A Death on the Island Page 4

  “Yeah, just an invite to a party I’m not going to attend.”

  Her mouth fell open as if I’d just told her I liked to perform ritualistic sacrifices in the backyard every morning. “Not going?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her, confused at her confusion, and shook my head.

  “Robert Baines invited you to his house and you aren’t going to go?”

  Suddenly, I was annoyed. If she’d merely picked up the envelope, I could let that slide, but opening it up and reading my mail was another thing entirely.

  “You read my mail?”

  She held up a finger to pause me. “No. No, I didn’t.”

  I cocked my head to the side, eyebrow raised, and she must have felt my disbelief because she hurried to fully explain herself.

  “I told you yesterday I was a writer, but what I didn’t say is that I’m a reporter. I’m not here on the island looking for a cozy place to write a mystery novel. I’m here to crack the real-life mystery of Robert Baines and his shady business deals. I saw the blue envelope and knew what it was immediately. Baines isn’t one to be understated. I didn’t open it,” she said.

  Part of me didn’t want to believe her. I wanted to throw her out in a rage and spend the rest of the week taking long baths and reading. I didn’t want to deal with Mrs. Harris and her constant ghost talk or the presence of a reporter. She claimed to be on the island for Robert Baines, but in the weeks since Martin Little attacked me and I killed him I had received enough phone calls from excited reporters wanting to interview me to be more than a little wary of Holly Belden’s motives. However, Holly seemed genuine. Her story made sense.

  “I believe you,” I said.

  She sighed and smiled. “Thanks. I was afraid I was about to get booted out the front door. But you’re really not going to go to the party? You aren’t even a little curious what Baines has to say to you?”

  “He doesn’t have anything to say to me,” I said. “He just wants to throw a big fancy party and show everyone how wealthy he is. I’m not interested. Besides, the party is tonight. It’s way too last minute.”

  Holly groaned. “I’d kill to go to that party. It would be an amazing opportunity to see him in action, to talk with him off the record, get a feel for who he really is. It would add a human element to my story. Plus, the food and drinks are bound to be insane. Rich parties always have amazing alcohol.”

  Despite my strong aversion to Robert Baines, Holly was suddenly making the event seem like a treat. Had I not just been wishing I could spend the week unwinding? What better way to unwind than with an open bar and very fancy desserts? Plus, it would still be a great way for me to make connections. Even if I never once spoke to Robert Baines, I could talk with other business owners and islanders, help promote the bed and breakfast. It would certainly make Page proud to hear I’d been so proactive during her absence.

  “You’re considering it,” Holly said, biting her lower lip and smiling at me. “I can totally tell you are considering it, and you absolutely should. Who knows? It could even be fun.”

  I laughed. “I am considering it. I haven’t had a reason to wear anything but dirty painting clothes in weeks. It could be nice to get dressed up.”

  “Yes!” Holly said, reaching out to pat my arm as if we were old friends. “You need to get out of this dusty old house—no offense, it really is a nice little bed and breakfast—and live a little!”

  “The invite is good for me and two guests,” I said, raising an eyebrow at her.

  If possible, she grinned even wider. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “How would you like to attend the party as my guest?” I asked.

  Holly squealed and lunged at me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “You, Piper Lane, are an angel. An absolute angel!”

  I patted her awkwardly on the back, but I couldn’t help but smile. I had the perfect dress upstairs in my closet, and the thought only briefly crossed my mind that Mason Adams, the handsome artist from up the road, could be at the party, too. I hadn’t seen him since the night he’d found me on the beach after my fight with Martin Little. It would be nice to see him in more normal circumstances. In fact, it would simply be nice to see him. Somehow, I suddenly found myself very excited about the party.

  Chapter 6

  Holly and I agreed to be ready by 6:30 PM, but when I came down the main stairs at 6:15, Holly was already in the sitting room, pacing a nervous path across the carpet. She had on a floor length black dress that hung loosely from her hips, and was carrying a white and silver clutch. I looked down at my own outfit and felt underdressed.

  “You look amazing,” she said, raising her eyebrows at me.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I feel a little too showy.”

  My dress was bright red, skin tight, and hit just above my knees. It was what Page liked to call my revenge dress. “That is the kind of dress you’d wear to make a man regret he ever left you,” she’d said. I’d paired it with nude pumps and a nude clutch.

  “Being showy is what parties like this are for. You aren’t there to blend in. You look great,” Holly said.

  “Thanks. So do you,” I said.

  Holly shrugged. “I wasn’t anticipating attending a ritzy party, so I went to the dress shop on Main Street. This was the only dress they had that was even remotely close to my size and wasn’t a bedazzled prom dress.”

  I’d been to the dress shop Holly was talking about, and having seen their merchandise, I was surprised Holly had found anything to wear at all.

  Holly moved into the entrance hall, and placed a hand at the side of her mouth. “An older woman is in the kitchen,” she whispered. “She came downstairs, and I tried to talk to her, but she ignored me. She didn’t seem okay.”

  I sighed. “That’s Mrs. Harris. She lives in the attic.”

  “You have an elderly woman living in your attic?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

  I explained the situation to her as quickly and succinctly as possible.

  “That sounds like a plot line from a Victorian novel,” she laughed.

  “It really does,” I admitted, laughing. “I better go make sure Mrs. Harris is okay.”

  I went into the kitchen to find Mrs. Harris staring out the window above the kitchen sink. She had plugged the sink and turned the faucet on, and the sink was incredibly close to overflowing. I ran forward and turned the water off.

  “Is everything okay, Mrs. Harris?” I asked.

  She turned to me, her eyes blank and glassy. “The weather is turning, and we have to be prepared.”

  “The forecast is clear,” I said. After my nightmare a few nights before, I’d checked the ten-day forecast and saw nothing but clear skies predicted. “Besides, we have hurricane supplies in the shed.”

  Hurricane season had always been my least favorite time of the year in Houston, but now, living on an island, my anxieties had reached new heights. Within a week of living on the island, I’d created a massive stockpile of bottled water, non-perishables, and batteries.

  “You remember last time? We didn’t have water for a week,” Mrs. Harris said, clearly frustrated.

  “That won’t happen, Mrs. Harris. We have plenty of water in the shed. I can show it to you if you’re concerned.”

  “Mama asked me to fill the sinks and bathtubs,” she said, turning the faucet back on.

  I plunged my arm into the sink and pulled the plug at the base of the sink. “The sink will overflow if you keep filling it.”

  Mrs. Harris stepped away from the sink. “This was the last one, anyway. We have enough.”

  “The last one?” I asked, suddenly panicked. “Have you filled all the other sinks?”

  Mrs. Harris’ silence was answer enough for me.

  I sprinted out of the kitchen and up the stairs for my master bathroom. Sure enough, the sink was turned on and pouring water on the floor. I yelped, a rush of panic and frustration needing to be released, and then hurried to turn off the water
. I wanted to throw a towel on the floor, begin mopping up the water, but then I remembered that there were three other bathrooms on the floor, not including Mrs. Harris’ sink and tub in the attic.

  I moved quickly through each of the rooms, turning off the water and pulling the plugs in the sinks. Each one had overflowed onto the floor, but luckily I’d caught it in time for the damage to be minimal, mostly just an inconvenience.

  After taking care of Mrs. Harris’ apartment, I came down the stairs to find Holly in the hallway, her eyes wide. “Does this happen often?”

  I shook my head, dabbing at the sweat that had gathered on my forehead. “Never. I have no idea what happened. She seems more out of it than normal.”

  “I’d say. I had to stop her from filling the kitchen sink again after you left. She was arguing with me, and then her face just went black and she left. She is resting in the sitting room now.”

  “I’m sorry, Holly,” I said, grabbing an armful of towels from the linen closet in the hallway. “I don’t think I can go tonight. I can’t leave her alone right now. Cleary something is going on with her.”

  “You mean you can’t go to the party?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

  I lifted the towels in my hand. “I have to clean up this mess, and I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if she’d decided to do this after we’d left. I could have come home to an entirely flooded house.”

  “But we have to go to the party,” Holly cried.

  Holly’s one-track mind was very annoying. Clearly, she cared nothing about the fact that my home had almost been flooded. I suddenly regretted inviting her to go to the party with me at all.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave Mrs. Harris alone in the state she’s in now,” I said.

  “Then bring her with us!”

  “You’re kidding, right? You want me to bring a senile old woman as my plus one to a party of the wealthiest, most influential people on Sunrise Island?”

  “I’m sure she’d blend right in once we’re there,” Holly said.

  I shook my head in disbelief. “That is ridiculous. No, I’m not bringing her along. I’m sorry, but I can’t go.”

  “I can’t get into the party without you,” Holly said. “It will ruin my story.”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to do,” I said. “I can’t go.”

  Holly nodded her head slowly, her eyes darting down to the floor. “I suppose I’ll just have to publish my back up story.”

  “Great idea,” I said. “I’m sure it will be just as great as the Robert Baines story.”

  “Oh, it definitely will be. It’s a modern tale of betrayal and heartbreak and murder. Set right here on this island,” she said, annunciating each word clearly.

  It felt as if my heart had started pumping ice water instead of blood. My limbs felt numb, and a sudden ache began in my temples. I stared at her, unblinking.

  “I have a really strong character profile for the main subject of the story. The article will basically write itself.”

  “That’s enough,” I said, my voice shaking. “I get it. The story is about me.”

  “I don’t have to publish it,” she said. “I can still do the Robert Baines story.”

  “Then do it!” I shouted.

  “I have to go to that party. Without tonight, I don’t have enough.”

  “Are you blackmailing me?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t see it that way. I’m offering you two alternatives. It’s your choice.”

  “That’s a fancy way of saying blackmail,” I said. “The murders haven’t been widely publicized, but if you publish that story, you’ll kill our business before it even has a chance to get off the ground. I’ll lose all the money I invested in it. My sister will lose her money. We won’t have anywhere to go.”

  Holly frowned at me, looking genuinely sorry. “Then it sounds like you don’t have much of a choice.”

  I could have strangled her. I could have opened the second story window and pitched her out of it without so much as a second thought. What a vile person. How had I not seen it the moment she’d walked in the door? How many times was I going to be fooled by people on this island? Were there any decent people left?

  “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” I said, dropping the towels at her feet and bumping into her as I walked past.

  “You won’t regret it, Piper,” Holly said excitedly. “By the end of the night, you’ll be thanking me. This party will be one to remember!”

  * * *

  Mrs. Harris was surprisingly easy to get ready, as she was in an almost catatonic state. I searched her closet for several minutes while she sat on the dusty couch in her apartment before I realized it was hopeless. The nicest thing she had was a black long-sleeved dress that looked more like a Halloween costume than a serious article of clothing. However, it was as good as it was going to get, so I helped Mrs. Harris into the dress, grateful for the off-white tunic she was wearing under her usual gray dress.

  Mrs. Harris remained unresponsive the entire time I was dressing her and as I led her downstairs and into the car. As we drove across the island, though, nearing the coast, she began to perk up, mumbling something from the backseat about a tempest.

  “I really don’t think it’s supposed to storm, Mrs. Harris,” I said from the front seat, knowing it was useless. “Please try not to worry.”

  The forecast hadn’t predicted any rain, but looking out at the coastline, even I had to admit it looked a little more gray than usual. The sky was blue, but there was a strange tinge to it that I couldn’t quite place.

  I didn’t have long to think about it, however, because all thoughts of a storm fell out of my head when we took the last left before Seawall Boulevard dead ended, and an enormous mansion rose up before us.

  “Whoa,” Holly said.

  I simply nodded in agreement.

  Despite living on the island for several weeks already, I hadn’t yet seen the mansion. It was an ominously large stone structure, much like a French chateau or the kind of house I’d always imagined Jane Austen’s characters to live in. Ivy much too green to be natural climbed up the walls and wrapped around the windows. The house was split into three distinct parts—the main house, which featured a centered grand entryway, and a wing on either side—each of the three sections topped with a separate roof clad in dark gray shingles.

  The only thing more impressive than the house was the landscaping. Beyond the tall wrought iron gates, a sprawling green lawn stretched all the way up to the entrance stairs. And despite the fact that it was summertime in Texas, which basically meant that they were all living on the surface of the sun, flowers of every conceivable color and variety bordered the circular driveway and filled the space in the middle.

  “Are those real?” Holly asked, echoing my own thoughts.

  “If they are, I shudder to think what his water bill must look like,” I said, pulling my clunker of a car up to the gates. “I managed to keep some Pansies alive for a few weeks last December, but they were dried up and dead by May. It’s too hot down here for most of these flowers. There’s no way they’ll survive.”

  Before I could even come to a full stop, the gates began to part, opening inward. We drove up the long driveway, and a man in a black suit and tie walked down the steps and met our car in front of the house.

  “I can pull this around back for you,” he said, holding his hand out for my keys.

  “No, that’s okay. I can do it,” I said through my half rolled down window. “Just tell me where to go and—”

  “Piper,” Holly whisper shouted. “He’s a valet. Let him take the car.”

  “Oh,” I said awkwardly, uncomfortable with the idea of someone waiting on me. “Alright.”

  Holly and I slid out of the vehicle, and thankfully, Mrs. Harris followed suit, looking halfway normal for the first time since I’d met her.

  “Just up those stairs,” the valet said, gesturing to the front door with a smile.

>   The closer we got to the house, the more it felt as though we’d left Texas entirely.

  “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Texas anymore,” Holly said, looking at me with wide eyes.

  Had I not still been annoyed at Holly for blackmailing me into attending the party, I would have laughed and told her how I’d just been thinking the same thing. As it was, I merely nodded and offered an elbow to Mrs. Harris as she mounted the stairs.

  The rest of Sunrise Island was brightly colored—everything a vivid shade of turquoise or yellow, all of the wood painted white. Robert Baines’ mansion, however, was monochromatic and neutral, giving off an air of authority rather than a hang loose beachy vibe. The mood did not change as we walked through the front doors and into the entrance hall.

  Though it was still light outside, the rooms were dark and gloomy, lit by nothing more than a few table lamps casting everything in a yellow glow. Ostentatious artwork and tapestries filled the walls, further pressing the idea that the house was meant to be seen and admired, not lived in.

  A woman in a boxy black dress and white shoes stepped forward and silently took our coats. When she finished and turned to find that we still had not moved beyond the entryway, she gave a small smile and directed us into the house. Almost on cue, laughter floated into the entrance hall from somewhere deeper in the house. With a nervous look at Holly and a quick prayer that Mrs. Harris wouldn’t completely flip her lid, I followed the sound of the laughter down a long hallway and into a spacious sitting room filled with party guests.

  Chapter 7

  “Welcome, welcome,” a booming voice said.

  I scanned the room and found the source of the voice. I recognized him immediately. While I worked at the bank, I saw his face every time I opened up my browser and went to the bank’s home page. He looked shinier in person, and his hair was significantly thinner than it had been in the photo. Suddenly, I was wondering how old the picture was, and whether it was still on the bank’s website. If so, it felt a little misleading. Honestly, I’d always found it better to use a less flattering photo of yourself, and then let people be pleasantly surprised when they finally meet you in person and see that you actually look better than your photograph.