Read Killer Colada: a Danger Cove Cocktail Mystery Online
Authors: Sibel Hodge,Elizabeth Ashby
Killer Colada: a Danger Cove Cocktail Mystery (19 page)
Early the next morning I took a slow cycle ride around Danger Cove, savoring the wind in my hair and the sea air filtering into my lungs as I tried to shake off all the bad things that happened in the last week. Renewed and refreshed, I headed back for home, happy in the knowledge that things could get back to normal now. I parked my bike at the back of the building and walked around the side.
I was just unlocking the door, when Vernon appeared behind me. His cheeks had a healthier glow than I'd seen for months, and he had more of a bounce in his step, despite his limp.
"Morning! You're early," I said. "How're you feeling? You look a lot better, actually. Ruby's home cooking and natural remedies must be working wonders." I opened the door, and he followed me inside.
"Pah!" He waved a hand in the air. "She's got me eating tempeh and some weird stuff I can't even pronounce. And seaweed!" He shot me an incredulous look. "And beans, but not even nice baked beans that I used to slather over fried bacon. These ones are dressed in olive oil and herbs, or in casseroles, or in bean burgers! I don't know how much more my bowels can take. It's like living with the Taliban, taking orders from Ruby."
I smirked at his overdramatic protestations. "You love it! Admit it. And now you're both living under the same roof again…" I trailed off, letting that hang in the air for a while. "Maybe you should work on getting back together again. It's obvious you still love each other. And you shouldn't leave it until too late." I thought about my conversation with Ian. "One day you might wake up and find she's not here anymore."
He leaned his elbows on the bar. "I found out something interesting from my Seattle contact."
"Are you changing the subject, by any chance?" I swiped him with a dishcloth.
He grabbed the cloth from my hands in a lightning move and ignored the question. "Do you want to hear it?"
"Go on, then." I perched on the edge of a barstool.
"The fingerprints from the Danger Cove Vet Clinic matched Pandora's."
"So my theory was right. She took her own life and tried to frame Tim?"
"Uh-huh. Tim's been released, and Donna's arraignment hearing is today."
"I feel so sorry for Tim. But at least he's finally cleared his name."
"He's in shock at the moment, not surprisingly. He hadn't suspected Donna of killing Jenna in all these years. Now the poor guy has to pick up the pieces of his life yet again." He was just about to say something more, when Harvey walked in.
He stood in the entrance, a bouquet of forget-me-nots in his hands, that sexy smile on his face.
"I'm guessing they're still not for me?" Vernon nodded to the flowers.
"Er…unfortunately not, but I can get you some later." Harvey grinned, bringing out the laughter lines around his eyes. "How about some orange carnations? They'll bring out the color of your eyes."
Vernon laughed. "Well, I'll leave you lovebirds to it." He winked at me and disappeared into the kitchen to give us some privacy.
"Hey! They're gorgeous." I rounded the bar, walking toward him.
He glanced down at the flowers, then back to me. "These are an apology."
"For what?" My stomach sank to my knees. Was he going to tell me he'd slept with Carmen that night she was banging on his door in the early hours of the morning?
"For everything Carmen did to you and Karma."
"You can't apologize for her. And she didn't actually do anything to me. Just my poor cat."
"I know. She's completely bonkers. I had to pick her up from the hospital because she didn't have anyone else to help her. Luckily, at the moment she's on a plane back to the UK, crutches and all. But she did actually want me to apologize to you for what she tried to do to Karma, and for sending you those threatening notes. She realized she went too far."
"That was her?!"
"Yep."
"Wow. Well, I guess that clears that up. But at least we can start getting back to normal around here now. Can't we?" I looked up at him.
"I hope so." He handed the flowers over. "Anyway, these are
my
apology. Nothing to do with Carmen."
"For what?"
"I'm getting to that part. Do you know the story of these flowers?" he asked.
"Yes." I smiled. "But why don't you tell me anyway."
He took one of my hands in his free hand. "Well, legend has it that in medieval times a young knight was walking along the banks of a river with his girlfriend, and he bent down to pick them for her. But the weight of his armor caused him to fall into the river. As he was drowning, he threw the flowers to her on the bank and shouted out, 'Forget me not!'" He flashed me that dimple again. "Kind of depressing, actually, but…well, I wanted to say, er…sorry for neglecting you lately. And…um…er, you're always on…well, on my mind. And I'm not the kind of…um…guy who's, you know, unfaithful, and, well, please don't ever doubt my…er…feelings for… Oh God, I'm making a right mess of this, aren't I?"
I slid my hands around his neck, pulling him closer. So close I could feel his warm breath on my cheek, smell the outdoors on his skin. His nervousness was endearing, only making me love him more. "Not at all."
"Okay, so shall I go on?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, it's just that…I chose these flowers because even though I've neglected you lately with work…um…I could never forget you. You're one in a million, Hope, and—"
I kissed his neck tenderly.
"You're totally putting me off now." He slid his hand around my waist, his lips finding mine.
"So, you were saying?" I drew back, giving him a coy smile, a rush of longing hitting me.
He tossed the flowers on the bar, picked me up, and carried me up the stairs to my apartment. "I think you know what I'm saying," he said huskily, eyes hooded with a desire that matched mine.
"I think I do."
* * * * *
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Sibel Hodge is the author of bestselling romantic comedy
Fourteen Days Later
. She has eight cats and one husband. In her spare time, she's Wonder Woman! When she's not out saving the world from dastardly demons, she writes books for adults and children.
Her work has been shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008, Highly Commended by the Yeovil Literary Prize 2009, Runner-up in the Chapter One Promotions Novel Comp 2009, and nominated for Best Novel with Romantic Elements in 2010 by The Romance Reviews. Her novella
Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave
has been listed as one of the Top 40 Books About Human Rights by Accredited Online Colleges.
To learn more about Sibel, visit her online at:
http://www.sibelhodge.com/
Elizabeth Ashby was born and raised in Danger Cove and now uses her literary talent to tell stories about the town she knows and loves. Ms. Ashby has penned several Danger Cove Mysteries, which are published by Gemma Halliday Publishing. While she does admit to taking some poetic license in her storytelling, she loves to incorporate the real people and places of her hometown into her stories. She says anyone who visits Danger Cove is fair game for her poisoned pen, so tourists beware! When she's not writing, Ms. Ashby enjoys gardening, taking long walks along the Pacific coastline, and curling up with a hot cup of tea, her cat, Sherlock, and a thrilling novel.
* * * * *
Danger Cove Cocktail Mysteries
Amber Fox Mysteries:
Other Works:
Fourteen Days Later
My Perfect Wedding
The Baby Trap
How to Dump Your Boyfriend in the Men's Room (and other short stories)
It's a Catastrophe
The See-Through Leopard
Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave
Non Fiction:
A Gluten Free Taste of Turkey
A Gluten Free Soup Opera
Healing Meditations for Surviving Grief and Loss
* * * * *
of the first Amber Fox Mystery
by
SIBEL HODGE
CHAPTER ONE
"
Three can keep a secret if two are dead.
"
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
If life is like a box of chocolates, then mine is the mother of all coffee creams. You know—the ones that always get left in the box because no one wants them? Today I felt like a coffee cream, too. On the outside I was sleek and hard, but on the inside, I was just a lump of mush.
I sat in Brad's office, trying to ignore the queasy tingle that gurgled in the depths of my stomach. As he droned on about my assignment, I tuned him out and debated whether things could get any worse. I tried giving myself a pep talk, but I'm not sure it worked.
Come on, Amber, get a grip. It's no use wishing you could get the hell out of here. You can do this new job with your eyes closed.
Suddenly, something Brad said caught my attention and I snapped back to the conversation. "Hang on a sec. Let me get this straight. You want me to plant some bugs?" I asked, wondering if I'd misheard. "I take it we're talking about
bug
bugs and not the creepy-crawly variety." I shuddered at the thought. Spiders were a definite no-no.
Brad gave me a cool nod of agreement. The owner of Hi-Tec Insurance, Brad was a former Special Forces operative whom I'd known for years. He was also my former fiancé. I'd accepted a job as claims investigator at Hi-Tec after being let go from my position on the police force. Not the ideal situation, I know, but it paid the bills.
"Exactly why does an insurance company want to plant bugs in its client's offices?" I asked as I sat back in the chair opposite Brad's, my right leg jiggling up and down like a pneumatic drill.
"This is the twenty-first century. We're in the proactive insurance age now," Brad replied.
"So you're trying to avoid an insurance claim before it happens?"
"You've got it in one, Foxy. Claims are money, and if there's one thing I hate, it's losing money." An amused smile played around the corners of Brad's mouth as he looked at my knee aerobics. "Am I making you nervous?"
I stopped jiggling and gave him the eye roll to beat all eye rolls. "I think we're way past the stage of you making me nervous, Brad." He raised an eyebrow at that but continued, handing me a manila folder as he spoke.
"I've had a tip from one of my informers that this particular client is into something a bit dodgy—actually, a lot dodgy. I need to get a handle on the truth before I find myself involved in a multimillion-pound insurance payout."
I took the folder. "And what informer would that be?" I asked as I flicked through the file, watching out of the corner of my eye as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. The familiar action brought a reluctant smile to my face. A suit, dress shirt, and trousers didn't fit Brad. He was more at home in desert camouflage and chunky-soled boots. As I read the client's name, I knew my jaw had fallen to the floor but I couldn't help it. I barely heard Brad's response to my question.
"The usual—the seedy, underhanded kind."
"Umberto Fandango, the fashion designer? He's one of your clients?"
"Hi-Tec Insurance has a very diverse clientele, ranging from the scumbag lowlifes to the rich and famous ones." Brad rested his feet on his huge mahogany desk, looking pretty pleased with himself. He picked a piece of fluff from his trousers, examining it with distaste before depositing it in the trash bin.
"His bags are to die for!" Maybe being a claims investigator wouldn't be so boring, after all. "Have you seen the ones with—"
"Here." Ignoring my amazement, he tossed me a packet of black ballpoint pens.
Distracted, I examined the packet with interest. "What are these?"
"The bugs are cunningly disguised as pens. I just need you to go to Umberto's office, plant a few of these around the place, and leave the rest to me. To activate them, you just have to click the top of the pen. Do you think you can handle that?"
"No problemo. I'm Amber Fox, Miss Hot-Shit Investigator. I can do anything."
Brad glanced over at my leg, which was now bouncing up and down, space-hopper style. "I'd definitely agree with the 'hot' part." He arched an eyebrow. "Janice Skipper might agree with the 'shit' part."
I cringed. Janice Skipper was the reason I'd been let go from the force. She had carried a vendetta for me around for a long time, and had taken pleasure in making my life hell. To say Janice was a sore point for me was an understatement.
"Urgh! Don't mention that woman. If it weren't for her—"
"I know, Foxy—you wouldn't be here now." Brad stood up and moved around the desk. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Hacker. If you want anything technical done, he's your guy." He strode toward me, six feet of solid muscle that backed my five-foot-six frame into the wall. He stopped mere inches away from my face.
I caught a musky waft of his aftershave and sucked in a breath. A tingling sensation erupted in my stomach.
Calm down, Amber. Nothing to worry about. You've just got a case of gas, that's all. What else could that peculiar sensation be?
"It's good to have you back, Foxy," he whispered, staring down at me with haunting gray eyes. They're the kind that are lined at the corners, giving you just a hint that he's seen more in his forty years than most people would see in ten lifetimes.
I matched his stare pound for pound and swallowed hard, feeling goose bumps springing to attention on my skin. My throat felt constricted and dusty. "Don't call me Foxy," I finally managed to croak out.
"It's either Foxy or Sexy. You choose," he said. His words caused his breath to tickle my cheek.
"And Brad? You haven't got me back," I told him, hoping he couldn't see the pulse that was booming away at the base of my throat. Just when I thought I was going to have to do something to make him back off, he slowly leaned past me and opened his office door.
"We'll see about that," he drawled as he pushed away from me and went out the door, beckoning for me to follow him to meet Hacker.
A few minutes later, I rushed to the restroom. Cold water by the bucket load was in order. I leaned on the sink, staring into the mirror at my flushed face. My heart was still banging out a tribal drum beat. I hoped Brad hadn't seen it through my T-shirt.
Okay, so this probably wasn't a good idea, working for my ex, but then I hadn't exactly had many job offers in the last six months. No, scratch that. I'd had zilch, and I still had to pay my mortgage, so I didn't have a choice, really. The sensible part of me thought it was a positive and productive sign that Brad Beckett didn't affect me in the slightest anymore. By "affect" I mean I'd managed to get through a whole half-hour conversation with Brad without crying, fainting, or molesting him. Then again, maybe it was the crazy part of me that thought this was progress. It was definitely one of the two. I just hadn't worked out which was which yet.
Okay, Amber, this can work
. I'd be professional about my job and just solve this one case for him before I found a new job. I wouldn't be here long enough to fall in love with him again. Anyway, my curiosity had been piqued so I couldn't quit straight away. I just hoped that curiosity didn't kill the Fox.
I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. Right, here we go, then. Onward and upward, and all that rubbish.
I turned on the cold water to splash onto my face, expecting a trickle. I shrieked with surprise as the water rushed out, tsunami style, splashing up and soaking the front of my T-shirt.
"Great!" I looked for some paper towels, but the restroom only had dryers. Before I could move to it, the door opened and closed behind me and I glanced up in the mirror. Brad was standing behind me, examining the reflection of my wet chest with great interest. I could feel my nipples straining through the tight fabric. And even worse, judging from Brad's smile, I knew he could see it happening.
"Nice look," he said, a husky note entering his voice.
I rushed to the dryer, frantically flapping my top underneath it. "What are you doing in the women's bathroom?" I hissed.
"Oh, didn't I tell you? This building has unisex toilets." He shot me an innocent grin.
A searing-hot tingle rippled through me. How the hell was a girl supposed to have any secrets around here if even the bathrooms weren't safe havens from his presence?
Brad winked at me. "There aren't any secrets around here."
It wasn't until I'd barged out of the restroom that I realized I hadn't actually said it out loud. So how did Brad know exactly what I was thinking?
* * *
The home of the Fandango Empire was a converted flourmill in Ware, Hertfordshire. According to the file, Umberto had a pretty impressive set of offices that took up the whole of the building, which included a runway for the models to practice on.
I cruised down Ware's high street in my blend-in-with-the-rest-of-the-world silver Toyota, silently rehearsing my fake spiel about how I needed to check and make certain his insurance coverage was meeting his needs, which was a laugh. What I knew about insurance could fit on the head of one of the pens Brad wanted me to leave. Still, I could BS with the best of them, and I promised myself that if I pulled this off, I'd be having a super-duper celebratory lunch afterwards—ooh, maybe I'd even throw in a monster chocolate muffin, too. My stomach gurgled loudly, although I couldn't tell if it was from nerves or hunger.
Squaring my shoulders, I pushed open the front door and stopped cold in the reception area. I looked around, soaking in the crazy décor. The theme seemed to be "If it doesn't move, leopard skin it." Don't get me wrong, I love leopard skin. I'm a real leopard skin kind of girl—as long as it's fake, of course—but a leopard skin reception desk, sofa, chairs, rug, curtains, and phone were a tad overkill.
Trying to act casual, I wandered over to the receptionist. "Hi, I'm here to see Umberto Fandango. I'm from Hi-Tec Insurance." With my hand in my pocket, I tried to look calm as I felt for the pens. Grabbing one, I covertly clicked the top to activate it and waited for my moment.
The receptionist looked around her computer screen at me, forehead pinched in a harassed frown. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and was attractive in a subtle way that probably went unnoticed in this kind of industry where obvious beauty takes center stage. "Do you have an appointment? I didn't see one for you in the book." She ran a finger down the page of a leather-bound diary in front of her.
"No, unfortunately not."
She glanced up at me again, the frown looking more harassed. "London Fashion Week is next week, and we're all very busy. Mr. Fandango is rushed off his feet."
"Look, I'm sorry to just turn up like this, but I really need to talk to him about his insurance. We wouldn't want to find out he didn't have the coverage he needed for something, would we? It'll just take a few minutes." I flashed her a conspiratorial smile and placed my hand face down on the desk, willing her to turn her head for a second.
She sighed, seeing I wasn't going to give up. "Let me just buzz him, then. Hang on a sec."
Her momentary glance at the leopard phone was all it took for me to deposit the pen under her monitor.
"Thanks," I said.
While she spoke to someone on the other end of the line, I gazed toward the glass doors off the reception area, where an echoing male voice shouted out instructions. I followed the sound and moved to peer through the door to get a better look. Some female models with scary wigs stalked up and down the runway, covered in very spangly, glittery creations, as a tall woman stood yelling at them. On second thought, maybe the male voice I'd heard wasn't really male. Maybe it was just a giant woman wearing size-thirteen stilettos with a gruff voice. It was hard to tell. In the background, a woman who looked to be about five times over the required model weight limit of three stone sat at a desk, hot-fixing rhinestones to a white swimsuit.
A tall blonde woman, so thin she looked like she'd been photocopied, clicked her spiky heels in my direction. She eyed me from head to toe with disdain, studying my usual uniform of khaki combats, black T-shirt, and very comfy sneakers. "You're obviously not one of the models," she said as she tilted her head back. Her cheekbones were so sharp they looked like they could put out an eye, and I had to stop myself from leaning backward, just in case.
"Hi, I'm Amber, from Hi-Tec Insurance." I held out my hand to shake hers.
She ignored it and crossed her arms in front of her. Was it me, or was the atmosphere getting noticeably colder? I glanced over at the receptionist, who was chewing on the end of her pencil, a sympathetic look on her face.
"And?" the blonde woman said through lips painted a shade that Dracula would have been proud of.
"That's it, just Hi-Tec Insurance. There's no 'and' after it," I said.
The woman rolled her eyes. "What do you want?" Her voice sharpened, and she frowned at me; the really wicked, twitchy-eye, wrinkly forehead kind, except her forehead didn't wrinkle when she did it.
