Lantern Beach Mysteries Box Set Page 3

  And it was all the fault of the driver in front of her.

  The truck pulled into a general store called Swanner’s Market. Spontaneously, Cassidy followed the lead of the obnoxious vehicle with the obnoxious driver. She wasn’t sure what she was doing. Maybe it was pent-up frustration from months of feeling helpless. Maybe it was indignation at people who didn’t value all human life. Maybe she was just tired and stressed and cranky.

  She stormed out of her truck and charged toward the driver before he reached the sidewalk. The man looked like a redneck with his bushy beard, camo baseball hat, and bulky sunglasses.

  “Can I help you?” The man’s voice sounded amazingly calm and even a touch curious as he turned toward her.

  “Do you realize you cut me off and nearly made me get into an accident?” Fire rushed through her veins, only egged on by his placid demeanor. The reaction was so unlike her.

  He raised his hands, and his voice crackled as if he wavered between being amused or offended. “I didn’t mean to. None of the tourists were letting me take a left turn. I saw your truck and figured you’d be an understanding local.”

  “You could have hit my truck.” She tempered her voice this time and drew in some deep breaths.

  He shifted and let out a sigh. “Like I said, I didn’t mean to.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” Subtle sarcasm dripped from her voice.

  Simmer down, Cassidy. Simmer.

  She was blowing it here. She had to keep her cool.

  The man pulled his sunglasses down, and his warm brown eyes assessed her. “What does that mean?”

  Cassidy remembered the obnoxious stickers at the back of his truck.

  “It means, I know your type.” She said the words with a sweet smile that was meant to disarm, though there was fire simmering inside her.

  He raised his eyebrows, let out an exasperated chuckle, and rubbed his chin. “My type? And what, per se, is my type?”

  She restrained herself from being a spitfire, but it took every ounce of her self-control. Men like him rubbed her the wrong way. “The kind who thinks of women as objects. Who has no respect for the opposite sex. Who thinks females are weak.”

  She desperately wanted to poke him in the chest with every bullet point, but she didn’t. Score one for self-control. But she was losing points when it came to keeping a low profile. If she was smart, she would just mind her own business right now. However, she’d never been good at minding her own business.

  The man shifted again and cocked his head. “Really? You know all of that about me? Just from this little encounter?”

  “That’s right. I can read you like a book.” Seriously, men like him made her want to vomit.

  Maybe she wouldn’t have always had this reaction. But after going undercover with DH-7, she had a new perspective. Those men had seen women as nothing more than possessions they could treat however they wanted—and it was never with respect.

  It had burned her up inside, and she’d had no choice but to stay quiet during her assignment. To act compliant. Weak. Second class.

  She should have gotten plenty of practice in pretending to be someone else during her two-month tenure undercover.

  Mr. Obnoxious shook his head and opened the door to the store. “Sorry. I’ll do my best not to cross your path again.”

  He stepped into the building amidst the sound of cheerful overhead chimes. The door slammed shut.

  Invisible fumes came from her ears. Cassidy wanted to go after him. This conversation wasn’t finished. Before she could move, someone tugged at her tank top. She looked down and saw a little girl standing there with a dollar bill in her hand.

  “Can I buy some ice cream?”

  Cassidy forced her shoulders to relax. Easy-going, beach-loving, ice cream-selling newcomer in town. Don’t forget that, Cassidy.

  She plastered on a smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ve got this yummy strawberry popsicle . . .”

  Chapter 3

  Ty Chambers gripped his pack of beef jerky as he waited behind a long line of tourists in front of him at Swanner’s Market. He should have known better than to come in here on a Sunday. This was the day when everyone coming for the week piled in to buy supplies for their stay. He was going to be here a while.

  As he waited, his gaze drifted to the window at the front of the store.

  The high-strung woman who’d confronted him in the parking lot still stood by that pink ice cream truck.

  Gone was the stormy look in her eyes. Instead, she smiled warmly at some kids who’d come over to buy ice cream.

  The look was quite the change from her earlier hostility—so much that it startled him. She’d tried—at times—to sound cheery as she’d thrown out her judgments. But he’d heard the accusation in the undertones of her voice.

  Who was that woman? She was certainly beautiful with her long, wavy blonde hair. She was on the petite side with a trim, lean build.

  But something about her seemed out of place here on Lantern Beach. She didn’t have the laid-back beach attitude he was used to in residents. No, she looked squirrelly, like she might spring at any minute.

  And what was with her reaction to him?

  He’d just gotten back from a camping trip here on the island with his cousin and a couple of friends. They’d had a simple time of devotion and prayer around the campfire this morning before they’d packed up to head back. He’d stopped by to pick up a few groceries before going home.

  His cousin’s truck had broken down while they were there, so Ty had swapped out his vintage Ford for Ralph’s Redneck Dream, as his cousin proudly called it. Driving it wasn’t ideal, but how else would Ty get it to his house to repair?

  Ty knew one thing: no matter how feisty and pretty the woman might be, if he saw her again, it would be too soon.

  “Ty, did you hear about that dead body?” His friend Austin appeared from the candy aisle, chocolate-covered raisins in hand. The man was addicted to the things. Austin was a carpenter by trade, so he burned off a lot of those calories.

  “Dead body? What?”

  “I don’t know for sure.” Austin stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I heard a tourist had a gunshot wound and washed ashore.”

  Ty’s heart thumped in his ears. Things like that weren’t supposed to happen here on Lantern Beach. He’d come here to get away from all of that. From violence and death and . . . grief, he supposed.

  He’d dedicated eight years of his life to the battlefield. He’d sacrificed everything, only to come back home broken and alone. He was just beginning to piece his life back together. His therapist had said he should stay away from anything that could trigger memories from his time in the war zone.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He moved one place closer to the cash register. “No other details?”

  A strand of Austin’s dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, fell into his eyes. “No, not yet. But everyone is in a tizzy about it. Especially Chief Bozeman. First murder on the island in thirty years.”

  Exactly. It was one of the many reasons Ty had wanted to come here. Lantern Beach defined peaceful and safe.

  “Hopefully he’ll find some answers soon.”

  Austin snorted. “Chief Bozeman? He can hardly catch people with speeding violations. But you never know.”

  “You never know,” Ty echoed.

  “Hey, maybe you could help him find the killer.” He opened his package and popped a raisin in his mouth.

  Ty wanted to snort. “Me? Why would you say that?”

  “You hunted down terrorists in the Middle East. Maybe you could give the cops a hand here . . . provided you shave first so you don’t look like a thus-said terrorist.”

  Ty’s gaze went back to the woman selling ice cream outside. Her wide smile was infectious—but it was nowhere to be seen when they’d talked. He’d only spoken to the woman for ninety seconds, and she was already a mystery to him.

  “Who’s the new girl?” Austin asked, following his
gaze.

  “Not sure, but she has an attitude the size of New York City.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Ty paced forward another step in line. “As long as our paths don’t cross, it makes no difference to me.”

  “With all the tourists on the island this time of year, what are the chances of that happening?”

  “Slim to none, right?”

  “That’s right.” And that was what Ty was counting on.

  Swallowing every ounce of her pride, Cassidy waved goodbye to her last customer in the parking lot and paused outside her ice cream truck. She’d been in such a hurry to jump inside earlier and follow that man that she hadn’t really taken the time to inspect anything. That was her first mistake.

  Cassidy stared at the vehicle. Faded images of cold treats, probably not updated in a decade, were plastered on the side of it. Nutty Buddies, Bomb Pops, Ice Cream Sandwiches, just to list a few. You name it, the vehicle held it.

  The prices had been handwritten near each image in crude permanent marker. The name “Elsa” was also painted on the side with icicles coming from the edges of the letters—the unevenly drawn letters.

  The entire truck was Pepto-Bismol pink and looked as if someone had grabbed some spray paint and transformed this vehicle from a mail truck into its current bearer of treats.

  Ordinarily, if Cassidy came to a new place, she’d want to settle in. Unpack. Buy groceries. Get the lay of the town. But there was nothing for her to do or unpack. She’d carried in everything she owned in one trip last night. The house was furnished—even if those furnishings were left over from the eighties.

  The last thing Cassidy wanted to do was sit around and think by herself. So she decided to jump right into her new job. What better way to see the town?

  Besides, the idle person was the miserable person. Yet another piece of inspiration from Lucy’s Day-at-a-Glance.

  The woman who’d sold Elsa had left handwritten instructions on a crumply sheet of paper in the front seat.

  I hope you’ll be pleased with Elsa. She’s brought this town so much joy. In case you’ve never done this, you should hit each of the residential streets—in a pattern, if you want to keep your sanity. Take your time. Be friendly. Never push. I know you’ll figure it out. Elsa, the original owner and namesake, would be so happy to know you’re keeping her dream alive.

  Best,

  Ernestine Sanders

  Elsa’s best friend

  P.S. Don’t believe what the locals say.

  What did that mean?

  It didn’t matter. Cassidy only hoped for two things: to keep herself occupied and to make enough money to pay for groceries.

  Samuel had given her a wad of cash that would last a few weeks, but it would be too risky to try to send her any additional money. That meant she needed some way to support herself. Besides, living a life of luxury for two months would be too suspicious.

  Giving one last dirty look to the man who’d cut her off, Cassidy climbed into the driver’s seat, slid across the ripped canvas seat, and stared at all the gadgets on the dashboard. Did she really have any idea what she was doing? What had she been thinking when she’d agreed to do this?

  If she could infiltrate the inner circle of a ruthless gang, she could certainly sell ice cream on an island full of tourists.

  How hard could it be?

  She cranked the engine, and the music roared to life again. “Let It Go.” How appropriate.

  Cassidy did need to let it go. She couldn’t let one man who’d gotten under her skin blow her cover and call her alias into question.

  With the music blaring, she put the vehicle into gear, and it jolted forward. Okay, not what she’d expected. It hadn’t done this at her house.

  She hit the accelerator, and the truck jolted again.

  The music only seemed to mock her right now. After searching for a minute, she found the correct knob and adjusted the volume. Listening to the melodic chimes—however catchy they might be—all day was going to drive her mad.

  But it was still better than being strung up by members of DH-7.

  With a deep breath, she started her route.

  Two months, she remembered. She could lie low for that long and pretend like she belonged here. Her life depended on it. She could force herself not to think about that dead body on the beach and to move on, just like any ordinary person would do in a situation like this.

  Cassidy pulled onto the main highway that cut through the center of the narrow island. She hadn’t been able to see much of the island yesterday when she’d come into town. It had been dark, and she’d been bone tired after being in her car for three days straight.

  She had done research before she came, though. She knew that Lantern Beach was an old fishing community that had been settled in the late 1800s. Tourists discovered the area in the 1970s and had changed the personality of the place drastically in the decades since. While there weren’t any hotels, there were tons of rental cottages and even a bed and breakfast. People came here to get away from it all—along with thousands of other tourists.

  A quaint downtown area offered a boardwalk by the ocean that was sandwiched by shops and arcades and ice cream parlors. Farther down the beach was a pier with a sandwich shop atop it and an abandoned lighthouse beyond it.

  The place wasn’t easy to get to—which was one of the reasons it was perfect. Cassidy had driven through the Nags Head area. Over a bridge onto Hatteras Island. Traveled the length of the entire island before catching a ferry to Ocracoke Island. Again, she had to travel the entire length of that island before she caught another ferry to Lantern Beach.

  It was about as off the beaten path as she could get in the US.

  Following Ernestine’s instructions, Cassidy turned down each residential street, hoping vacationers were at their houses instead of the beach. It took Cassidy back to her days as a patrol officer. Though there had been parts of the job she’d enjoyed, she much preferred being a detective and being able to focus on cases instead of cruising and looking for trouble.

  She mentally rehearsed her cover. Cassidy Livingston. Twenty-eight years old. From Texas. Interior designer. Dad: an engineer. Mom: a homemaker. No brothers or sisters. Moved here for a change of pace. Watched a story on Lantern Beach on the Travel Channel and had been intrigued ever since.

  Her gaze wandered the crowds of beachgoers, her pulse pounding.

  DH-7 didn’t come to places like this, she reminded herself. Lantern Beach was full of tourists, yet from what she understood, they mostly came here from the northeast.

  Despite her reassurances, she couldn’t help but look for the gang members everywhere she went. She had to watch her back because when she let down her guard, that’s when they’d find her.

  She touched the area behind her ear. A lightning bolt. She wore her hair down to conceal it. If anyone saw it, they’d think . . .

  Cassidy shook her head.

  She couldn’t think about that. She’d just keep covering it each day with makeup. It was the only choice she had.

  When she reached the end of a gravel lane, she turned in the driveway. A woman in the distance caught her eye. Even from far away, Cassidy could see the tears pouring down the woman’s face.

  A gaggle of kids surrounded around her, apparently trying to cheer her up. Well, maybe gaggle was an overstatement. There were three of them. Triplets? Maybe.

  What was going on? The woman looked like she’d just received some bad news.

  Everything in Cassidy wanted to help her. To know what was going on. But it was none of her business.

  Despite what she wanted to think, the universe didn’t want her to investigate every injustice in the world.

  Especially not right now, considering the place Cassidy was in in her life. Nope, the best thing she could do was to mind her own business. End of story.

  Chapter 4

  Before Cassidy could hurry down the road, one of the children ran up to her truck. She slowed and sm
iled warmly.

  “I want to buy something for my mom.” The boy was probably six years old and still had a baby-like lisp that melted her heart.

  He made her think about all her dreams with Ryan. About settling down. Regaining her old life. Having kids . . . except Ryan didn’t want kids. That would be okay with her. She’d have Ryan, and she didn’t need kids to complete her future.

  Right?

  At the moment, Cassidy didn’t feel convinced.

  “What would you like to buy for your mom, sweetie?” Cassidy leaned out the window, the sun already creating sauna-like heat waves that invaded her air-conditioned space. She made a mental note to reapply her sunscreen. Her skin was used to constant clouds and rainfall, not UV forecasts of ten every day.

  “She likes anything chocolate.”

  “Well, I’m sure we can find something for her then.” Cassidy climbed into the back and slid the window there open. “How about a nutty buddy ice cream cone?”

  His eyes widened. “I bet she would like that a lot.”

  She handed him one. “Here you go then.”

  He frowned. “Don’t I owe you some money?”

  She glanced back at his mom—at her hunched shoulders, at the hand over her face, at her concerned children. “Don’t worry about it. This one is on the house.”

  “No, it’s in my hands. The house is all the way over there.”

  Cassidy tilted her head, fighting a grin. “It’s just an expression. It just means you don’t have to pay.”

  “Thank you!” He called as he ran back toward her.

  Cassidy watched until the boy reached the woman and waved. Then she climbed back in the front of the truck, determined to continue on her way.

  Low profile.

  She’d only moved a few feet when someone called for her to stop. The boy’s mom ran her way.

  Cassidy soaked in the woman. She was around five feet five inches. Her hair was dark, curly, and cut to her chin. She had a thin build, but she looked pale and not quite as relaxed as someone on vacation should be.