Play That Funky Music White Koi (A Lemon Layne Mystery Book 2) Read online

  Still, none of it was helping other than to tell me Abby was an open-minded lady who truly welcomed everyone, and folks who chose a vampiric lifestyle were mostly harmless.

  Yawning, I switched to sorting through Thea Valentine’s Facebook photos again, and was just about to get up and grab another cup of tea when I noticed a comment under the picture of Matthew Miles, the man who’d died when they were all in college.

  “So sad. Now poor Josiah and Abby, too,” the post read.

  Now, I know that hadn’t been there before, and it made me sit upright in my chair.

  There was no picture attached to the account of the poster, and the name attached to it was quite generic. Jayne Dough had posted the comment this afternoon at four o’clock.

  I clicked on the name, and found she had no friends showing and there were no posts on Jayne’s wall save for a picture of a crimson heart, dripping blood.

  Which I suppose, were I the suspicious type, could mean something symbolic, like something related to vampires.

  Which was silly, but I just couldn’t seem to get it out of my head.

  I’d chalk the comment up to SPAM or a bot, yet it was too specific for that.

  Just as I was scratching my head, I heard sirens along the main road in front of the store.

  I jumped up off the couch, groaning as I did from the stabbing throb in my head. Righting myself, I made sure Jess and my mother were still asleep and I headed for the front door. When I poked my head out, the two officers Justice had posted weren’t there.

  Definitely not a good sign. A shiver of lingering fear skittered along my spine, but my curiosity outweighed my hesitance.

  The flashing lights looked like they were coming from the front of the store along the road, which I admit can be treacherous at night because of the twisting, sharply curved nature of them.

  It was almost three in the morning now, making me assume the sirens were responding to an auto accident. Gosh, I’d never heard as many sirens here in Fig as I had in the last few months.

  It was cooler now, so I zipped up my sweatshirt and pulled the sleeves over my fingers as I shut the front door and decided to brave my way to the front of the Smoke and Petrol. Our house sits just behind it, tucked away from the main road leading to town, but with so many lights flashing, I had a perfect view of the path to the road.

  As I came to the corner and poked my head around the brick side of the building, I cocked my ear to listen.

  There were at least four police cars and an ambulance—for sure not a good sign. Moving forward, I padded my way along our gravel parking lot and toward the police cars where I saw Andy, who’d been posted by the woods, and the two other uniforms Justice had posted outside by our front door, all huddled together. As I drew closer, I saw they were frowning.

  “What happened?” I called out, moving closer still.

  “Miss Layne? You shouldn’t be out here,” one of the police officers said as he approached me, and I tried to look over his linebacker shoulders. He was new, and I didn’t recognize him as a Figger, but I recalled Justice saying his name was Officer Ingram when he’d introduced us to them earlier this evening.

  “Officer Ingram, is it? What’s going on?”

  “Lemon!” Andy called out, rushing to my side, his expression anxious. “What are you doing out here? You should be inside resting that head.”

  “I’m fine, Andy. What’s going on? Motor vehicle accident?”

  But Andy shook his head, his eyes somber in the flash of blue and red lights. “No. It’s Fran Little. You know, one of Abby’s friends? She’s dead.”

  Chapter 10

  “Fran Little?” I squeaked in response. “But isn’t she in Boise?”

  Suddenly, Justice was beside me, looking wearier than ever. “She came home late tonight. Finally got a flight out.”

  None of this made any sense. That was three people in a group of people who’d been friends for years, now dead. “So what’s she doing here? What happened?”

  Justice let his head hang, his sharp jaw touching his chest. “We have no idea. A tourist was out here tonight with his girlfriend. They found her body on the side of the road.”

  My breathing shuddered in and out as my heart sped up. “How awful. You do know this means something, right? Two people dead from the same group of friends. What the heck is going on?”

  Justice cleared his throat. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to ask you to do what I always ask you to do. And as always, you’re going to be annoyed with me and I’m sure we’ll play out that exact scenario over and over again in the very near future. But it’s my job to ask you to do what I tell you. So, here goes—go back inside and rest. Please, Lemon. Your mom texted me and told me Doc Ames said you need to take it easy. I’d feel pretty badly if something happened to you because you didn’t do what the doc said.”

  He was right. This time, I couldn’t deny he was right. Plus, he was tired, maybe as tired as I’d ever seen him, and it made me feel like crap.

  I trailed my fingers over the back of his hand to let him know I understood. “Okay, Justice. I’ll go back in and rest. You be careful and get some sleep soon. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

  He ran a hand over his chestnut hair and scuffed it up in a gesture of exhaustion. “Are you really listening to me?”

  I wrinkled my nose to let him know I didn’t like it. “I am, indeed.”

  “You really did take a blow to the head. It’s jarred your brains,” he joked.

  “Hush, or I’ll start asking the million or so questions I have whizzing around in my brains and show you what’s jarred and what’s not.”

  He zippered his lip and threw away the key, making me laugh. “Andy, would you walk Lemon back to the house?”

  Andy nodded silently, his lips in a thin, grim line as he motioned for me to walk beside him, and as I made my way back to the house, I shivered again, an ominous feeling creeping into my bones.

  Someone wanted these college friends dead. That had to be it—but why?

  Why? Why? Why?

  * * * *

  “You headed to Abby’s memorial on the docks?” Mom asked that evening as I ran some clear lip gloss over my lips.

  Last night, after Andy dropped me safely at the door, I’d crawled back to the couch, cuddled up with Jess and had promptly fallen asleep. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. Mom never even twitched upon my return from Fran’s body being found. Meaning, she’d slept the night through and awakened at her usual early hour, fresh as a daisy, and had awakened me in a tizzy, for fear my brain had spilled out of my ears and onto the couch.

  She’d refused to let me go back to sleep after that, so I was on tops, three hours of sleep, and I was feeling pretty raw at this point—especially after telling my mother what had happened to Fran.

  I still didn’t have the details on what exactly was the cause of Fran’s death, but I sure wanted to know if it was anything like Abby’s.

  Smoothing a hand over my conservative black dress, I tucked my hair back into its messy bun with a nod to my mother. “Yeah, I am. I feel so horrible about Fran, I have to do something. I know you want me to stay home and rest, but I’m feeling much better. Promise.” I stooped down and gave her a quick kiss on her smooth cheek, inhaling the scent of her longtime favorite perfume.

  Mom cupped my chin and smiled before she grabbed her black fanny pack and wrapped it around her waist with her usual purpose. “I understand, Lemonade. I’m gonna ride in with Janine Sandler. You okay with that? We’re going to set up at the VFW hall for afterward, so folks have somewhere else to go besides Shrimpie’s.”

  I nodded, checking my hair one last time in the antiqued white mirror in our entryway hall, forcing my muddy brown curls into submission. “Coco’s picking me up, so you don’t have to worry about me driving. You go ahead—just keep your eyes and ears open. I don’t want you clobbered on the head, too.”

  As Mom left, I squared my shoulder
s and slipped on some black flats. I’m not terribly good with people at funerals. I always feel awkward and ridiculous when I offer words of sympathy because as well-meaning as they are, they’re mostly unhelpful.

  I’ve been to too many funerals these last few years, and even though this was only a memorial service to honor Abby, all those desolate, desperate feelings kept churning in my gut when I thought about Troy and my father.

  The door swung open and Coco popped her sleek dark head inside. “You ready?”

  I grabbed my purse and nodded without saying a word as I followed her out the door and waved at the two officers still guarding my front door. When we got inside the car, Coco turned to me, concern all over her face. “You okay to do this, Lemon?”

  Folding my hands in my lap, I hoped my dress was appropriate. “I’m okay. My head’s fine.”

  “I don’t mean your head. I mean your heart, Lemon. Your heart hurts. I can feel it and I hate it.”

  I knew what Coco’d meant, she oozed sympathy tonight, but sometimes with her concern, I felt obligated to talk about how I felt. After last night, and with Fran Little dead now, too, I just wasn’t up to it.

  Still, I remained honest. “My heart hurts something fierce right now, but I’ll get through it. Let’s just go pay our respects.”

  Coco clucked her tongue in resignation and started the car. The drive to the docks was a quiet one as the sun began to fade behind the horizon in a purple and velvety-blue streaked the sky. We were lucky enough to find a parking spot right away, and as we got out of the car and the warm breeze blew, my heart clenched at all the sad faces.

  There were flowers everywhere, lining the dock in bouquets and wreaths—surely from fellow Figgers. Abby’s picture sat in the center of the lighted gazebo at the end of the dock on a large easel, smiling, her eyes as bright as always. It was joined by Fran Little’s picture as well, a vibrant redhead with a charming smile and round cheeks.

  Sailboats had gathered in the water, their colorful sails lit with tiny lights, lanterns aglow on their decks and more wreaths of flowers hanging from their rails.

  My chest tightened at the amount of people who’d come to pay their respects. Abby, I’d learned, had mostly been alone in terms of immediate family, her parents both gone and an only child to boot, but if you listened to the people of Fig Harbor, you’d hear tonight they’d adopted her into their families and planned to mourn her the way any good family member would.

  Her tight-knit circle of friends huddled together in a swell of black clothing, Thea softly sobbing and dabbing her nose.

  Ivan and Albert both stood near Rupert, whose misery was plain as day, coming off him in waves. I approached them cautiously. I really wasn’t here to upset anyone. I planned to offer my condolences and shut my yap.

  Tonight wasn’t the night for poking.

  Coco went off to say hello to some friends from work and I made my way along the lit boardwalk, lined with flowers and cards of condolence.

  Rupert was the first to see me, dressed as dapper as ever in another deep charcoal suit and silver tie, his smile sad but welcoming. “Lemon. I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t have the chance to thank you for the other day. I’ve been quite the mess and have forgotten my manners. But I can’t tell you how good it was to be with my sister. Thank you for reminding me of that.” He leaned down and pecked my cheek, his cologne’s spicy scent mingling with the scent of the water and fresh air.

  I smiled up at him. “You’re so welcome. How are you today? Is there anything I can do for you? Any of you?” I asked the group.

  “Can you bring Fran and Abby back?” Thea squeaked, her eyes rimmed red from crying.

  I didn’t know what to say. Pain is a strange, ever-changing emotion. It makes you say things you don’t necessarily mean. It makes you lash out. Believe me, I’d lashed out plenty when Troy died because it had been so senseless and had hurt more than almost anything I’d ever experienced before, aside from losing my father. I regret that behavior more than I can tell you. It’s not like me and I don’t condone what I did, but I understand the reasoning behind it.

  Albert put an arm around me and patted my shoulder, frowning at Thea with admonishing eyes. “Don’t be like that, Thea. Leave her alone. She’s offering her condolences.”

  Thea held a hand up and nodded. “I’m sorry, Lemon. I’m snappish today. Fran’s murder has me on edge, and I hate myself for it.”

  “I’m sorry, too. I just wanted to pass on my condolences again and offer my help if any of you need it. I know Abby didn’t have any living family, so if you need help with funeral arrangements…or whatever, I’m here.”

  “You can’t have a funeral without a body!” Thea whisper-yelled, her hysteria rising. “They won’t allow us to bury her or Fran and send them into the light properly until they’re done cutting them open and using them like some kind of science experiment!”

  Rupert grabbed Thea’s arm and leaned down toward her, his eyes fierier than I’d witnessed thus far. “Thea! Stop with the nonsense about the light! The coroner’s doing what he has to do, or would you prefer we never find out who killed her, and possibly Fran?”

  She crumpled against him and shook her head. “I’m sorry! Like I said, this whole thing has me on edge.”

  “It should have you on edge,” Ivan responded in a dry tone as he drove a hand into his black trouser pocket. “Somebody’s out to take us all out.”

  Removing myself from Albert’s grip, I looked to Ivan, unable to resist asking since he’d brought it up. “Do you really believe that? What would make you think that?”

  Everyone paused, but only for a second, their glances uncomfortable before returning to sorrowful. “Well, it’s pretty obvious, don’t you think? Two of our group dead now. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

  “Do you think Fran’s death was foul play, too?”

  Stupid question, I know, but I’m really trying to heed Coco’s words about being careful when I ask questions. The last time, during Myron’s murder investigation, I’d asked the wrong person the wrong thing. In my attempts to not sound as though I were prying, I went overboard with playing clueless, I suppose.

  Yet, I was truly curious to hear what would motivate someone to want to kill this group of people, and despite my promise to keep things low-key tonight, I couldn’t help wondering what their take was on this and if they’d divulge something to me I might be able to quietly look into.

  Rupert blustered, straightening his tie. “You don’t think she dumped herself out along the side of the road, do you, Lemon?”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shook my head and folded my hands together, instant remorse settling in the pit of my stomach. “No, but I didn’t know much about what happened to her other than they found her body. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  “Well,” Thea said with a scoff of sarcasm, crossing her toned arms over her chest. “We were all over at the police station again today being hammered for information as if we’re a pack of nails. Like one of us would kill our dearest friends? It’s ridiculous! So now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get myself together so I can say something in honor of my friends. Thank you for your condolences, Lemon.” Then she turned to the rest of the group. “Have any of you seen my sciatica pillow? I can’t seem to keep track of anything and I need it if I hope to be able to sit through this memorial!”

  “Let’s go see if we can find it, love,” Ivan said, and ushered an erratic, emotional Thea away, leaving me with Rupert and Albert in awkward silence.

  Albert puffed his cheeks out, letting a long breath escape his thin lips, his doughy skin going red. “I’m sorry about that, Lemon. It’s been a long, long day and we’re all on edge. We were at the station again today for hours, being questioned to within an inch of our lives, and to find out Fran was killed as well… I guess a blind man could see the pattern here.”

  “Right, the pattern,” I repeated, hoping I didn’t sound as though I we
re prying. I honestly had no plans to snoop. I’d only planned to listen and observe. And of course I saw the pattern, but I wanted to hear why Albert saw a pattern.

  “Yes, the pattern. We’re all friends, now we’re dying off like flies. Someone’s out to get us, that’s what this is. I’m telling you, one of the four of us is next!”

  I held my hand over my eyes to block out the last sharp rays of the setting sun and really watch Albert’s reaction to my next questions. “But who? Why? Why would someone target all of you?”

  “Lemon! Lemon Layne!” someone hollered over the rising wind.

  I turned to find Cappie waving me down as he ran along the weathered wood of the boardwalk, his clogs clacking against the long length. I had to smile as he raced toward me. He’d actually dressed up in Cappie’s version of an outfit appropriate for mourning.

  His vest, covering another of his favorite peace sign T-shirts in gray, was black with pointed ends, suggesting he’d borrowed it from a tuxedo, and his trousers were easily two sizes too big for him, with a silk band down each side of the pant legs. But he was here, and it warmed my heart he was trying to fit into a social norm out of respect for Abby, something he bucked more often than not.

  I waved back to him as he approached, his chest heaving from running. When he stopped in front of me, I noted his ratty hair tied back in its usual ponytail, but I also noted his tanned, craggy face looked fearful.

  I reached out and grasped his fingers, giving them a squeeze. “Hey, Cap. It’s nice you came.”

  He rocked from foot to foot, anxious and so clearly rattled.

  “What’s wrong, Cappie?”

  “Aw, nothin’. I just don’t like sad stuff. Now that nice lady Fran’s gone, too. She used to buy me a drink at Shrimpie’s sometimes. I liked her.”

  I didn’t know Fran at all, but if she’d been friends with Abby, it would make sense she was as kind.

  I peered at him as he let his eyes drop to his feet. “That’s nice, Cap. It’s a nice memory to have, don’t you think?”