EXCERPT

A FAKE WORSE THAN DEATH

A Charm Island Mystery - Book Four

CHAPTER ONE

The drone of the microfilm viewer threatened to lull me to sleep as I scrolled past yet another clam chowder cook-off article, proof that Hope’s living residents were every bit as predictable as its dead ones. Not much excitement in the newspaper’s archives—unless, of course, you were Mrs. Higginbottom, whose prize blooms were featured in the home-and-garden column nearly once a month. One more turn of the dial, and I jolted upright in the worn leather office chair.

“Sheriff Stalls on Fatal Car Wreck Investigation,” I read aloud, a tad too excited, considering the subject.

Nolan, the fatality in said car wreck, peered over my shoulder to skim the article. He brushed against my arm, his ghostly touch zapping what little warmth The Siren’s cold brick building hadn’t already leached away. Though only there in spirit, between the dim lighting and my unpracticed magical eye, he looked real enough that I could have picked the stray fuzz off the three-piece suit he’d died in.

The article was dated six months after our rehearsal dinner, the night a so-called accident sent us flying off a cliff and into the bay. Obviously, I’d survived, thanks to Nolan’s protective powers, but he hadn’t. After that, I’d spent years running away. From my guilt, from his parents who wanted to destroy my family’s jewelry business, from the sheriff who suspected I’d caused the accident, and from Nolan’s hauntings. Like the news cycle in Hope, not much had changed since then, but at least Nolan was feeling more himself. And so was I, which was why I was determined to solve his murder once and for all. Even if it meant slogging through every piece written by my high school nemesis, Lucy Litton.

Hey! The fuzzy black lump on the windowsill waved a paw. I can hear the cogs turning in your brain from over here, but I can’t hear the article. Read it for me, would you?

While Zelda, Nolan’s feline familiar, hadn’t spoken in the traditional sense, the barb in her voice pierced just as sharply with each telepathic word. I regretted wrestling the ancient storm window open for her to join our research session because she offered more snarky commentary than actual help. But since she’d threatened to leave another hairball in my shoe, I’d let her sneak in. It was that or smuggle her into The Siren’s building in my bag, and she was just as likely to plant one in there.

“Why don’t you come over here and read it for yourself?” I asked.

Because the building is too cold, and all the dusty newspapers make me sneeze. Besides, they’re gutting the morning catch at the cannery, and the breeze is blowing perfectly to get a whiff of entrails. She tilted her head outside, chest quivering with eager breaths.

I wrinkled my nose. “Ew.”

Coming from a human who likes to fill a tub and bathe in her own filth.

“Because licking the filth off with your tongue is much better.”

At least I spit most of it up when I leave hairballs in your shoes.

“I can’t argue with that.” Sighing, I began to read. “Despite months of public pressure, Sheriff Reed has yet to report any conclusive findings in the crash that claimed the life of beloved island resident Nolan Abernathy and nearly killed his fiancée.” I snorted. “I don’t even get a name? Nolan’s beloved, but I’m merely the fiancée.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” beloved Nolan said.

“That was an intentional dig, and you know it. Back when Lucy wrote for our high school paper, she never failed to find a way to drag me through the mud.”

“Don’t be so sensitive. That’s her writing style. Even back then, she didn’t pull any punches.” He grinned as though we were reminiscing about the good old days.

Maybe they were for him.

“Oh, I remember,” I said, “because she always aimed her punches at me, and you always defended her.”

He shrugged. “I was the editor of the school paper. I couldn’t show favoritism to my girlfriend.”

“How was reining in her harassment favoritism?”

Zelda cleared her throat. As entertaining as this is, may I remind you we’re trying to solve a murder here?

Her comment smacked me like a cold ocean wave to the face. The man was dead, and here I was bringing up past grudges. Old habits died hard.

I skimmed to the end of the article. “There’s not much here. It’s mostly padded with speculation masquerading as fact—classic Lucy—but there’s nothing new. She hit the same brick wall we’re hitting now.”

Nolan threw me a look. “At least she’s been trying. Without everything she’s written about my death, we’d have nothing to go on right now.”

The reminder stung. Since my return to Charm Island, I hadn’t gotten far in solving his murder. I’d already exhausted my meager resources, and most of that involved prying information out of our mutual high school friend, Deputy Jason Swan. One more time, and he’d toss me in jail. But Nolan was right. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Lucy had done more to keep the investigation alive through her journalistic endeavors than I ever had.

A shrill chirp pierced the heavy silence, and a chickadee landed on the crumbling window frame. I observed it for a tell that would indicate this was not, in fact, a bird.

Ever since I’d learned about the thriving shifter community on the island, I’d been on high alert around any creature that crossed my path. Was it really an animal or a shifter in disguise? Maybe even our old friend Max Nicolas, which wouldn’t have been so bad because I hadn’t seen him since he’d taken over as leader of Truce three weeks ago.

While I understood he had a duty to fulfill, what about his promise to help me solve Nolan’s murder? And what about that moment on his boat when he’d held me far longer than a friend should, even a lifelong one? Perhaps it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me. Sure, he’d left me his truck so I could get to the mountain village, but I wasn’t certain whether that was an invitation to visit anytime or only for emergencies. And did dying to see him constitute an emergency?

As I watched the bird, Zelda slunk closer to it. Head lowered, her amber gaze zeroed in.

“Zelda,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare.”

Ear flicking in dismissal, she didn’t waver. I reached for the filing stack and grabbed the top newspaper—that morning’s edition, hot off the press. With a careful aim between the predator and prey, I chucked it across the room.

The paper smacked the window before landing on the ledge. Startled, the bird took off.

Zelda scowled at me. What was that for?

“I’m not letting you kill anything on my watch. Plus how do you know that’s not a shifter? I don’t need you inadvertently starting a witch–shifter war.”

She huffed and moved to leap out the window, probably to track down another bird. As she stepped over the mangled newspaper I’d tossed, she paused. Um, Violet? You should check this out.

I popped the microfilm out of the machine and placed it back in its case. “What is it? An exposé on Mrs. Higginbottom’s petunias?”

When I didn’t get the sarcastic response I’d expected, I peered over at her. She radiated pure feline smugness, the kind that usually preceded a Zelda revenge scheme. Frowning, I crossed the room and picked up the paper. Nolan leaned in as I smoothed out the creases to read the headline.

Cold Case, Colder Heart: Violet Woods has made waves since her return to Hope, fishing for clues in everyone’s waters but her own. By Lucy Litton.

My jaw went slack.

Zelda snickered at my expression. Seems I started a war after all. Have a great day! She slipped out the window.

Anger surged through me like a blast from my jeweler’s torch. Zelda was right; this meant war. A showdown with Lucy had been a long time coming, and this article was the fish that broke the net.

This wasn’t the first time the reporter had set me up. One time in high school, we’d been assigned to the same group for a biology project. She declared herself leader and told everyone to send their finished work to her. But when presentation day rolled around, she cried to the teacher, saying I’d refused to help. Apparently, she’d been holding group meetings behind my back, and they’d completed the project without me. She claimed I never handed over my part and turned everyone against me. The teacher gave her bonus marks for “strong leadership.” And what did I get? A failing grade.

That was only one example from a long list of offenses, and each time, I’d promised myself I’d never let her catch me off guard again. She always found a way, though.

Nolan held up his hands. “Now, Vi. Don’t do anything that—”

Clenching the newspaper, I blew right through his form. He dispersed like smoke. The cool sensation made me shiver, but it did nothing to quell the fire inside me.

I stormed out of the back room, down the hall to the office labeled Lucy Litton, and I pounded on the door. Without waiting for a response, I barged inside. The door flew open so hard it banged against the tropical-print wall.

No one was home.

The hot-pink computer chair spun ever so slightly. It sat behind a gold-accented desk, the kind with back paneling all the way to the floor. Squatting, I peeked under it and caught a shadow through the gap at the bottom.

“Lucy?” I called out.

Bang. Something hit the desk from underneath. Hard. A second later, Lucy’s sharp face popped out, creased with pain.

At the sight of me, the hand rubbing the top of her blond head froze. Relief flickered over her features as if, for once, I wasn’t the last person on earth she’d hoped to see. She shifted her focus to the open door, maybe checking whether I’d come alone.

“Oh, it’s you. I was searching for a pen I dropped.” She opened her top drawer and tucked something into it—the pen, I assumed. “What do you want?”

Nolan strolled through the wall and flopped onto the tufted velvet sofa. He looked perfectly at home, as though this weren’t his first visit. “Fine, if I can’t stop you, I might as well have a front-row seat for the show.”

Boy, was I about to give him one. I threw the newspaper onto Lucy’s desk with a loud slap. “What is this?”

She straightened her leopard-print skirt, took her time settling into her chair, and regarded me over her steepled fingers. “It’s the truth. If you don’t care to hear it, cancel your subscription.”

“You said I had a cold heart. That’s rich, coming from you.”

She raised a sharp shoulder. “I call it like I see it. You’ve been back for three months, and you’ve shoved your nose into as many murder cases—”

“Technically four cases,” Nolan added helpfully.

“—yet you don’t seem interested in solving your own mystery. Or is that because the sheriff was onto something and you were involved in Nolan’s death?” She swiped her phone off the desk, hit an icon, and held it between us. “Want to explain for the record why you ran away from the island so soon after the incident?”

I shoved the phone away. “Do I really need to spell it out? I was in a tragic accident that took my fiancé. I needed time and space to heal.” Technically, I’d needed space from Nolan, who’d been haunting me, but I couldn’t exactly tell Lucy that. She was a human—barely—and I was apparently on the record.

Her perfectly penciled eyebrow arched. “An accident? You’re really that gullible?”

The derision in her tone was like one of her pointed chrome nails clawing at my last nerve. I planted both hands on her desk. “Let’s cut the games, Lucy. What do you know that you’re not putting in your articles?”

She leaned forward. “I was right. You think there was foul play. And yet you still left after Nolan died. Didn’t have the guts to stick around and get to the bottom of it? Not even for Nolan’s sake? Some fiancée you were.” Her gaze darted to the wedding ring on my finger, the conduit that allowed me to hear Nolan.

My teeth clenched hard enough to squeak against each other, but I had no argument; she wasn’t wrong. After the accident, I’d let my emotions consume me, and I’d run away, telling myself it was better for everyone, but it had only made things worse.

I took a steadying breath. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Besides, you’ve been digging into his case for five years, and you haven’t cracked it yet. Some investigative journalist you are.”

Lucy’s green eyes narrowed into slits. Right when I thought she’d launch herself over the desk and strangle me, she slid her poker face back on. “Touché. So, what are we going to do about it?”

A humorless laugh escaped me. “What’s this ‘we’ business?”

She stared into space. Or rather, in Nolan’s direction, though she didn’t know it. She tapped a nail on her desktop until a slow, disconcerting smile appeared on her lips. “Tell you what, Woods. I’ll make you a deal. I’m in the middle of a case, and I could use your… expertise.” Her grimace said complimenting me was tantamount to buying department-store fashion. “I’d ask someone else, but you and your dad are the only jewelers in town, and I’m on a deadline.”

Nolan shifted on the sofa, his attention moving between the two of us.

I recoiled. “Why would I help you?”

“Because I have something you need. The scoop on Nolan’s case. You can keep mining my articles for clues—don’t think I haven’t noticed you coming and going from the archives—or you can get it straight from the source. Moi.” She pointed to herself. “Your choice.”

My eyes practically rolled out of my head. Was she kidding? She expected me to work with her after the piece she’d written about me? After everything she’d done to me over the years? Scoffing, I turned to leave.

Before I reached the door, Nolan leaped off the sofa. “Come on, Vi. We’ve been through the archives, Jason has shut you down, and Max has been too busy to help you. You’re out of leads. She might have the answers we’ve been searching for, and when it comes to Lucy, I’d rather be working with her than against her.”

The way he lit up when he said it—as though this were Lucy’s best trait—grated on me. Not able to argue back, I gave him the most incredulous look I could muster.

“Please, Vi,” he begged. “For me. She could help us solve my murder.”

His expression twisted with raw desperation until I deflated. He was right. I needed Lucy. Or her intel, anyway. Sure, I had magic and ghosts on my side, but when I wasn’t even sure where to start, it was like hunting for a minnow in the ocean. Past grudges aside, this wasn’t about me. It was about helping Nolan finally move on. And hopefully me too, though I had no idea what that even meant. Hard to dream ahead when I’d spent so long looking back.

Reluctantly, I spun to face Lucy. “What would you need me to do?”

“Fabulous.” She clapped her hands then rushed to shut the door. “You know the Silvercrest Estate on Jawbone Ridge?” She waited for me to nod. “Well, Mommy Silvercrest kicked the bucket, and her heirs are clearing out the place. There’s an auction on Sunday morning. Very classy stuff. The pièce de résistance will be her coveted jewelry. All you need to do is come along and give me your professional assessment so I can sound good when I write my article about it.”

I crossed my arms. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

This was going to be a cinch. I’d been born to do this—and not because I’d been crafting jewelry for as long as I could remember. With my magical ability to connect with the spirits tied to the gems, learning about the pieces would be easy. As a bonus, I might even snag a few undervalued treasures to sell at the family shop, because goddess knew we needed all the help we could get.

It seemed too easy, though. There had to be a catch, but what choice did I have? “I guess I’m in.”

She smirked. “I figured you’d say yes. Because if the last several months have shown anything, it’s that you’re incapable of walking away from a good mystery. I wonder why that is?” She tapped her chin. “Perhaps it’s because of the one mystery that’s haunted you since you were a kid—why your mother left.”

Heat flashed beneath my skin. Was she trying to make me regret my decision? “Sorry, I thought you wanted my help, but if that’s how you’re going to be…” I gripped the door handle, squeezing until the metal bit into my palm.

“Okay, okay. I didn’t realize you were still so touchy about it.” She flipped her hair. “Anyway, as a member of the press, I scored an invite to the auction, but I’ll have to add you to the list. I’ll tell them you’re my lackey.”

“Gee, can’t wait.”

“And remember, these are well-to-do people, so be sure to make yourself more presentable than…” She eyed my off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and jeans. “…whatever this is.”

We were off to a great start.

Suppressing a groan, I yanked open the door. “All right. But don’t forget your end of the bargain.”

Her smile stretched wide, all teeth and no warmth, like a barracuda that had discovered dental bleaching. “Cross my heart.”

If only she had one.