A Corpse at the Cove Read online

  A CORPSE AT THE COVE

  SUNRISE ISLAND MYSTERIES, BOOK 3

  BLYTHE BAKER

  Copyright © 2018 by Blythe Baker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  At the quaint little Sunrise Island Bed & Breakfast, guests check in ... and never check out.

  Piper Lane’s seaside bed & breakfast is finally up and running. What’s more, new romances are blooming in the lives of all three Lane women. Life on the sunny island can’t get any better. There’s just one problem – and it’s a corpse.

  When a disgruntled guest meets a violent end and someone close to home becomes a suspect, Piper puts on her detective hat once again. But can she catch a killer before more unlucky guests become permanent residents?

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  CONTENTS

  Blurb

  Newsletter Signup

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  I delicately lifted a white porcelain lamp into the air, checking the underside for a price tag. Why anyone would place a price tag on the bottom of a breakable item was beyond me. Though, on second thought, the store was wallpapered with ‘YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT’ signs, so perhaps the owner had the right idea. Make every customer hold a fragile lamp above their head before they can buy it and someone is bound to drop one.

  Eighty dollars!

  Just as delicately, I returned the lamp to its perch on a rickety wooden credenza and continued my perilous journey through the store. The aisles were narrow, especially considering the ever-increasing size of the average Texan. Again, I had to wonder whether the owner wasn’t banking on a few plump rumps knocking into the priceless knick-knacks balanced on the edges of bookcases and end tables. ‘YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT.”

  The store was a bit out of my price range—some of the antique tables were worth more than I made in a month at my old bank job—but I was growing desperate. I’d scoured every estate sale, junk shop, and antique store on Sunrise Island until I finally gave up, hopped on a ferry, and tried my luck on the mainland. It was the first time I’d left the island in three months.

  Every spare second for months had been spent on renovating the old bed and breakfast, and now that Sunrise B&B was officially up and running and accepting guests, I had more time than I’d imagined on my hands. While I’d headed up most of the renovations, my sister Page was taking full charge of making sure the guests felt welcomed. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the first guest I’d checked in had never checked out.

  Holly Belden’s death made headlines everywhere, due in part to her having worked as a reporter for a rather large newspaper. Her colleagues honored her memory with front page spreads for the better part of a week. Though, the case was also rather sensational. Guests trapped in a mansion during a storm, being picked off one by one by a deranged killer. It sounded more like a summer blockbuster than anything that could happen on a tiny island south of Houston, and the people were curious.

  Luckily, Holly’s connection to the bed and breakfast was far from the main focus of the story, and my name managed to stay out of the papers because Sheriff Shepherd didn’t want to admit that I’d solved yet another murder case before he was able to. All of which was perfectly fine with me. I wanted to be remembered for my entrepreneurial skills, and maybe my banana pancakes, not my penchant for foiling the plans of serial killers.

  Also, by some miracle, very few of the bed and breakfast’s first guests knew anything about the killer who had lived next door, and those that did know about Martin Little had no idea that I’d been the one to discover his secret and kill him when he tried to attack me. Page had explained to her daughter in no uncertain terms that she was not allowed to use the story of her serial killer-fighting aunt as an ice breaker at her new school. Miraculously, the deaths that had occurred on the bed and breakfast property had stayed under wraps, and the last thing we needed were a bunch of high school students going home and sharing the news with their parents. Weekenders from Houston who were popping down to the island for a “staycation” of sorts were our bread and butter. We couldn’t risk losing their business.

  And according to Page, part of keeping our customers happy and returning was personalizing the rooms so they didn’t feel like a cookie cutter hotel room. We needed more “character,” Page said, so I’d been designated the interior decorator. The tastemaker, if you will. My first decision as the decorator was to avoid all of the shops along the beach on the mainland. They were mainly stocked with “Life is a Beach” signs and lamps covered in seashells, and ‘tourist destination’ was not the vibe I wanted the Sunrise B&B to give off. We wanted to feel authentic, one of a kind. So, I’d steered away from the pleasure pier and its carnival atmosphere in favor of the inland antique and junk shops downtown. I’d also brought my niece Blaire with me. If anyone could spot cheesy, it was Blaire. She had a rather strong opinion about most things and wasn’t afraid to voice it.

  “What do you think of this, Blaire?” I asked over my shoulder, holding up a wrought iron bookend in the shape of a bike tire. The bed and breakfast had beautiful built-in bookshelves, and we were currently working on expanding our library beyond Page’s romance novels and my excessive collection of unopened cookbooks.

  When Blaire didn’t answer immediately, I turned around, expecting to find her staring at me, one eyebrow raised, sporting an expression that said, You can’t be serious, Aunt Piper. Instead, I turned to find no one behind me except the ancient shop owner who was paying me zero attention, instead squinting towards the miniscule cube television she had sitting on the counter. I couldn’t tell what she was watching, but I imagined it was either a game show or a talk show.

  “Blaire?” I called, slipping down the aisles looking for her. She couldn’t have gone far because she was holding onto Jasper, my French Bulldog. He’d been on his leash, but I’d instructed Blaire to hold him in her arms while we were in the shops, lest his curiosity got the best of him and he knocked over an entire display of antique salt and pepper shakers. ‘YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT.’

  Perhaps she went outside so she could set him back on the ground, I thought.

  I made it to the front door without breaking anything, waved to the old woman behind the counter, and stepped outside into the tail end of a south Texas summer. There was a slight breeze coming from the ocean a few blocks away, but otherwise the day was humid and sticky. My cardigan suddenly felt too heavy, and I pulled it off and tied it around my waist, knowing I looked like a suburban mom at a theme park. Nevertheless, I was too concerned to care. I squinted against the sun and scanned up and down the block, seeing no sign of Blaire or Jasper.

  Blaire was sixteen, and very capable of taking care of herself, but that didn’t stop my heart from lurching in my chest as I pulled out my phone and punched in her number. It rang what felt li
ke one thousand times before her deadpan voice instructed me to leave a message after the beep. I barked into the phone for her to call me back immediately, turned my ringer volume to high so I wouldn’t miss her call, and took off down the block.

  Normally I wouldn’t have been near as paranoid, but something about running across two murderers in the span of three months had set me on edge. Certainly, I’d reached my lifetime quota of crazy, right? I wanted to think so, but there was no guarantee. Had Blaire been targeted by someone? She was a pretty girl, after all. Had she trusted the wrong person and ended up in the back of a windowless white van? Gruesome thoughts flashed through my mind, though I was trying hard to squash them.

  I passed a coffee shop, and pressed my face to the window, ignoring the awkward stares from a young couple sipping their coffees and splitting what looked like a blueberry muffin. Blaire wasn’t inside, so I moved on. As I came to the end of the block, I noticed a barely there tattoo shop across the street shoved between a travel agent office and an antique shop we’d already been in. The shop had a bizarrely narrow focus on animal-print antiques, and Blaire and I had spent less than a minute inside before deciding we needed to get out before the owner nabbed Jasper and turned him into a foot stool. Had she noticed the tattoo parlor when they were there earlier and gone back, unable to resist the lure of teenage rebellion? I found myself both hoping she was inside and desperately hoping she was anywhere else. I couldn’t decide whether it would be worse to return home without Blaire or to return her to her mother covered in tattoos and body piercings.

  I jogged across the street, ignoring the signs that forbade jaywalking, and ducked into the dimly lit shop. Neon signs cluttered the walls, advertising ‘walk-ins welcome’ and ‘nose piercings.’ I sent up a prayer that I wasn’t too late.

  “Can I help you?” a woman with spiky pink hair and too many piercings to count asked.

  Despite her aesthetic, she had a warm, open face, and a blindingly white smile.

  “I’m looking for my niece,” I said, my statement turning up at the end in a kind of half question.

  The woman gestured both arms to the shop around her as if to say, “Ta-da!”

  “This is all there is,” she said.

  One quick look around the teeny space told me Blaire wasn’t there. I thanked the woman for her time and turned to leave.

  “Can I interest you in anything while you’re here?” she asked. “Half-off your first piercing.”

  I looked back, trying to decide if she was joking or not, and upon deciding that she was entirely serious, I said, “No thanks. I’m going to make sure my niece hasn’t been kidnapped before I permanently alter my body.”

  The woman nodded her pink head and turned away, clearly not concerned with my plight.

  I stepped back onto the bright street and checked my phone to make sure Blaire hadn’t called. Nothing.

  “Crap, crap, crap,” I muttered under my breath.

  Then, I noticed a shop further down the block, a glowing neon hand hanging from the door advertising psychic readings and crystals. I suddenly remembered Blaire saying something about the healing power of crystals a few weeks back, and beelined for the shop.

  As soon as I’d opened the door, my eyes began to water. The smell of herbs and incense was powerful, and it felt like someone had stuffed sandalwood down my throat and directly into my lungs. Fighting against the urge to close the door and take deep, slow breaths of the fresh air outside, I walked into the shop, the bell above the door ringing at my arrival.

  Immediately, a small, modest woman draped in a purple sash stepped from the back of the shop and smiled at me as though we were old friends.

  “Welcome,” she said. “How can I assist you today?”

  “I’m actually just looking for my niece,” I said. “Medium height, dark black hair, hopefully in the company of a particularly hyper dog.”

  The woman laughed a dry laugh, like autumn leaves rubbing together in the wind. “Yes, yes. I have what you seek.”

  She disappeared behind the curtain, and I stood in the doorway for a few seconds, unsure if I should follow her. When she said she had what I sought, did she mean that she had Blaire behind that curtain or, in typical phony psychic fashion, that she had the information of where Blaire was? Or was it more sinister than even that? If I went behind the curtain, would I find Blaire and Jasper tied up in her back room? Was she going to grind down our bones for some kind of voodoo magic?

  Taking a deep breath, I tried to convince myself I was being ridiculous, and I moved through the shop, passing glass cases of different colored crystals, countless sticks of incense, and several shelves of books about homeopathic medicine.

  If I thought the front of the shop smelled, it was nothing compared to the back. Mixing with the overbearing scent of incense was an even stronger smell of dust and mildew. Dark blue curtains hung from the ceiling, tied back with silver tassels, giving the room the appearance of a tent. The drapes completely blocked all of the air vents, making the room little more than a heat box. My lungs tightened, and I struggled to take in air.

  “Hey, Aunt Piper,” Blaire said.

  I turned to see her sitting behind a round table, her hand lying flat and open on the table, Jasper sitting at her feet, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

  “Hey Aunt Piper,” I repeated, my voice high and mocking. “You didn’t think it was worth mentioning to me where you were going? I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

  Her face paled only slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t think I’d be gone long. Jasper needed to go to the bathroom, and then I came across the street to throw away his poo bag, and I saw the crystal shop. I was just going to duck inside for a second, but then Cibil offered me a free palm reading.”

  I turned back to the small woman who was taking her seat across from Blaire, her fingers running over the lines of Blaire’s hand. She looked over her shoulder at me, a vacant smile dancing across her lips.

  “I’ll give you one, too,” she said before turning her attention back to Blaire. “For your trouble.”

  “No, really, I’m fine,” I said. “Besides, Blaire and I should be going.”

  Cibil shook her head. “Not so much rushing. Blaire needs to slow down.”

  Blaire’s eyes widened and she looked over at me, panicked.

  “What do you mean ‘slow down’?” I asked, hating myself for being curious.

  Cibil winked at Blaire, and patted her palm reassuringly. “It is not for anyone but Blaire to know.”

  Blaire’s clear relief made me that much more curious.

  “You should get a reading, Aunt Piper,” Blaire said as she stood up, Jasper stirring, but looking too lazy to stand.

  I used to be rather superstitious, even checking my horoscope to see what I should expect from my month. However, then I went on a blind date with a guy who told me he wrote horoscopes for a local magazine. The date was a disaster, and I decided he was the last person I wanted having any kind of influence on my life, so I gave up the habit. I didn’t know much about Cibil, but I also didn’t care to have her input on my life. Nevertheless, almost as if by some outside force, I found myself crossing the room and lowering into the plush velvet chair across from her.

  She reached across the table and grabbed my hand before I had time to second guess myself. She laid my hand palm up on the table and her fingers began probing the deep and delicate lines of my hand, moving over my skin as lightly as a spider, her eyes closed in concentration. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, she pulled her hands back, opened her eyes, and looked at me, sadness welling in them.

  “What is it?” I finally asked, too anxious to wait for her to decide to speak.

  She took a deep breath. “There is blood on your hands.”

  The image of Martin Little, limp and lifeless in the hole he’d intended to act as my unmarked grave flashed in my mind, but I said nothing.

  “She killed a man,” Blaire said, practically bur
sting with the information.

  I whipped my head towards her, my eyes blazing a warning.

  “A man attacked her and she fought him off,” she clarified, shrugging in apology.

  Cibil shook her head. “It is not the past I see, but the future.”

  The woman stared into my eyes, as though she were looking directly into my soul, and I pulled away from her gaze, feeling uncomfortable.

  “Great,” I said, standing up, prodding Jasper with my foot until he groggily rose to his feet and moved towards the exit. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Will she uncover another murderer?” Blaire asked, enraptured. “She has already caught two.”

  I moved towards my niece and wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her shoulders as tightly as I could. She winced and moved out of my grip.

  Cibil narrowed her eyes. “That has yet to be determined. Violence will find you again, though. This time, striking much closer to home.”

  I let out a bark-like laugh, making Jasper jump. Cibil and Blaire both turned to me, confused looks on their faces.

  “My next-door neighbor was a murderer and a dead body turned up on our property. How much closer to home could danger be?” I asked, half-laughing, turning to Blaire.

  She looked concerned. Cibil’s expression once again looked apologetic, and suddenly I didn’t find the prediction so funny. A chill ran down my spine.

  “Come on, Blaire,” I said, grabbing her shoulder and turning her towards the door. “It’s time to go.”

  We moved quickly through the shop, and I glanced behind me one last time before stepping out onto the street. The woman had followed us only as far as the doorway that led to the back where her palm reading table was set up. She was leaning against the frame, her purple shawl pulled tightly around her despite the almost unbearable warmth of the room. She lifted one hand in a wave, and I couldn’t help but feel she was saying something much more than goodbye.