Dead Tide (Blackmoore Sisters Romantic Cozy Mystery Series) Read online

  Celeste listened as he cancelled the date. He was an expert in that too, and was able to do it quickly and sincerely. She also noticed he avoided the other person’s attempts to schedule a rain check.

  He shoved the phone in his pocket then turned to Celeste.

  “Okay, I’m all yours. Let’s get started.”

  Chapter Seven

  A shiver of excitement rippled through Jolene as she pulled into the museum parking lot. This was her first time doing “fieldwork” as Jakes P.I. assistant and she was excited to do a good job.

  Even though the museum job wasn’t for a paying client she still wanted to tackle it as diligently as she would any assignment, even though she knew the real test would come in a few hours when she tried to catch the husband of their first real client cheating with another woman. But, for now, she wanted to focus on trying to find this Mateo person her sisters had talked about.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, she pushed her curly brown hair behind her ears and nodded with satisfaction. That was more professional. Her ice-blue eyes and dark lashes didn’t need any help nor did her porcelain skin so she didn’t wear any makeup. She hoped that added to the professional look she was trying to project.

  She stepped out of Celeste’s Volkswagen Beetle, which she’d borrowed for the day. Smoothing her linen pants, she checked to make sure the silk blouse was tucked in. Reaching into the back seat, she picked up a small wallet that held the press credentials her friend at the local paper had made for her. She opened it and peered at the picture of herself rolling her eyes at the name Sandra Storm that was typed below it. Her friend had a strange sense of humor. She shoved it in her pocket, hoping it would be enough to make her seem like she was there on official business.

  She headed toward the museum, not the least bit intimidated by the large stone structure. Her platform shoes echoed on the stone steps as she made her way toward the door. She strode through the lobby as if she belonged there, then ducked into the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor.

  When she got off the elevator, the placard on the wall told her exactly where to find the director, Anne Beasley. She navigated the hall to her office.

  The only word Jolene could think to describe Beasley was “prim”. A thin woman of about fifty, she sat ram rod straight behind her desk, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

  Jolene knocked on the door and Beasley’s lips tightened even more, as if she disapproved of the unexpected visit.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes. Hi. I’m Sandra Storm from the Noquitt Tribune.” Jolene felt a pang of guilt at how easy the lie flew out of her mouth as she flashed the badge toward the woman. “I’m doing a piece on the museum … well on Professor Skinner and I was wondering if I could get the names of his colleagues—the people he was working with recently.”

  Beasley stood and came around the desk, her lips pursing even tighter, if that were possible. Jolene hovered in the doorway since she hadn’t been invited in.

  Beasley reached out for the badge and Jolene’s stomach fluttered as she handed it over. She wasn’t counting on a close inspection and had no idea if it looked like the official badges.

  Beasley studied the badge for several heart thumping seconds, looked up at Jolene, and then back at the badge before finally handing it back.

  “I’m afraid I can’t give you any names.”

  Jolene’s heart dropped in her chest as the woman turned and started toward her desk

  Jolene pulled a spiral bound flip pad out of her pocket. “I have it in my notes that he was working with …” She made a show of flipping through the pad, angling it so the blank pages were hidden from view. “Someone named Mateo. Do you know where I could find him?”

  Beasley’s thin brows dipped together in the middle. “Mateo? We don’t have anyone by that name here. Skinner was working with Penster mostly. You can find her office down the hall.”

  Beasley jerked her head to the left presumably indicating the direction Penster could be found in and dismissed Jolene by looking back down at her work.

  “Okay. Well, thanks.” Jolene tried to keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice and started off toward the left.

  She walked slowly down the hall. Each office had a metal rail with a name tag slid into it on the side. The door to Penster’s office was open and she peeked in.

  Penster was the opposite of Beasley. Short, round and dressed in a pink polyester pantsuit. She looked to be ninety if she was a day. Her snow white hair haloed her head in tight curls. She was standing in front of a filing cabinet that was stuffed full. Papers and folders spilled out of the top and sides. Jolene wondered if the drawers actually closed. The rest of the office wasn’t much different. Papers were piled on every surface. Books were stacked waist high around the room. The faint scent of spices and mildew drifted out into the hallway.

  Penster turned around, a smile lighting her face when she saw Jolene standing in the doorway.

  “Can I help you?” She cocked her head to one side.

  “I hope so. I’m from the Noquitt Tribune.” Jolene held out the badge and the other woman navigated her way over, dodging the stacks of books and other obstacles that littered the office. She glanced at the badge then back up at Jolene, the smile still on her face but now with her eyebrows raised.

  “I’m doing a story on Professor Skinner and I was hoping you could help. I heard you were working with him.”

  The older woman’s face deflated. “Oh, poor Reinhardt. Such a shame. He was a nice man … and a looker too.” She winked at Jolene.

  “Yes, I’m very sorry for the loss of your colleague.”

  “I’m Irene Penster," she said holding out a wrinkled hand, the knuckles gnarled with arthritis.

  Jolene shook it, surprised at the older woman’s firm grip.

  “Can you tell me about the project he was working on?” Jolene asked.

  Irene pursed her lips and squinted, her wrinkles collapsing into even more wrinkles. “I’m not sure of the details. He mentioned some project about a very old house here in town … something about a sailor. But he was very secretive about it.”

  “Do you know where he would keep his notes?”

  “I believe he kept them in his office. He rarely took work home with him.” She turned to a side table which was piled high with papers and produced a box from between the stacks. “Would you like a macaroon?”

  “No thanks,” Jolene said as Irene slid a tray out of the box and picked put a pink macaroon.

  “I was told he was working with someone named Mateo. Do you know where I can find him?”

  Irene nibbled the edge of the macaroon, narrowing her eyes as she chewed. “Mateo?” She tilted her head to the side. “No, that doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Oh well I should be on my way—” Jolene turned to leave, but Irene shoved the rest of the macaroon into her mouth and grabbed Jolene’s hand, pulling her into the overcrowded room.

  “Would you like to see some of the new Egyptian artifacts I’m cataloging? They are quite fascinating.”

  Irene pulled her toward the back. Jolene tripped over a round cardboard shipping package and rammed into a stack of books that teetered precariously. She ripped her hand away from Irene, her heart skipping a beat as she grabbed onto the stack to keep them from toppling over.

  Irene turned around in time to see the stack of books wobbling, a look of alarm passed across her face, then a smile of relief when Jolene made the save. Jolene stepped backward and held her hand out.

  “Sorry, I’d love to see the artifacts, but I really must be going. You know, press deadline and all.”

  Irene looked disappointed. “Of course. Maybe another time? I do hope your story makes it to press first.”

  “First?” Jolene’s brows mashed together.

  “Yes. Didn’t I tell you? A man was here yesterday asking the same exact questions you just asked.”

  ***

  Jolene looked at her watch as
she took the stairs two at a time. She had just enough time to change and get over to the Knotty Mariner Motel to catch Mr. Peterson cheating on his wife. Hopefully. Not that she hoped he was cheating, but if he was and she could get a picture than that would mean her and Jake could get their first payment.

  Out in the parking lot, she kicked off her platform shoes, then slid into the front seat of the VW bug and twisted around to grab her tote bag from the back seat. She pulled out a pair of old jeans faded to a light blue and so worn they were almost as comfortable as a pair of sweat pants.

  Glancing around to make sure no one was watching she wriggled out of the linen dress pants and into the jeans, glad that the doors of the car hid the bottom half of her from view.

  While she was contorting herself into the pants, she thought about what Irene had said. Someone else had been asking about Skinner. A man. Could that have been this Mateo guy her sisters met? Irene had said he was a big guy with a bushy beard and an unpleasant demeanor—she’d have to ask her sisters if Mateo fit the description.

  She ripped off the silk blouse, thankful she’d worn a cotton camisole underneath and put the lightweight hoodie on over it. She jammed her feet into white flip-flops and settled back in the seat congratulating herself on having the foresight to bring the more comfortable outfit—it was much better suited to sleazy motel surveillance.

  She turned the key in the ignition and started to backup, her heart jumping when she looked in the rear-view mirror and spotted a man over in the shadows of the building.

  Was he watching her?

  She whipped her head around, looking out the back window.

  He was!

  She wondered if it was the man Irene had told her about but this guy didn’t fit the description. He was tall and slim, muscular but not bulky and he didn’t have a beard. She noticed his hair was dark and wavy, his dark skin a medium coffee color like he was from a southern climate—Brazil or someplace like that. Her blue eyes met his soft brown ones and she felt a strange tug in her chest just before she ripped her gaze away.

  Probably some pervert getting his jollies watching her change in the car. Anger started to boil up inside her. She shoved the car into park, pushed the door open and jumped out facing him … but he was gone.

  “Jerk.”

  She hopped back into the car, slammed the door shut and headed out in the direction of the motel.

  ***

  The Knotty Mariner Motel was at the edge of town, down an out of the way back road that most tourists would never find. And even if they did, the broken motel sign and faded paint job would clue them in that it didn’t offer the finest accommodations in town. Not surprisingly, the sign announced there were vacancies.

  Jolene pulled into the gravel parking lot and backed into a spot at the far end where she could see all the rooms. She got her camera ready as she studied the one story motel which had an office on one end, then ten rooms lined up in a row. Each room had a door with a number and a large picture window, most of them with the drapes tightly shut.

  The motel was aptly named. Jolene knew that more than one naughty mariner had used it for purposes other than lodging. In high school, kids that grew tired of the backseats of their cars sometimes rented a room for an afternoon and rumor had it that adults seeking company other than their spouse frequented the motel. Which was why she was here, hoping their client’s husband would show up with a date on his lunch hour and confirm the wife’s suspicions that he was cheating.

  She sat and waited. Not much was happening at the motel. The parking lot had a few cars in it, but no one came out of their room. No new cars came in. She found a bag of cool ranch Doritos in her tote and munched them while she watched the squirrels gather acorns and wished that something … anything … would happen. Jake hadn’t told her how boring this would be. She had wondered why he was so eager for her to do this instead of doing it himself. Now she knew.

  She was dozing off when the crunch of car tires on gravel jerked her awake. She crouched down in the seat grabbing her camera. Peeking out of the window, her heartbeat picked up speed when she saw the car was a blue Toyota Corolla—the same car Peterson drove.

  The driver’s side door opened and a forty-ish, tall, balding man got out. Jolene glanced at the photo on the car seat beside her. Yep, it was him and getting out of the passenger side was a blonde who definitely wasn’t Mrs. Peterson.

  Bingo!

  Jolene raised the camera, waiting for the perfect Kodak moment. She watched through the lens as they walked to the office, the man momentarily slipping his arm around her, then letting his hand trail downward until it was on her butt. Jolene tried to get a shot, but they split apart before she could focus. He went into the office while she waited outside.

  She ignored the sound of another car pulling in keeping her eye on the woman who was soon joined by Peterson dangling a shiny key from his hand. She kept the camera trained on them as they walked down the row of doors.

  Jolene held her breath, waiting for that perfect shot. The couple stopped in front of room number eight. Peterson put the key in the lock then turned to the woman as if he was going to embrace her.

  Jolene’s finger hovered over the shutter release. The man made his move. She pressed … just in time to get a picture of the two men in the next room walking by with some equipment totally obscuring Peterson and the woman.

  Jolene’s stomach sank until she realized Peterson was still standing there. She kept the camera poised as she watched him push open the door, then gesture for the woman to enter. As she did, he reached out and grabbed her butt again and this time Jolene got the perfect shot—Peterson playing grab-ass with a woman as he ushered her into a motel room.

  A smile tugged at her lips as she put the camera on the seat beside her and turned the ignition on. The picture proved his wife’s suspicions were correct. Peterson was playing around. Her first field assignment had been a big success and she couldn’t wait to get home and load the pictures from the camera onto her computer so they could get that check from their first client.

  Chapter Eight

  Celeste paused at the top of the stairs that led to the attic, staring at the dust motes that hung in the slivers of sunlight filtering in through the windows and wondering which way to go. The attic was gigantic. It encompassed the entire fourth floor of their home and was a warren of rooms that used to house servants generations ago. It smelled of dry wood and heat.

  There were no servants anymore and each room was stuffed full of various items her ancestors had packed away when they had no more use for them. By the looks of it, the previous generations of Blackmoore’s never threw anything away.

  She felt a feathery wisp of fur tease her bare calf as Belladonna weaved her way in between her legs and then headed to the left, flicking her tail and looking back over her shoulder at Celeste and Cal.

  “Meow.”

  Celeste shrugged. “Might as well follow her—she usually seems to know just where to go.”

  They followed the cat past an endless array of bureaus, cribs, tables, hall trees, bed frames, rugs and boxes stuffed full. Cal couldn’t help but stop and inspect some of the more interesting items.

  “Look at this oak claw foot table.”

  The excitement in Cal’s voice made Celeste turn. She looked in the direction he indicated. A heavy oak table sat there, its surface covered with boxes. The legs, where Cal was pointing, were carved in the shape of giant furry claws, the talons of which grasped onto large crystal balls.

  “That’s kind of creepy.” Celeste wasn’t really into old furniture.

  “You just haven’t developed an appreciation for antiques.” Cal squeezed the back of her neck, just like he’d done a thousand times before. Yet something was different this time, although she couldn’t say what.

  Celeste squirmed away. “Where’s the cat?”

  “Meow.”

  Celeste turned in the direction of the sound, feeling a puzzling relief to be not standing so
near Cal.

  Belladonna had flopped down under a dressing table in a corner. Boxes and loose items were piled up on either side of it. Celeste looked around feeling a knot of frustration form in her belly.

  “I just don’t know what we are looking for.” Her shoulders bunched with tension as she looked from one box to the next not knowing where to start.

  “You seem stressed out.” Cal had come up next to her. He turned her around so she was facing away and started working the knots in her shoulders, his strong hands massaging the muscle fibers expertly. She sighed and relaxed against him. He was right, she was stressed out … which was not like her at all. But all the pirate treasure stuff from the past summer had been stressful and the thought of it happening again was getting to her.

  Before she realized what had happened, Cal had turned her around to face him. Her heart skipped as she noticed how close he was standing. Which wasn’t really all that unusual, they’d stood close to each other many times before. So why did she suddenly feel all tingly and warm?

  His hands burned on her shoulders. She looked up at Cal, butterflies flapped nervously in her stomach as she saw something in them she’d never seen before. They stared at each other and it was as if time had stopped.

  Celeste could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her neck.

  Cal’s hands tightened on her shoulders.

  He moved closer.

  Crash!

  Celeste jerked away looking in the direction of the sound.

  Belladonna sat on the floor behind a silver box which she must have dug out of one of the piles causing it to collapse. Hand mirrors, goblets, gloves and various ladies items littered the floor.

  But it was the box that captured their attention.

  “This looks like the boxes we found this summer … the ones that held all the clues.” Celeste bent to pick up the small silver trinket box.

  It was about as wide as her palm and four inches tall. Shiny silver with gold edges and a flower design in high relief. She held it out to Cal.