Detective Costa’s eyes narrowed. “And you thought this was important enough to have me come all the way out here?”
I gritted my teeth hard enough to make my jaw hurt. “Well, don’t you? Two major suspects arguing right after the murder? I mean it’s obvious it had something to do with all this.”
“Is it?” He seemed unimpressed.
I was irritated. Was he purposely being dense? I decided to spell it out for him. “Look, what if Yvonne and Greta were in on it? The murder, I mean. They both had motive. What if they decided to off Natasha, and that’s what they were talking about?”
“That’s a lot of supposition, Ms. Roberts. I don’t deal in guesswork. I deal in facts.”
I hated when he called me “Ms. Roberts.” It sounded so stuffy. I ground my teeth, barely resisting the urge to call him an idiot. “But they are suspects, aren’t they? And you’ve got to admit that them having an argument like that is suspicious.”
He leaned forward, his blue eyes icy. “No. I don’t have to admit any such thing. Listen to me very carefully, Ms. Roberts. I’m only going to say this once. Stay out of my investigation.”
“Or what?” I heard myself blurt.
“Or I will lock you up and throw away the key.”
“WOW. WHAT A JERK,” Cheryl said indignantly over breakfast later that morning. “How dare he threaten you!”
I knew I could count on Cheryl to be on my side. “I know. But I did what I could, and he can’t accuse me of withholding information. Unless you count the bracelet, but he doesn’t know about that.” All I needed was a rap sheet. Although maybe a little scandal would be good for sales. You never knew.
She nodded, stabbing her fork into a syrup drenched waffle. “So, you’re going to stop investigating now, right?”
“No way,” I said, digging into my own Eggs Benedict. “Not until I clear our names.”
She groaned and opened her mouth, surely to tell me all the horrible reasons my investigation was a bad idea, when we were interrupted once again by Lucas Salvatore. He looked particularly delicious in worn jeans and a snug, black t-shirt.
“Good morning, ladies.”
I mumbled a greeting. Cheryl was much friendlier.
He sank into the chair next to me without asking. “Are you ladies planning to attend the tour?”
I gave him a blank stare.
“What tour?” Cheryl piped up around a mouthful of waffle.
“The tour of the haunted mansion, of course.” He grinned, showing off his perfect pearly whites. He really did have a nice smile. Darn him.
I started to ask what haunted mansion he was talking about when Cheryl spoke up. “Oh, you mean the pink hotel down the road?” At his nod, she turned to me. “Remember? The cab driver said it was the second most haunted building in all of Florida. Oh, we have to go. Don’t you think it would be fun?”
I, for one, did not believe in ghosts. Mostly I considered what people thought of as spirits from the Great Beyond to be nothing more than a result of overactive imaginations. But Cheryl was so excited, and Lucas was grinning in that sexy way of his. How could I say no? Besides, historical buildings were always of interest to me. You never knew when they would fit into a story, though I doubted a Florida hotel would work in a bodice-ripping Western. Still, I agreed to join the tour which pretty much made Cheryl’s day. Lucas looked happy about it, too, though I was betting it was more for Cheryl’s sake than mine. Sure he’d been very personable over drinks that first night, but Cheryl seemed more his type. They had a lot in common. Both thriller writers. Both athletic and good looking. Not that I’m not an attractive woman, but generally men gravitate toward Cheryl. Believe me, I’m fine with it. I like being single. Nobody to steal the remote from me or leave the toilet seat up.
Maybe in addition to solving Natasha’s murder, I could play matchmaker. Now there was a thought. I bet I’d be good at it, too. Not to sound smug, but I write romance for a living, after all.
The tour group had rented a van for the trip, and we climbed aboard—some of us less gracefully than others. There was just no graceful way to squeeze oneself between a van wall and a bench seat, especially when one had an ample backside. By the time I was in my seat, the combination of the afternoon heat, humidity, and exertion had wilted my hair, melted my makeup, and turned my face the color of a cherry tomato.
Cheryl looked cool as a cucumber. Well, maybe there was a little bit of a “glow” about her, but she still looked great even sweaty. Lucas looked fantastic, as though the heat didn’t even bother him. The big jerk.
I sighed. It wasn’t fair.
Also on the mini bus were a couple of older ladies, perhaps in their sixties. Both were on the plump side with white hair and flowy, bright-colored clothing. One had red-framed cat’s eye glasses. They looked vaguely familiar. I introduced myself and Cheryl.
The one with the glasses leaned across the seat and shook my hand vigorously. “Nice to meet you, Viola. Cheryl,” she boomed. “Maggie Vane. Mysteries. Cozy.” She clipped each word like it was its own sentence. “This here is Louisa Lee Lambert. Contemporary romances. Just call her Lu.”
Lu beamed at me, but didn’t say a word. I noticed she was wearing hot-pink, heart-shaped earrings that dangled from her earlobes. Every time she turned her head, they sparkled in the sunlight. Apparently Lu was fond of glitter.
Maggie slapped Lucas on the back. “And who are
