At one, Cassidy pulled up to Skye’s fruit and vegetable stand. Serena ran out to meet her, a wide smile on her face. Her wild, colorful outfit made Cassidy blanch. Purple leggings, a bright pink tunic, ponytail braids and a yellow headband.
Yesterday she’d been wearing bland-colored linen and no makeup. What was up with the change in image?
“I’m so excited,” Serena squealed as she climbed in the passenger side with the boundless energy of a puppy dog. “I could hardly sleep last night.”
Cassidy had no idea Serena would be so enthusiastic about selling ice cream.
Skye flashed a grin from her position beneath the van stand. There was something behind that smile, though. A sense of relief? Trepidation? Cassidy wasn’t sure.
“Have fun, you guys!” Skye raised an apple and then took a bite.
Maybe Cassidy should have thought about this a little more before jumping in. It was too late now. Serena was here and ready.
She shoved down those thoughts and turned to Serena. “Okay, let’s get started. I’ll give you a crash course on—”
“Crash course?” Serena snickered. “Bad choice of words.”
“How’s your driving record?” Cassidy was a cop. She should have checked that first. What was she thinking?
“Excellent. It was just a joke.”
Cassidy didn’t feel any better. “Okay, let me show you the ropes then.”
She glanced at her watch. She had ninety minutes to show Serena how this was done. And then she had a mani-pedi to get to.
But, before she could do any of that, a car caught her eye.
It was a sedan. A black sedan. Just like the one she’d seen leaving the crime scene.
“We’re going to need to take a little detour.”
Again, traffic on the island never worked in Cassidy’s favor. The line of cars in front of her was stopped behind someone making a left-hand turn up ahead. Why hadn’t anyone thought about putting in turn lanes when they’d engineered this road?
She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, fighting impatience.
But as she peered out beyond the cars, she saw that the black sedan was long gone. It had escaped the jam up. Cassidy just couldn’t catch a break with that car, could she?
“This little detour must be pretty important huh?” Serena asked, her eyes wide.
“You could say that.”
How was the person driving that car so clever? It made no sense to her. Or were they just lucky?
Until Cassidy caught him or her, she supposed she wouldn’t know.
She moved her thoughts toward her new employee, knowing she needed to change the direction of her thoughts. “What do you want to do one day, Serena?”
She sighed dreamily. “I don’t know yet. Some days I want to work the rodeo, and other days I want to be a librarian.”
“That’s quite the range.”
“What can I say? This phase of my life is very confusing. How did you know what you wanted to do for a living?”
Cassidy opened her mouth, about to share about Lucy’s murder and how it had changed her whole outlook on life. That was the reason why she’d become a cop.
But to people here, she was a former interior designer and a current ice cream lady.
“I was inspired by beautiful things,” she finally said, realizing the irony of her words.
Tragedy—not beautiful things—had inspired her, but she couldn’t say that aloud.
Cassidy slowed as she drove past the Hambys’ house. She didn’t spot anyone outside. But there was a new car in the driveway.
“Look at that,” Cassidy muttered.
“Look at what?” Serena asked.
“That car. The side of it is smashed up pretty good.”
Serena’s skin looked a little paler. “I guess.”
“You guess? It’s clearly smashed up.”
“It could be old.”
“It looks fresh.”
“How can you tell?”
Cassidy needed an answer a civilian might give. “Because . . . it just does. I mean, the car itself looks pretty new.”
“Oh.” Serena leaned back in her seat and frowned.
“Serena, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” She swiped a hand behind her ear.
Don’t cross-examine her, Cassidy. Sound casual.
“You look guilty, almost.”
Serena shrugged a little too quickly. “Why would I look guilty?”
Oh my. It was like talking to herself. Her alternate persona, Cassidy should say. “You’re pale. You’re nervous. You keep staring at that car.”
“Okay, I admit it.” She closed her eyes and bent forward like she was in pain. “I did it.”
“You did what?” Now Cassidy was confused.
“I hit that car.”
Cassidy shook her head, feeling a headache coming on. “Serena, start from the beginning.”
“I was at my friend’s house on Saturday afternoon—she lives right on the ocean—and, when I went outside to leave, this car had parked behind me, totally blocking me in. People do that sometimes—they’re so desperate for a close spot to the beach that they ignore common courtesy. Anyway, I was going to be late for my first day at work for my aunt Skye.”
“Wait, you already have friends here?”
“I’m very social,” Serena said. “Sometimes.”
“Okay, I got sidetracked.” Her head was spinning, actually. “Continue.”
“So, I waited for ten minutes for the person to come back and move their vehicle. They didn’t do it. Some tourists are so irresponsible.” She rolled her eyes. “I figured this driver was probably at the beach and hadn’t given a second thought to blocking me in. I was ticked, to say the least.”
“So what did you do?”
“I decided to teach the driver a lesson, of course.”
Cassidy’s stomach sank as she anticipated where this story was going. “Continue.”
“I backed into his car with my clunker of a car, and I kept going until I could get out.”
Cassidy closed her eyes as she pictured the scene playing out. “Not smart. You should have called the police.”
“Probably. But I didn’t.”
You’re not law enforcement here, Cassidy reminded herself. You have no obligation to report this, and lecturing Serena could blow your cover.
“What happened next?” Cassidy asked instead.
“The driver came over the sand dune, and he was ticked. He told me he was going to make me pay. I got all weirded out when he said that.”
“I can only imagine. Did you report that to the authorities, at least?”
Serena shook her head. “I thought about it. But I heard the next day that he was dead.”
Sarge. Serena had hit Sarge’s car? Cassidy closed her eyes.
She hadn’t seen that one coming.