I’ll always be yours,
Romain
“Except you aren’t mine, Romain,” Meg said to the note. What was he thinking coming here? Had he expected to make up and go on with their lives together? What about Rachel? Had she tired of him so soon, or had he kicked her to the curb? Or had he come to return the ring and say he was sorry? That he and Rachel were over-the-moon happy? But he’d come home early from Italy. Maybe they weren’t happy.
She went to slap her hand, then stopped. This wasn’t her pining over some man who’d broken her heart. It was a normal reaction to a guy sticking his nose into her life. Again. She took the ring and the money and tucked them both away in her desk. His suggestion about selling the ring was a good one, and she’d have it appraised soon. Then she’d put the money away—her severance pay for the relationship. Every girl should get one.
She checked the lock on the door, then flopped on the couch, moving Watson to the end. Then she picked up her book and started reading. Nancy never had these kinds of problems with Ned. He was always there by her side. Willing to take a drive to the scary house at night or take her to the beach to unwind and play volleyball.
Like Dalton.
Meg groaned and pushed away the image of Dalton on the beach with a volleyball. She found her place and started reading again. She’d be finished with the book before dinner. And since she hadn’t eaten all the Chinese for lunch, she still had leftovers.
Tabitha had man troubles, too—a man who was still in love with his ex-wife. Maybe Tabitha needed to read some Nancy Drew and figure out her own life. If Meg knew her address, she could send her a book.
Meg focused on reading and got lost in solving the mystery.
CHAPTER9
If you can get access to the murder site, take pictures of the area. Don’t rely on your memory or sketching skills.
Tuesday morning, on the way to Summer Break, Meg stopped her bike on the road near the place where they’d found Robert Meade’s body. She glanced up at the house, then imagined herself walking from the front door to the dock. She couldn’t see either the dock or the front of the house from here.
The scenario didn’t make sense if Meade had been walking back into town, to a rented house or room or even to the ferry. He’d brought his car the first day she’d seen him. She had watched him take the stairs down to the ferry’s lower level to get into his car before they docked at the island. And the day she’d first come here, there had been a silver BMW convertible on the driveway. She’d assumed it was his.
So why had he been walking from town to Summer Break? And had he stayed over and rented a room? Or did he own property here or know someone besides Lilly who owned property? The more she thought about his death, the more questions she had. And, not to be mean, but the guy was in no shape to hike up the hills from the ferry terminal to this house. Or even walk down.
Last night Meg had been working on the chapter on how to investigate a crime scene in her guidebook. She’d drawn a crude picture of Lilly Aster’s dock, her house, and the road, but she’d assumed that the dock was a lot closer to the road than it actually was. She needed to update her chapter after this because she’d made a lot of faulty assumptions regarding where Meade’s body was found.
She left her bike at the curb, then went to find the trail that led down to the beach and the dock. When she got to the dock entrance, she found a locked gate and a fence blocking the way. There was a numbered keypad, but she didn’t know the code. She could see the dock from where she stood, as well as a small boat tied to the end. She turned to the left and saw a boardwalk that went from a deck off the back of the house to the dock.
If Meade had been on the dock and had slipped and fallen, unless he knew the code to the gate, he’d reached the dock from the back of the house. He hadn’t missed a turn on his way back to town. And where had his car been? She took pictures of every angle she could see from the gated dock entrance.
She walked back to her bike, but before getting on it, she pulled a notebook out of her backpack. She wrote down what she’d found and drew a horrible sketch of the house and the two access points to the dock. Maybe Dalton or Natasha could see what she wasn’t seeing. And she had the pictures.
If, for some reason that she couldn’t fathom, Meadehadwalked from the ferry terminal, his car should be parked either in Seattle or in the island’s ferry parking lot.
She decided to walk down there after she got back home to search for the silver BMW.
It wasn’t much, but at least she had something to investigate. You always started with the victim, and she’d forgotten that tip. She’d been so worried about Lilly’s possible involvement in her agent’s demise that she’d forgotten to look at Meade and try to determine what had happened with him. This could have nothing to do with Lilly at all, except for the fact that he had been at her house before his untimely death. It was possible. She tucked everything away in her backpack and finished the last of the ride to Summer Break.
This time there was no security guard. Meg parked her bike in front of the house, then walked up the stairs and rang the bell. When no one answered, she rang again. To her surprise, Lilly answered the door herself.
“Oh, Meg, sorry. I’d forgotten you were coming today. Jolene took off for a personal emergency, so I guess it’s me today. I swear, that woman is my brain—outside of the writing, of course. Come in. I have your next assignment right here.”
Meg followed her into the house and stood while Lilly looked at the empty table by the door.
“I think I must have left it in my office yesterday. Like I said, Jolene is my brain. Come on in.” She motioned toward the doors near the back of the foyer. “I’m sure it’s right where I left it. I’ve been writing this morning. I tend to get lost in the words.”
“I’m sorry I’m bothering you,” Meg said, following her into the office. Her entire body vibrated with excitement. She took a breath and exclaimed, “Your office is beautiful. I mean, I’d imagined it being like this somewhat, but this is amazing.”
The white room was bigger than Meg’s apartment, and as she’d expected, it had a wall of bookcases behind Lilly’s desk. A couch and love seat set was clustered around a stone fireplace on the other side of the room. But the draw was the wall that faced the sound and the Seattle skyline. Glass sliders gave Lilly an unobstructed view and made the view look like a photograph. A balcony was perched outside the windows. Meg stepped over to the sliders and looked out. She scanned the rocky beach below and the dock she’d seen from the outside gate.
“How do you work here? I’d be staring out the window all the time.”
“I still spend time staring out, but I seem to be lost in the book when I watch the water and the boats. It’s very calming, and with the books I write, I need a bit of calming at times. Especially during the murder scenes.” Lilly sat at her oversized white desk, which held a laptop and several piles of paper. It also had a bottle of vitamins, along with two other bottles. The label on one said it was for the immune system, and the other one contained collagen. Lilly followed her gaze and laughed. “If they aren’t right here, I don’t remember to take them. I have a pill container in the bathroom that has all my other supplements. As I age, it seems my doctor suggests I take more and more.”
She dug through the papers on her desk and pulled a folder out from under papers bound together with a clip and rubber bands. “And, because I’m not busy enough, my ex wants me to write a blurb for his upcoming book. I read enough of his works when we were married, so it’s not fair that I have to read anything he writes now. But I’ll be the better person. Karma . . . It all comes back. Am I right?”
