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  She glanced at her watch. She had ninety minutes to show Serena how this was done. And then she had a mani-pedi to get to.

  But, before she could do any of that, a car caught her eye.

  It was a sedan. A black sedan. Just like the one she’d seen leaving the crime scene.

  “We’re going to need to take a little detour.”

  Again, traffic on the island never worked in Cassidy’s favor. The line of cars in front of her was stopped behind someone making a left-hand turn up ahead. Why hadn’t anyone thought about putting in turn lanes when they’d engineered this road?

  She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, fighting impatience.

  But as she peered out beyond the cars, she saw that the black sedan was long gone. It had escaped the jam up. Cassidy just couldn’t catch a break with that car, could she?

  “This little detour must be pretty important huh?” Serena asked, her eyes wide.

  “You could say that.”

  How was the person driving that car so clever? It made no sense to her. Or were they just lucky?

  Until Cassidy caught him or her, she supposed she wouldn’t know.

  She moved her thoughts toward her new employee, knowing she needed to change the direction of her thoughts. “What do you want to do one day, Serena?”

  She sighed dreamily. “I don’t know yet. Some days I want to work the rodeo, and other days I want to be a librarian.”

  “That’s quite the range.”

  “What can I say? This phase of my life is very confusing. How did you know what you wanted to do for a living?”

  Cassidy opened her mouth, about to share about Lucy’s murder and how it had changed her whole outlook on life. That was the reason why she’d become a cop.

  But to people here, she was a former interior designer and a current ice cream lady.

  “I was inspired by beautiful things,” she finally said, realizing the irony of her words.

  Tragedy—not beautiful things—had inspired her, but she couldn’t say that aloud.

  Cassidy slowed as she drove past the Hambys’ house. She didn’t spot anyone outside. But there was a new car in the driveway.

  “Look at that,” Cassidy muttered.

  “Look at what?” Serena asked.

  “That car. The side of it is smashed up pretty good.”

  Serena’s skin looked a little paler. “I guess.”

  “You guess? It’s clearly smashed up.”

  “It could be old.”

  “It looks fresh.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Cassidy needed an answer a civilian might give. “Because . . . it just does. I mean, the car itself looks pretty new.”

  “Oh.” Serena leaned back in her seat and frowned.

  “Serena, what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” She swiped a hand behind her ear.

  Don’t cross-examine her, Cassidy. Sound casual.

  “You look guilty, almost.”

  Serena shrugged a little too quickly. “Why would I look guilty?”

  Oh my. It was like talking to herself. Her alternate persona, Cassidy should say. “You’re pale. You’re nervous. You keep staring at that car.”

  “Okay, I admit it.” She closed her eyes and bent forward like she was in pain. “I did it.”

  “You did what?” Now Cassidy was confused.

  “I hit that car.”

  Cassidy shook her head, feeling a headache coming on. “Serena, start from the beginning.”

  “I was at my friend’s house on Saturday afternoon—she lives right on the ocean—and, when I went outside to leave, this car had parked behind me, totally blocking me in. People do that sometimes—they’re so desperate for a close spot to the beach that they ignore common courtesy. Anyway, I was going to be late for my first day at work for my aunt Skye.”

  “Wait, you already have friends here?”

  “I’m very social,” Serena said. “Sometimes.”

  “Okay, I got sidetracked.” Her head was spinning, actually. “Continue.”

  “So, I waited for ten minutes for the person to come back and move their vehicle. They didn’t do it. Some tourists are so irresponsible.” She rolled her eyes. “I figured this driver was probably at the beach and hadn’t given a second thought to blocking me in. I was ticked, to say the least.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I decided to teach the driver a lesson, of course.”

  Cassidy’s stomach sank as she anticipated where this story was going. “Continue.”

  “I backed into his car with my clunker of a car, and I kept going until I could get out.”

  Cassidy closed her eyes as she pictured the scene playing out. “Not smart. You should have called the police.”

  “Probably. But I didn’t.”

  You’re not law enforcement here, Cassidy reminded herself. You have no obligation to report this, and lecturing Serena could blow your cover.

  “What happened next?” Cassidy asked instead.

  “The driver came over the sand dune, and he was ticked. He told me he was going to make me pay. I got all weirded out when he said that.”

  “I can only imagine. Did you report that to the authorities, at least?”

  Serena shook her head. “I thought about it. But I heard the next day that he was dead.”

  Sarge. Serena had hit Sarge’s car? Cassidy closed her eyes.

  She hadn’t seen that one coming.

  Chapter 26

  “You hit the dead man’s car?” Cassidy stopped on the side of the road so she could give Serena her complete attention. Music—“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”—still blared overhead, but Cassidy couldn’t get it to turn off. It appeared the button was stuck.

  Tears pooled in Serena’s eyes, all of her earlier happy-go-lucky feelings gone like fog on a sunny day. “I did.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “I know!” She covered her face with her hands.

  “What happened next? Anything?” Cassidy fanned herself as heat rays warmed her side of the truck.

  “The police tracked me down. They said Sarge reported the incident.”

  That was good to know. “Do they think you’re a suspect in the murder?”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, no, they don’t. Of course they don’t. They shouldn’t, right?” She stared at Cassidy with big, tear-filled hazel eyes.

  “Right.” Cassidy didn’t think Serena was guilty, but omission in these types of situations made a person seem like they were hiding something. That was never good in a murder investigation.

  “Besides, I have an alibi for the night of the murder.” Serena sucked in a deep breath, crossed her arms, and nodded with renewed vigor.

  “What’s that?” Cassidy couldn’t wait to hear this story.

  “I was at my friend’s house when it happened. Besides, I can’t swim. No way would I have gone out on a boat.”

  “You can’t swim, but you came to an island?” It didn’t make much sense to Cassidy but, then again, she hated sand and was living in a place that was essentially a big sand bar.

  The foolish man built his house upon the sand. A Bible verse, but it seemed oh-so fitting right now.

  “I’m a very complicated person.” Serena frowned.

  “I’m beginning to see that.” Was it too late to fire her?

  “There’s no way I’m going out on a boat in a storm.”

  Serena had already mentioned that. But the police would need more than that statement to clear her. “So, your friend verified your alibi?”

  Serena shook her head. “No, but Ty did.”

  “Ty?” This was getting stranger by the moment. What did Ty have to do with all this?

  “My friend and I heard he was camping on the other side of the island, so we went there for a walk down the beach. We were hoping we might run into him.” She smiled, but this was a different kind of smile. It was almost . . . dreamy.

  Cassidy let
out a dramatic sigh, an inkling of where this was going forming in her mind. “Why would you do that?”

  “I’ve got this thing for Navy SEALs. I have ever since I watched American Sniper.”

  If Cassidy had been drinking something, she would have spewed it all over the truck at that statement. “How old are you, Serena?”

  “Nineteen. I could totally date him.” She nodded with naïve conviction and total certainty.

  “He’s quite a bit older than you.” And light-years ahead of her maturity-wise. Ty would never date someone this young. Two days ago, Cassidy might have thought so, but she’d been wrong. She hated it when she was wrong.

  You earn respect by owning up to your mistakes. She needed to do that.

  “He’s only nine years older,” Serena continued.

  Cassidy let out a breath, trying not to act like the girl’s mom. Besides, she needed to focus. Focus or life will become a blur.

  “So Ty saw you also?”

  Serena nodded. “That’s correct. We ran into him on the beach. Just like we’d hoped.”

  Cassidy shifted in her seat, not making eye contact with tourists who might want ice cream. She didn’t want to be interrupted. Note to self: buy a CLOSED sign that she could slap on the window.

  “What did you do when you saw Ty?”

  The dreamy look returned. “He said hello. We played fetch with his dog. It was a pivotal moment in our relationship.”

  “Are you dating?” And why did that thought cause Cassidy so much anxiety?

  “Not yet. Either way, there’s no way I was out in the boat.”

  “Well, that’s good news then.”

  “I’d say.” But another thought was bothering her. Why would Sarge have parked by her house? He had a house on the beach, there was no need to drive to an access point.

  “Serena, was Sarge alone?”

  “No, he was with a woman.”

  Her pulse spiked. “What did she look like?”

  “Thirty-something with dark hair. I think her name was Madison. But that doesn’t really matter. What matters is this: are you going to tell my aunt?” Exaggerated fear seized Serena’s face as she waited for Cassidy’s response.

  Madison being with Sarge actually did matter. But she’d address that later.

  “Skye doesn’t know about the accident yet?” Surprise lilted Cassidy’s words.

  “Why would I tell her that?” The question sounded totally sincere.

  “Because you’re staying with her, maybe.”

  Serena shook her head so fast and hard she had to be dizzy. “She’ll fire me. Everyone in my family thinks I’m irresponsible.”

  Cassidy could understand that. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  But she could see why.

  “Please don’t tell her.” Serena turned to her, wide eyes still in full effect.

  “I won’t lie to her,” Cassidy finally said. “But I won’t offer her the information freely either.”

  “Thanks, Cassidy. You’re the best.” And like that, Serena gave her a hug.

  The strange thing was that no one ever gave her hugs. Not her parents. Not Ryan. Not friends.

  Lucy had.

  And with that one act, Cassidy realized just how much she missed having any affection in her life.

  “Getting back to Elsa, remind people that these cost a quarter of what they’d pay at the store . . .”

  Cassidy had serious reservations about leaving Serena with Elsa. But her need to find answers about Sarge’s death outweighed her worry about the truck. She’d straighten out any messes Serena made later. Right now, she had a mani-pedi to get to.

  Cassidy showed up at the salon and spa right on time. And, to her surprise, there was a black sedan in the parking lot.

  Could this be the same vehicle she’d seen leaving the crime scene on Sunday? She wasn’t sure, but she’d keep her eyes wide open.

  With one last glance at the car, Cassidy stepped inside. The waiting area was empty. Maybe the women associated with Hamby Investments had already gone back to begin their appointments.

  She’d find out in a minute.

  In the meantime, Cassidy soaked in the clean wooden lines in the reception area. For a small town, they’d done this place up right. Cassidy would know. Salons and spas had been her mom’s way of bonding with her.

  She hadn’t turned out to be the business woman her dad had hoped for or the socialite her mom had dreamt about. As an only child, Cassidy had been a disappointment. Then again, her parents had disappointed her also. Dad with his shenanigans and mom with her inability to be in any way maternal.

  She drew in a deep breath and focused on the moment. The place smelled like sandalwood and an interesting sound moaned in the background. Was that whales? It was Cassidy’s best guess.

  It had been a long time since she’d pampered herself. After high school, Cassidy had refused her parents’ money, preferring to make it on her own. As a detective, money was tight at times. Even if she’d had money for the spa, she’d thought there were more important things to do with her time. Things like her job. But Cassidy had to admit that sometimes her sole focus on working left her feeling empty, like there should be more. Like she was missing something.

  A few minutes later, a teenager dressed in white came to fetch her, and Cassidy was escorted into the back. Just her luck—the space with its gentle fountain, dim lights, and soothing candles was set up to accommodate four people.

  Cassidy smiled at the two ladies already soaking their feet and listened to them chitchat for a bit as she sat in an oversized chair at the end of the row. A few minutes later, her own feet were immersed in a warm bath.

  Her manicurist—a twenty-something woman with burgundy-colored hair and multiple piercings—sat in front of her and began massaging her feet. She said nothing, just worked quietly.

  All her muscles were tight, Cassidy realized. She hadn’t given it a thought until now, but all the stress of being here must have really built up over the past week. She wasn’t sure if thinking about this current murder helped relax her or only added to her tension.

  Her mind went back to the black sedan in the parking lot. Could one of the other two women here have driven that car? One of the employees? Could the killer be in this building?

  “Try to relax,” the manicurist encouraged.

  Cassidy had never been good at relaxing.

  Just then, the other women’s conversation drifted over to her.

  “So this vacation has been a total bust, hasn’t it?” the younger of the two women, the one with a bob of blonde hair, said.

  “You can say that again, Madison,” the older woman with salt-and-pepper hair said. “But our bad doesn’t begin to compare with Sarge’s bad or Diane’s bad.”

  “I can’t argue that. It’s just such a nightmare. Part of me wishes we’d gone home.”

  “I know the feeling. But Walter thinks it would signal that we’re somehow complicit. He said the best thing is to stay here and keep our chins high.”

  “He’s our fearless leader at Hamby,” Madison said. “And your fearless husband, Annalise. I guess we should listen.”

  That meant that Madison was married to Stan, the man who’d gone out in the boat after Sarge and Phil had already left. Did she also work at the hedge fund? It sounded like it.

  “You guys knew the man who died?” Cassidy asked, turning her head to face them and pretending to be an extrovert. “That’s so sad what happened. It’s been the talk of the island.”

  “It is,” Madison said. “It was such a sad night. We’d come to vacation together and decided to each do our own thing that evening. We had no idea how it would turn out.”

  “Do your own thing?” Cassidy questioned.

  The older woman—Annalise—nodded. “That’s right. The ladies got together to watch a chick flick, drink wine, and eat chocolate.”

  “What did the guys do then? Did they all go fishing?”

  “They played poker,” Annalise
said. “Except Sarge and Phil left early to go out in the boat. Sarge was determined to go out that night.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “He was a little headstrong sometimes. It was hard to change his mind. Besides, Walter promised them the trip. But I’ll tell you what, I wish I could go back and change things.”

  Cassidy flinched as the manicurist cut her cuticle a little too close. “Didn’t the other man on the boat kill him?”

  Annalise shook her head. “Walter doesn’t think so. He thinks it was a drug deal gone bad.”

  “Really?” It was the first Cassidy had heard of that.

  “Really,” Madison said, her voice demure and cultured. She reminded Cassidy of someone her mom would hang out with. “That’s why he’s looking to hire bodyguards. He’s afraid we could be a target.”

  “Has anything happened that would make you think you might be the next victim?” Cassidy asked.

  “I can’t really say it has,” Madison said. “I suppose it’s just a precaution. Speaking of which, what is the update on the bodyguards, Annalise?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I keep waiting for an update, and I know Walter has been talking to someone.”

  Laid-back, beach-loving ice cream lady. Cassidy made sure she sounded impressed. “Y’all are so interesting. Your lives are way more exciting than mine. You’re getting a bodyguard?”

  Annalise shrugged. “I don’t know. My husband has been talking to someone about it, but who knows what will come of it.”

  “I thought the responsible person was already in jail?”

  Annalise blew on her fingernails. “Walter doesn’t think Phil killed Sarge—those are our friends. Sarge is the man who died, and Phil has been charged.”

  Cassidy made her mouth gape in fake shock. “Wait—one friend died and another was charged? That’s so horrible.”

  “It is.” Annalise studied her nails. “But Walter doesn’t think he did it. He’s determined to clear him.”

  “He sounds like a great boss.” Cassidy paused. “How’s Phil’s wife doing? I can only imagine how hard this has been on her.”

  The women were silent a moment. Finally, Annalise spoke. “We haven’t spoken to her much.”