seven

I spent the next fifteen minutes in a weird sort of attached avoidance. Bella and I huddled close enough to the body to protect it from unsuspecting beach walkers, but far enough away that I couldn’t examine it closely. The dead woman had to be Gabriella, but I chose to live firmly in the land of plausible denial. I’d checked her pulse without excavating the rest of her body. If the police asked me about it later, I could say that I was afraid to tamper with the crime scene. Which was true, but only part of the story.

I didn’t want to know for sure that the body was Gabriella. Not identifying her might slow down the police, at least for an hour or two. An hour or two during which I could locate Michael and warn him. I wasn’t positive that Gabriella had been murdered, but it sure looked that way. She certainly hadn’t buried herself, and I suspected the tide hadn’t either. Not in a single night. Someone had purposefully covered her.

Someone who wasn’t Michael.

I knew that instinctively, the same way Bella knew when a cat had invaded her territory. Michael would never hurt—much less kill—anyone, and especially not Gabriella. As I’d painfully realized last night, he cared about her too much.

Unfortunately, my girlfriend’s intuition wouldn’t sway the police. Wasn’t the spouse—especially an estranged spouse being denied a divorce—the most logical suspect? Last night’s altercation between Michael and Gabriella wouldn’t help, either. Even the most seasoned police officers jumped to obvious—and sometimes dreadfully wrong—conclusions. Who could blame them? I’d made more than a few incorrect inferences myself.

Which left me with my current dilemma: how could I keep the police off of Michael’s trail until I had time to talk to him? I would never lie to the police, not exactly. Doing so would go against everything Dad had ever taught me. But I didn’t have to volunteer unsubstantiated guesses, did I? My identification of Gabriella was based on a common skin tone and a cheap piece of costume jewelry. For all I knew, those ankle bracelets were sold all over the coastline, worn by every woman in the area under the age of seventy.

I was deluding myself, of course, and Dad’s disapproving glare scalded the back of my neck all the way from the afterlife. He’d been a cop, after all. Withholding evidence in a murder investigation ranked high on his list of cardinal sins. But I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and in shock. I couldn’t possibly think clearly. Or at least that’s what I’d have my attorney argue at my accessory-after-the-fact trial.

I buried my face in Bella’s fur and groaned. How could I be involved in another murder investigation? Dharma, my recently non-estranged mother, would have asserted that my stumbling across Gabriella’s body had been preordained. That the universe was once again helping me to fulfill my life’s purpose. That my dharma—my life work—was to bring killers to justice. For all I knew she was right. Still, in that moment I felt like giving the universe a “universal” hand gesture. The kind you give to motorists who cut you off on the freeway. Why couldn’t my dharma be something less traumatizing? Like dog paddling naked through an ocean of starving barracudas?

Bella whined and strained against her leash, clearly wanting to go back and dig up the rest of Gabri—oops, I mean the rest of the unknown stranger’s body. I ignored her complaining, tried to call Michael, and checked voicemail. No messages. Mostly charged battery. Still five bars.

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, shivering in spite of the early afternoon sun. Bella stopped whining and howled.

Finally. Sirens.

As the wails grew closer, I whispered a prayer: Please, God. Please. Just this once, let me be wrong.

An ambulance arrived first. It drove onto the beach and parked next to the No Vehicles Allowed sign, causing the formerly oblivious passersby to pause, crane their necks, and whisper. Two paramedics—one male, one female—emerged from the vehicle carrying red medical bags. I tied Bella to the ambulance’s bumper, told her to stay, and led them to the body. An insane, delusional part of me hoped that they’d try to revive her, but they came to the same conclusion I had. It was too late. Much too late. They ordered me to wait for the police and stood grimly to the side. I untied Bella and moved her away from the scene, hoping distance would calm her.

What felt like two centuries but was likely two minutes later, a police car pulled next to the ambulance. A female patrol officer climbed out of it. She spoke with the male paramedic, who showed her the body, shook his head no, and pointed to me. She wrote something in a spiral notebook and strode resolutely toward me. Disembodied voices crackled from the microphone clipped on her shoulder, causing Bella to sit at attention, ears pricked forward with interest.

Officer Alex Lewis (who asked me to call her Officer Alex) stood an inch or so taller than my five-foot-three-inch frame, had an athletic, swimmer’s build, and wore her hair in a jet black crew cut that made her blue-black uniform look navy. Her energy felt masculine and feminine at the same time. Yin and yang, strong and compassionate. Flexible and competent. I instantly trusted her.

Evidently, Bella did, too. She abandoned her stay with an enthusiastic woof and greeted Officer Alex with full-body wiggle. For the briefest of moments, the officer’s grim expression lifted. She gave Bella a quick head scratch, then addressed me.

“I understand you found the body.”

The next hour floated by in a foggy haze, punctuated by strobe-like flashes of the commotion around me. I vaguely noticed two more police vehicles and a coroner’s van join Officer Alex’s patrol car, but I didn’t meet the people who emerged from inside them. Officer Alex was the only person who interviewed me.

She jotted notes in her notebook and peppered me with questions, none of which were too pointed. For the moment, at least, she believed my story: I was simply an innocent bystander. A tourist who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A tourist who needn’t be traumatized any further.

I answered her questions honestly, more or less. I told her my name (Kate Davidson), how I’d found the body (Bella’s digging), and why I was in Cannon Beach (visiting friends). All the while, I avoided the overwhelming fear pounding my head. Was Michael’s radio silence related to Gabriella’s death?

A full ten minutes after I thought my heart would explode, Officer Alex said I was free to go. She jotted down my contact information and told me that she might be in touch again later. In the meantime, she hoped that I’d enjoy my vacation in Cannon Beach.

She had to be kidding, right?

I grabbed Bella’s leash and staggered back to the rental house, amazed at how normal the rest of the world appeared. How could it not have stopped spinning? A woman was dead. A daughter. A sister. For all I knew, a mother. Probably murdered. Somewhere out there, a family’s life had been changed forever.

But to the people vacationing on that gorgeous beach, today was simply another twenty-four hours in paradise. Dogs ran after seagulls. Children built makeshift sandcastles. Parents sunbathed and drank bottled water. Their greatest dilemma was deciding which gourmet restaurant they’d choose for dinner.

How did life just “go on”?

Bella, too, seemed unaffected. Like all dogs, she lived in the moment. And any moment spent loping along a sunny beach was, by definition, perfect.

There was a yoga lesson in that somewhere.

But not for me.

Not today.

For me, this was a horrible, terrifying day. A day filled with fears of the past, traumas in the present, and unanswered questions about the future. Questions only Michael could answer. I needed to find him, but how?

Bella and I opened the door to a completely empty house. No infant cries filled the silence. No adolescent puppies skidded across the floor to torment Bella. No best friends waited to ask me unanswerable questions.

“Anybody here?” I called.

No response. Nothing but upscale furniture, glossy bamboo floors, and ultra high ceilings. Not even an errant dust bunny to keep me company. Gorgeous Architectural Digest beach house be damned. I missed my cluttered Ballard bungalow. I missed my life.

I sank onto the plush couch. Bella jumped up next to me, turned a quick circle, then flopped down and rested her head on my thigh.

I pulled out my cell phone to call Rene, but I couldn’t bring myself to dial her number. She and Sam were enjoying a day of family picnics, scenic drives, and tours of the Tillamook Cheese Factory. If I called her, she’d come back in a heartbeat. But what could she do when she got here? The person I needed to speak with was Michael.

So I dialed his number instead.

Again.

The phone went to voicemail.

Again.

Where in the hell was that man?

My body felt tight; my skin, itchy. I stood and paced, muttering expletives under my breath. Bella sat up and whined. “It’s okay, girl. You’re not in trouble. Michael is. If he doesn’t call me back soon, his body will be the next one buried on the beach.”

I froze and sucked in a quick breath.

Oh no.

Michael couldn’t be … He wasn’t … he wasn’t lying hurt somewhere, was he?

Time to up my game. If I couldn’t reach Michael, I’d try his sister. Only one problem: I didn’t know her number. I called information, but Shannon’s personal number was unlisted, and I had no idea which real estate agency she worked at. I considered calling Michael’s parents, but what would I tell them? “Your cheating son disappeared. By the way, did it never occur to you to tell me that he was married?”

No good. Instead, I tried every other way I could think of to track down Michael. I called Tiffany at Pete’s Pets. Voicemail. I emailed. I texted. I messaged him on Facebook. I stalked him on Twitter. I was about to give up and call Rene for ideas when I remembered: Shannon’s check! In all of the craziness last night, I’d forgotten to give it to Rene. I pulled it out of my billfold. No phone number, but it listed an address in Manzanita. I had no idea if it was Shannon’s home or her business, but at that point, I didn’t care. It was a lead. I gave Michael’s phone one more try, then grabbed my keys off the counter and strode to the door.

“Come on, Bella, were going on a road trip.”

When I pulled up to the check’s address—which was obviously a home, not a business—Shannon’s orange Mini Cooper was parked in the driveway. I saw no sign of her Chevy, ancient or otherwise.

I clipped on Bella’s lead but hesitated at the garden path, torn by conflicting emotions. Fear over Michael’s well-being; anger that I hadn’t heard from him; dread at the news I was about to deliver.

I stalled by taking in my surroundings. Everything I saw screamed Shannon.

The tiny, bright yellow cottage was accented by royal blue shutters and a candy-apple-red door. A coco fiber mat at the entrance read If You Forgot the Wine, Go Home in bold black letters. The large, plant-filled yard added to the oasis of color. Dusky pink hydrangeas bloomed to my right. To my left, a vegetable garden overflowed with yellow crookneck squash, bright orange pumpkins, and dark leafy kale. A trellis of late blooming roses scented the air with a sweet, almost wistful fragrance. Stone pavers at the yard’s entrance spelled out an invitation: Welcome Friends.

Bella announced our arrival by squatting and peeing on them.

“Seriously, Bella?”

She didn’t reply. She was too busy dragging me to the front door.

Shannon answered before my third knock. “Kate, I’m so glad you’re here.” The thin line of her lips contradicted her words.

“I’m looking for Michael. Do you know where he is?”

“Asleep, the dumb-ass.”

Dumb-ass? In the brief time I’d known Shannon, I’d never heard her say anything negative about the “baby brother” she so clearly adored. I ignored the expletive and looked at my watch. “Asleep? Why is he asleep after five in the evening? Is he sick?”

Shannon opened the door wider and gestured me inside. “I’ll wake him up. He can tell you himself.” I followed her into a cozy living room crowded with a comfy-looking couch, two overstuffed chairs, and a freestanding wood stove. Shannon crossed the room and opened the blinds, drenching the space in early evening sunlight. She resolutely marched up to me, grabbed Bella’s leash, and issued an order to my canine best friend. “Come on, you’re with me.”

She pulled my bewildered-looking dog down the hallway, pounded on the door at the end, and then flung it open, yelling, “Time to get up!” No response other than a low groan. “Fine,” Shannon said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She dropped Bella’s lead, clapped four times, and pointed into the room. “Bella, go get him!”

My hundred-pound cannon ball let out a single loud bark and tore inside, no doubt leaping for the bed. If the resulting thump, cry, and vociferous swearing were any indication, she landed solidly on Michael’s stomach.

“Shannon, what the hell!” Michael yelled.

“Get up,” she barked in return. “Now. You have company.”

The corpse that staggered out of that bedroom with Bella barely resembled my boyfriend. The skin around his eyes was puffy and bruised-looking, unlike the rest of his face, which was a sickly shade of greenish yellow. His hair was flattened on one side of his head. Any claims to a five o’clock shadow had passed at least twenty-four hours ago. Sprinkles of sand adhered to the hems of his jeans.

He covered his eyes with his elbow. “Geez, Shannon. Close the drapes!”

Shannon crossed her arms and scowled. “Deal with it.”

Michael stumbled past me to close them himself, and I got a good whiff. Bourbon and body odor, with a slight hint of vomit thrown in for good measure. The man was clearly hung over.

Hung over? Michael?

Michael wasn’t a teetotaler, but he rarely drank more than a couple of beers. I considered asking him who he was and where he’d taken my boyfriend, but I figured he wasn’t in the mood for humor.

I stated the obvious. “You’ve been drinking.”

Michael sagged against the wall and stared at his sand-covered socks, refusing to make eye contact.

I should have told him about Gabriella then, but I was too stunned. This wasn’t the man I’d been dating for over a year. Not even close. I stood there, staring, stuck at the intersection of dread and disappointment.

Shannon frowned at Michael, then at me, and then back at Michael again. Her eyes softened. She dimmed the lights, moved next to her brother, and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Go take a shower. And for goodness sake, brush your teeth. I’ll get Kate some coffee.” Michael didn’t move. “Go on now,” she urged him. “We’ll be fine.”

Michael trudged back down the hall, opened the second door on the left, and closed it. Bella curled up outside, waiting for him.

Shannon led me to the kitchen, poured coffee from a glass carafe into two royal blue mugs, and handed one to me. She gestured toward the kitchen table. “Have a seat. Do you want sugar or cream? Sorry, I don’t have soy milk.”

I shook my head no. “Black is great.” I thunked heavily into the chair and stared at my coffee, feeling much too overwhelmed to drink. I wanted to tell her that I’d found Gabriella’s body, but I needed to talk to Michael about it first. I made meaningless small talk instead. “How did your meeting go?”

Shannon looked confused. “Meeting?”

“The one you had this morning. You know, the planning meeting.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Oh, that one. I slept through it.” She lowered herself into the chair opposite me. “It was a long night.”

I was about to ask why, but she changed the subject. “While we’re waiting for Mr. Stinky to wash off his hangover, I have a huge favor to ask.”

“A favor?”

“Remember Susan, the woman wearing the knee brace last night?”

I nodded.

“She tore a ligament in her knee. She was supposed to teach the warm-up and cool-down classes for the fun run Saturday afternoon, but there’s no way she can do it in that brace.”

She paused as if waiting for me to say something. I remained silent.

“I found someone to do the warm-up class, but they’re not available after the run. Can you teach a yoga class at four-thirty? I hear yoga’s great for post-run stretching.”

Ugh. Shannon wanted me to teach. Even the thought made me feel exhausted. Typically I’d have been delighted to help, but nothing about this trip had been typical. At this point, all I wanted to do was hightail it back to Seattle and pretend the past few days had never happened.

“I don’t know, Shannon. It’s not a good time …”

“I know, and I normally wouldn’t ask, but I’m really in a jam. I made such a big deal about the run this year, and the schedule has already been printed and distributed all over town. I’ll be mortified if I don’t find a replacement.”

How could I say no? I nodded grudgingly. “As long as we’re still in town, yes, I’ll do it.”

Shannon’s face split into a smile. “Awesome. You just saved my butt. We’ll talk about the details later.”

I smiled back, but I doubt it looked genuine.

The shower turned on in the bathroom, and I waited for Michael to belt out an off-key show tune, his inexorable bath-time ritual. No singing, tone deaf or otherwise. Just water cascading over bath tiles. I brought the coffee mug to my nose, inhaled the bitter scent of full-bodied caffeine, and took a tentative sip. “I’m concerned about Michael. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Shannon frowned toward the bathroom. “Honestly? Neither have I.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t have your number.”

Naturally.

“And I knew Michael wouldn’t want you to see him this way.” She wrapped her hands around the mug and stared at the fluid inside. “I feel guilty. This is at least partially my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“Michael’s completely freaked out about this divorce nonsense. He’s convinced that he’s going to lose you unless he finds a way to pay off Gabby. Frankly, I still think he should tell her to go to hell. Gabby has a lot more to lose than Michael in all of this. If the feds figure out she committed marriage fraud, they’ll plop her on the fast train back to Mexico before she can say ‘frijoles.’” She frowned. “Michael won’t do it, though. He’s convinced she’s in trouble. After everything she’s done, the numbskull still wants to help her.”

I shook my head, confounded. “I have to admit, Shannon, I don’t get Gabriella’s hold over Michael. He claims he doesn’t love her, yet …” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Shannon rolled her eyes. “What can I say? Baby Brother has some sort of messiah complex when it comes to that woman. He thinks he’s the only man in the world who can save her.” She shoved the mug to the side. “I call bullshit. Like I told him last night, Gabby’s a big girl now. She can take care of herself. I flat-out called him a fool.”

I cringed. “How did that go over?”

“It wasn’t pretty. He got pissed. Frankly, I wasn’t all that happy with him, either. But I never expected him to grab the keys to the Chevy and drive off drunk.”

“Michael drove drunk?” My uber-responsible boyfriend would never get behind the wheel intoxicated. Never.

Shannon hesitated. “Drunk may be overstating it. He had two beers after we got home.”

Two beers after three glasses of wine at dinner. Enough alcohol to push him past tipsy for sure. “Where did he go?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. When the cab dropped him off a few hours ago, he staggered into the guest room and passed out before I could ask him.”

“He was gone all night? Why didn’t you call the police?”

“And tell them what? That a fully grown man stayed out after midnight?” I didn’t reply. “When he didn’t answer his cell, I figured he’d either gone back to Seattle or driven to the beach house and made up with you. Baby Brother may not have shown it just now, but he needs you. Talking to you will make him feel better.”

I flashed on Gabriella’s flaccid wrist. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Shannon grabbed my forearm. Hard. “Kate, no. You can’t break up with him. Not today. It will kill him.”

I shook my head and gently pulled away. “That’s not what I mean. Not even close.” I was about to break down and tell her that I’d found Gabriella’s body when the bathroom door opened. Michael emerged, wearing clean jeans, a Pete’s Pets T-shirt, and sand-covered tennis shoes. In spite of the wet ringlets surrounding his ears, he didn’t look refreshed. His eyes were clouded. Dull. Deadened.

I shuddered.

“Feeling better?” Shannon asked.

Michael’s reply was interrupted by three loud knocks. Shannon, Michael, and I jolted in unison.

Bella took action.

She charged across the room and planted her paws on the front door, barking and snarling in her best impersonation of a rabid wolverine.

“Are you expecting someone?” I asked.

Shannon’s brows furrowed. “No.” She strode across the room and peered through the blinds. “What’s Alex Lewis doing here?”

My heart froze. Alex Lewis? As in Officer Alex Lewis?

Shannon glared over her shoulder at Michael. “What did you do last night?”

Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.

I jogged next to Shannon and peered out the window. As I’d feared, the female officer I’d spoken with earlier stood on the doorstep. Officer Boyle huddled next to her, wearing a grim expression.

“Don’t answer it,” I said.

Michael gaped at me as if I’d gone nuts. “Don’t be ridiculous, Kate.” He grabbed Bella’s collar, pulled her away from the door, and opened it. “Can I help you officers?”

Boyle opened his mouth, but his reply was drowned out by a series of deep, throaty snarls. Bella lunged against Michael’s grasp, clearly putting the bearded officer on notice: This house protected by German shepherd. Boyle’s upper lip twitched.

I rushed to the door and blocked Boyle from Bella. “Sorry, she doesn’t like men with facial hair.”

Officer Alex narrowed her eyes quizzically. “Ms. Davidson? I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Again?” Shannon’s gaze shifted back and forth between us. “You two know each other?”

The female officer’s expression was deadpan. “Yes. We met earlier today.”

Gulp.

This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

My mind spun, trying to come up with a believable reason to get Michael alone.

Immediately.

As in now.

I needed to warn him about Gabriella’s death so he wouldn’t be sucker-punched. He already seemed so vulnerable. So likely to say something stupid. Something stupid that could land him in prison.

In that moment, I only knew one thing for certain: I had to protect Michael. “Give Bella to me,” I said.

I grabbed my snarling monster-dog’s collar with both hands, kicked the door open wider, and forced on a toothy, completely fake smile. “Come on in, guys. Shannon, pour the officers some coffee while Michael and I take Bella to the bedroom for a time out.”

I didn’t fool anyone, least of all the two police officers. “Hold on a minute,” Officer Alex ordered. “Don’t go anywhere. Either of you.” She narrowed her eyes at Michael. “Sir, are you Michael Massey?”

Michael’s face grew serious. “Yes. Is there a problem?”

Officer Alex stepped through the door.

Or at least she would have if Shannon hadn’t body-blocked her.

“Stop right there, Alex,” Shannon ordered. “I’m the homeowner here, and I didn’t say you could come inside. What is this about?”

Officer Alex held up her palm. “Shannon, don’t do this. We know each other. We’re friends.”

Shannon crossed her arms and stepped her feet wide. “I mean it. You are not coming into my house without a warrant or a damned good explanation.”

“Shannon!” Michael snapped. “What is wrong with you?” He glared at me, at Bella, and then back at Shannon again. “What’s wrong with both of you? Shannon, get out of the way and let the officers inside.”

Shannon looked even less happy than Bella, but she took a step back.

“I’m sorry, Officer,” Michael continued. “My sister gets a little overprotective sometimes. Please come in.”

Bella growled, clearly objecting.

Michael’s objection was louder. “Kate, lock Bella in the bedroom.”

“But—”

“Now.” His tone left no room for argument.

Bella and I both whined our protest all the way down the hall. By the time I returned, the two officers were standing in the hallway.

Michael gestured toward the living room. “Maybe we should have a seat.”

Officer Alex gave her male counterpart a let-me-handle-this look. “We’re okay standing, thanks.”

Shannon glared at her but said nothing.

I knew where this was going, and I didn’t like it one bit. Michael would like it less. I nudged him with my foot, trying to get his attention.

No response.

“I have a feeling I know why you officers are here,” Michael said.

“That makes one of us,” Shannon grumbled.

I bit the inside of my cheek and tried surreptitiously poking Michael in the back.

Michael ignored us both. “I got a little out of control last night. I’m sorry if you received some complaints.”

I poked him again. And again. And again.

His cheeks reddened. “I rarely drink like that. Of course, I’ll pay for any damage I caused, and—”

I pinched Michael’s arm.

He whipped around and snapped, “Kate, knock it off!”

Officer Alex narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously. “How do you two know each other?”

Michael and I replied simultaneously.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he said.

“I’m his friend,” I said, louder.

Officer Boyle leaned toward Michael and snarled, “Girlfriend? I thought you were married to Gabriella Massey?”

“Michael, I really need to talk to you,” I whispered.

He ignored me and kept talking. “Gabby and I are separated.”

“That’s interesting.” Officer Boyle flipped through a notebook. “Ms. Massey still had you listed as her emergency contact. When we called the number in her wallet, we got a place called Pete’s Pets.” He pointed at the logo on Michael’s T-shirt. “A woman named Tiffany Kobrick told us we could find you here.”

Tiffany. I should have known. Why couldn’t the police have gotten voicemail like I did? Over two hundred miles away, and Tiffany still managed to foil me.

Michael’s face flashed from confused to alarmed. “Emergency? Gabby’s wallet? Has something happened to Gabby?”

Shannon stepped between Michael and the officers. “I’m sick of these games. Why. Are. You. Here?”

Officer Alex’s lips tightened, then she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Mr. Massey, but I’m afraid we have bad news. As you probably know, Ms. Davidson found a body near Arcadia Beach this morning.”

Michael’s face blanched. “Kate found a body?” He peered at me incredulously, as if I’d somehow betrayed him. Maybe I had.

Officer Alex continued. “We regret to inform you that we believe the body is that of your wife, Gabriella Massey.”

“G-Gabby’s dead?” Michael’s knees buckled.

“Please, can we go into the living room?” I asked. “He needs to sit down before he passes out.”

Shannon guided Michael to the couch, where he collapsed and buried his face in his hands. When I reached out to hug him, he jerked away as if my touch scalded.

“I was going to tell you about it, Michael, I swear, but I didn’t get the chance.” I looked at Officer Alex, feigning shock. “Are you saying that the woman I found this morning was Gabriella? How horrible.” I shuddered. “I never saw the body’s face.”

Officer Alex’s expression clearly indicated that she wasn’t fooled, at least not entirely. “We don’t know the victim’s identity for sure, but we suspect it’s Gabriella Massey.”

Michael laced his fingers together as if hoping—praying—that this was all a huge mistake. “You don’t know for sure?”

Officer Alex’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Mr. Massey, but she was beaten, we suspect with a piece of driftwood. Her face …” She swallowed. “I’m afraid the injuries to her head and face were severe. We’re hoping you can make a positive identification.”

“We only need confirmation,” Boyle added gruffly. “The victim had ID in her wallet.”

“Can’t you use dental records or something?” Shannon asked. “If her face was destroyed, how do you expect Michael to identify her?”

“She has a rather distinctive tattoo on her left breast,” Officer Alex replied.

“Of a Mexican woman. With a monkey.” Michael’s voice sounded hollow. Distant. His eyes stared vacantly at the floor.

Officer Alex spoke softly. “We need you to come with us to Seaside.”

“Seaside?” I asked. “Why Seaside? That’s almost twenty-five miles away.”

Michael didn’t look up. “It’s the closest town with a hospital large enough for a morgue.”

“Be reasonable,” Shannon chided. “My brother is obviously in no condition to identify anything right now. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Given the circumstances,” Officer Alex replied, “we would like to confirm the victim’s identity as soon as possible. To do that, we need Mr. Massey to look at the tattoo.”

She didn’t fool me. If all they wanted was for Michael to look at a tattoo, they could have shown him a photo. They were trying to get him alone, hoping he would say something self-incriminating.

And he very well might.

I flashed on the vomit green inquisition room I’d been detained in the day of Monica’s murder on Orcas Island. I’d been innocent—I’d tried to save her, in fact—but in the stress of the moment, it didn’t matter. I would have said anything to get out of that suffocating space. Loitering in a morgue with your dead wife’s faceless body couldn’t be any easier. Michael needed protection—from himself. He needed an attorney.

“Michael is obviously in shock,” I said. “I’ll bring him to Seaside tomorrow. He’ll make the identification and answer all of your questions.” That would give me the rest of the evening to strategize with our friend and attorney, Dale Evans.

Michael blinked as if coming out of a trance. “No. I want to go tonight. I need to know if it’s Gabriella.”

“Michael, no. Before you go anywhere, we should call Dale.” I glanced at Officer Alex. “He has the right to an attorney, right?”

Shannon replied with a high pitched squeak. “An attorney? Wait a minute. Is Michael under arrest?”

“Who said anything about him being under arrest?” Boyle leaned forward, looking suddenly friendly. “Mr. Massey can consult with an attorney, of course, but I’m not sure why he’d want to. Unless he’s hiding something …”

Michael’s shoulders squared. “No. I’m not waiting. Gabriella is my responsibility. I owe her that much.”

I’d seen that stubborn expression before. Michael would accept no argument. I picked up my purse. “Then I’m going with you. You’re in no condition to drive.”

“There’s no need for that, Ms. Davidson,” Officer Alex assured me. “We’ll drive Mr. Massey to Seaside and bring him back home when we’re done. That will give us a chance to talk on the way.”

Which was exactly what I was afraid of.

I nudged Shannon, hoping she’d insert reason into Michael’s insanity. She shook her head and mouthed the words, Let him go.

I placed my hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Promise me you won’t say anything until I call Dale.”

Michael shrugged on his jacket and spoke to his sister. “Take care of Kate for me.” He trudged behind the police officers. The door clicked hollowly shut behind them.

I plastered my palms against the window and stared through the glass, overcome by a deepening sense of dread. Why on earth would Shannon need to take care of me? The request felt ominous. The words of a man expecting to be gone for a very long time.

My breath fogged the window. The police car swallowed Michael and carried him away.