Destined for Trouble (A Jules Cannon Mystery Book 1)

  I laughed. “Uh-huh. How much did you catch?”

  “Enough to know you need a new dress if you’re meeting that handsome young man for dinner after you leave here,” she said. “And really, you should have insisted he pick you up at home.”

  “Do you know who that was?” I asked, not sure if she understood the severity of the situation I’d just gotten myself into. “That was the assistant district attorney. He’s the one assigned to Harvey’s case.”

  “Oh, dear. Are you sure it’s a good idea to meet him for dinner? And at The Poop Deck? He’ll recognize Abby Lee for sure. Or her name, at the very least.”

  I could understand her initial concern. But I was hoping to turn this dinner into an advantage. Perhaps if he actually met Abby Lee, he would realize she couldn’t possibly be guilty of murder, despite what the local police here thought. It was wishful thinking on my part, but it was something worth considering. Plus, if he did manage to meet Abby Lee, I wanted to gauge his reaction.

  “Yeah, the thought did cross my mind, but maybe it won’t be so bad,” I said. “Plus, I thought I could get some more information out of him. He’s meeting with Chief Poteet and Justin before our date.”

  She instantly got excited. “Good idea. More undercover work.”

  “Something like that.” There was no way I was telling her the real reason I accepted his dinner invitation. The man made my insides feel like Jell-O. Sure, I was going to try to find out what happened at the meeting, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued by him.

  Aunt Lula clapped her hands. “I’ve got it!”

  I eyed her warily. “Got what?” I asked slowly, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  “You need to entice him. And I’ve got the perfect dress.”

  I assisted the few customers in the store and tidied up the storefront while Aunt Lula busied herself with choosing my outfit for my date with Hartley. When she finally beckoned me to the dressing room, I was horrified.

  One look at the ensemble Aunt Lula picked out and I immediately balked. “Oh, hell no.” It was a tight emerald-green dress that was cut low enough to show my belly button. How could she possibly insist I wear such a dress? It was something a cast member from Jersey Shore would wear, certainly not a piece one would wear to a beachside crab shack. A better question was, why in the world did she carry something like that in her store? It wasn’t resort wear, and it certainly wasn’t what she—or anyone with a lick of fashion sense—would consider classy. Had she been hiding it in one of the bins in the unlikely event a slutty customer came in?

  Aunt Lula frowned and looked at the dress she had picked out. “What? Not enough cleavage? And don’t use that tone with me.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “But I’m not trying to give the man a heart attack, Aunt Lula.” Even I had my standards.

  In the end, we decided on a cute flowered shift dress. It was short enough to showcase my newly tanned legs, yet tasteful enough to not give Hartley a massive coronary upon entering the room.

  Hartley met me outside The Poop Deck at seven on the dot. He even thought to pick up flowers before meeting me. Real flowers this time—carnations and mums—not the black-rose variety I had received a few days before from my lethal secret admirer. I was pleased to find out my earlier assessment was correct—chivalry was still alive and well in the Lone Star State.

  “Thank you,” I gushed as Hartley presented me with the modest bouquet. It wasn’t a dozen long-stem roses, but what he gave me spoke volumes. Here was a man who was rolling in dough, yet appreciated understated gestures. The guy had class.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, pleased his gesture went over well.

  “So how did your meeting with the chief go?” I asked as the waiter showed us to our table. “I hope the police are close to figuring out who killed Harvey so you can make that arrest.” Just as long as it’s not Abby Lee, I prayed silently.

  Hartley pulled out my chair. “I can’t say much about the case, but I can say we’re still at a crossroads. The local police are itching to make an arrest, but I’m hoping they’ll hold off until we can get more evidence.”

  I was relieved to hear him say he wasn’t ready to sign off on obtaining an arrest warrant just yet. That meant there was still time to clear Abby Lee’s name. Then again, if the Trouble Island Police Department was that anxious to make an arrest, Abby Lee could very well turn out to be its scapegoat if it didn’t get any other leads.

  Even if he didn’t know it, Hartley was on our side. There were some prosecutors out there who would’ve rushed to obtain an arrest warrant just to speed things up and bolster their careers. He was smart to wait. If the police arrested the wrong person, it could not only jeopardize Hartley’s career, but a killer would go free and an innocent person would end up in jail.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re making some sense,” I replied. “As much as the island would love for the killer to be caught, we’d hate for them to arrest the wrong person. This is a small town,” I reminded him. “It would be more devastating if the wrong person were arrested than it would be to let a killer roam free.” I finally began to relax, having said my piece on the matter, knowing Abby Lee was still safe. For the time being, at least.

  Then the proverbial shit hit the fan.

  A chair scooted directly behind us, interrupting our conversation. I turned to face the source of my annoyance.

  It was Justin.

  Holy hell! What was he doing here? Yikes!

  “Hartley. Jules. Fancy seeing y’all here,” he said, addressing us in mock surprise.

  I did my best to suppress a groan but failed. I had to play it cool. Maybe he wouldn’t rat me out. If he told Hartley who I really was, I was toast.

  “Oh, hey, Justin. We were just having dinner.”

  “I can see that,” Justin said. I couldn’t tell if he was irritated that I was having dinner with Hartley on a date or that I was having dinner with the ADA—undercover. Either way, his expression didn’t look good from where I was sitting.

  “We were just about to order. Why don’t you join us for a drink?” Hartley said, oblivious to the tension between me and Justin.

  “Well, if you’re sure y’all don’t mind,” Justin drawled, knowing full well just how much I did mind.

  Justin scooted his chair closer to us so that he formed a wedge between us, then signaled to the waiter that he’d switched tables.

  “So . . . ,” Justin started, looking at the two of us. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  Justin knew damn well we knew each other. Didn’t he just read me the riot act the other day for bumping into Hartley?

  Hartley beamed. “She’s the one I was telling you about, remember? We met a few days ago, and I was fortunate enough to track her down. How do you two know each other?”

  Before Justin could utter a word, I jumped into the conversation. The less he said about our past, the better off I’d be. “We go way back,” I said. “High school.”

  “Ah, yeah. I forget this is a small town. Everyone knows everyone, right?”

  “We dated our junior and senior years,” Justin added. I could’ve killed him. No, scratch that, reverse it—someone put me out of my misery.

  My date wasn’t very good at hiding his disappointment. “Really? I didn’t think—”

  “And that was ten years ago, Hartley,” I pointed out, doing damage control. “We were basically kids.”

  This time, Hartley laughed and looked over to Justin. “Then I guess I don’t have to tell you what a catch Jules is.”

  Justin’s nostrils flared. He didn’t waste any time selling me out. “Quite a catch. Beautiful and smart. Did she mention she works for the feds?”

  Hartley looked confused. Once he realized what Justin was actually saying, he looked crushed. I knew he was a smart guy and could connect the dots. “You what?”
>
  There was no way I could spin this. The damage had already been done. “I’m not a federal agent, if that’s what you’re thinking—just a crime analyst.”

  It might have been poor form for Justin to blow my cover like that, but he certainly knew when to make his exit. “I think I’ll leave you two to talk this out.” He excused himself from the table, leaving Hartley and me to defuse the bomb he’d set.

  Hartley wouldn’t even look me in the eye. “Why did you tell me you worked at a clothing store?”

  My mind went blank. There wasn’t a good excuse I could give him, so I told him the truth. “I do—it’s my aunt Lula’s store. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to interfere in your investigation.”

  “And were you?” Hartley didn’t look convinced.

  Again, I didn’t have a good response. “Not really. OK, in the beginning, when we first met—”

  “So was all this,” he said, waving his hand toward the dinner set in front of us, “just a setup? Did you really just bump into me at the bar there the other day, or was that part of your agenda all along?”

  It probably wasn’t a good time to point out he was the one who’d sought me out at the store and asked me to dinner. “There was no agenda,” I mumbled. “I thought I could find out what your office was doing about the case. Then, after we met, I realized you were a nice guy.”

  “I see.”

  This was turning out to be one of the worst dates ever. That included the time my friend fixed me up on a blind date with an albino tax adjuster who was so dull his personality paled in comparison to his alabaster skin, and it even topped the night James dumped me over dessert.

  “I really wanted to have dinner with you tonight,” I said quietly.

  “Why?”

  “Because I like spending time with you,” I said.

  It was the truth. I had started to think of him as an ally, and I couldn’t deny that he made me weak in the knees. He was just the kind of distraction I needed to get over James. Too bad he’d never want to see me after this.

  “No, I mean why did you go through the trouble?”

  I sighed. I might as well tell him the whole truth. “My best friend, Abby Lee. I’m sure you’re aware she’s the prime suspect in the case. I can’t let her take the rap for a crime she didn’t commit. She didn’t kill Harvey.”

  Hartley considered what I said, then threw his napkin on the table, signaling the end of the conversation. “I’m not sure what to believe at this point,” he said as he stood up to leave. “Since we arrived separately, I’m sure you can find your own way back home.”

  “Hartley, I—”

  “I’ll see you around,” he said, leaving enough bills on the table to cover the check.

  Still classy.

  With my head hung low, I left the restaurant. I was pretty sure everyone had overheard the entire scene, and it would be front-page news by morning. Mom was definitely going to have a few words with me.

  And if I thought my night couldn’t get any worse, Justin was waiting by the entrance.

  Did he have a death wish?

  “You!” I said to him, pissed he had conveniently kept his distance soon after he ratted me out. Why was he still here? Curiosity got the better of me as I waited for an explanation.

  “He had to know the truth, Jules,” he said without the slightest hint of apology in his voice. I had no idea if Justin had done it because he was truly worried I was getting too involved in his case or because I was having dinner with someone other than him. Either way, I was pissed off.

  “Why? What in the world were you possibly thinking, telling Hartley who I was?” I demanded. “Are you jealous? Is that what this is about?”

  He winced. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. I told you to back off, and you couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

  Was he for real? Did he really think he could charm his way into my heart with that cockamamy excuse? By implying I couldn’t take care of myself?

  “Safe? From who, the ADA? He’s one of the good guys. At least he isn’t making rash judgments like your department. If it weren’t for him, Abby Lee would be in jail right now.”

  “Jules—”

  “Save it, Deputy. You could take a page from a guy like Hartley.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The next day, Justin came over to apologize. I refused to open the door when he knocked. He could stand there all night for all I cared. I wasn’t going to let him in, even if it meant pulling out Daddy’s shotgun and forcing him off the property. Law enforcement officer be damned. I was still peeved over the shit storm he’d created.

  “Come on, Jules. Let me in.”

  His pleas for me to open the door got louder. Mom was within earshot in the kitchen; otherwise, I would have let loose a flurry of obscenities through the closed door, letting him know exactly where he could go.

  After another minute or two of begging, he finally said the magic word. “Aconite.”

  Like flipping through a volume of Encyclopedia Britannica, my mind skimmed through all the useless knowledge I’d acquired over the years. I knew that word from working for the FBI.

  Aconite was poison.

  Justin knew my curiosity would overpower my stubbornness. I opened the door and allowed him to set foot into my parents’ house—albeit reluctantly.

  “Better known as wolfsbane,” he continued, pleased he was able to get me to open the door.

  “I know what it is,” I said. “He was poisoned by aconite. You can determine a timeline now.”

  If the forensic folks knew what type of poison was used, they could figure out how long it took for it to go into effect and determine the approximate time of death. This was vital information if the police wanted to narrow down the individuals who’d been in contact with Harvey before his death.

  Justin nodded. “It appears so. Aconite is a pretty fast-acting toxin. Death within hours.”

  “How’d you manage to get the toxicology report so fast?” It usually took weeks, even months to get results.

  “It turns out the medical examiner knew Harvey and requested a rush job,” Justin said.

  “I didn’t realize Harvey was so popular,” I mused. Or the medical examiner, to have enough clout to get through all the red tape.

  My mom chose that exact moment to poke her head out of the kitchen. “Will you be joining us for dinner, Justin?” I could tell from the frown she threw in my direction she was none too pleased that we were discussing topics like poison and medical examiners in her foyer.

  Justin’s face lit up at the invitation. “If you’re sure it won’t be a bother, ma’am.”

  “Of course not. It’s been years since y’all have been together.”

  If this was Mom’s way of matchmaking, she was a decade too late. She’d already gotten over the whole black-flowers incident and now had herself a new opportunity to find me a proper husband.

  While my mom didn’t think talk of murder was appropriate dinner conversation, my daddy, on the other hand, found it fascinating. Since his retirement a couple of years ago, he’d spent most of his time watching the crime channel. He claimed it was so he could learn more about what I did for a living, even though I’d told him about a million times that I didn’t actually go out and solve crimes. Personally, I thought he’d missed his calling. He would have made a great detective.

  “Poison, you say? Well, I’ll be. And here we thought it was my fried catfish that done him in.”

  “Daddy—”

  Justin had always been amused by Daddy’s bluntness. “Now, Mr. Cannon, I’m not really supposed to divulge information like that, so you’ll keep it on the down low, right?”

  I almost choked on my dinner. If anyone was going to spill the beans, it was most certainly going to be Mom. There was a sense of pride
and accomplishment in having the juiciest and most recent gossip for the women in town. And my mom was just handed the Hope Diamond of all gossip. I knew Daddy could be trusted. When he did get excited about a topic, it only ever involved hunting or fishing.

  “Yeah, Mom,” I said, glaring directly at her. “The police would hate for that kind of information to get out.”

  Wisely, she avoided my stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? I don’t go around discussing things like murder. Those matters are best left for officers of the law, like Justin.”

  “We’ll see,” I muttered under my breath. Since the cat was already out of the bag and I couldn’t make my mom take a vow of silence, I asked, “How’d the medical examiner know what poison to look for?” Unless the medical examiner was sure poison was involved, the ME only ran preliminary tests. Even then, the ME had to specifically know what to look for.

  “Normally, I would have questioned that, too, but the good doc knew something was off based on the incident report. Vomiting right before you keel over from a heart attack isn’t a common symptom—”

  “Wait, he puked? How’d I miss that?”

  “You were probably too shocked to find Harvey’s dead body in your parents’ backyard to notice. It happens.”

  Yet another subtle reminder that I wasn’t cut out for investigative work.

  “So, getting back to the ME,” he continued, “he figured he would cross-reference poisons capable of causing cardiac arrest as well as inducing vomiting. Did you ever hear of the Curry Killer case?”

  I shook my head. It sounded interesting, though.

  Daddy thought so, too, and got all animated. “I just saw an episode about that on TV! You know, one of those true-life crime shows. Tell us more about it.”

  “Honestly, Boyd, I don’t know why you spend your time watching those programs,” Mom said.

  Justin, pleased to have a captive audience, continued despite Mom’s concern about appropriate dinner conversation. “It was about five years ago or so. Anyways, the case involved murder through the use of aconite. Seems some British woman got jilted by her boyfriend of sixteen years . . . traded her in for a younger model . . . and in a fit of rage, she laced his curry dinner with aconite she managed to acquire in India. There was a bit more to the story, but the gist of it was the poor guy died an hour after being rushed to the hospital.”