Bob’s glare was so intense, he could have raised the dead by sheer force of will alone, but it wasn’t going to work on me this time. He wasn’t involved in the murders and lost treasure; he really was nothing more than a raging cock who I now had copious amounts of dirt on. So as I stood there dripping wet, soaked underwear riding up my ass and shoes making squishy fart sounds as I shifted back and forth, I put my hands on my hips and gave Bob my best “I dare you” face. And you know, the jerk finally backed down. In fact, he didn’t say a word, just turned, took Liz’s hand, and the two made a quick escape through the garden.
Once I heard the door to the gift shop slam shut behind them, I started to follow. Unfortunately, Adam was now our number-one suspect, because while Bob had been in Key West last night, had the means of getting into the Smith Home, and could have easily given Jun a run for his money—there was no wound on his arm, and I know I saw Ghost Smith get hit. If there was a way I could check Adam’s arm… but without… manhandling….Uuugggh.
I opened the door and walked into the shop, ignoring the few tourists who eyed me curiously while Ishloped,shloped across the linoleum and into the back. At least I kept a change of clothes in the filing cabinet alongside my pillow. Mostly they were ratty things I wore when there was dirty work to be done around the property, but anything was better than my current state.
“Why are you soaking wet and smell like fish?” Adam asked, hovering in the doorway, watching me drip at my desk as I took out the clothes.
“I went swimming.”
“What’s going on, Aubs? Why was Bob here?”
“It’s nothing—don’t worry about it.”
“I wouldn’t, except that you’re my friend. I care about you.”
I turned, staring at Adam.
He cleared his throat. “As a friend,” he said again. “Plus, you look like a hot mess. No offense.”
“That assessment is true enough. I’m supposed to be on freaking vacation.”
“So go home,” Adam replied. “Herb’s in the house doing tours, and I can man the shop, no problem.”
I narrowed my eyes, studying him warily. Was he trying to get me out of here so—
“I know how excited you’ve been for Jun’s visit,” he said, voice barely a whisper. He looked behind him into the shop briefly before turning back to me. “And I’m sorry about what I said on the phone. I want you to be happy, so you should go.”
God, I felt awful for doubting his sincerity. Because what if itwasa ploy to get me off the property? What if Adam’s crush was the only thing keeping my head on my shoulders and this was his way of trying to keep me alive while also getting what he wanted?
“Soon,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like I was wary of him. Excusing myself, I went to the bathroom and stripped. I dried myself as best as I could with a handful of disposable paper towels, then washed my hair in the sink for good measure. Leaving my dripping-wet clothes hanging across the curtain bar, I put on the paint-covered, albeit dry, garments. My Band-Aids were gross now, so I had to peel all those off and toss them. There weren’t many left in the kit under the sink, and on the off chance I got tossed into another body of water, I decided to not bother wasting them.
Adam was at the counter again after I grabbed my phone from my desk and came out of the back. He handed a group their tickets, directed them to the side door, and gave a brief explanation of reaching the house through the garden before wishing them a pleasant visit. I had nearly slipped out behind the tourists when he stopped me.
“Aubs, hold up.”
I paused, holding the door open. “What?”
He put his hand out, offering something. “I forgot. I found this when I was helping Herb open the house.” He dropped a button onto my palm. “I didn’t think we had buttons on display, but maybe a cop moved it by accident.”
I looked down at the button. It was fairly large, black, with the initials TJS scrolled into it with green. “Where was this?”
“Parlor.”
“Why were you in the parlor?”
Adam looked taken aback. “I—Herb and I were sweeping. He takes forever, you know that. He’d still be sweeping if I didn’t help.” He pointed at the button. “It was on the floor.”
I looked at it again.
TJS.
Thomas John Smith.
“Thanks,” I said quickly, walking out the door.
“Wait!” He grabbed the door before it banged shut. “Did I piss you off or something? I’m sorry if—”
“No, it’s okay,” I called over my shoulder, already walking into the garden. I waited until I heard the door quietly close before I took my cell out and loaded my Skype app. I rang Sebastian and hoped like hell he was around to answer.
