As she tapped Chen’s number, a horn blasted, and a black Jeep Wrangler stopped in the lane beside her. “Hey. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” It was Rose Keane. She patted the passenger’s seat and leaned across it, opening the door. “Interested in lunch?”
Sloane had not planned on having lunch or any other distractions, but then again, she hadn’t met someone who made her stomach flutter since Jess. And how could a meal with a possible suspect hurt?
Rose backed out of the lane and turned on Second Street, heading away from the shore toward the mountains. “I’m taking you to my favorite spot. I told you time outside would do you good. I might even throw in a massage.”
Sloane’s body tensed. She watched the neighborhood blocks pass and the landscapes become open fields. “It’s beautiful here. Is it always so green?”
“Even into the winter.” Rose merged onto the Island Highway and pointed toward the mountains. “See the house over there?”
Sloane scanned the foot of a mountain. “Wow. That’s some castle.”
“Right? There are a few others in Victoria. You can tour them. But not that one. It belongs to the Gildey family. No one from Denwick has ever been inside. Not that I know of, anyway.”
“Some digs,” Sloane said. “Doesn’t sound like they’re a neighborly bunch.”
“Not at all. The only time the Gildeys grace us with their presence is at special community events.”
“Like funerals?”
Rose stared ahead. “No, not usually.”
“So why Harold’s?”
Rose shrugged. “Maybe he did legal work for them?”
“I don’t know. Dorathea didn’t seem to think he did.” So why were Isobel and Andrew Gildey at Harold’s funeral? Sloane thought she ought to pay the Gildeys a visit. Make herself the first person from the village to walk through their doors.
Rose turned off the highway onto a narrow back road. “This is the Nature Conservatory. It’s a Garry oak ecosystem. Very rare. Most of the species in it are endangered. There’s a meadow full of camas on the other side of those trees. Look.” Wildflowers stretched to the horizon, a deep blue and yellow tapestry growing between lichen-covered boulders and moss-covered trees.
Sloane turned back and stared at Rose, the curve of her jawline and the warm glow of her skin. She wanted to reach out. Stroke her cheek. Cup the back of her bare neck and gently pull her into a soft kiss.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rose asked.
Sloane stared ahead. “Yeah. The most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.”
“And I bet you’ve seen your share.” Rose merged onto a one-lane dirt road and drove into a dense forest canopy. “We’re here.” She parked inside the tree line and jumped out of the jeep. Sloane followed her to the tailgate.
“Here, take this.” Rose handed Sloane a wool blanket and lifted a picnic basket out from behind her seat. “We have a short hike to my favorite spot. If we see any bears, just do what I do.”
“Wait. Are you serious?”
“No.” Rose tossed her head back and laughed. “We do have bears, but I’ve never seen one down this far.”
“Ha. You’re funny, Keane. Let’s make the city girl sweat, right?”
Rose laughed harder. “Ah, I’m not cruel, but your expression was worth it. And making you sweat sounds like fun.”
Sloane chuckled and trailed behind Rose through a thick understory of dank leaves, ferns, and shrubs. She pressed the blanket to her chest. With one word, she could use the detection spell on Rose. Remove her from the suspect list. But she heard Dorathea’s warning in her head. They needed permission.
Screw it, she thought, and lowered her eyes and whispered, “Onwreon.” Nothing. She stopped on the path, closed her eyes, and repeated, “Onwreon.” Her third eye opened, and she concentrated, pushing through the veil. But no image of Rose appeared.
Above them, the birds made a ruckus, scattering from the trees.
“Hey. What’s the matter?”
Sloane looked up the path. Rose had stopped, waiting for her. “I’m good. I just thought I heard something.”
“Don’t worry. I was kidding about the bears. Sort of.” Rose grinned and sprinted toward a massive Garry oak. “Here we are. My spot.”
“It’s amazing.” Sloane spread the blanket out underneath the tree. “Do you bring all the girls here?”
“I think you’ve seen enough of Old Denwick’s population to answer that question.” Rose opened the basket and sat with legs crisscrossed, her back to the sun.
Sloane kicked off her shoes and lay down, propping up on one elbow. She stared at the flowers and grasses in front of them and listened to water rushing in the distance. Rose was right. She did need a change of scenery. This spot was the best view she had seen since arriving in BC.
Rose unpacked the basket—a bowl of strawberries, a brie melting out of its skin, a crusty baguette, and a bottle of merlot. She poured Sloane a glass. “And half a glass for the driver.”
Sloane sipped, letting the mild tannins and vanilla undertones linger on her tongue. “Have you always lived here?”
“I actually spent four years in Ontario, at McMasters University. Did my Bachelor of Commerce and came back. I’ve lived above the pub ever since.”
“Do all the shops have apartments?”
“I don’t know. The gallery does. When I returned from uni, your grandfather offered it to me. It’s a great two-bedroom. He thought maybe I’d prefer something quieter than the one above the pub.” She smiled. “He was such a nice man.”
Sloane took a long drink and watched Rose finish cutting the baguette. “So you got your degree and came back to run the pub. Was that always your plan?”
“Ever since I can remember.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “There was a time at school, actually a relationship, when I questioned taking it over. But it passed. The relationship, not my desire to run the business.”
Sloane swirled her wine. “Sounds like words drawn from a painful experience.”
“It didn’t end well,” Rose said, spreading brie on the baguette. “Talia left at graduation. No goodbye. Nothing. Took a long time to get over that.”
“Yeah. Relationships are hard. And breakups are harder. Might as well live alone, or at least with a cat.”
“Oh, that’s so cynical. How long ago did your relationship end?”
Sloane tapped her finger on the wineglass. “Almost two years. And this year, my ex-girlfriend and my ex-best friend are getting married.”
“Ouch. I’m sorry.”
“No, no. Don’t be sorry yet. I haven’t gotten to the best part.” Sloane chuckled and drained the rest of her wine. “They sent me an invitation.”
“No, they didn’t. That’s—”
“Dumpster-fire shit.”
Rose burst out laughing. “I was going to say, really hurtful.”
Sloane held out her empty glass. “Doesn’t hurt if you don’t care.”
“I guess not.” Rose poured a refill. “Helps to have a focus, though. The Spotted Owl is mine.”
“I couldn’t have worked for my mother. Hell, the idea makes me shiver.” Sloane thought about Jane’s office, the degrees on the walls, the welcoming sofa and her sleek leather chair, and what she now understood was her manipulation of hundreds of minds.
“Trust me. My mother isn’t easy to work with either.” Rose bent back and faced the sun.
Continuous caws erupted in the trees. Sloane looked behind them and saw a horde of crows move like a black blanket from one canopy to another. “So, what’s wrong with Fiona?”
Rose filled a plate with strawberries and placed the food between them. “It’s hard to explain. I’ll just say she makes things difficult.”
“Yeah. Moms do that. Is it the pub?” Sloane took a piece of bread, biting into the soft cheese.
“Mostly. And my brother, Oscar.”
“Is the pub in financial trouble?”
Rose looked at her oddly. “No.” She paused. “Okay, West. Enough of your interrogation. It’s my turn. What are you really doing here?”
The comment surprised Sloane. “What do you mean? Here in Denwick, or here, here?”
“Here in Denwick. Although I’m not sure why you’re here, here either.” Rose grinned and sucked the juice from a strawberry before biting it.
Sloane sat up, spinning the ring on her finger. “You know I came to Denwick to finalize the Wests’ estate. But I’m also here for work. Someone hired Morris to kill Harold and me.”
Rose stared at her in disbelief. “You think someone from Denwick hired him?”
“We know someone did.”
“We? Are you NYPD?”
“Not exactly. I’m a private investigator, following up on a lead.”
“I knew there was a reason you asked so many questions.” Rose lay on her side with her head resting in her hand and stared into Sloane’s eyes. “A detective. Wow. Okay, I want to help. Ask me anything. One of the benefits of my job is knowing everyone’s secrets.”
Sloane fell silent. She had informants back in the city—Mel, street kids, drunks, and hoodrats. But none of them had eyes like mottled jade. Eyes that drew her in and held her, making it hard to turn away or concentrate.
The crows cawed again, and Sloane jerked her head toward the ruckus. She peered into the dense trees. The birds scattered and whirled around the sky until they decided in unison to take over another canopy.
She turned back. Rose’s body was only a plate distance away. So close her skin pricked with arousal. She imaged pressing against the full length of her, spreading her legs with a knee… She bolted upright.
“What’s the matter?” Rose asked.
“Nothing. I’m fine…my hip hurts. I need to sit up for a minute.”
“Oh, no. Cramp? Want me to rub it out?”
Heat spread up Sloane’s neck.
“No? Okay.” Rose grinned. “So tell me detective, what do you want to ask me?”
“All right, Keane. Maybe you can help me sort out some conflicting information.”
“Will that make me your mole?”
“Sure, you’re officially my spy.”
“How exciting. Should I get a burner so we can call each other?”
Sloane chuckled. “You watch a lot of TV, huh?”
“You don’t use those pay-as-you-go phones?”
“No, Keane. The criminals use those.”
Rose laughed. “Oops.”
Sloane enjoyed Rose’s enthusiasm for helping. It made it easier to sit across from her, less complicated. Less tempting to get into something unwise. “I usually pay my informants.”
“That dinner you promised will do.”
“That’s an easy price.”
“You would think.” Rose grinned and sipped her wine.
Sloane rubbed her thigh. At least she thought a change of conversation would be easier. “I wondered if you knew the history between Charles Huxham and Lore Reed?”
“I actually do,” Rose said, her voice taking on a serious tone. “A few months ago, James came in and had drinks with my dad. Pounding them back. Got drunk. Started complaining about what Charlie and Harold had done to Lore. Well, my dad had too much to drink, too. So I cut them both off and called Quinn to take James home. When my dad and I were alone, I asked the right questions, and the truth came out.”
Rose bit into a strawberry, and its juice dripped over her full bottom lip. She wiped it off. “He said one night, right before Charlie left for UBC, Lore came into the pub hysterical and wanted to talk. They were all friends. She told Dad she’d overheard a conversation between Charlie and Harold that wrecked her.”
“Did he say what she overheard?”
“No. But that isn’t important. That’s not what caused the problem between them. It was what happened next. My dad took a bottle from behind the bar and snuck Lore upstairs to the apartment. They drank and talked. One thing led to another, and they ended up sleeping together. The next day Lore broke up with Charlie right before he left for uni.”
“Damn. I wasn’t expecting that.” Sloane paused. “Did your dad and Lore start a relationship?”
“He didn’t say. If they did, I’m sure my mom stopped it as soon as Dad met her.”
“How do Ken and Lore get along now?”
Rose thought for a minute. “They’re still friends, but not close or anything.” She spread brie on the last slices of bread.
“Did Charles ever find out about them?”
“No. My dad said Charlie never knew.” Rose took a piece of baguette and brie. “Maybe Lore puts up with him over guilt.”
“Could be. But why does he hang around with the girl who dumped him?”
Rose leaned over the plate of food. “That I don’t know.”
Sloane warmed at her closeness, finding it difficult to concentrate. “So, did your parents meet at UBC?”
“No. My mom grew up in Jamaica but went to uni in Scotland. My dad met her there.”
“I see. I think Fiona misses the sun.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When your dad introduced me to your mom, he said they wouldn’t want to live anyplace other than Denwick. Let’s just say the look on your mom’s face conveyed he was wrong.”
Rose bit into the last strawberry. “That doesn’t surprise me. My mom’s tired. I’m sure she wants to be retired by now. But they’re younger than my grandparents were when they handed the business to my dad.”
Sloane studied Rose’s face. It was so stunning it confused her. The symmetry of her eyes. Her high cheekbones. The perfect line of her nose. But something simmered just beneath the beauty. She reached for more bread. The plate was empty.
“I better pack more for next time,” Rose said. “I was hungrier than I thought.”
“No problem. I’m thoroughly satisfied.”
“I figured you would like a picnic.”
“I’m a sucker for them.”
Rose held Sloane’s eyes and moved the empty plate behind her. She patted the blanket. “Relax with me again.”
Sloane hesitated but then lay down and propped herself up on her elbow. She felt like someone had unbuckled her seatbelt in a runaway car.
“Intuition is a valuable trait in your line of work, don’t you agree?” Rose asked.
“Yeah. It’s important. But you have to back it up with evidence.”
“And as an informant, I can help you with that.” She reached across the blanket and touched Sloane’s arm. “Maybe I’m what you need right now, a perceptive partner. How about it?”
Sloane looked down. “I’m sorry, Keane. I work alone.”