My Killer Vacation(43)

“You had to ruin it.” I kick him in the shin.

He pokes me in the side, eyes twinkling, his attention drifting down to my butt.

He drains his beer.

My hips press unconsciously to the island, goosebumps rising on my neck. Down my arms. Dear Jesus, how late does this sex shop stay open? I swear if I get there and the doors are locked, I’m going to cut a hole in the ceiling and rappel in like James Bond.

“What makes you think the buoy was meant for you, Lisa?” I ask.

She shrugs jerkily. “Just a weird feeling I’ve been having. Like…I don’t know. An eerie presence is following me around.” Her laughter is forced. “I’m sure the weird feeling has been brought on by the terrible way my brother died.”

I reach across the island and squeeze her forearm. “You’re traumatized. Of course.”

Jude hands Lisa a napkin to wipe her eyes, patting her back with a comforting hand.

I lean sideways a little too dramatically, trying to see some actual tears.

Come on, woman, give me one.

Myles tosses a picture of the potential murder weapon down right in the middle of the taco bar. “Do you recognize this gun?”

“Myles,” I gasp.

He weighs my outrage, then visibly decides to proceed anyway, the jerk. “Lisa?”

With a heavy swallow, she picks up the photograph. “I don’t recognize it.” She lets it drift back down to the island. “Paul keeps a Beretta locked up in a safe. That’s the only weapon I have access to.”

“I didn’t ask if you had access to it.”

She pauses in the act of reaching for a second taco shell, drawing her hand back slowly. Me and Jude are staring at each other like stone statues, eyebrows up near our hairlines. It reminds me of how we would freeze during rare arguments between our parents, not knowing how to intervene or if we should leave the room. “I’m going to head home. Oscar’s estate lawyer is dropping off a bunch of documents bright and early in the morning and he claims they’re important,” Lisa says finally, smile tight, sliding off the stool. “Don’t forget to let in the window guys tomorrow afternoon.”

“We’re on it,” Jude says, saluting her.

Myles growls until she’s out the door.

I start to follow in her footsteps, intending to engage the lock behind her, but Myles hooks a finger in the back waistband of my skirt and tugs me backward, performing the task himself.

“Lisa is your main suspect, isn’t she?” I whisper when he returns. “Oh my gosh, that was like something straight off the ID channel. I didn’t see it coming. I mean, of course it’s always the people closest to the victim, but—”

“Take a deep breath, half pint.”

Jude slides me his beer and I take several gulps.

“You caught her off guard with the picture on purpose, didn’t you?” This comes from Jude.

Myles shrugs. Goes back to doctoring a second—possibly third taco.

“Come on, bounty hunter. Give us something.” I give him a flirtatious shoulder shimmy, but he only looks exasperated by it. “Don’t I get brownie points for finding the murder weapon?”

“Ballistics haven’t come back yet.” He frowns at me while devouring the taco. Is he caving on sharing information with us? He looks like he’s caving. I give another shoulder shimmy, just in case, and he sighs. “Spoke to Oscar Stanley’s lawyer today. Lisa Stanley is the beneficiary of her brother’s estate. All of these rentals become hers now.”

My brother and I slap the island in unison. “Follow the money trail,” Jude says. “Don’t I always say follow the money trail?”

“Yes. You do.” I nod at Myles. “He does. Any time we watch Dateline together. My brother has a very analytical brain. It’s incredible.”

“Great,” Myles says dryly. “Look, it’s not a wrap. She’s just a person of interest. To me, anyway. The cops still have a hard-on for the father.”

“I’ve seen that porn.”

“Jude!” I snort. Then I click an imaginary pen and get down to business. “So. Currently our suspects are Judd Forrester, Lisa Stanley and Sal next door?”

The bounty hunter’s eyebrows draw together. “I never said Sal was a suspect.”

“Don’t you watch Fear Thy Neighbor? Sal hates renters. Oscar owned four properties on this block alone. Couldn’t the revolving doors on all sides of his house drive Sal to a murder of passion?”

“There are a few holes in that theory.” He ticks them off on his long fingers. Do not name his fingers. Joe, Hubert, Rambo… “One, this wasn’t a crime of passion. Whoever murdered Oscar Stanley waited until the whole town was occupied with Fourth of July celebrations. Not to mention utilizing the fireworks to mask the sound of gunfire. All of that speaks to premeditation. Two, Sal nearly shit his pants when I told him to leave you alone or risk having that broom handle shoved up his ass. And three, he was at a barbeque in Provincetown on the night of the murder. Confirmed by several witnesses.”

“Wow.” I’m so turned on I can barely breathe. “You’ve done a lot of work.”

He gives me a meaningful look. “That’s why I’m here.”

I’m back to wanting to kick him. “So right now, the suspects are Lisa and Forrester?”