14. Killion

Hattie Holiday.

Even her name makes me smile.

I pull into the parking lot of the Brambleberry Bay Country Club and slide into the slot right next to Ginger, Hattie's oxidized and freckled once-upon-a-time cherry red Ford F-100.

Ginger is starting to feel like a member of the family.

Heck, Hattie has felt like family right from the beginning. I've never felt so close to someone in all my life.

I'm glad she and Duke didn't work out. The guy is a numbskull for letting her go. And seeing them together this morning certainly didn't set off any alarm bells for me. It didn't seem like Hattie had any romantic feelings left for him. Especially since her affection was geared toward me.

I hop out of my truck and the summer sun sears over the top of my head like getting a scalding skillet cracked over it.

Something Duke said at the morgue this morning comes back to me. Did he really admit that something about Hattie unnerved him? That he couldn't put his finger on it, but that she gave him the heebie-jeebies?

I shake my head at the thought.

Some guys are just born fools and Duke Kaplan is one of them. Lucky for me, he couldn't see the good thing he had in front of him.

Thankfully, I'll never make that mistake.

A friendly bark lights up the air and soon Rookie and Cricket are running a circle around me. Rookie has that teddy bear of his strapped to his back and he's covered with sand and something green and slimy as well.

I won't be asking questions.

Here's hoping the slime works itself out before he comes home.

"Look who it is," I say, giving them both a playful pat. "My two favorite fur people. Where's Hattie?"

Rookie barks and points with his snout toward the clubhouse.

"Atta boy," I say, patting his back. "Lead the way."

Cricket bolts toward the Cottage House first, and I'd swear both of these two can understand every word I'm saying. I hope Hattie isn't too busy. But judging by the fact the Cottage House is festooned with enough red, white, and blue to make the building vibrate with color, I'd say she's already had a busy afternoon.

Yesterday, this place was plain as a pancake. And today, the front is lined with buntings that span five feet across and four feet tall.

The bistro tables set out front are each adorned with centerpieces featuring miniature fireworks made of sparkling red, silver, and blue tinsel. There's a bust of a smiling Uncle Sam next to the double doors that lead into the Cottage House, and inside a cluster of star-shaped balloons, anchored by ribbons that are held by the most beautiful woman in the world, greets me.

My girl.

"Balloons become you," I say as I pull her in for a kiss.

"And your height becomes you," she says with a laugh bubbling from her. "Can you help me hook these to that sconce up there?"

She points to a brass wall lamp that sits about six feet from the ground and I quickly make all of her balloon dreams come true.

"I knew you were a hero," she says, reeling me back in.

"Looks like you're the hero," I say, quickly surveying the foyer that's been transformed into a Fourth of July bonanza. "It looks as if Uncle Sam himself decided this was the perfect spot for a revolution. Is there such a thing as being too patriotic?"

"Not according to my sister. Winnie is the one who helped with the transformation." She gives a sly glance over her shoulder before leaning in. "And you can bet I made sure the country club paid her double for her patriotic trouble." She gives a little shrug. "I am in charge of the décor around here. And I'm not above paying top dollar for the best."

"Lucky Winnie," I tease. "And lucky you. She has a real gift."

"Speaking of gifts." She closes her eyes a moment too long, and I swear each time she does, it seems like the lights dim in the world. "Aww," she coos my way.

"Aww, what?"

She gives a few quick blinks. "Aww, you're amazing." Her shoulders jump as if she were covering.

A dull chuckle comes from me. "For a second, I thought you were reading my mind."

"What, me? Mind reading?" Her cheeks ignite a vibrant shade of pink. "Someone has been reading too much science fiction and it's not me."

"It's not me either," I say. "I'm too overworked to read for pleasure. The only thing I'll be poring over is Jane Jordan's official coroner's report. Duke texted and said he'd have it ready for me later this afternoon. I was just stopping by to see if you had time for a bite."

"I'd love to take a bite out of you." She bats her lashes at me and revs my engine like only she knows how. "Oh, did you mean food?" She feigns innocence and we share a laugh.

"How about both?" I wrap my arms around her tight just as Cricket yowls at the two of us. "Why do I get the feeling she doesn't approve?"

"Oh, she does." Hattie gives her feline friend a wink. "She's just jealous she's not the one you're holding tight."

Cricket belts out a yowl ten times louder than before and we share a laugh at that one because it's clear Cricket was desperate to set the record straight.

"So, Detective." Hattie nods at me as if I should finish her thought. "Don't make me pull it out of you. Do you have any leads in Jane's murder investigation?"

A hard sigh expels from me. "I've got nothing. And you?" I quirk a brow because I know Hattie too well to think she'd keep her mitts off this one. She's too stubborn not to.

"Hey." She laughs as she taps me on the arm. "I am not stubborn." She stops cold and winces.

"What did you just say?" I inch back because I'm fairly certain I didn't say my part out loud. Did I?

"I could see it in your eyes," she stammers. "You know, we're a couple now. And everyone knows that couples have a special way of communicating—wordlessly. It's like couples' telepathy." She blows out a breath as if she were relieved she came to that conclusion.

"Yes, I guess." I shake my head as if refuting my own words. "So? What did you manage to dig up?"

"Is this an official interrogation?" She's right back to teasing and I can't say I object.

"Don't make me pull you into a private room and make you sweat."

"That is exactly what I'm hoping you'll do," she purrs, and Cricket gives a hearty groan as if she understood. I'm starting to think she does. "Missy Livingston was here this afternoon teaching a class on crabwalking and something to do with shouting our wishes into the ocean."

Now it's me wincing. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"Oh, you don't know half of the things you really don't want to know. Like, how her seaweed smoothies caused a bout of Montezuma's Revenge on about thirty different women all at once, and now we have what I can only describe as a plumbing apocalypse. Let's just say there weren't enough toilets for all of the eager-to-relieve-themselves bodies. The begonias out back won't be needing any fertilizer this year."

"Geez." I inch back once more. "Who should I arrest?"

"Probably me." She bites down on her lip. "There's no reason Missy Livingston should have all the fun. Ooh, speaking of Missy"—she glances over her shoulder once again—"she admitted that she had some sort of disagreement with Jane last night. And also said she saw that dentist that Neelie was hitting on have a disagreement with Jane as well." Her lips twitch. "And I may have witnessed that exchange myself."

"You saw it? Did you see him lure Jane away from the party?"

She shakes her head. "So you think someone lured her away?"

I can practically see her eyes spinning as who knows what runs through her mind.

"Killion, I think you're right," she whispers. "There was no reason anyone needed to be at the dark end of the beach. Jane was a social butterfly, hardly a contemplative thinker who needed to clear her brain."

"Unlike you." I frown as I say it. "You found the need to clear your brain."

"Lucky I did." She nods. "Can you imagine if a club member found her?" She groans at the thought. "As much as I hate to say it, I'd much rather I stumble upon the dead around here. After all, that's why they pay me the mediocre bucks."

"Very funny," I say, pressing my lips against hers and lingering as I take in her honey-sweet scent.

"Ooh, speaking of sweet treats"—she pulls back, and a chill runs through me when she does that couples' intuition thing again—"I got another one of those unexpected gifts." She dashes to the marble counter before bouncing right back with a little pink box in her hand. "Here's the note," she says, holding it my way.

"A bauble for a beauty," I read. "I can't take my eyes off of you." I shake my head at it. "Geez. It seems Duke didn't get the memo."

"That I'm taken?" She lifts a brow in amusement. "I don't think this is from Duke. He never bought me anything more than dinner, and at that, it was nothing fancier than burgers and fries." She pops open the box and a jewel-encrusted wave stares back at me with a pearl embedded in the whitewash.

"It's a brooch," she says. "I had Chevy look at it since she was around when I opened it and she assured me the wave is comprised of what look to be quality sapphires and that the pearl is a pricey one. She's pretty sure it's an antique."

"So this is a costly gift." As were the emerald earrings.

"As were the emerald earrings." She nods and my gaze hooks to hers.

My phone pings and I glance down.

"The coroner's report is in," I say, burying my phone back into my pocket. "Would you mind if I take the brooch?" I ask as I pull out an evidence bag out of my pocket. "I'd like to dust it for prints." And catch the creep who sent it.

"You think my secret admirer is creepy?" She crimps her lips as she holds the box my way as if it were a dead rat.

"You don't?" I quickly ensconce the box in plastic and pull her in for one last embrace.

"If it's not coming from you, I'm completely creeped out." She dots my lips with a kiss. "Thanks for looking into this for me. Oh, and before I forget, have you seen Henry lately? He's been acting a little off."

"Henry has been acting a little off since the second he walked into my frat house a million years ago. What's going on?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me. I guess we have three full-fledged mysteries on our hands. A secret admirer, Henry's troubles, and a killer. Life couldn't possibly get any more exciting, could it?"

"Let's hope not." A small laugh rattles in my throat as we share another kiss. "I'll catch you for dinner?"

"I have book club tonight. But I'll take a rain check for tomorrow night."

"You're on."

Hattie offers to hang onto Rookie since I'm headed back to the morgue, and all the way there not one of the three mysteries she listed is on my mind. Instead, it's yet a fourth mystery.

How does Hattie Holiday always seem to know what I'm thinking?

I'll be honest, it's not feeling like something cute akin to couples' telepathy.

In fact, it's starting to give me the heebie-jeebies.

My thoughts stop cold.

Heebie-jeebies? Isn't that what Duke said Hattie was giving him?

Huh.

I wonder if they had couples' telepathy, too.

There's only one way to find out.