Page 61 of Skin and Bones

“Everybody okay?” Dash asked, scanning us for visible damage.

“Uninjured but thoroughly freaked out,” I replied.

“I need bourbon,” Bea announced, sailing past Dash. At my raised eyebrow, she simply said, “Emergencies call for emergency measures, darling. And it’s after noon. Don’t look so judgmental.”

Dash guided me to a chair, his hand warm at my elbow. “I told Genevieve to close up early and go home.”

“Good. She doesn’t need to be mixed up in this.” I sank into the chair, suddenly exhausted. “What happened to Vanessa?”

Dash ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that would have been distracting under other circumstances. “Her assistant called when she didn’t show up to open the boutique. No answer on her cell. Harris and Reynolds did a welfare check.” His jaw tightened. “They found her in the living room.”

“Harris said she was strangled,” I said, the word heavy on my tongue.

“With what looks like one of her own scarves. Silk. High-end.”

“What was my name doing on a note pinned to her nightgown?” I asked, getting to the part that had been making my stomach churn since Harris’s call.

“It was the only thing written.” Dash’s eyes were troubled. “Typed, not handwritten. Pinned with a decorative brooch.”

“No signs of forced entry?” Walt asked.

“None,” Dash confirmed. “Signs point to her knowing her killer. We found wine glasses. Two on the coffee table. One with lipstick, one clean.”

“Romantic?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Dash said. “We also found this clutched in her hand.” He showed me a photo on his phone of a crumpled document. Even from the small screen, I could make out the Harbor Development Corporation letterhead.

“Convenient,” I said, looking at Dash.

“My thoughts too,” he said.

“It’s a bit too perfect, isn’t it?” I said. “My name on a note, a Harbor Development document conspicuously placed…it’s like someone’s trying to create a narrative.”

“A narrative that connects Elizabeth’s death to Vanessa’s through corruption,” Dash nodded.

“Which means either the same person killed both women—” Bea started.

“Or someone’s trying to make it look that way,” I finished.

“This changes everything,” Dash said, his expression grim. “We need to establish proper security protocols.”

“The Silver Sleuths are at your service,” Dottie announced, straightening in her chair like she was accepting a mission from the Pentagon. “We can set up a rotation system.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Dash agreed, surprising me. “Mabel shouldn’t be alone until we know who’s behind these threats.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Walt was already pulling a small notebook from his pocket. “I’ll take night watch—insomnia has its advantages. We’ll need a comprehensive perimeter check every hour, communication protocols, and contingency plans for various scenarios.”

“My house isn’t a military installation,” I said, but no one seemed to be listening.

“I can do afternoon shifts,” Dottie volunteered. “My knees won’t handle those stairs after dark.”

“Morning duty for me,” Deidre chimed in. “I’m up with the birds anyway.”

“Count me out for overnights,” Bea declared, swirling her drink. “Beauty sleep is nonnegotiable, darlings. I can only sleep in my own bed. But I’ll handle day shifts and bring the sidecars.”

I looked at Dash, expecting him to shut down this geriatric security detail, but he was nodding thoughtfully. I narrowed my eyes at him and he winked at me. Ridiculous man.

“Fine,” I sighed, recognizing defeat when it was staring me in the face. “But house rules apply—you’re welcome to the guest rooms, don’t feed Chowder too many snacks, and my kitchen stays exactly as is.” I smiled at Deidre. “Even if my organization system defies all logic.”

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