“She’s very nice,” Melody was gushing as they walked out of the hotel. “What a sweet lady. And so sad that she lost her one and only soulmate. I hope she’ll find love again.”

  “I don’t know,” said Bobbi dubiously. She hadn’t been convinced by Teodora’s act. Overdone, she reckoned. Too much. “I thought she was laying it on a bit thick.”

  Melody turned to her, shocked. “I can’t believe you’d say that! The woman is clearly hurting, Bobbi. Didn’t you see her pain? It’s obvious she loved Marty very, very much.”

  “They were a devoted couple,” Zita agreed. “By all accounts they were still smitten, even after forty years of marriage. Which is a rarity nowadays. And an inspiration for us mere mortals.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” said Melody, beaming at Zita. “That kind of eternal devotion is so rare nowadays that it serves as a reminder of what true love can accomplish.”

  “I just thought she was putting on an act,” said Bobbi. “It all just seemed too much.”

  “Now that’s what you get from writing thrillers, Bobbi!” Melody exclaimed. “You get calluses on your heart and on your soul!”

  “I do not,” Bobbi protested.

  “Yes, you do. All you write about is death and destruction, the most terrible things happening to, frankly, very depressing people.” She’d folded her arms across her chest. “It has made you hard. Hard and cynical. You should watch a Hallmark movie for a change.”

  “Over my dead body,” Bobbi grunted.

  “It would be good for you.”

  “If I ever get insomnia I’ll take you up on that offer. Until then I’ll have to decline.”

  “Oh, come on, Bobbi. You need to thaw that hardened heart of yours.”

  In response, Bobbi merely grunted something. The day she watched a Hallmark movie was the day hell froze over. They’d arrived at the coffee shop where Lois said she’d pick them up when her shopping run was over and stepped inside. Located just around the corner from the Ocean Crest Resort, it was in downtown Blue Ridge, right on East Main Street, across the street from a chocolate and fudge shop. Called The Happy Hippo, it was a cozy little place. As soon as they put their feet under the table a waitress came to take their order.

  Bobbi ordered a cappuccino and a slice of chocolate cake, Melody chocolate milk and a slice of rhubarb pie, and Zita opted for black coffee and a piece of carrot cinnamon cake. Several other patrons were scattered across the dining room, mostly older ladies enjoying the warmth of the coffee shop over the biting cold outside. Next to the counter, a Christmas tree had been placed, its light flickering pleasantly, and garlands adorned the windows.

  “Place looks like the set of a Hallmark movie,” Bobbi muttered annoyedly. But when her cake came and her cappuccino, her mood brightened and she eagerly tucked in.

  “So where are we, ladies?” asked Zita.

  “Nowhere,” Bobbi returned, making short shrift of her cake. “We’ve interviewed two suspects and both of them don’t really feel like suspects—though we probably shouldn’t rule them out either.”

  “We need proof,” said Melody, waving her spoon. “Isn’t that how the police solve a murder? They find all kinds of neat little clues and physical proof and all of that stuff?”

  “Which means we have to talk to Detective Mulligan again,” Zita said.

  “Or Lois,” Bobbi said, her mouth full of goodness. “Since her husband has a direct line to Sheriff Woolsack, and he has a direct line to Mulligan, Lois is the person to talk to,” she continued in a display of irrefutable logic. Sherlock Holmes would have been proud.

  “Or we could talk to Detective Mulligan,” Zita repeated, gesturing with her head.

  Bobbi looked up. “Well, talk of the devil…” she said. None other than Detective Mike Mulligan was walking out of The Chocolate Express and crossing the street, a bag in his hand that was probably filled to the brink with more chocolaty delight. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then made a beeline for The Happy Hippo and pushed his way into the shop.

  The doorbell clanged merrily and all three women watched the cop expectantly.

  “We should invite him,” said Melody. “We could buy him a cup of chocolate milk. It’s obvious he’s a chocoholic so if we lure him over with chocolate he’ll join us and talk.”

  “I’m not so sure we want to lure him over,” said Zita.

  “And I’m not so sure we need to lure him over,” said Bobbi, for the cop had spotted them and was homing in on them like a homing pigeon after a long and eventful flight.

  “Ladies,” he said by way of greeting, then dragged out a chair and unceremoniously plunked himself down. He placed his bag on the table and for a moment no one spoke. “So it’s come to my attention that you’ve been doing some amateur sleuthing. Talking to Mr. Stanley Thurber last night, and Mrs. Teodora George this morning. Am I correct in assuming that none of you are police officers attached to this case in an official capacity?”

  “We were just—” Bobbi began, but was rudely interrupted.

  “And am I also right in determining that you are not licensed private investigators hired by Mrs. George to investigate her husband’s death?”

  “The thing is—”

  But the man was glowering at her now. It became him. In fact it wasn’t too much to say that here sat a cop whose face was made for glowering. Bobbi hadn’t noticed before but his eyes were an icy blue, and they were now shooting fire. Icy fire, if that was a thing.

  “You are to stay out of my investigation,” he said, stabbing an angry finger at the table and making the cups jump. “And you are not to interview anyone. Is that understood?”

  “Is it true that you’re treating Marty’s death as suspicious?” Zita asked. There was a little steel in her voice, and Mulligan appeared taken aback.

  “Who told you?” he demanded.

  “A little birdie,” said Zita. “The same little birdie who told us this is now a murder investigation. Which is the only reason the state police would have taken over from Sheriff Woolsack in the first place, so it’s not as if this is some big secret. Detective Mulligan.”

  The detective seemed to ponder this, a coarse hand rubbing an equally coarse chin. Finally he seemed to decide on a different tack. “Have you told anyone about this?”

  “Not yet,” said Bobbi, glad the cop’s laser-like intensity and hostility seemed to have dimmed to some extent. “The thing is, we’re as eager to figure out who did this to Marty as you are, Detective. Marty was a sweetheart and a great writer and colleague.”

  “Even if he thought our books were crap,” Melody muttered.

  “Even if he thought our books were crap,” Bobbi allowed. “He didn’t deserve to be knocked over the head and left to die.”

  Mulligan sat back and was now drumming the table with his fingers.

  “We can help,” said Melody eagerly. “We’re writers, so it’s a lot easier for us to talk to other writers than it is for you as a cop. We’re the same breed. They will open up to us.”

  She made it sound as if writers were an alien species who would only open up to other aliens. Maybe she was right, Bobbi thought. Then again, maybe this had nothing to do with Marty being a writer. Maybe this was simply a robbery gone wrong.

  “Was anything stolen?” she asked now, bracing herself for another blast from Laser Eyes. “I mean, everyone knew Marty was a famous writer. Maybe someone robbed him?”

  Mulligan narrowed his eyes at her. “What makes you think something was stolen?”

  “That’s me, Detective,” said Zita, holding up her hand as if she was in first grade. “I saw that there was no manuscript on Marty’s desk and I thought this was very strange. Of course Marty could have kept his manuscript in his desk drawer under lock and key,” she added when Mulligan didn’t respond, but continued with the narrowed eyes routine.

  “And I was the one who wondered about the head wound,” said Melody. “Or in fact my boyfriend did. He’s very smart. Big nasty head wound with a lot of blood and nowhere to hit his head on? It made Rove wonder,” she concluded weakly when Laser Eyes turned his laser eyes on her.

  The silence stretched on, and Bobbi was starting to feel annoyed. For one thing her cappuccino was getting cold and she really could use another hit of chocolate cake.

  “Where is your colleague?” she asked, more gruffly than she intended. “I thought you cops always traveled in pairs?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Melody, brightening. “Where is Detective Mullet?”

  Mulligan appeared annoyed by this line of questioning. “A. Detectives aren’t wolves. We don’t travel in packs. B. What’s it to you where Mullet is? C.” He pushed himself up from the table, towering over them. “Stop meddling with my investigation.” He grabbed his bag of chocolate and fudge, clearly afraid the three of them would pinch it. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Detective Mulligan,” the three ladies said dutifully.

  They watched the detective stalk off towards the door, then yank it open and storm out. “Not a very nice man,” said Melody, sounding both surprised and disappointed.

  “Real-life detectives very rarely resemble romance detectives, honey,” said Bobbi.

  Melody heaved a little sigh. “Too bad. He’s definitely ruggedly handsome.”

  Chapter 22

  When Lois finally showed up, Melody was glad for the chance to have a chat with a reasonable woman. At least Lois would understand her assessment of Mike Mulligan as definite romantic hero material. As they filed into the Toyota, she said, “What do you think of Detective Mulligan, Lois? Isn’t he the perfect hero for a specific kind of romance story?”

  Lois gave this some thought. “I’m not sure Mike Mulligan has a romantic bone in his body, honey. Why do you ask? Has he been bothering you?” She turned in her seat, a worried expression on her face. “Has he made a pass at you? Is that’s what’s going on here?”

  “Oh, he hasn’t made a pass at me,” said Melody. “And in any case, I have a boyfriend.”

  “He came to tell us off,” said Bobbi, who clearly hadn’t recovered from the awkward scene. “He seems to think we’re three silly women trampling all over his investigation.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think Mike Mulligan likes us very much,” Zita concurred.

  “But he does make an excellent romantic hero,” Melody insisted stubbornly. “I didn’t think so at first, because he’s not handsome like Chris Hemsworth or has a perfect body like Channing Tatum, but then he doesn’t have to. It’s all about the journey and he’s got a pippin of a journey. From Grinch to Prince Charming, his heart opening up like a petal to win the love of a good woman. I think he’s perfect. In a Beauty and the Beast kind of way.”

  She saw that Zita and Bobbi were grinning. Even Lois was smiling. “Don’t tell Mike Mulligan he needs to open his heart like a petal, honey. He’ll probably lock you up and throw away the key. And it won’t be because he thinks your name is Belle.”

  She turned back to face the front and stomped on the gas. The car lurched away from the curb and Melody, along with her fellow passengers, was thrown back against the seat. “Is he married, Lois?” she asked now, reluctant to admit defeat.

  “Who?”

  “Mike Mulligan. He isn’t, is he? Or else he wouldn’t be so grouchy all the time.”

  “Oh, he’s married. Married to his job. At least that’s what Dwight says. So how was your research trip? Did you find out something about poor Marty’s death?”

  “Not much,” Bobbi admitted.

  “Just that Teodora is absolutely devastated by her husband’s death,” said Melody, who felt for the poor woman. To lose one’s soulmate like that was a terrible, terrible blow. She and Rover had only been going out six months and already she was missing him when she was away. She could only imagine what it must be like to lose the love of one’s life.

  “She’s quite a character, Teo is,” said Lois as she maneuvered the car through traffic.

  “You know her well, do you?” asked Bobbi.

  “She and Marty have been coming out here for years and years. All of his famous books were written in our cabins,” said Lois proudly. “In the beginning Teo used to stay with her husband, holed up in that cabin, just the two of them. It’s only been a couple of years that she decided to book a room at the Ocean Crest. Drinking like a fish, too. At least if my cousin is to be believed. Sarah is a reservation agent at the resort. Knows exactly what’s going on in there. And what’s going on is that Teo has been whining about her husband.”

  “Whining? To who?” asked Melody, shocked to hear this.

  “Bartenders. Cleaners. Receptionists. Anyone who will listen. Only last week she was telling one of the staff that she was sick and tired of Marty’s shenanigans and was going to divorce him.”

  “Divorce him!” Melody cried. “But why? He was her soulmate!”

  “Soulmate my ass,” said Lois, taking a sharp left turn, causing them to fall to the right. “Rumor has it she’s got a boyfriend in LA. Plastic surgeon. He’s the one who did all that work on her face. Rumor also has it Marty had a girlfriend. Some starlet half his age who’s been acting in one of his TV shows.” She took her hands from the wheel for a moment, held them up, then gripped it again. “Hollywood, right? They’re all the same, if you ask me.”

  “So… Teodora was divorcing Marty—”

  “And he was divorcing her. He wanted to finish his next novel first, though. Lots and lots of money involved. Millions and millions. And he didn’t want to get bogged down in the divorce from hell. Bad for his morale. Bad for his concentration. Bad for his reputation. So they made a deal: one last book, then a quickie divorce, then move on with their lives, splitting his fortune right down the middle. In the meantime they needed to keep up appearances. You want the media to focus on the new bestseller, not the failed marriage.”

  Once again Melody was surprised by how much Lois knew about the people in this town—and even the people not in this town. Then again, Marty and his wife had been coming here for years, and if this town was like other towns, the gossip mill was probably relentless.

  “She fooled me,” she said, thinking back to the seemingly broken-hearted woman.

  “Oh, the world lost a great actress when Teo decided to become a stay-at-home wife.” She took a sharp turn to the right, and her three passengers were flung to the left.

  “We better talk to Teodora again,” said Bobbi, looking none too pleased that the woman had deceived them to such an extent. Great detectives they definitely were not.

  “We can’t,” Zita pointed out. “Remember what Detective Mulligan told us? Stay out of his investigation or else.”

  “I don’t care!” Bobbi cried. It appeared this investigation had turned personal for her. “I’m going to catch Marty’s killer if I have to pound the truth out of whoever else has been lying to us.”

  “We’ve only spoken to two people,” Melody reminded her friend.

  “The Gaunt Man!” Bobbi exclaimed. “He’s our killer! Has to be!”

  “Gaunt Man?” asked Lois, her curiosity clearly piqued. “What’s a Gaunt Man?”

  “Melody and I saw a gaunt man walk away from Marty’s cabin around the time Marty was killed,” Zita explained. “We don’t know who he is, though. Probably another writer.”

  “Describe him for me.”

  Zita described the man they’d seen and Lois was nodding even before she finished.

  “That’s Carl Dennison. Writes thrillers. He’s in Cabin 6C—the one behind Marty’s. Probably stalking around trying to figure out his next plot twist. Hackman loves him. Writes very twisty thrillers. Lots of blood and gore, too.”

  “He’s Marty’s killer,” Bobbi repeated. “I can feel it in my bones.”

  “But why?” asked Melody. “Why would he kill Marty?”

  They all turned to Lois, who had at this point been elevated to the level of minor oracle. “Don’t look at me,” the housekeeper said when she felt all eyes on her. “He seems all right. Never causes trouble, likes to keep his cabin nice and tidy, doesn’t throw his towels on the floor and always pays in advance. Model customer as far as I’m concerned.”

  Model customer or not, it was clear from the expression on Bobbi’s face she’d just found herself a new target to focus on.

  Oh, boy, Melody thought. This sleuthing business was starting to get a little old. And they still hadn’t written a single word of their new Janet Lee Parker novel, the deadline now approaching fast. Then again, if Carl Dennison had killed Marty, they’d finally have a plot.

  Lois hung a hard right, and the three of them were jettisoned to the left.

  Twists and turns. Just like a thriller.

  Melody thought back to Mike Mulligan and his terse warning, forcefully delivered. If nothing else came of this Marty George murder business, at least she’d have the perfect hero for her next romance novel. Whether he liked it or not, Mike Mulligan was going to fall deeply, madly, truly in love with a deserving woman before this writing retreat was over.

  At least on paper.

  Chapter 23

  They were back in their lair and plotting out their next move. This was what being a writer was all about, Bobbi thought. This was the whole ball of wax right there: you get an idea, you decide what to do about it and then you strike! Bam!

  She was pacing the floor, ignoring her co-writers who were sharing exasperated glances.

  “We go in there, lay it out for him and make him confess,” she said. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “Like we went into Stan Thurber’s cabin, laid it out for him and made him confess?” asked Zita.

  “Thurber didn’t do it, which is why we couldn’t get him to confess. But Carl Dennison did do it, which is why he’s going to confess.” She was waving her smartphone. “And I’m going to get his confession on record and it’ll be game over for Marty’s killer.” She experienced a sudden surge of glee when she imagined Mulligan’s face when she handed him Marty’s killer, lock, stock and barrel. Amateur sleuths! Huh! She would show him!