Page 4 of Dirty Liars

I had the front door of the villa open, and I was standing on the porch when I saw the Suburban heading in our direction on a path meant for a golf cart. The vehicle lumbered along, looking comically oversized against the manicured landscape of The Mad King Resort.

Lily and Sheldon parked, got out, and then went to the back to take out the gurney. The wheels made a distinctive metallic clack as they unfolded it, a sound I’d heard so many times it had become as familiar as a doorbell or ringtone—the sound of death being transported. But Lily stopped to look at me once they’d gotten onto the porch, her dark eyebrows drawing together in concern.

She was a beautiful young woman—long dark hair that fell in waves past her shoulders, a clear olive complexion that never seemed to need makeup, dark eyes that missed nothing, and a body that most men looked at twice. She was also one of the nicest people I’d ever met, except for today apparently, when her candor cut right through my façade.

“What’s up with you?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “You look weird.”

“Thanks?” I said, mouth twitching at her bluntness. One of the things I loved about Lily was that she never sugarcoated anything. In our line of work, that was refreshing.

“No, I mean it,” she said, studying me with the same focus she’d use on a Y-cut. “There’s something off. You’re pale, even for you, and you’ve got a pinched look around your mouth.”

I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. Lily knew me too well, and it was unnerving sometimes how she could read the tells I thought I’d hidden from view.

“I got overheated inside while I was working on the victims. I just needed some fresh air for a minute. But I’m fine.”

“Did you know the most common trigger for fainting is seeing blood?” Sheldon asked, adjusting his glasses with one finger. “About thirty-six percent of first-time blood donors experience some level of vasovagal syncope, or fainting. It’s a complex interplay of the parasympathetic nervous system and?—”

“Sheldon,” Lily said, cutting him off.

Sheldon was a fount of knowledge, most of it useless, but he occasionally came out with a gem that helped us during a case. I was guessing that this was not going to be one of those times. Sheldon was young, in his mid-twenties, but he already showed signs of male-pattern baldness that he tried to disguise with careful combing. He moved with the deliberateness of a man who’d reached the age where blowing his nose might throw out his back.

He was a couple of inches shorter than me and had the kind of soft baby fat that he’d carry for life. His cheeks were perpetually flushed, round as apples, and I wasn’t sure he’d ever had to shave. He wore Coke-bottle-thick glasses that made his eyes look giant behind the lenses, giving him the appearance of a startled owl most of the time.

“You’re right, Sheldon,” I said, deadpan. “Maybe blood is the trigger. All this time I had no idea.”

“If so,” he said, looking as serious as a man without a sense of humor could, his face unnervingly earnest, “I think you might be in the wrong line of work. Though I did read about a surgeon who had to undergo hypnotherapy to overcome his fear of blood. Perhaps that could be an option for you as well?”

I exchanged a look with Lily, who was biting her lip to keep from laughing. “I’ll keep that in mind, Sheldon. Thank you.”

I followed Lily and Sheldon back inside and really took a good look at the villa for the first time. I didn’t know if it was worth a couple of thousand a night, but it was one of the most luxurious rooms I’d ever seen as far as resorts go, and that’s saying something because Jack had taken me to some pretty fancy places over the years. Of course, we’d solved a murder on our honeymoon, so we didn’t exactly have a normal honeymoon experience.

“Dang,” Lily said, echoing my thoughts. Her eyes widened as she took in the luxurious surroundings, her professional demeanor momentarily slipping to reveal the young woman who’d grown up in modest circumstances. “Look at this place. Cole’s whole house could fit right inside here.”

The main living area was overshadowed by the panoramic view of the Potomac and the rushing waters of Popes Gorge. Floor-to-ceiling windows created the illusion of being suspended over the water, with nothing between you and the breathtaking vista. The floors and fireplace were natural stone, smooth and cool beneath our feet. All the colors were neutral—shades of cream, beige, and soft gray—so as not to take away from the view. The scent of fresh pine and cedarwood lingered in the air, mingling with the crisp, cool breeze coming through the open windows, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood that hung in the bedrooms.

The suitcases sitting just inside the door were expensive and matching in buttery soft leather, the kind with silent wheels and monogrammed tags. The rest of the room was as if it had never been touched. And I guessed it hadn’t. They’d hardly been inside before the killers had gunned them down. Theo’s suit jacket was tossed over the bar, right next to their hotel key, a small detail that spoke volumes about the unfolding of their last moments.

There was a bedroom and bathroom on each side of the main living area, creating a perfect symmetry to the villa’s layout. I steered Lily to the left, where Theo Vasilios’s body awaited transport. The CSI techs had finished photographing and collecting evidence, and now it was time for us to take him away from his interrupted honeymoon.

“Two victims,” I said, gesturing to the master bedroom door. “Husband in here, wife in the second bedroom.”

“That view is pretty spectacular,” Lily said, her gaze skimming over the body briefly before checking out the similar panorama visible from the bedroom windows. “Sometimes I forget how pretty our state is. But this wasn’t much of a honeymoon for our unlucky couple.” Her voice softened with the natural compassion that made her so good with grieving families.

Cole came over to greet Lily with a quick kiss on the top of her head, his hand lingering briefly on her shoulder. The gesture was small but telling—a man who’d spent years avoiding commitment now unable to resist the simple intimacy of touch. I’d watched their relationship evolve from casual dating to something much deeper, and despite Cole’s checkered past, I had high hopes for them. Lily had a way of seeing beyond people’s rough edges to the potential beneath.

“Did you know the word honeymoon originated during medieval times?” Sheldon asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement behind his thick lenses. He bounced slightly on his toes, unable to contain himself when sharing one of his many random facts.

“Nope,” Cole said, barely looking up from his notes, but Sheldon, oblivious to social cues as always, kept talking, his voice rising with enthusiasm.

“It was customary for the bride and groom to drink mead the first month of marriage. And since mead is a fermented honey beverage—made primarily from honey, water, and yeast—the term honeymoon stuck as a way to identify the celebration. Medieval couples believed this would enhance fertility and increase the chances of conceiving a son.”

“So you’re saying marriage was so bad they had to get drunk for the first full month to be able to live together?” Cole asked, a hint of his usual dry humor showing through despite the grim surroundings.

Sheldon’s mouth opened and closed like a fish while he tried to think of something to say, his mind visibly processing this unexpected interpretation of his historical tidbit. But he came back with, “I don’t think that’s what I said at all.” He looked at Cole owlishly. “I don’t feel like I’m qualified to give an accurate assessment on marriage. But I’ll find out and let you know. I’ll do some research on medieval marriage satisfaction rates when I get back to the funeral home.”

That was the first time I’d ever heard Sheldon say he didn’t know something, and I raised my brows at Cole, my eyes dancing with humor. It was these small moments of normality, of human connection, that kept us sane in the midst of tragedy.

“You asked for it,” I told Cole.

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