Dead Girl in a Green Dress Read online

  "Eight is fine, thanks." As Byrony made her way through the small front room with the chintz decorated chairs and lacy curtains, she mused how the cutesy interior was in direct contrast to the innkeeper’s lack of friendliness.

  More frills and flowers greeted her inside the room, which sported a canopied bed and a bay window with a built-in bench seat. She was pretty sure the room would have been a dream-come-true for an eleven year old girl, but she found it too busy for her taste. That’s what she got for booking the first place listed on the Mackinac Island accommodations website. Besides, it wasn’t like this was a vacation, she reminded herself. She was here seeking justice for her sister.

  While Byrony hung her things in the cherry-wood armoire, she mentally reviewed her next possible steps. Should she talk to local law enforcement first? Or go directly to the Grand Hotel? As she put her comb and brush, toothbrush, and other toiletries in the tiny, adjoining bathroom, it occurred to her she should probably wait for Tate Madison to arrive. He was an investigator, after all. Wasn’t that why she’d hired him? Never mind those annoying hormonal surges she got just thinking about him. Finding Jessica’s killer was what mattered.

  Once she’d finished unpacking, nervous energy consumed Byrony, so she slipped the room key into the pocket of her jeans, slung her purse over her shoulder, and went out for a walk. In addition to the numerous fudge shops, the vintage buildings on the two main streets had the usual tourist junk, but also some upscale art, antiques, and clothing stores. She went into a couple of the latter, but grew tired of walking idly around the displays.

  The park at the base of the old fort on the hill looked more inviting with its swath of green lawn. Grabbing a handful of free brochures, she strolled along the paved path until she found an empty bench under a tree whose leaves were starting to turn. She poured over the various pamphlets and familiarized herself with both the layout of the island, sights, and even a bit of history.

  The place might actually be a fun vacation spot under other circumstances, Byrony mused. Then, the memory of Jessica’s excited email flashed across Byrony’s mind. With her usual exuberance, Jessica had typed ‘I got hired’ in all caps with three exclamation marks in the subject line. Byrony didn’t remember if she’d answered the email, because one week later, her mother had died.

  And now Jessica was dead too.

  As if on cue, the Grand Hotel carriage with its plumed black horses rounded the corner and rolled down the street bordering the park. A burning clog of tears raced up Byrony’s throat and she found herself on her feet, rushing toward the roadway. By the time she got to the sidewalk, the carriage was already out of sight. Self-consciously, she looked down at the crumpled ball of shiny paper in her hand, then tossed it into a nearby trash can.

  Before she could stash the surviving brochures into her purse, her phone chirped. Glancing at the number, her pulse fluttered like the dead leaf blowing across her sneaker. "Hello, Mr. Madison."

  "Tate." His deep voice resonated in her ear and raised goose-bumps on her arms. "I’m here in Mackinaw City waiting to board the ferry, and I wanted to ask if we can postpone our meeting. I have a couple of people I need to talk to, so can we meet for dinner instead?’

  "D-dinner?" Byrony smacked herself in the forehead for sounding like a simpleton. Faking a cough, she mustered up an all-business tone. "Fine. Will seven work for you?"

  "Seven’s fine. Appreciate it. Just tell me the place."

  After listening to a half-dozen words from him, her formal demeanor disintegrated. "Place? Oh, uh…" She focused her eyes down the street. "How about the Harbor View Bistro?"

  "Harbor. View. Bistro." He spaced the words as if he were writing them. "Sounds good. See you at seven, Bryony."

  "Byrony," she corrected. Then, as she’d done since she was in grade school, she added, "I was named after my father, who was named for the poet Lord Byron."

  His chuckle made her toes curl. "Right, I knew that. See you then, Byrony."

  ***

  Glancing at his watch, Tate muttered an expletive and pushed himself to walk faster. His meeting with Sergeant Nick Brandon ran longer than he anticipated and Tate was ten minutes late for his dinner with Byrony Long. His stiff leg protested and he grudgingly slowed his pace. Too many hours sitting in the car for the past two days, and now he was paying for it. As for Byrony, she was probably already pissed off at him anyway. He couldn’t believe he’d called her the wrong name.

  Smooth move, dumb-ass.

  Before he could berate himself further, he saw the neon sign across the street for the Harbor View Bistro. He stepped off the sidewalk and narrowly missed an aromatic pile of horse shit. Perfect. Talk about poetic justice. Somehow, he made it to the other side without a mishap. Ignoring yet another painful twinge from his left knee, he entered the restaurant.

  Tate spotted her immediately. At a small table in the corner, she sat primly in another of those dark blue bean-counter pant suits. Not a promising sign. He didn’t wait for the hostess, but headed right for the table. Byrony saw him before he got there, and he saw a flash of pity cross her face at his obvious limp. Of course, Paige would have told her about the accident that had kept him from going back to active police work. But that brief look he’d seen so often still hurt like a fish hook in the thumb.

  "Sorry I’m late." He hung his leather jacket on the back of his chair and sat down to face her. "I met with the local guy, and he’ll cooperate to the extent he can. He offered to show me the crime scene tomorrow morning."

  The tense expression on Byrony Long’s face softened. "What time?"

  Tate wasn’t surprised she expected to be included, but he figured he’d give it a shot anyway. "Are you sure you want to come along? It might be pretty upsetting for you."

  Actually that’s exactly what he figured would happen. She’d see the spot where her sister died, be overcome by it and then run home to Chicago and let him finish this investigation on his own. Admittedly not very admirable on his part, but Bean-Counter Byrony had been a stubborn little pain in the posterior thus far. Appealing, but still a pain.

  "I appreciate your concern, but I insist on being there."

  Yep, major pain...

  The appearance of the waitress prevented Tate from further comment. He glanced quickly at the one page menu while Byrony ordered some frou-frou salad. To hell with it… He ordered the steak, medium rare.

  Over their first course, tomato soup with some green herb junk sprinkled on top, Byrony was all business. First she asked if he had a written agreement for his services. Yeah, right. Tate resisted the urge to roll his eyes, albeit with difficulty. Even after he assured her it wasn’t necessary to write things down, she scribbled notes about his usual expenses and what she deemed ‘terms of reimbursement.’

  If that’s how she wanted to play, he was game.

  "Generally, I requite a one thousand dollar retainer up front." A cheap shot, but he couldn’t resist adding with a meaningful lift of his eyebrows, "Cash."

  That stopped her pain-in-the-ass note taking cold, her enticing lips fell apart and her golden brown eyes widened. Clearly his unexpected demand took her aback. "I – I don’t usually carry that much cash. Sorry…"

  Trying not to smirk, Tate conceded, "Seeing as how you and Paige are good friends, you can give me a check." Then, when she still looked distressed he added, "Tomorrow."

  The waitress arrived with their entrees and ended the uncomfortable exchange. Tate attacked his steak and baked potato with gusto. After a few minutes, he switched the conversation to a nice neutral topic -- the island and its lack of motor vehicles. He even admitted to his near miss with the road apples while crossing the street.

  "I didn’t think about how we’d get around without a car." Byrony mused, pushing her salad around the plate instead of eating it. "I’ve never been on a horse before."

  Tate actually didn’t like this dispirited Bean Counter as much as the pain-in-the-ass version. "Don’t worry, I seem to remember mo
st folks use buggies, not saddle horses, and there are bikes too. The island’s not that big."

  "You’ve been here before?"

  "Once. Family vacation, over twenty years ago." He found himself fascinated by her golden eyes, and his words seemed to tumble out. "I was fifteen or sixteen, don’t really remember that much. But I know for sure we didn’t stay in that fancy Grand Hotel." He hadn’t meant to say that much and took a sip of his iced tea to stop talking.

  Byrony gave a little nod of understanding. "Jessica couldn’t believe she was working there, even as an assistant housekeeper. Her dorm-mate and two other girls applied for jobs, so Jessica did too, and she was the only one who got hired…." Her voice trailed away, and she grabbed her own water glass and took a big gulp.

  He squirmed with guilt and sympathy. "She must have been very special."

  "She was." Her low tone wavered a bit.

  Tate wanted to tell her he would find her sister’s killer, but he honestly didn’t know if he would be able to. He hadn’t worked homicide when he was a cop, and what he’d seen and heard about the case so far didn’t look promising. So as much as he wanted to reassure Byrony Long, he couldn’t bring himself to out-and-out lie to her.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Byrony’s phone rang halfway through her blueberry waffle. She washed down a bite with a large sip of coffee before she answered.

  "Morning," Tate Madison’s sexy voice greeted. "Sergeant Brandon and I will be there in about ten minutes. Oh, and I asked him to bring a buggy."

  Her mouth fell open in surprise for a moment before she managed to say, "Thank you. The Ames House is at – -"

  "Don’t worry, Sarge knows where it is," he interrupted. "See you in a few."

  Hastily, Byrony munched her remaining strip of bacon and took another gulp of coffee before she rose from her chair. Then she hurried to her room to get her purse and hooded sweatshirt. The rather surly innkeeper, Mrs. Giroux was already clearing the table when she returned moments later.

  "It was delicious, but I have an appointment, sorry."

  The woman paused long enough to give an annoyed sniff. "Perhaps you’d prefer breakfast at 7:30 tomorrow?"

  "Okay, fine," Byrony agreed, pulling on her sweatshirt.

  Swinging her purse over her shoulder, she headed out to the front porch to wait. Apparently most of the businesses didn’t open at 8:30 in the morning, because the street was empty in both directions. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked for messages. Only one from Paige, who assured her that Tate was an excellent investigator and just ignore his occasional crankiness. Good to know it wasn’t just her….

  The clomping of hooves snapped her head up. Two large horses approached pulling a flatbed wagon. Byrony thought it looked like a delivery vehicle, not the ‘buggy’ Tate had claimed. But as the conveyance drew closer, she saw the man holding the reins wore a khaki uniform, and Tate Madison sat on the seat next to him. Shoving her phone into her pocket, Byrony hurried down the porch steps. She reached the front gate at the same time the horses and wagon pulled to a halt.

  "Ye gods!" She heard Tate declare. "Who lives here? The sugar-plum fairy?"

  The uniformed man shook his head. "Yeah, tourists love this sh—" He broke off as Byrony walked out the gate.

  "Morning, Sunshine," Tate greeted. He alighted from the wagon seat to the sidewalk so easily that his leg must not have been hurting like it had been last night. "Sergeant Nick Brandon, Miss Byrony Long."

  The sergeant, who couldn’t have been more than thirty, touched the wide brim of his trooper hat. "Miss Long."

  "Your carriage awaits." Tate gave a half-bow and swept out his arm with a flourish.

  "Sorry," Sergeant Brandon said in a contrite tone. "The police wagon is in the shop. Mr. Madison said you didn’t ride, so I borrowed this one from the livery."

  "I appreciate it." Byrony hoped she sounded more sincere than she felt as she ignored Tate and climbed up onto the seat. He followed after her, wedging her tightly between the two men.

  "Nicky? Is that you?" Mrs. Giroux rushed down the steps and out the gate. She cast a startled look from the sergeant to Byrony and Tate. "Is this an official call?"

  "Hi Aunt Char." The Sergeant’s tone sounded uncomfortable. "Kind of official, but don’t worry. It’s just that Miss Long’s sister was the victim we found three weeks ago."

  The innkeeper gasped theatrically. "The dead girl in the green dress? Oh, my God! We can’t let people start talking about that again. It’ll destroy what little bit of business we have left!"

  Her sister had been murdered and this woman was only concerned about her business? Byrony felt the blood rising in her face and she clenched her hands into fists.

  "Don’t worry, Aunt Char." Strain was apparent in the young man’s voice. "The guys in Mackinaw City are handling the case. I’m just taking Miss Long to pick up her sister’s things. See you later."

  Before the woman or Byrony could say anything more, he clucked to the horses and flapped the reins. The wagon lurched away, throwing Byrony halfway into Tate’s lap. She jerked herself upright and sat stiffly, trying vainly not to lean into either man.

  "She’s not really my aunt," Nick Brandon explained when they were out of earshot. "She’s my mom’s cousin, and an old busybody. Her family doesn’t even own the house any more. They sold it about twelve years ago, and she runs it in the off-season."

  "I suppose in a place this small, everybody knows everybody else’s business." Tate gave voice to the same thought running through Byrony’s mind.

  Brandon shrugged with one shoulder. "Us year-round folks don’t bother much with the people who’re only here for the season. There’s a lot of them and they just stick around three months."

  "Don’t some come back every year?" Tate asked.

  "A few." The other man turned the corner and urged the horses a little faster. "But the novelty of this place wears off pretty quick for most people."

  Considering how bumpy the wagon ride was, Byrony’s disenchantment couldn’t happen much faster. She hoped all her fillings weren’t jarred loose by the time they got to where ever they were going. Next time she would insist on riding a bike.

  Another vehicle approached from the opposite direction and as it drew closer, Byrony recognized the black coach and horses from the Grand Hotel. Tingling unease crawled up her spine and she couldn’t draw in her breath quickly enough. The driver must have recognized Sergeant Brandon for he touched his top hit in greeting as they passed, and Nick returned the gesture. Byrony’s uneasiness erupted into a shudder.

  "Whoa, Sunshine." Tate’s fingers curled around her upper arm. "You all right?"

  Chagrined, she shook off of his grasp. "I’m fine."

  Nick cast her an anxious sideways glance. "You don’t have to go. I’ll take you back to town."

  "No, I want to go," she insisted. "It’s just – that black carriage and horses give me the creeps." Definitely an understatement on her part.

  "They’ve used those carriages and teams for as long as I can remember," Nick explained with another shrug. "Tourists expect them."

  Byrony couldn’t imagine wanting to ride in that spooky vehicle.

  "They must have to custom order them." Tate interrupted her thoughts.

  Nodding, Nick confirmed, "We custom order just about everything, even these manure catchers strapped under the horses’ tails. Of course, not everybody uses them. That’s why the pooper scoopers are the most important employees on the island."

  Tate chuckled. "I believe it."

  Byrony realized their banter was for her benefit, and it had actually worked. The tension knotting her neck and shoulders had vanished. She stopped fighting the movements of the wagon and swayed with them instead. The rhythmic clomping of the horses’ hooves sounded soothing. For a few minutes, she enjoyed the passing scenery, trees with leaves turning gold and red, then on the right the bright green swath of a golf course appeared. But when they rounded another bend in
the road, she glimpsed the five story hotel on the top of the hill, and the whole situation with Jessica’s death came crashing back.

  Quickly turning away, her gaze collided with Tate’s knowing blue eyes. She cleared her throat and looked at her feet. "Um, isn’t this kind of an isolated area?"

  "Makes sense that they’d put the livestock and barns on the back of the property. Plus, I’m guessing there are more folks around during the summer, right Sarge?"

  "Yep," Nick verified and he clucked to the horses again. "Also, the livery is a notorious hang out for the younger employees. They party out here a lot."

  "Was – " Byrony took a deep breath and pushed her words out. "Was there a party the night Jessica…" In spite of her efforts, she couldn’t finish.

  Sergeant Brandon shot her another sideways glance. "If there was, nobody called me or my guys out to break it up." He turned the horses up a slope, and into a dusty yard in front of a long, low barn. "We have to walk from here," he said, pulling the horses to a halt.

  A short, wizened man called a greeting and hustled over to hold the horses’ heads while Nick Brandon climbed down. On Byrony’s other side, Tate also swung easily to the ground. She looked from one side to the other, not sure which way to go.

  "Hang on a minute." Tate picked up a block of wood sitting beside the barn door, and placed it next to the wagon.

  Clutching his outstretched hand for balance, Byrony stepped down to the block of wood, then the ground. Acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers, she pulled away and muttered her thanks. As the stableman led the horses away, the Sergeant motioned to them. Tate fell into step with her as she followed the young policeman around the end of the barn and onto a trail that led down the wooded slope.

  The path quickly narrowed, and Tate let her walk in front of him. But as soon as she saw the remnants of yellow crime tape, she stopped short. The leaves and branches blurred in front of her while a sob wrenched itself from her throat. Then she felt Tate’s large hands on her shoulders. Whirling blindly, she buried her face into the soft flannel of his shirt and sobbed again.