Dead Girl in a Green Dress Read online

  DEAD GIRL IN A GREEN DRESS

  By

  Loucinda McGary

  Copyright © 2013 by Loucinda McGary Munoz

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction and all characters, names, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used in a fictitious manner. Any similarities to real persons living or dead, actual locales or events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DEDICATION

  For Dave for his never-ending support, and for his suggestion, "Write about a dead hot chick." Then he took me to Mackinac Island, and I found the perfect setting for the story.

  And special thanks, as always, to my fabulous critique partner Jo Lewis-Robertson who spent countless hours helping me make this story the very best I could write.

  Chapter 1

  Her little sister Jessica was dead.

  There was no mistaking the unruly mop of blazing red hair.

  Images and feelings bombarded Byrony Long. Jessica as a freckle-faced child giggling non-stop. Jessica as a teen, breathlessly sharing secrets over the phone. So many once familiar annoyances Byrony would never experience again. So many pieces of her once familiar world gone – destroyed beyond fixing.

  Byrony’s stomach clenched and her eyelids slammed down, refusing to look another moment at the sunken eyes and chalky skin. The stench of formaldehyde, alcohol, and other chemicals she didn’t recognize burned up her nostrils to the back of her throat. She staggered as the meager contents of her stomach lurched upward. The middle-aged officer who had escorted her to the morgue gripped Byrony’s upper arm to steady her.

  Averting her gaze, she swallowed and managed to whisper hoarsely, "That’s her… my sister."

  "Thank you, Miss Long," the man said, turning her around. "Sorry, but with no identification, we needed a positive confirmation."

  In spite of her wobbly legs, Byrony let him guide her out the door. Her head throbbed from lack of sleep. She’d been in a waking nightmare since she’d received the call yesterday. She didn’t remember much of the drive here, but she’d even stopped at a motel somewhere around Cadillac, Michigan. Not that she’d slept more than an hour or two.

  "Do you know who…" She broke off and fought down a sob, forcing her words around the hot lump of tears burning in her throat. "Who mugged her?"

  Wearing a morose expression, her escort shook his head. "And with all the tourists, we might never know."

  Not what Byrony wanted to hear, but one more boulder to add to the landslide. One more thing she had to tell her father and step-mother, who were vacationing in Paris. How in the world would she deliver the devastating news? Her throat burned hotter, too hot to voice the sorrow and outrage struggling to form.

  The burly officer led her into the lobby of the Mackinaw City administrative building and steered her to an upholstered chair. "Can I get you something? Coffee?"

  "Water," Byrony managed to croak, hugging her purse against her like a shield.

  As he lumbered away, guilt rose from her subconscious and bushwhacked her anger. When she was a teen, how many times had she wished her pesky little half-sister was dead? In college, Byrony acknowledged kinship with the little brat only because her father had been paying her tuition. In the last couple of years she and Jessica had actually had a relationship resembling siblings, at least as much as possible considering the fourteen year gap in their ages. Somehow, the bright and enthusiastic Jessica had charmed herself into Byrony’s rather drab existence.

  "Thank you," she murmured as the cop passed a Styrofoam cup to her.

  She took a sip, and almost choked when she remembered the last time she’d seen Jessica. Byrony’s mother had died of cancer three months ago, and Jessica had shown up unannounced at the memorial service. Now Byrony would have to arrange the service for twenty year old Jessica.

  Chapter 2

  Three weeks later…

  Slumped behind the wheel of his parked car, Tate Madison kept his gaze riveted to the door of the gym across the street as he pulled his vibrating phone from his jacket pocket. "I’m working, Paige. Make it short and important."

  He could picture his sister’s eyes rolling as he listened to her theatrical sigh. "I wouldn’t call if it weren’t important. I told my friend Byrony Long you’d help her. You met her at Taylor’s christening six weeks ago. Remember?"

  His sister’s firstborn, and the apple of every member of the Madison clan’s eyes. Tate had arrived late to the christening on purpose because he really disliked those kinds of pompous ceremonies. Recalling the scene, he visualized being introduced to Paige’s coworker, another uptight number cruncher, but with a decent rack under her navy blue suit.

  "Right," he murmured into the phone. "I remember."

  "Her sister was killed," Paige continued. Tate could hear Taylor fussing in the background, and Paige tried to shush her. "I told her you were a PI. Can you just meet with her, please? Today?"

  This didn’t sound like his usual case, but Paige hardly ever asked for favors. And another flash of Bryony Whozit’s very fine ass raced across his mind. "All right, but you owe me, Sissy dear. Tell her 3 PM at the Starbucks in front of Lakeview Mall."

  "Thanks big bro. How about dinner tomorrow night? I’ll make lasagna."

  A blonde woman stepped out of the gym – his client’s wife. A silver SUV pulled up to the curb – her boyfriend? Tate straightened up and reached for the ignition with his free hand. "Sorry, Paige. Gotta go."

  Punching the off button, he pocketed the phone, started the car and prepared to tail the vehicle. He might wrap this case up today if he could get photos of the blonde and her lover.

  Four hours later, Tate lounged on the Starbuck’s patio sipping his dark roast and silently celebrating mission accomplished. Another case closed and in less than a week. A brunette in a blue T-shirt with a Chicago Bears logo approached. She couldn’t be Paige’s straight-laced coworker.

  But she was, because she walked right up to him and extended her hand. "Mr. Madison? I’m your sister’s friend, Byrony Long."

  "Tate," he quickly corrected, almost knocking over his chair as he rose and grasped her palm. "Please, have a seat." He sneaked a fast peek at her jean clad derriere before she sat down. Yes, indeed, even finer than he recalled.

  She settled into the chair directly across from him. "Thank you for helping me."

  "Whoa!" Tate held up his hands in a time-out gesture. "I only agreed to talk."

  But Byrony Long didn’t seem to hear him. Digging in her oversized purse, she laid a photo of a teen aged girl on the table and pushed it toward him. "This is my half-sister, Jessica. She was found dead on August 19th on Mackinac Island."

  "I’m sorry for your loss," Tate responded automatically, thinking that the girl with the long red hair and toothy grin didn’t much resemble Byrony Long. Then her last words sank in. "Did you say Mackinac Island?"

  Byrony’s chin-length dark hair swished across her cheek as she nodded. "She was working at the Grand Hotel for the summer season."

  The images from a long ago Madison family vacation sprang to Tate’s mind, the fancy hotel and the horse-drawn carriages. He gave a low whistle. "Nice place
. You think it was foul play?"

  "The police say she was mugged, but they’re not even looking for a suspect." Her tone held a familiar mix of sorrow and frustration. Tate had heard that combination too many times in his twelve years on the force. He hadn’t missed it in the two years since he’d left.

  Knowing she wasn’t going to like what he had to say, Tate took a sip of coffee before he spoke. "Considering the number of tourists crawling all over the island, I can understand why."

  "But that’s not right!" She smacked her open hand on the table top. "Paige said you used to be a cop. Where’s your sense of justice?"

  Ouch. Tate tried not to flinch at her verbal barb. "I didn’t say I liked it, Miss Long, just that I understood why." She had the good grace to squirm with embarrassment, so he continued. "Sorry, but this isn’t my usual kind of case. I pretty much stick to insurance fraud and cheating spouses."

  Lips in a tight line, she pulled out a file folder, and shoved the photo into it. "Well, maybe you can recommend someone else? Or give me a few pointers on what to do once I get to Mackinac?"

  Shit. Another one as stubborn as she was appealing. "Do you really think that’s a good idea?"

  She blinked at his sudden question, and he noticed her golden brown eyes glittered with tears. "Maybe not, but I’m not sitting around doing nothing. I’m not as lucky as you, Mr. Madison. Jessica is – was all the family I have."

  "Tate," he corrected again, awash in guilt but determined not to show it. As he reached for the file, his fingers brushed hers, and their softness startled him a little, but he didn’t let that leak out either. "Let me look at what you have. Are these copies?"

  Nodding, she jerked her hand back as if his touch burned. "My number is inside the file."

  ***

  By the time her cell phone rang at ten the next morning, Byrony had already made reservations at the Ames House B&B on Mackinac Island and had almost finished packing her suitcase.

  "Miss Long? Tate Madison." His slow, deep voice oozed sexiness, and a hint of the Georgia accent from the childhood Paige had told her about.

  An unwanted shiver raced down her spine, so to compensate she answered brusquely. "Yes, good morning."

  "I reviewed the information on your sister’s death."

  Byrony’s traitorous brain flashed images of Tate Madison’s smoldering blue eyes, the blond streaks in his overly long hair, the deep dimple in his lean cheek when he smiled. She shook her head to dispel the reflections and focused on his words.

  "I need to ask you a rather delicate question, so please don’t take offense. Did your sister take prescription drugs?"

  "Wh – what?" she sputtered, then reined in her indignation. "Not that I know of. Jessica is – was very naïve, almost strait-laced. She was young, healthy, didn’t need prescriptions."

  He paused for a long moment, and when he spoke, he seemed to choose his words carefully. "This medical examiner’s report doesn’t make sense. The blow to her head didn’t kill her. She had a massive amount of sedatives in her system."

  Cradling the phone to her ear, Byrony sat down heavily on her bed. "How can that be? Wouldn’t that knock her out? Why would a mugger hit her if she were already unconscious?"

  Tate’s measured words echoed in her stunned mind. "Told you it didn’t make sense."

  Byrony’s heartbeat suddenly sped up and she felt herself gulping in air.

  "You still there, Miss Long?"

  "Y—yes." She hated when her voice shook, and she fought to steady it. "I’m going straight to the Mackinaw City police!"

  "Slow down, now." His tone was soothing. "Maybe I better handle this for you."

  "Too late. I’m already on my way." She lied, determined not to let him treat her like a child.

  "Dammit!" He snapped. "Do you always fly off half-cocked? I thought you wanted me to take this case."

  His rebuke worked as effectively as a smack. She took a deep breath and went for a dose of sarcasm. "I prefer to think of myself as charmingly impetuous." She waited while he snorted, then went back to her professional voice. "I’m glad you’ve decided to help me. Can we discuss the details tomorrow afternoon? I’ll be staying at--"

  "I agreed to take the case," he interrupted. "Not work with you. I work alone."

  Like she was going to let him get away with that. "Well, as you mentioned yesterday, this is not your usual case. Shall we say 4 PM tomorrow? I’ll be at the Ames House on the island. See you then."

  Face flaming at her own audacity, Byrony hung up before he could argue.

  Throwing the last of her things into her suitcase, she hit the road ten minutes later. In the late morning in the middle of the week, traffic was as minimal as it ever got in Chicago. She had been on family medical leave since her mother was diagnosed as terminally ill in April. After Jessica’s sudden death, Byrony asked for another month. Now she wasn’t so sure this whole mess could be cleared up in two and a half weeks. Well, she wouldn’t worry about that until later.

  She shook her head to banish those thoughts, and instead tried to remember meeting Tate six weeks ago. Paige had asked her to be Taylor’s godmother, and Byrony had been a nervous wreck. She had only a vague recollection of meeting Paige’s parents and her in-laws, meeting her two brothers was a complete blur. Seeing Tate yesterday had been quite a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. Obviously she needed to get out more if just remembering the sound of his voice gave her hormones a rush.

  But someone had killed Jessica. She was determined to find out who. She owed it to her sister. But in spite of the seriousness of the situation, several times on the day-long drive Byrony found her mind wandering back to Tate Madison, tall, lanky and undeniably sexy. How pathetic was her social life? She hadn’t acted like this since she was a teenager.

  Byrony wound up staying at the same motel just off the interstate where she’d spent the night three weeks earlier. Her mind was equally as tumultuous as then. Even though her overwhelming impulse was to call the Mackinaw City police and demand to know why they weren’t looking for her sister’s killer, she fought down the urge.

  Instead, she heard Tate Madison with his hint of a drawl warning her not to fly off half-cocked. He was right and she knew it. Being adversarial wouldn’t help her in the long run.

  After calling for a pizza, she looked over the contents of her file for what felt like the hundredth time. She could almost recite the police report verbatim. The medical examiner’s findings were full of Latin terms she didn’t understand, so she started looking up words on her tablet while she waited. By the time the kid delivered her pizza, she’d learned that Tate was right. Jessica had both diazepam and alprazolam in her blood – two drugs Byrony was positive her sister wouldn’t take.

  She gave up trying to choke down the pizza after one slice. Sticking the rest of it in the mini-fridge, she took a long warm shower, hoping that would help her sleep. No such luck. In spite of being tired, Byrony tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning, trying to figure out why anyone would want to murder her little sister.

  The pizza wasn’t any more appealing for breakfast, so Byrony stuck with coffee. She tried to distract her mind by admiring the fall foliage as she drove, and it worked for a short while. By the time she reached the tacky tourist trap that was Mackinaw City, she was actually hungry.

  However, first she went to get a ferry ticket, since that was the only way to get to Mackinac Island, and she was surprised to find space on the very next scheduled departure. Jessica had told her about long lines and one or two days advanced tickets during the summer. Obviously things changed drastically after Labor Day weekend. Byrony only had enough time to grab a burger and soft drink at a fast food drive through before she rolled her suitcase onto the two-story hydo-jet ship.

  Fifteen minutes later, the vessel swept by the Grand Hotel and rounded the bend to the main dock. Feeling as if she were stepping into another century, Byrony followed the other passengers across the gangway and down the wooden pier. H
er B&B was only three blocks away, and she just had the one small rolling case so she opted to walk instead of using either the bicycle porters or horse-drawn vehicles.

  The clomp of horses’ hooves blended with the voices of the people wandering in and out of the shops as Byrony worked her way down the sidewalk. Every other store seemed to be selling fudge and the heavenly smells escaping from the frequently opened doors eventually wore down Byrony’s will-power. In the middle of the second block, she slipped inside and bought a half-dozen pieces of milk chocolate fudge with walnuts.

  Munching the sticky candy, she double checked her phone’s GPS before turning on the next cross street. She recognized the ornate Victorian house before she reached it. Sky-blue with white ginger-bread trim, the house looked exactly like the photo on the internet, with roses and a profusion of other flowers blooming in the tiny front yard.

  An elaborate black carriage rounded the corner right in front of her, and Byrony stared agog at the feathered plumes on the four high-stepping black horses and the top hat and tails worn by the driver. Then she saw ‘The Grand Hotel’ emblazoned on the vehicle’s side. A sudden chill swept through her, and Byrony clutched the front of her hoody as she watched the coach disappear down the street. For a reason she couldn’t name, the black conveyance made her think of a funeral.

  "Excuse me." A couple jostled past and broke the weird spell that had gripped her. With a shake of her head, she walked briskly the remaining distance, opened the metal gate, and tugged her bag up the four steps to the front porch of the Ames House.

  A middle-aged woman in a frilly white apron met her at the door. She frowned when Byrony introduced herself and said she had a reservation. "Check-in time isn’t until 3 PM." The woman peered at her over the top of her reading glasses. "But since you are my only guest tonight, I suppose you can go ahead."

  She had Byrony sign the guest register, took her credit card info, and handed her an old-fashioned skeleton key on a blue satin ribbon. "Your room is here on the ground floor. Go through the parlor over there, second door on the right. What time would you like breakfast in the morning?"