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  Not again.

  The last time I'd investigated a strange sound, it hadn't worked out well at all, despite the presence of paramedics only a few yards away. By now, the medical tent had probably been packed up and its staff had gone home.

  That left me as the only person available to take care of matters. Just like my great-great-great-grandmother and the drowning sailors.

  I peered around the corner to see Debra Kerrigan standing at the edge of the cliff, sobbing into her hands. She wasn't at risk of suffocating like Randy Kline had, but it wouldn't take much for her to fall to her death on the rocks I assumed lay at the bottom of the cliff.

  I didn't want to startle her, so I coughed to announce my presence. I'd learned from my mother's outbursts that sometimes the best way to head off a scene was to pretend not to notice the crying. "Hi, Debra. I know I'm early, but I can't wait to hear more about the history of the lighthouse. Can I tear you away from the view for a few minutes?"

  She didn't move, didn't turn to look at me, just stood there, swaying precariously close to the edge of the cliff.

  Ignoring the tears wasn't going to work, apparently, and I was at a loss for what to try next. I'd known what to do when I saw Randy in trouble, but this was different. Screaming for help was more likely to startle her into falling than to actually bring her back from the edge.

  "Debra?" I said cautiously. "Is something wrong?"

  That got through to her finally. She dropped her hands and turned toward me, still much too close to the deadly drop-off. "It's all over for me."

  "Whatever for?" I said, totally mystified. "The play yesterday was a huge success, and it's obvious how great a teacher you are. Your students love you."

  Her sobs grew louder.

  Not the reaction I'd been expecting. My mother had been unpredictable like that, though, so I just waited for her to explain.

  "They shouldn't love me," she said. "I'm a horrible person. And soon everyone will know it. I'll lose my job, and even worse, I'll have set a terrible example for my students."

  "I can't believe you'd do something that awful."

  She laughed through her tears. "I never would have believed it either, until yesterday. But I did it, and I can't live with it. It would be better if I died and then maybe no one would ever know. They'd think I just fell. A tragic accident." She sniffled and turned to look at me again. "I hope they don't blame you for what happened. It's not your fault."

  That was the key, I thought. Debra might not care about her life, but she cared about reputations. Her own and other people's. If I could make her believe she needed to protect me, she might step away from the cliff. I channeled my mother and her bitterness toward Danger Cove and its residents. "They will blame me, though. They'll say that if I hadn't come here, you wouldn't have been up here, in danger. I know how it is in a small town like this. The Maria Dolores name won't be associated with heroics at the lighthouse in the future, but with my role in your death."

  Her shoulders slumped, and she backed away from the edge. "I can't let that happen. Maria Dolores is such an inspiration to the children, especially the girls. I'll just have to find another way."

  Debra staggered over to the lighthouse to lean against it. She looked like she'd aged ten years since yesterday.

  Still bewildered, I went over to steady her for the walk around to the front of the lighthouse. The sooner I could get her away from temptation, the better.

  "Is the detective still here?" she said. "I need to talk to him. He arrested the wrong person for Randy's death. I killed him."

  I was shocked into silence. The caring, upright teacher had mashed hot peppers in Randy's face, knowing he had a severe allergy, and then had left him to die? All I could think to say was, "Whatever for?"

  Debra straightened, looking more like the energetic woman from yesterday. "He let a drug dealer operate in the market, where children were playing. I heard them arguing next to the porta-potties when I had to make an emergency bathroom break. Old bladders aren't as reliable as young ones, you know." She waved at the porta-potties still wrapped with police tape.

  "I've heard that."

  "Anyway, I heard them arguing when I was in the potty. It was clear that Randy wasn't going to be able to do anything about the situation. That horrible drug dealer just laughed at the suggestion he should leave, saying he was just a poor pepper farmer, trying to make a living. The way he said it, I knew it wasn't true. I've been listening to kids' lies about their homework for long enough to know when someone's not telling the truth. I opened the door just in time to see Kline stuff a handful of his peppers in Randy's pocket and say, 'See for yourself. Nothing but capsicums, man.' I was speechless for a moment, and then he was gone. I stomped over to Randy, snatched the peppers out of his pocket, and rubbed his face in them. I told him that if he wouldn't get rid of the dealer, then I would. I meant to go to the police right then, but I realized the play had ended, and the kids were taking their bows, and I was going to be needed, so I decided that the police could wait. The next thing I knew, Randy was dead."

  Debra slumped against the lighthouse again, raising her face to her hands to cover her renewed sobs. "I knew Randy had allergies. I was his teacher once. I knew it, but I'd forgotten. So many classes, so many students, I can't remember them all. I try, but I can't."

  I couldn't honestly say it wasn't her fault, but she was suffering, and she'd been right that the things she most cared about were going to be taken away from her. Even if she somehow avoided a prison term, she wasn't going to be able to continue teaching and working with children. For Debra, that had to be the worst possible punishment.

  * * *

  I herded Debra down the steep path to where I hoped at least one officer might still be keeping an eye on Kline's stall. As it turned out, Detective Ohlsen was still there, and I'd been subjected to yet another of his strange interviews. I'd come to realize that he did, in fact, pay close attention to what witnesses said, even though he appeared to be daydreaming.

  Merle waited for me to be released, a good hour after we'd originally planned to have dinner at the Smugglers' Tavern, and walked me to the parking lot. "I bet you're thinking your mother was right, and there are violent criminals around every corner in Danger Cove."

  "You'd lose that bet," I said. "I'm starting to think you were right, that it's best to start out cautious about a place, so you can be pleasantly surprised. I've met some people this weekend that I'd like to get to know better."

  "So you'll be coming back to get your tour of the inside of the lighthouse?"

  "If I'm going to make the long drive," I said, "I'd like to have more on my agenda than just a brief tour."

  "There's plenty to do here," Merle said. "The beach, the pier, the downtown shopping."

  "I was thinking of something more substantial than a weekend trip. I understand that you're in need of a market manager, and I have considerable experience with financial matters, you know. A business degree, even."

  Merle grinned. "I think you should stay here another night, so we can discuss the possibilities over dinner."

  "I could do that," I said without hesitation. "I do like to consider all the possibilities before I make any major decisions."

  Danger Cove hadn't been a good home for my melodramatic mother, but that had likely had less to do with the town than with the difference in personality between her and my grandmother, who probably had the more stoic personality of our earlier ancestors and, like me, didn't know what to do with my mother's emotional neediness. Somehow, Mom had ended up blaming the entire population of Danger Cove for her discontent instead of her family or herself.

  In any event, I wasn't my mother. I wasn't my great-great-great-grandmother either, but I thought I could be quite happy in a place like Danger Cove, with cinnamon buns, aperitifs served with my manicures, and maybe even the companionship of a gentleman farmer.

  * * * * *

  To read more about the quilt made by Maria Dolores's great-gre
at-great-grandmother, check out:

  Four-Patch of Trouble (A Danger Cove Quilting Mystery)

  by Elizabeth Ashby & Gin Jones.

  You can also get the whole story on the other residents of Danger Cove in the following books:

  Secret of the Painted Lady (A Danger Cove Renovation Mystery)

  Featuring Alex Jordan!

  by Elizabeth Ashby & Christina A. Burke

  Murder and Mai Tais (A Danger Cove Cocktail Mystery)

  Set at the Smugglers' Tavern!

  by Elizabeth Ashby & Sibel Hodge

  Death by Scones (A Danger Cove Bakery Mystery)

  Set at the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery!

  by Elizabeth Ashby & Jennifer Fischetto

  Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai (A Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery)

  Set at The Clip and Sip!

  by Elizabeth Ashby & Traci Andrighetti

  Killer Closet Case (A Danger Cove Bed & Breakfast Mystery)

  Set at the Ocean View B&B!

  by Elizabeth Ashby & T. Sue Versteeg.

  More information is available at www.dangercovemysteries.com

  * * * * *

  Visit Danger Cove Online!

  Meet the local residents, explore our interactive town map, and read about the next Danger Cove mystery!

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Elizabeth Ashby was born and raised in Danger Cove and now uses her literary talent to tell stories about the town she knows and loves. Ms. Ashby has penned several Danger Cove Mysteries, which are published by Gemma Halliday Publishing. While she does admit to taking some poetic license in her storytelling, she loves to incorporate the real people and places of her hometown into her stories. She says anyone who visits Danger Cove is fair game for her poisoned pen, so tourists beware! When she's not writing, Ms. Ashby enjoys gardening, taking long walks along the Pacific coastline, and curling up with a hot cup of tea, her cat, Sherlock, and a thrilling novel.

  Gin Jones is a lawyer who specializes in ghost-writing for other lawyers. She prefers to write fiction, though, since she doesn't have to worry that her sense of humor might get her thrown into jail for contempt of court. In her spare time, Gin makes quilts, grows garlic, and serves on the board of directors for the XLH Network.

  To learn more about Gin Jones, visit her online at:

  http://www.ginjones.com

  DANGER COVE BOOKS

  Secret of the Painted Lady

  Murder and Mai Tais

  Death by Scones

  Four-Patch of Trouble

  Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai

  Killer Closet Case

  Tree of Life and Death

  OTHER BOOKS BY GIN JONES

  Helen Binney Mysteries:

  A Dose of Death

  A Denial of Death

  A Draw of Death

  A (Gingerbread) Diorama of Death

  Danger Cove Quilting Mysteries

  Four-Patch of Trouble

  Tree of Life and Death

  ONE RED CENT

  (Miranda Vaughn Mysteries)

  by

  Ellie Ashe

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Have you been here before, Sarah?" Christian asked, leaning across the table toward me, his artfully mussed hair highlighted by the sparkling handblown glass lights hanging above our table.

  I shook my head and didn't bother to answer. The restaurant was packed with the Friday night crowd and the conversations bounced off the brick walls and the concrete floor. It was so loud, I could barely hear my date across the tiny table.

  This wasn't a huge loss, because he wasn't much of a conversationalist. He was pretty to look at, and probably handy to have around if you needed to move furniture, but I didn't expect Christian Morris to keep me interested through dessert. I'd turned him down, gently, when he'd asked me out last month at the gym. But he'd bounced back from that with a shrug. Since then, he'd made it a mission to chat me up whenever he saw me. It was sort of sweet, but he just wasn't my type.

  "I've been doing the paleo diet," Christian said.

  Oh, crap. I didn't want to talk about that. I didn't really want to talk at all.

  Not that Christian noticed, as he was busy checking himself out in the giant mirror along the other side of the restaurant. I had to admit that it was a good view. Christian, with his high cheekbones and pretty blue eyes and eyelashes so thick that I could see them in the reflection across the room. My best friend Miranda had nearly walked into a treadmill when she saw him doing bicep curls in the gym.

  And I knew I cleaned up nice enough. I'd kept my look simple, but stylish—my long black hair parted on the side, silver hoop earrings, and a simple loose sheath with a black and white block pattern. I'd kept my makeup light because it was another hot summer day, and why fight the sweat? I had lined my eyes because Christian had complimented me on them. Actually, what he'd said was that Asian chicks had the best eyes. It was probably too much to hope that he meant our vision.

  I feigned interest in his fad diet and studied the menu. Nom was the stupid name of the most popular restaurant in the city right now, and the food was supposed to be out of this world. That would normally be enough to lure me to its door, but I had another reason for wanting to get into the hottest new bistro in town—the chef.

  Eddie Lucas was a major player in the local culinary scene—owner of three popular restaurants, each one bigger than the last. He was also a potential witness in the case of the People vs. Leo Adler, and my boss, Rob Fogg, represented Mr. Adler. Inside my sleek clutch purse was the subpoena that I'd been trying to serve on Eddie for the last two weeks. My task became more urgent when I saw him pick up passport forms at the post office earlier in the week and overheard him asking about expediting the process. It sounded like Eddie was heading overseas and conveniently right around the time that his former business partner was going on trial for arson. But Sarah Mei Girard had never failed to serve a subpoena, and Eddie wasn't going to be the first to beat me. I had a reputation to maintain.

  So when Christian asked if I wanted to go to dinner at Nom on Friday, I'd hesitated only a second before agreeing to meet him here. That probably made me a bad person. But it made me a good legal assistant. And I suspected that Christian wasn't so much interested in me but just saw me as a challenge after several rejections.

  The waitress came over and leaned down so she could take our order, which we nearly had to shout in her ear. Tables at Nom weren't impossible to get but nearly so. I'd been surprised when Christian said he had a reservation there. We'd ended up at a table near the swinging door to the kitchen, so in addition to the din of other tables' conversations, every couple minutes the door would open and a wave of kitchen sounds would drown out our conversation.

  It was probably the worst table in the house, but it was perfect for me, because I could see Eddie back there, barking orders at his staff and screaming profanities at the waiters. He wasn't a tall man but had broad shoulders and a midsection that looked like he truly appreciated his own cooking. Eddie's thinning hair was plastered to his forehead with a combination of hairspray and sweat. And he had a permanent expression that varied only in degrees of a snarl.

  How someone that coarse could create the mouth-watering dishes for which he was semi-famous was beyond me. But the proof was paraded by our table as the wait staff brought a plate of pan-roasted salmon in a champagne saffron broth to the table next to us. I watched it go by, sniffing at the wafting scent of fresh herbs, my mouth watering.

  I smiled at Christian and hoped that I looked semi-interested in whatever he was talking about. I was pretty sure it was about his job at a mortgage brokerage firm, but I had tuned out the last time the door had opened, and I'd seen Eddie waving a chef's knife at an employee.

  "…my new supervisor thought he'd be changing the policy after he got promoted, but well, that was just the way things were done from the gecko."

  My head snapped back to Christian. "Uh, I'm sorry. What did you say? The gecko?"
r />   He nodded. "Yeah, it's a saying. You know, like, from the gecko."

  I paused, unsure if he was serious. "I think you mean from the get-go."

  He laughed. "That doesn't make sense. Get-go? What does that even mean?"

  "No, 'from the gecko' doesn't make sense," I said. Was I really having this discussion?

  "It means from a long time ago. You know, when the geckos ruled the earth."

  "Uh…" I had no idea what to do with this.

  Christian nodded, his handsome face quite serious. "They're, like, dinosaurs."

  The door swung open, and I saw Eddie wipe his hands on his chef's jacket and walk toward the back door of the kitchen. Was he leaving? I grabbed my purse and smiled at Christian.

  "Excuse me. I'm going to find the ladies' room. I'll be right back."

  Our table was close to the hall that led to the restrooms, and I'd noticed that there also appeared to be a door to the kitchen off the short hallway. I was halfway down the hall when I saw Eddie stalk out of the kitchen and turn away from me. I followed him past the doors to the restrooms, around a corner, and watched as he slammed open a door to the alley that ran behind the restaurant. A blast of warm summer heat escaped into the air-conditioned restaurant, and I wrinkled my nose at the scent of old hot Dumpster that accompanied it.

  I stepped out into the alley and looked around. Eddie was lighting a cigarette, and I hung back until he put the lighter back in his pocket. Then I snapped open my purse, took out the folded papers and held them behind me, then walked toward him.

  "Hi," I said with a bright smile.

  He looked surprised that there was anyone else in the alley but didn't say anything. "You're the chef, right?"