Page 41 of Skin and Bones

The lighthouse appeared in the distance as we crossed the causeway back to Grimm Island. Its beam swept steadily across the harbor waters where Elizabeth’s body had been found all those years ago.

The island looked peaceful in the afternoon light, its oak-lined streets and pastel houses picture perfect against the coastal backdrop. But beneath that polished surface lay secrets buried deep—secrets someone was still willing to kill for.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were heading straight into danger. I was just a tea shop owner, and I had no business chasing down clues or confronting powerful men with dangerous secrets.

As I turned onto Harbor Street, I caught a glimpse of headlights in my rearview mirror. A dark sedan, hanging back just far enough to seem innocent, but close enough to keep us in sight.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel as the reality hit me like a physical blow. They knew. Whoever had killed Elizabeth, whoever had spent twenty-eight years keeping her secrets buried, they knew we’d found what we were looking for.

But if they thought a little intimidation would make me back down, they clearly didn’t know Mabel McCoy.

CHAPTER

TEN

Death had a way of following me home—like gum stuck to the bottom of my favorite vintage pumps. I slammed the CLOSED sign against the door with more force than necessary, sending the silver bell into a frantic jingle that matched my heartbeat. Charleston had left me with more than just answers—it had awakened old ghosts and created new ones.

“Some partner you are,” I muttered to Chowder, who was sprawled in his window seat, paws twitching in doggy dreams. “I’m chasing down murderers while you’re napping in the sunshine.”

At the sound of my voice, one eye popped open. He snorted, then rolled over, presenting me with his wrinkled backside.

“So that’s how it is,” I said, turning back to the espresso machine. “Just remember who controls the treat jar.”

My hands moved in a familiar rhythm, cleaning the gleaming silver surface until I caught myself humming “Someone to Watch Over Me,” the irony not lost on me. The memory of Brooks’ haunted expression flickered behind my eyes. It was only supposed to be a fling, but I fell in love with her. It was impossible not to.

The bell above the door jingled, snapping me from my dark reverie. My heart did a ridiculous little skip before I forced it back to a respectable pace. Right on schedule—so predictable I could set my watch by him—and yet somehow the sight of him still managed to surprise me every time.

“We’re closed, Sheriff,” I called over my shoulder, unable to hide the smile in my voice as I arranged the clean cups. “Even for Grimm Island’s finest.”

“Seems I’ve developed a habit of catching you after hours,” he replied, his voice carrying a husky note that sent a bolt of electricity straight down my spine.

I spun around, retort ready on my lips, but the words dissolved on my tongue. He stood in the doorway, sunset backlighting him like he was posing for a magazine cover. Instead of his usual pressed uniform, he wore a gray suit that made him look more like a Wall Street executive than a small-town sheriff. The jacket stretched across his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry. His tie hung loosened at his neck, collar unbuttoned like he’d been slowly strangling all day and had finally broken free. His dark hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration, and the effect was devastating.

“Bad day with the press?” I asked, gesturing to his formal attire, hoping my voice didn’t betray the sudden desert in my mouth.

He raked a hand through that already disheveled hair, the movement causing his jacket to pull tight across his chest.

Sweet mercy.

“Let’s just say I prefer criminals to journalists,” he said with a grim smile that would have sent lesser women to their fainting couches. “At least with criminals, you know where you stand.” His eyes found mine as he moved deeper into the shop. “You never did give me an answer about dinner.”

Heat crept up my neck as I remembered his earlier invitation. Between break-ins, mysterious stalkers, and treasure hunts, I’d conveniently forgotten to respond. “Been a little busy,” I said, fumbling with a teacup that suddenly seemed determined to leap from my grasp. “The new sheriff is a real taskmaster.”

The corner of his mouth curved upward, a small chink in his professional armor. “I’ll put in a good word for you. Everyone needs to eat. What do you say? Tonight? I was hoping we could talk somewhere more private.”

My pulse betrayed me, but then I remembered the case. Of course he’d want to talk somewhere more private.

“Right,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. “No one knows we’re working on this case. Where did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking my place,” he said, watching me carefully.

“You cook?” I asked, my pulse going back into overdrive at the thought of being with him in his home. Alone.

He grinned and tugged at his tie again. “I’m a champion at takeout. I already know all the best places on the island.”

I was having trouble getting enough spit in my mouth to swallow. “That is a bad, bad idea.” My voice came out in a croak.

“Why?”

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