22. Killion

Out of nowhere, a summer storm decided to dump a deluge of rain, wind, and lightning over Brambleberry Bay.

Hattie and I picked up a few more donuts, along with a pizza for good measure, and I followed her over to Moonlit Meadows.

While she's in the restroom doing a quick change, I'm snug on the sofa with Rookie bouncing from one side of me to the other.

"I missed you, too, big guy," I say, giving him a scratch between the ears when I can catch him.

Cricket gives a lazy yowl from Hattie's bed and I chuckle her way.

"I missed you, too, you little cutie pie. Where's Jolly?" I no sooner ask than the teddy bear materializes in Rookie's mouth.

Hattie steps back into the room, cozy in a pink fuzzy robe, her hair combed back and wet, and her face scrubbed clean and glowing.

I've never seen a woman as beautiful as Hattie in all my life. Half the time, I still marvel that a woman like Hattie wants anything to do with me.

I certainly won't be making the same mistake Duke made. The fact he kicked her to the curb has me questioning his sanity.

"Ooh, speaking of Duke"—she says while opening and shutting cabinets then pressing the buttons on her coffee maker—"I'm dying to hear about the coroner's report."

I freeze solid for a second.

Did I say anything about Duke out loud?

Hattie shuffles back this way looking a bit frazzled as she lands next to me.

"I'm sorry," she pants. "I had to jump in the shower and get the grime of the day off of me—more to the point, my face. But I can't stop thinking about the coroner's report. That's what I meant when I said speaking of Duke. I guess I was continuing a thought out loud and expected you to know what I was thinking."

I lift my chin a notch. "I guess I would have to be a mind reader to know that."

She gives a nervous laugh and I'd swear Cricket just laughed as well.

"Killion," she says my name lower than a whisper, and if I'm not mistaken, there are tears glittering in her eyes. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Cricket yowls as if the house were on fire. Then Rookie gives a few sharp barks.

Hattie clears her throat and nods. "You know what? This probably isn't the time."

She scoots over and I pull her onto my lap and hold her like that for a moment.

"Lilacs and vanilla," I say, inhaling the scent right from her neck.

If heaven doesn't hold the scent of Hattie Holiday, is it really heaven?

A tiny laugh bubbles from her as if she heard and a faint alarm goes off in me.

"So tell me"—I say, reaching for a slice of pizza and handing it to her before snatching one up for myself—"any more gifts from your secret admirer?"

"No, thankfully. Any prints on the brooch?" She takes a bite out of her pizza while studying me for clues.

"A partial."

"Ooh! What does that mean?"

"It means I don't have the technology to solve this riddle just yet, but my friends at the FBI lab most certainly do. I've handed it over to a buddy of mine and he said he'd take a look."

Her eyes flit to the corner of the ceiling. "Do you think there's any way I could get the brooch back in time for the Fourth of July? I was sort of thinking I'd wear that and the earrings they gave me to the Stars and Stripes Spectacular at the country club that night."

"Why's that? Match your outfit?"

She swats me playfully on the arm. "Because whoever it is might be there. I really think I could get them to out themselves if they just saw me wearing them. I bet anything they'd want to compliment the pieces or ask me questions about them." She nods as if there are more but she doesn't want to give away her methods.

And whatever her methods are, they work. Hattie knows how to get the lowdown on just about anything with not much more than one of her smiles. They certainly don't teach that at the police academy.

"Okay." I sigh at the thought. "I'll give it back as soon as I can. But I'll be there on the Fourth and I'm not taking my eyes off of you."

"I certainly hope not," she purrs as we finish up our pizza slices. "So tell me everything Duke said in the coroner's report. There has to be something more to this case. I think it's clear it's murder."

"I thought it was pretty clear before I read the official report, but now it's a neon sign that reads homicide. It turns out, electrocution is still the cause of death, but they were able to ascertain that she had high levels of Methaqualone in her system. Enough to knock out a horse. She was well on her way to a coma."

"What is that?" she asks.

"The street name is Quaaludes. Duke thinks someone slipped something into her drink. He checked her for needle marks but didn't find any."

"Quaaludes?" Her eyes dart around the room as she tries her best to put it together. "Where do you think the killer got their hands on it?"

"It's not difficult to get if you have the right connections. It's cheap, usually comes in the form of a pill but you can grind it up. It's a central nervous system depressant, so people have known to take it to quell their anxiety, or just to mellow out."

"Maybe she took it herself?" Hattie winces. "I'm not trying to play devil's advocate, but maybe she was addicted to the stuff? I mean, she had a high-strung job. And she seemed to have a bone to pick with quite a few people, or at least they did with her. And well, if she did accidentally take too much of the drug, that would explain why she wandered off and fell into that puddle of doom."

I nod. "I agree, all very possible. But something about it seems off. The homicide detective in me is still oddly rooting for the homicide." Now it's me wincing. "Please don't tell anyone I said that." It makes me sound like a monster.

"Then I'm a monster, too." She ticks her head to the side and my blood runs cold. "I'm always rooting for a homicide."

I'm not sure why, but the fact Hattie clearly knew what I was thinking felt like a sucker punch. From that moment on, I decide to turn my thoughts into a hurricane of nothingness that rivals the thunderstorm rattling the windows.

She clears her throat. "Speaking of homicides, Mrs. Draper certainly wouldn't mind committing one right about now."

"Candace Draper," I offer, warming to Hattie once again. Of course, she can't read my thoughts. It's silly of me to think so. We're a couple. That's what couples do. They can finish one another's sentences—even if they've never uttered a word. "I did a little digging while you were speaking with her."

"How's that?"

"I asked my mother." I offer a quick smile. "Actually, your mother knew of her, too. Apparently, they both felt sorry for the poor woman because word on the street is that Dr. Draper had been a cad for the entire five years of their marriage."

"Well, that's exactly what I gleaned," she says before proceeding to reiterate his shady past, the fact he's presumably given the woman an STD, and that she accused him of sleeping with Missy Livingston and maybe the deceased. "Oh"—Hattie nearly jumps out of my lap as she lifts a finger—"and she also mentioned that he said he was from Missouri but that he didn't have a stitch of an accent."

I think about it for a moment. "Odd, but not impossible, I suppose."

"Then there's that whole strange thing about Missy Livingston not having a social media past. At murder club, we discovered that she?—"

"Murder club?" I deadpan. "Never mind, keep going." I learned long ago that there was no stopping Hattie from investigating. Justice is as much in her blood as it is mine, and that's one of the things I love about her most.

"Chevy did a light digging and found out that Missy doesn't really have a social media footprint that dates back past a year."

"Interesting," I say as I consider it. "So we have two suspects with suspicious pasts."

"That's right," she says. "Missy as of one year ago and Dr. Draper as of five years ago. He's a dentist, though. I mean, surely we can easily find out where he went to dental school, right? That will answer a lot of questions right there."

"Brilliant," I say, landing a kiss to her cheek. "And I will get right on that—as in me alone. Let me take this the rest of the way. You've always done way too much. Besides, you have the Stars and Stripes deal coming up in a couple of days. You've got enough on your plate already."

A frown twitches on her lips. "All right, fine. But there was one other person arguing with Jane that night." She chews her lip for a moment, hesitating to say it.

I'll say it for her.

"My mother." A hard sigh expels from me just thinking of the ways she's enmeshed herself in this case. "I was able to wrangle a little info out of her, but only the fact that she did speak with Jane once again, later at the party that night and hinted about trouble with Jane but that she was able to square it all away and had no ill will toward the woman. She just hired her to take over the accounting."

Hattie lifts her shoulders to her ears. "I may have heard a rumor that your mother owes Uncle Sam in back taxes."

"My mother?" A thousand thoughts run through my mind and they all look like dollar signs wearing prison garb. "Why hasn't she said anything to me? Why didn't she come to me for help?" Those darn spas of hers. When she started out, she was a small-time operation, still having my dad do her taxes for her, then they split up and… "Oh geez." I pinch my eyes shut tight. "I'd better talk to her about all this. She's sitting in the middle of a hornet's nest and she doesn't even know it. An orange jumpsuit is the last thing I want to see her in."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure it was just an accident. And I bet Jane was trying to help your mother. And maybe Nora?—"

"Was being Nora," I finish for her. "I bet Jane took one look at the mess and advised my mother to write a big check to the IRS. My mother has never been fond of three-letter agencies, and I'm sure that conversation underscored the point." I glance at my watch. "I won't be able to sleep tonight unless I deal with this on some level. I'm so sorry, Hattie. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. In fact, I'll keep Rookie so he doesn't get caught up in the melee."

Rookie whimpers and nods as if agreeing.

"Thank you." I kiss her on the lips for that one, and the next thing I know I'm on the front porch.

"Oh, wait," Hattie says. "Let me give you at least half these donuts. It's bad enough I'm going to gobble them all down, I may as well share the calories." She turns and heads into the kitchen to do just that.

It's not the first time my mother has skated on thin ice. But it's certainly the first time she's embroiled herself in one of my investigations because of it.

Hattie laughs from the kitchen. "Don't worry, Killion," she calls out. "I have a feeling both of our mothers are experts at skating on thin ice."

She heads this way, hands me a bag with the donuts in it, and my eyes widen twice their size.

"You're right," I say lower than a whisper.

"Of course, I'm right," she says, landing another kiss to my lips. "That's probably why they're hitting it off so well. Nothing like a little trauma bonding," she teases as she offers up another kiss, and this time we linger.

I pull Hattie in by the small of her back and kiss her as if I were going off to war, as if I were about to disappear and we'd never see one another again. It certainly feels that way.

A jag of lightning ignites overhead and the sky brightens in a flash. The thunder sets in right away and rattles the porch beneath my feet.

"I love you," she says as she sneaks in another quick kiss. "Stay dry."

"I will." My eyes hook to hers and I hold her hostage there a moment. "I love you, too, Hattie."

We part ways and I jump into my truck and hightail it out of Moonlit Meadows.

All of these months, all of the so-called intuition. I shake my head.

Without a doubt, Hattie Holiday just read my mind as if it were a book. And I'd be lying if it didn't give me the heebie-jeebies—just like it did to Duke.

This isn't something new with her.

I have a feeling she's been doing it from the beginning.

How is it possible that Hattie could read my mind?

It's not.

Although she's darn good at getting info out of people and maybe that's why.

This isn't possible.

It can't be happening.

Only it is, on both counts.

What the heck is going on?