unceremoniously washing her back to the present. She shivered as the looming silhouette of their destination came into view.
The Palace Hotel, its once-grand Victorian architecture now a mere shadow of its glorious—if somewhat scandalous—past. The darkened windows stared down at them like hollow eyes, the scaffolding that clung to the building looked like a skeletal beast, its metal limbs stretching upward. A deafening silence hung around the deserted construction site, magnifying each scrape of their shoes on the gravel as they cautiously approached.
“All right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s unpack the essentials.” They rummaged through their bags, her for her handheld HD camera, Gabe for lock-picking tools, and Myrtle for a…road flare?
“What’s that for?” Maggie asked.
“In case I need to create a diversion,” Myrtle said with a wink.
Considering Myrtle was pretty much a walking diversion, Maggie was reasonably confident she’d excel on this score.
“Ready?” Gabe asked.
Maggie nodded.
“I’m going to try the windows first.” He worked his way down the back of the building, trying each one in turn. Finally, he grinned triumphantly when one slid open with a soft creak. “Bingo,” he declared, motioning for Maggie to follow.
She approached the narrow opening, her stomach tightening into a cold ball. “Unless you’ve got some Crisco and a crowbar, there’s no way you’re getting this ass through that narrow gap. Or your shoulders, for that matter,” she pointed out.
“Ahem.” Myrtle stood behind them, fingerless gloved hands perched on her narrow hips. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
“I think maybe Gabe should just try picking the door lock,” Maggie suggested, catching Gabe’s eye with a pleading look.
“Why do that when I could just open the door from the inside?” Myrtle asked.
“She does have a point,” Gabe said. “I’d probably have better luck disarming the security system that way too.”
“All right,” Maggie acquiesced. “Just be careful.”
Myrtle merely grinned, her eyes twinkling in the dim light. She stepped up onto a precariously wobbly milk crate, and for a moment, Maggie was certain the elderly woman was going to tumble off and break something vital. Like her neck.
But then, in one fluid movement, the older woman gracefully somersaulted through the narrow opening, leaving a flabbergasted Maggie and Gabe gaping at each other in stunned silence.
Moments later, the door creaked open and there stood Myrtle, fingerless gloves gripping the doorframe, beaming at them like she’d just done an encore at Madison Square Garden.
“Used to be a gymnast.” Myrtle flashed a smug smirk over her shoulder as she stepped aside to grant them access. “Couldn’t roundoff worth a damn, but my Full-Twisting Shaposhnikova once made one of the judges weep.”
“Thanks, Myrtle,” Maggie said gratefully as she stepped into the darkened hallway.
She paused for a moment, as much to let her eyes adjust as to steady herself against a powerful wave of déjà vu.
The air was thick with the scent of dust and mildew, the old wood floor groaning its protest underfoot. Maggie flicked on her camera as they approached the stairs, determined to capture every detail—the layers of peeling wallpaper, the dilapidated curtains and antiques.
“Watch your step,” Gabe warned as they reached the third floor, where the boards seemed even more precarious. “Last thing we need is to fall through.”
“Amen,” Maggie whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.
Reading about this place and seeing pictures online had been one thing. Being here was a whole-ass other.
It was a feeling she knew well, fascinated with historical sites ever since sixth grade, when she’d talked (translation: whined) her parents into stopping in Salem, Massachusetts on their way to visit her grandmother in Danvers.
Despite the touristy veneer that had since been layered over the old homes and cobblestone streets, Maggie had practically felt the vibration of all that had happened there radiating from the very walls.
Just as she was now.
The fine hairs on her arms lifted as she reached for the brass doorknob, a frisson of adrenaline shooting through her as she turned it.
The door to Madame Katz’s boudoir swung open with a creak. Through the camera’s eye, Maggie drank in the grayscale-moon-silvered details. The ornate canopy bed, the stately armoire.
The secret passage.
“That’s got to be it,” she breathed, floating over to the closet where the historic building schematic had shown a connecting corridor.
“Let me look first,” Gabe said, shouldering in front of her in the pushy, brotherly way she’d come to secretly love when she first met the Kelly boys after her move to Boston.
Maggie hung back, allowing him to open the narrow door and disappear into the pocket of inky dark behind it.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“What?” Maggie asked, pulse leaping high in her throat. “What is it?”
Gabe’s dark head reappeared, a smirk sharpening his features. “A really fucking tiny closet.”
Shaking her head, Maggie followed him, blinking against the glare in her lens as Gabe fired up the flashlight and pushed the false panel aside.
There, embossed on the brick wall at the top of a narrow set of stairs, was a mermaid.
Maggie broke out in a full-body shiver as a tsunami of déjà vu spilled over her.
She could swear she’d seen one just like it somewhere else.
A tremor sizzled through her fingers in time with her heart as she reached to touch it…just as the ear-piercing shrill of an alarm shattered the thick silence.
“Shit!” Maggie blurted, panic seizing her chest. She and Gabe exchanged wide-eyed glances, his face mirroring her own fear. Without another word, they raced back down the rickety stairs, the urgency of their escape underscored by the relentless wail of the alarm.
They’d barely made it to the ground floor when the unmistakable strobe of red and blue lights danced across the peeling wallpaper.
Myrtle stage-whispered the totally fucking obvious through cupped hands: “It’s the fuzz!”
“Fucking perfect,” Maggie muttered, cursing small towns and their infuriatingly quick response time. Her mind raced, scrambling for a plan.
“Look, both of you should get out of here,” Maggie insisted. “You both have businesses in town. You have so much more to lose than I do.”
Myrtle snorted, a hint of defiance flickering in her eyes. “Fuck that. I’m no coward.”
“Same here,” Gabe chimed in, his jaw set with determination. “We’re in this together.”
“All right then,” Maggie whispered, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation.
Flanked by Myrtle and Gabe on either side, she pushed open the hotel door and stepped out into the cool night air.
To her astonishment, there stood Trent McGarvey.
Trent McGarvey…in a uniform .
“Deputy McGarvey,” Myrtle drawled, offering him a saccharine smile. “What brings you to this fine establishment on such a lovely evening?”
Deputy McGarvey?
“Evening, Myrtle. I could ask you the same thing,” McGarvey replied, his gaze flicking from Myrtle to Maggie and Gabe. “Seems like an odd time for a stroll on private property.”
“Odd time for a patrol, too, wouldn’t you say?” Myrtle shot back.
“Actually,” Trent retorted, his voice firm but not unkind, “I received a call about a possible break-in. And lo and behold, here you all are.”
As Trent’s gaze locked on to Maggie’s, she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She tried to sink into some well of inner calm but found only a nest of oily snakes. It ’t help that the memory of their kiss lingered on her lips, making her wish they were anywhere but here.
“All right, folks,” McGarvey finally announced, his expression somber, “I have no choice but to bring you in for trespassing.”
“Are w-we under arrest?” Maggie stammered, a sick ache mingling with the growing dread in her gut. An arrest would mean an active warrant search…maybe a criminal record search.
And if he found that, he’d find?—
“Right now, you’re being detained pending a little chat at the station.” His voice betrayed a touch of disappointment. “The quicker we get this over with, the faster Vee shows up with Lyra to bail Myrtle out and/or bully everyone out of pressing charges. Swear to Christ, those two have more lives than Kevin Costner.”
“He’s a cat,” Myrtle explained.
“Huh,” Maggie said as they followed McGarvey to his police car.
“Hey, uh…Trent?” Maggie ventured as he opened the back door of the cruiser, her voice soft with urgency. “Could we maybe talk about this for just a minute?”
“Sorry,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Any further conversations between us will need to be officially documented.”
Her gaze found McGarvey again as he opened the driver’s side of the cruiser. His clean-shaven nape gleamed under the dome light, revealing a flawless stretch of skin that looked tantalizingly warm and touchable.
Suddenly the warmth of Trent’s lips, the feel of his strong hands at the small of her back, and the intoxicating scent of his aftershave flashed in her mind, weakening her knees. The delicious intensity of it was almost enough to erase the memory of why the kiss had happened in the first place.
Because Trent McGarvey suspected she was running from something.
And he was right.