Page 3 of Cyn
“Maybe. Probably.” Nora chuckled. “You’re always the first one to show up with treats for my strays. I guess the only way they could beat you was when you were out of the country.”
Cyn gave a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to live with that. I will come by tomorrow, though, and we’ll have a good chin-wag.”
“Are you home now?” Nora asked.
“Nearly to my drive. Thanks for keeping me company, luv.”
“Anytime. See you tomorrow and sleep well.”
“I always do,” Cyn replied, then disconnected the call. Less than a minute later, her driveway came into view. The state highway curved to the west, and drivers often mistook her driveway for a road because it continued straight. For that reason, she’d put a bright yellow gate fifteen feet up her drive and had her groundswoman keep an area cleared for people to turn around if they accidentally went straight instead of turning with the highway.
As her wheels transitioned from the pitted and uneven state-maintained road to her recently paved one, the cabin of her car quieted. Hitting a button on her Bluetooth display, the flimsy gate opened. It wouldn’t really keep anyone out, and it wasn’t meant to—thatgate was farther up her drive—but it was, generally speaking, enough to let the accidental tourist know that they’d made a wrong turn.
Pulling through as the arm opened, she paused on the other side. Watching in the rearview mirror until the gate latched behind her, she then eased her foot off the brake and continued forward. Her jet-lagged body clock was telling her it wasn’t quite yet nine, so she wasn’t too tired. That didn’t stop her from dreaming of her bed and its big, fluffy down comforter, though, as she drove toward the main gate of her property. The one that was actually intended to keep people out. Or, she supposed, in.
She rounded a bend, and the tops of the wrought-iron structure came into view, bringing with it a familiar feeling of belonging. Her house might be big enough to fit her entire family and then some, but it was home.
Smiling to herself, she let her mind wander in anticipation. Soon, she’d park in her warmed garage, then traipse in through her mudroom. Dan, her personal chef, would have a light meal and a good bottle of wine waiting for her. No doubt, the gas fireplace would be on as well.
Thoughts of having a small bite to eat and a nice glass of wine were dancing in her head when she rounded the last bend before the gate. Finally, it came into full view, all twenty-feet-long-by-twelve-feet-high of it. A utilitarian fence ran the perimeter, but the gate itself was a work of art, literally. A local metal artist had designed and built it for her. Sure, many aspects of her life made her need to be extra cautious about security, but that didn’t mean that security had to be ugly.
She smiled as her eyes traced the top lines then fell down the center to the big faux keyhole. She was reaching for the button on her Bluetooth display that would trigger the opening mechanism when something caught her eye. She hesitated, squinting through the windshield. Stopped so close to the gate, her headlights were too high to shed any light on the form propped along the bottom and she couldn’t quite discern what it was. Switching off the headlights, she turned her fog lights on, immediately illuminating the ground area.
She stilled and stared.
Then cocked her head and stared some more.
When she’d first seen the form, she’d thought maybe one of her friends had left her something and just hadn’t bothered driving all the way to the house to drop it. But as warped as her friends were—well, particularly Six—none of them would have left what she now recognized was waiting for her.
No, her friends might still have the capacity to surprise her, but there was no way in hell they would have left her a dead body.
Chapter Two
Cyn staredat the form slumped against her gate and sighed. Judging by the size of the feet, it was a man, and he wore a dark fedora, tipped low over his head, with a large overcoat draped over his body that covered all but his calves and dress-shoe clad feet.
After tugging on her jacket, Cyn dug into her purse for her phone, then left the warmth of her car and approached the body. She paused three feet away and took in the scene even as she started to dial 911. Her drive had been plowed around noon, after the morning’s storm. There’d been a light dusting a few hours later, but not enough to justify a second plowing. Based on the thin layer of snow covering the man’s body and the absence of footprints, she estimated that he’d been placed there sometime between noon and two.
The sky had cleared, leaving the temperatures dipping close to zero, and the freezing air nipped her cheeks as her breath puffed out in bursts of fog. She inhaled deeply, her lungs protesting the cold, and considered the body. She’d met a few special ops guys over the years who could stay as still as a statue for hours in the same weather conditions Cos Cob was experiencing. But those men were few and far between, and she had a hard time believing that one of them would show up on her doorstep. No, there was little doubt in her mind that the man before her was dead, but even so, she supposed she should check.
Hitting the button on her phone, she connected the call. Moving closer, she kept her eyes trained on the body, looking for any movement that might indicate she had cause to doubt her deduction. It remained still, even when she tapped a toe with one of her own, and by the time the dispatcher answered, she was kneeling beside it.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.
Cyn reached under the overcoat enough to feel for a pulse. Or lack thereof as the case may be, confirming her initial observation.
“This is Cyn Steele,” she said before rattling off her address. “There’s a dead man at the gate of my property.” She knew everyone in the Cos Cob Police Department—all six of them—but all 911 calls went to county dispatch, so she had no idea to whom she was speaking.
“Are you in a dangerous situation?” the operator asked.
Cyn paused and looked around at the quiet woods that lined her drive. “He’s dead. I’m quite sure he’s no danger. If you could send Chief Harris and his team, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be waiting in my car,” Cyn said, rising. There was nothing to be done about the man, although his presence raised a lot of questions.
“Please, stay on the line, ma’am,” the dispatcher said, but Cyn ignored her and disconnected the call.
Climbing back into her Range Rover, she blasted the heater. It had been chilly in the UK, but there was nothing quite like January on the northern Massachusetts coast to put ice in the veins. Using her phone, she opened the first gate for the first responders as she considered using the secondary back entrance to her property. If she did, she could wait in the comfort of her home for Chief Harris and his team to finish. It was logical, but even though Cynwasthe lord of her own manor, she didn’t like pulling that card. And waiting in her seaside mansion while the men and women in blue did their work wasn’t something she could bring herself to do. Besides, she was nosy, and she knew Deputy Aaron Wexler, a younger guy who liked to gossip, would fill her in on whatever the team found.
Putting her car in gear, she glanced at the backup camera, then maneuvered herself into a spot off the drive that would get her out of the way of any incoming vehicles. Deputy Wexler arrived moments later, waving to her as he passed before parking his car twenty feet from the body.
She was watching her side mirror to see who else might arrive when her phone dinged with a text message. Looking at the name that appeared on her screen, Cyn groaned but opened the message.
