Lantern Beach Mysteries Box Set Page 12

  “Really? He seems a little crude to me,” Cassidy finally said. That seemed safe enough.

  “Why would you think that?”

  Her mind went to their very first encounter. “His truck, for starters.”

  “His truck?” Realization lit Skye’s face. “Oh, that truck. It’s not his.”

  Her heartbeat slowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Ty is helping his cousin fix up his truck, so they switched vehicles for a while. No, Ty would never own a truck like that. But his cousin Buck totally would.”

  Cassidy squeezed her eyes shut for a minute. “You mean . . . those stickers on the back aren’t his?”

  Skye snorted. “What? No. Of course not. Ty’s not like that. If anything, he’s the opposite of the messages those stickers represent. He’s a true gentleman.”

  Calling him a true gentleman seemed like a bit of a stretch, but Cassidy did feel guilty about making assumptions. Wasn’t that what she’d fought against for her entire life? People making assumptions about her? And here she’d gone and let her emotions get the best of her.

  “Are you and Ty . . . ?” Cassidy shouldn’t ask. She knew she shouldn’t. But she did anyway.

  “Oh, no. He’s not over having his heart broken by Jacqueline yet. Besides, he’s totally not my type.”

  Why did Cassidy feel a sense of satisfaction in her answer? It made no sense. “What’s your type?”

  “The artsy kind of guy. Ty is a little too straitlaced for me. I like the painters and musicians and poets.”

  Cassidy finally reached her ice cream truck, and she turned the music off. Again.

  What was up with this truck? And why didn’t anyone want to tell her?

  There was more than one thing in this town that was a mystery to her. And she was having a hard time letting it go.

  Chapter 20

  As Cassidy headed back home, her thoughts shifted to Larry. What in the world was he doing here? Was it really a coincidence? Certainly he didn’t have any involvement with DH-7. He was her father’s CFO, after all.

  Still, most people didn’t travel from the West Coast to the East Coast. It was a long journey for a vacation. Sure, Lantern Beach was amazingly beautiful—if you were the type who liked the beach. But it wasn’t the Caribbean.

  Larry had been to her family’s house multiple times for Christmas parties and the like. He was a tall, thin man with a slant toward the serious. He didn’t easily laugh, but instead seemed to constantly analyze everything.

  What had he analyzed before deciding to come here?

  Cassidy reached her house, but when she walked in she froze.

  Something felt out of place.

  She reached for the gun she’d tucked into an end table before proceeding. Dread filled her as she had a flash of Vann dying before her eyes. Was this going to be another ambush? Another replay of that night?

  Had someone been inside? Were they still here?

  Moving cautiously around the edge of the room, Cassidy searched the kitchen—beneath the table and behind chairs. Nothing.

  She searched the living room. Also nothing.

  She hit the hall closet. Everything appeared to be where she left it.

  The bathroom was also empty, as was the small guest bedroom.

  Finally, she opened the door to her room.

  Everything was turned upside down inside. The bedsheets had been pulled off. Her drawers were out. The closet had been rummaged through.

  What in the world?

  Why had someone done this?

  Unless they suspected that she knew something. Or if DH-7 had found her.

  Cassidy could hardly breathe.

  DH-7 probably hadn’t found her. It was too soon. It would have been too easy.

  So that left her investigation into Sarge’s death. How would she have tipped someone off? She’d only begun to scratch the surface—if that’s even what you’d call it. She’d mostly just piddled.

  So far she’d talked to Diane, found the boat piece, talked to the police, and gone to the marina.

  But how would she have tipped someone off by doing those things? Was it her trip to the police station that had raised someone’s suspicions?

  The fact that someone might be onto her wasn’t a good sign. The last thing she needed was someone looking into her background.

  She should have been more careful. There was a lot at stake here—her life being just one of those things.

  Out of curiosity, she went back to her front door and examined the knob. There was no sign of forced entry—no marks saying someone had picked the lock. The doorframe was intact, and no windows had been broken. So how had someone gotten inside?

  There was only one conclusion that made sense: the intruder had a key. Because Cassidy knew she hadn’t left this door unlocked. She was more careful than that.

  The thought was unsettling. More than unsettling. As was the fact that nothing of value had been taken from the place—not the computer, TV, or even her gun.

  When Cassidy was certain no one was in her house—she double-checked—she released her breath. She wouldn’t call the police about this. No, she didn’t want the attention it might bring. But now more than ever she needed to get to the bottom of this.

  She hopped on the computer and did a quick search there for Lydia Perkins. Nothing came up.

  She leaned back and tapped her finger against the table. Sarge’s ex-wife obviously had a different last name. Cassidy just needed a way to figure out what that was. It was more complicated since she didn’t have access to the databases that had been available to her as a cop.

  But where there was a will, there was a way. Cassidy was going to get answers to her questions.

  She did another search on Sarge, hoping to find information that might help her. She finally found an article on his charity work with a golf tournament in Maryland. There was a grainy picture of a woman beside him in some of the photos. Could that be Lydia?

  Cassidy continued to read the article until she came across a name. Lydia Berkholder.

  Bingo.

  Cassidy did another search, this time for Lydia Berkholder. A picture popped up online.

  A picture that stopped Cassidy in her tracks.

  Because she’d seen Lydia Berkholder.

  Here on the beach while selling ice cream.

  Cassidy knew exactly where she needed to go tomorrow.

  Because Sarge’s ex-wife was here in town.

  An hour later, Cassidy had not only cleaned up her room, but she’d also looked up everything she could think of about Lydia Berkholder. The woman was indeed a boat captain up in Chicago’s Lake Michigan. She was also twice divorced, with no kids, and she had a busy life with friends on weekends according to her social media accounts.

  Right now, Cassidy needed to clear her head from this investigation. Too much was happening, and it made her mind race in too many different directions. That break-in at her house . . . it made nauseating anxiety churn in her stomach.

  She stepped outside onto her deck for a breath of fresh air. Wishing she was anywhere but here. Alternately wishing she had someone to share this view with. Wishing that she hadn’t brought down a drug dealer whose connections ran this deep.

  Except that she didn’t wish that. Getting that man off the streets had saved countless people’s lives.

  But it had put her own on the line.

  Still, that was her job. Her duty. The oath she took.

  She wanted to protect and serve.

  She just never expected to be here on an island off North Carolina’s coast in the process.

  The wind howled across the dunes again.

  She pulled her jacket around her and listened for a moment to the waves crashing in the distance. There were people who would kill for this view. And she had to admit that there was something therapeutic about the beach.

  Though she’d rebelled at first, the beach was growing on her. Which wasn’t good. Because she wouldn’t be staying here long
. Just long enough to remain safe until the trial.

  She took a deep breath and focused her thoughts. Though she’d thought she needed to clear her head, maybe she simply needed to better organize her ideas by reviewing what she knew so far.

  First, Phil and Sarge went fishing during an approaching storm.

  According to Skye, someone claiming to be with Hamby Investments went out boating shortly after.

  Sarge was shot, and gunshot residue was found on Phil’s hands.

  Phil had no recollection of what happened. The last thing he claimed to remember was the boat capsizing.

  There was evidence that two boats had collided, which meant someone else was involved.

  Sarge’s ex was on the island.

  And someone broke into Cassidy’s house.

  If she was the detective on the case, she’d question Phil. Question Hamby and the Metts. Look into everyone’s financials. Talk to the guy Skye mentioned from down at the marina.

  But talking to most of those people would look too suspicious. Despite that realization, this investigation was getting personal now.

  Cassidy needed to know who’d broken into her house. Needed to know if it was related to this murder on the island or . . .

  Her thoughts shifted back to DH-7.

  What if they found her? Her stomach clenched at the thought.

  Here, she could disappear and no one would notice. Just like Ryan had said. Maybe Ty or Skye or Lisa would eventually realize she was gone, but they wouldn’t know the truth about . . . about anything. They’d just think Cassidy skipped town. The thought of not being missed was surprisingly unnerving.

  Suddenly, the skin on her neck crawled.

  Cassidy froze, her lungs suddenly tight. Was someone watching her?

  Slowly, she glanced around, searching for the source of her unease. Only sea oats and sand dunes stared back. She searched for the glare of binoculars or any hint of movements. There was none.

  Maybe she was just being paranoid.

  But someone had broken into her house. That person could still be out here, waiting. Watching. Planning.

  She couldn’t stand here. If someone was out there, she needed to know.

  Cassidy stepped toward the sandy path that cut over to the ocean. She had her gun with her. If someone was watching and waiting to pounce, she’d surprise them by taking them down first.

  She wondered if those men who’d been on the beach her first night here had come back. She wondered what they were doing.

  Just as she crested the top of the dune, she sensed someone behind her.

  They’d found her, she realized.

  Chapter 21

  Relying on instinct and instinct alone, Cassidy reached behind her just as a hand touched for her shoulder. Using her body, she pivoted and flipped her assailant over her shoulder.

  The man landed with a thud in front of her.

  Take that!

  Cassidy gasped as the man’s face came into view.

  It wasn’t an assailant. It was . . . Ty.

  Cassidy knelt beside him, regret panging through her. It didn’t matter that she didn’t like the man. She didn’t want to hurt him.

  “What in the world?” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder. He stared at her like she was an alien.

  “Haven’t you ever heard you’re not supposed to sneak up on people?” She paused, realizing how harsh her words might sound. “Are you okay?”

  He squinted, his gaze both accusatory and curious. “Where in heaven’s name did you learn to do that?”

  Uh . . . where had she learned it that would sound reasonable? “Self-defense classes. A single girl can never be too careful.”

  “I want to take that self-defense class then.” As he stood, Cassidy rushed to help him, remembering what Skye had said about him being a military hero. About how he was helping his cousin fix his truck. About how Cassidy had been wrong about him.

  She wasn’t ready to let this go, though. Someone had broken in, and Cassidy had felt like someone was watching her. Then Ty had shown up.

  She’d be a fool not to be suspicious. “Besides, what were you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

  He rubbed his shoulder, still looking at her with narrowed eyes. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. I was headed this way also. You just didn’t hear me.”

  Cassidy supposed sand might conceal his footsteps. She glanced at the ground and spotted a tackle box. “Fishing?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Isn’t it late?”

  “No one’s out here. It’s the best time.” He paused. “You want to come?”

  “Fishing?” She’d never been fishing. Ever. Never had the desire to go.

  “I’m telling you, it’s relaxing,” he continued. “You seem like you might need to unwind.”

  “Maybe another time.” But she highly doubted it.

  Ty shrugged. “Okay. Your loss.”

  As he reached behind his neck, he flinched. He pulled his hand out and stared at it with disdain. “Great.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Sand spurs. I think I landed in a patch of them.”

  Cassidy frowned. “Ouch.”

  “I guess I need to go take care of these.”

  He started to step away when the strangest word came out of her mouth. “Wait!”

  He paused and turned toward her, the moonlight hitting his face with a glow that made her think of all those romance movies she’d secretly watched. Not that she wanted to be romantic with Ty. Not by any means.

  But if she did, then he had perfected the look for it right now. He could have stepped right off the big screen and onto the moonlit beach with his broad shoulders, even features, and kind eyes.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “I should help you.”

  He stared at her like this was some kind of trap. She really couldn’t blame him considering their rocky start. “Help me with what?”

  Cassidy nodded, unsure where the question had come from. “Help you get the sand spurs out. It’s going to be hard for you to see them since they’re on your neck and back.” She pointed to the ground and shrugged. “You know, since it’s kind of my fault considering I flipped you over my shoulder.”

  He looked like he was still trying to comprehend her question. “Are you inviting me to your place?”

  Was there an undertone to his voice? She wasn’t sure. “I was, but now I’m considering retracting it.”

  “I mean, it wasn’t really a flip,” he said with a casual shrug. “It was more of a jerking motion.”

  “I flipped you.”

  His eyes narrowed, but finally he nodded almost hesitantly. “Yeah, I’ll let you help. But I’ll be keeping my eyes on you, Little Miss Ice Cream.”

  “Your eyes on me? What do you think Little Miss Ice Cream is going to do? Seduce you?”

  “You never know. I am quite the catch.” He blew on his fingertips before rubbing them against his shirt.

  Cassidy snorted. “I don’t know if you’re a catch or not, but you kind of smell like a catch . . . a catch of the day.”

  He chuckled—a brief puff-of-air-type chuckle. “Is that right?”

  She smiled. No, it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. But she couldn’t let him know that.

  Why had Cassidy invited Ty over? Why couldn’t she just pull out those sand spurs there on the beach? Was it because she was desperate for someone to talk to?

  Yes, that had to be it. Maybe she felt a little guilty also. She’d let her emotions control her—something she wasn’t proud of.

  There were many things her dad had told her that Cassidy had resented. If she were to put it in a personalized Day-at-a-Glance calendar, it would have riveting advice like: Do whatever it takes to get ahead. Money is more important than people. Commitment shouldn’t be taken seriously.

  The one good thing he’d taught her was that emotions couldn’t rule her decisions. She’d be wise to remember that.<
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  Pushing away any feelings of awkwardness, she flipped on the TV, started a pot of coffee, and sat Ty in one of the kitchen chairs.

  Cassidy cleared her throat, feeling the overwhelming urge to share a little bit about her life. “So, I’m beginning to think that the crime in this area is much more than I assumed it would be.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because someone broke in earlier today.” She grabbed her tweezers and began picking off the sand spurs. There were probably twenty of them.

  Ty visibly tensed. “What?”

  She nodded, still quivering inside at the thought of it. “My bedroom was turned upside down.”

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  She shrugged. “I . . . I don’t know. Maybe it goes back to that whole independent thing we talked about earlier. But you’re right—I can’t shut other people out of my life, especially when things go wrong.”

  “Did you check the rest of the house?” He started to rise, but Cassidy put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down.

  “I did. It’s clear.”

  “Every once in a while, renters will trash the house before they leave. But it’s a little late for that.”

  “You think the previous renters came back to do that?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve heard some crazy stories. It’s not unheard of for a renter to keep the key, forget something, and come back to look for it.”

  “That’s terrible.” She picked her seventh spur off.

  “I know.”

  Cassidy chewed on his words for a minute. Was that all that had happened? A previous renter had forgotten something?

  She wasn’t ready to buy that.

  Ty nodded toward the TV. “That’s some crazy stuff going on there.”

  Cassidy’s spine tightened as the words from the news anchor hit her ears.

  “Flakka is spreading like an epidemic across the nation. Though it started on the West Coast, the mind-altering stimulant—also known as a designer street drug—is now everywhere, and the effects leave users acting like zombies.”