Chapter 1
Lester Cove was a smalltown with absolutely zero aspirations to be anything else.Some small towns leaned hard into becoming a tourist destination or reclaiming some bygone glory-days where they were the biggest thing between Point A and Point B.Others caved into the pressure to be a suburb of a bigger, faster place.
But not Lester Cove.A tiny spot on the Maine Coast, it was very New England.Verymind your own business and let us mind it too.Somewhere you had to drive for at least an hour to get to a grocery store larger than a shoe box.Somewhere just far enough away from a major town that you had to give serious consideration to doing anything stupid because there was no way you were making it to a level one trauma center in time.
Somewhere people grabbed on to gossip and never let go, even if it was patentlywrong wrong wrong.
Since Margie Witte’s arrest for the murders of Renee Rhoades and Charlie Arnold, the town had become split between three factions.Those who thought I had zero to do with the deaths and had done a good thing in bringing Margie to justice, those who thought I was somehow involved in the murders and Margie had been my scapegoat, and those who just didn’t care either way.
That last group was vanishingly small and seemed to consist of Jerome, who ran The Sleepy Pelican, and Lee Deets who ran the independent grocery on Buttermilk Road and didn’t give a damn about anything so long as tourists didn’t ask why the lobsters in the tank were still alive.
The second group...They were the bane of my existence.Especially on an otherwise nice morning when Muffin and I made our way from Witte House, where I was staying courtesy of Ben Witte in return for house sitting and pet sitting his little yappy dog Tony, to the main drag, Buttermilk Road, and were picking our way down to Mariner’s Rest Park when the muttered commentary started up.Each storefront I passed, someone had a smart mouth aboutthere he is...I heard Heath’s got a warrant out for him now; any day now, mark my words, the truth will be out; heard his career tanked because he killed his lover.
That last one nearly made me stop.Rory had sent me an email a few nights ago with the link to a story floating around online in some of the gay gossip sites , the poster claiming they were the brother of my late boyfriend who had been found deadunder less-than-ideal circumstances.All signs pointed to yours truly as the killer after a spectacular spat that allegedly took place during some director’s birthday dinner.I was blacklisted, according to this poster, but because of the sheer brutality of the murder people were too afraid to turn me in.
I sent the email back with notes on the story to improve flow and believability.
Rory had made noises about looking into who was posting it, getting a cease and desist, but I knew that would never happen.Not just because Rory was a firm believer in all PR is good PR, but because I’d have to have a career to ruin before you could accuse someone of trying to do just that.Still, hearing that nasty little suggestion while I was out and about in town gave me a severe case of the ick.Either the rumor had reached the wider internet and not just a niche thread about has-been actors andwhere are they now, or whoever started it was in Lester Cove.
I put on a burst of speed, which thrilled Muffin no end.He broke into a light trot, sniffing the air as we passed the tiny burger joint and one of the town’s seafood restaurants.“Slow down,” I scolded gently.“I’ve got little legs!”
Muffin huffed, veering towards Ray’s Crabs (not to be confused with Crabby Ray’s on Mason Street, or Ray’s House of Crab on Bluff, or Crab Crab Crab on West).A few tables were positioned on a side patio set up and were mostly empty save for two ladies and one man sitting at a four-top, drinks and a pile of shells between them.Muffin took this for an invitation and, with a heave and lunge, sent me sprawling as he leapt over the flimsy railing around the dining area.
“Oh my god!Muffin, no!”
There were some shrieks, a low-voiced demand toGet this creature off me!This is Thom Browne!
I scrambled to my feet, vaulting over the railing with a stumble, landing with a wince and barely swallowed swear to grab Muffin by the collar and haul him back.“I am so, so sorry!”I panted.“Are you all alright?Muffin!No!Sit!”
Muffin very helpfully shoved his nose into the purse of the very unamused looking lady at the head of the table, her long silvery braid coiled like a crown and her mirrored shades reflecting my panicked, sweaty face.“Oh my god!Muffin!What the hell is wrong with you?”
It took another few minutes and the help of Ollie Hamm, who was in theDamien did not kill anyonecamp by virtue of the fact his girlfriend, Belinda, had been involved with the investigation tangentially.“Muffin, come here boy!”he called from the sidewalk, producing a handful of dog treats from his jacket pocket.Muffin hesitated, then bolted for Ollie, who gave me a sheepish smile.“Sorry, I was just passing on my way to the pet store and thought you might need help.”
“Thank you,” I sighed.“And I am so, so sorry.Is everyone okay?”
The man sneered at me, at Ollie, at Muffin.“That animal needs to be put down!It attacked us!”
Ollie helpfully tugged Muffin away a few feet, feeding him more treats.If looks could kill, Ollie would’ve just incinerated that guy.“Muffin just got carried away,” I protested.“That’s not an excuse and what he did was not great but he doesn’t deserve to die for it!”
The woman with the mirrored shades laid her fingers on the man’s wrist.“Calm down, Nate.It was an accident.”She turned a cool smile on me and raised on pale brow behind her glasses.“Right?”
“Of course,” I sputtered.“Who’d do that on purpose?”
“People sometimes do weird things,” the woman to Mirror Shades’ right muttered.She was a soft-cheeked, frowning redhead—and I meanred, like fire engine red—who didn’t lift her eyes from her tea when Mirror Shades gave her a sharptchof reproof.
“Nate is afraid of dogs,” Mirror Shades explained.“A small incident when he was a teenager.”
Nate, thin of hair and patience, rolled his eyes.“You weren’t even there.Don’t diminish it.”He swung that laser glare my way.“What’s your name?If I have so much as a loose thread, I’m going to press charges.”
I maylooklike a dorky teenager sometimes but I spent my formative years navigating pits of vipers and narcissists.Guys like Nate were common as Botox in Hollywood.I rolled my eyes at him, folding my arms over my chest and stared him down.“And if my dog has trauma from your threats, I’ll sueyou.”
Okay, there’s no way I could do that but lawsuits were always a good threat for guys like Nate.They travelled in packs in Hollywood and New York, tossing the threat around like confetti but skittish when faced with the possibility of having to pay an actual lawyer.“Boys,” the redhead chided softly.“Now isn’t the time.We’re here for a holiday, not a brawl.”
Mirror Shades chuckled softly, lowering her glasses to give me an assessing look.And in that moment, I turned into a gibbering mess.“Oh my god,” I gasped.“Gwendolyn Terhune!”
She spread her hands, tossing her head back in a throaty, low version of her famous laugh.“The one and only, dear heart.”
My gaze flicked to the woman beside her and I nearly choked on my spit.She’d finally looked up from her drink and was staring up at me with a tense, small smile that didn’t reach past the corners of her lips.And that was all it took.I was a little boy watching t.v.with my mom and Aunt Nina, reruns ofLadies Who Lunchon the Retro channel and a bowl of snacks in my lap for all three of us to munch on.“Pamela Sommers.Oh.My.God.”
