sixteen

I gasped and staggered backward, banging into a wine trellis. My sleeve caught on a wire. Frantic, I disentangled myself, ignoring the ripping sound, and rushed to the side of the Honda for cover. I knelt beside Penny. “Have you called 911?”

She clasped her mittens and shook her head. “Is it …? It’s really her, isn’t it?”

“It’s Tabitha Wilde.” I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket. Hands shaking, I dialed.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“This is Maddie Kosloski. I’m at the Wine and Visitors Bureau with Penny …” Suddenly I couldn’t remember her last name. “We’ve found a body. Tabitha Wilde’s been shot with an arrow. She’s dead in the educational vineyard.”

“I’m sending help now,” the dispatcher said. “Are you sure she’s not breathing? I’d like you to double check.”

I nodded, then realized that the dispatcher couldn’t see the gesture. “Okay. I’ll check again.”

Reluctant, I left the shelter of Penny’s car and walked slowly into the grapevines.

I knelt beside Tabitha’s body. Blood soaked her pink dress, her coat, the ground. I pressed two trembling fingers to the side of her neck. Dew dampened her skin and the collar of her pink coat. Her flesh was cold.

So was mine.

I pressed harder and felt no pulse. No breath rose and fell in her chest. No spark of life lit her brown eyes. “There’s no pulse,” I croaked into the phone. “Her body’s cold.”

The phone slipped from my grasp. I fumbled to pick it up. The call had disconnected.

I trotted to Penny and sat beside her against the Honda. “Are you all right?”

Penny nodded, knocking the back of her head against the door. Wincing, she rubbed her knit cap. “She’s dead, isn’t she? This is really happening.”

“Yes.” I grasped her hand and squeezed lightly, her mittens soft beneath my palms. “How long have you been here?”

Her breath came quick and shallow. “Not long, I think. I got out of my car and saw what I thought was a pile of rags in the vineyard. I went to pick it up—sometimes kids dump things here. And it was her. Tabitha. And an arrow. And then all I could think was to hide, but the distance from here to the building seemed so far. And then you were here.”

Laurel’s Mustang roared into the parking lot and screeched to a halt, lights flashing on its front dash. The detective, big, blonde, and badass, stepped from the car. So she had been nearby.

I rose. “Laur—Detective Hammer? Over here!”

She strode toward us. “Where is she?”

I pointed to the vineyard.

Laurel brushed past me. A few minutes later, she returned. “What happened?”

“I got here about five minutes ago and found Penny. She’s the one who discovered the body, Tabitha—”

“I know who it is,” Laurel snapped.

Penny stared blankly ahead, her eyes wide, her doughy face pale.

“Penny?” I knelt beside her and looked up at Laurel. “I think she’s in shock.”

Laurel snorted and stalked to her car. She returned with a thick blanket and we draped it around Penny’s shoulders.

“Let’s get her off the ground,” Laurel said.

I should have thought of that, dammit. We helped Penny up and got her into her car. She sat, shoulders hunched, legs dangling out the driver’s side open door.

Laurel’s smile was mirthless. “Once again, here you are at the scene of a crime. What exactly were you doing here, Kosloski?”

“I came to get more wine map brochures,” I lied.

“Isn’t today your day off ?” Laurel asked.

“Which made this the perfect time to run errands.”

“Where were you last night?”

“I ate dinner at my mom’s, and then I went home around nine. Alone.” If she’d been surveilling me, she’d know that. For once, I’d have a police alibi.

“Go sit in your truck,” she said.

“Okay.” Meek, I returned to my pickup. I knew the drill. She’d want to question Penny without me listening.

Two squad cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance crowded into the parking lot. Their red and blue lights turned milky in the fog.

Keeping my hands below the dash, I texted my mother. Tabitha murdered—arrow.

Mother: Where?

Me: W&VB.

Mother: Gather evidence.

Me: Can’t. Laurel here.

Mother: Evade & observe.

My mouth flattened. Evade and observe? How?

Someone knocked on my window. I yelped and dropped the phone.

Jason Slate quirked a brow, but his brown eyes were unreadable.

I rolled down the glass and fumbled around my feet for my phone. “You’re here! Are you off medical leave? How’s your shoulder?” I stammered. But the questions answered themselves. His arm was in a sling, and he wore a running jacket and jeans, so he was off duty.

“I’m fine. I’m still on leave.”

“Did they find the person who hit you?”

He shook his head. “The car was abandoned. It had been stolen. No prints.”

My stomach lurched. Stolen. Belle had once tried to steal Mason’s car. Could she have … ?

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Oh.” Awkward, I cleared my throat. “I came for brochures and found Penny by her car. She found Tabitha. I called 911. Laurel—I mean, Detective Hammer—is here.”

“Okay,” he said. “Why are you really here?”

“Really here?”

His mouth pulled downward. “Maddie …”

“Okay!” My breath quickened, my cheeks growing warm. “According to gossip, the Christmas Cow committee was a hotbed of romance and Bill Eldrich the local Casanova. Both Penny and Tabitha may have been involved with him.”

“So you came to interrogate Penny.”

“I wouldn’t say interrogate,” I muttered. If I’d been a better interrogator the first time around, I wouldn’t have had to return to find Tabitha’s body. “But I was surprised Penny didn’t come to the binding ritual on Sunday. She comes to all my events,” I babbled. “And what with her being an almost-Olympic archer—”

“We know.”

“You do?”

“The first thing we did was look for archers among our suspects.”

My face warmed. Right. Because the police weren’t dunces and neither was Jason.

“Slate!” Laurel stormed past the emergency vehicles. “Are you questioning my suspect?”

He stepped away from the truck door. “Nope.”

“Because you’re on leave,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be here or listening in on the police radio.”

I watched them covertly. It was one thing to bite my head off, another to tell off Slate. Was she feeling insecure about her control over the investigation?

“Come on, Laurel,” he said. “I was in the neighborhood and thought—”

“What?” Her jaw jutted forward. “That I’d need help? That I couldn’t handle this?”

Oh, yeah, she was insecure. Embarrassed, I studied the vines clinging to the Visitors Bureau brickwork. A breeze ruffled their dying leaves.

“What were you thinking, Slate?” she asked.

“That we’re partners,” he said.

She glanced at his sling. “I get that this is personal for you. But that’s why you can’t be here.”

“Right.” He backed away. “If you need anything—”

“I won’t call.” Laurel folded her arms across her chest and watched him amble into the fog. She turned to me. “What are you looking at?”

“The vines …” I gestured vaguely toward the building. “Nothing.”

“What did you say to him?”

“The same thing I said to you.”

She glowered. “Elaborate.”

“He asked me what I was doing here. And I asked him what he was doing here. And I told him I was here for brochures.” Guilt reared its ugly head, and I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets. I couldn’t withhold evidence. Not even from my high school bully. “But I did hear some interesting gossip about the Christmas Cow committee. Tabitha and Penny might have been dating Bill Eldrich.” I could withhold some evidence. If I told her about my mom’s few dates with Bill, it would only muddy the waters.

“So you came to play detective.”

“No!” I laid my hand against my heart. “I would never do that. How’s Penny?”

“None of your business. Now take me through your story step by step. What time did you arrive?”

“It’s not a story—”

“Kosloski!” Her neck corded.

“I think it was around nine fifteen.”

“And then?”

“I heard what I thought was a sob and something heavy falling. The sound seemed to come from the Honda, so I walked over and found Penny. She told me … Well, she didn’t tell me anything. She was too shaken. But she pointed toward the vineyard, so I walked in and found Tabitha. Then I called 911.”

A chill blast of air stirred the fog and ruffled Laurel’s blonde hair. I shivered and pulled my jacket tighter.

“Did you touch anything?” she asked.

“The dispatcher asked me to make sure if Tabitha was alive or dead, so I tried to find a pulse in her neck.”

A muscle jumped in Laurel’s jaw. “So the answer is yes. We’ll find your DNA all over the crime scene.”

“Not all over. The dispatcher told me to double check. If she was alive, maybe we could have saved her.”

“She’s obviously been dead for quite some time.”

“Quite some time? So what do you think? Since last night?” I’d researched this before; body temperature drops on average one and a half degrees per hour. Tabitha had been cold. But it had been a cold night, so that would have sped up the process.

Laurel growled. “I’m the detective. I ask the questions.”

“Sorry.”

“And the only way you’re a part of this investigation is as a suspect.”

“What?” I gaped. “I’m not a suspect. How am I a suspect?”

“Anyone on the scene for the discovery of two bodies is a suspect.” Laurel stepped closer, forcing me to crane my neck. “And Kosloski, that means you.” She smiled. “You’re coming with me.”