Death By Sunken Treasure (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 2) by Kait Carson Page A

note. He handled it only by the edges.
    I berated myself for not thinking of fingerprints before I picked it up.
    He scanned the paper. A jerk of his head in the direction of his office indicated I should follow him. I waved a hand in the direction of my pencil skirt. No way could I hike it high enough to climb over the balcony without exposing more of London and France than any lady should in public. He tipped his head back and laughed.
    “Not happening, huh?”
    “Not in this get-up, though you know I’d follow you almost anywhere.” My cell bleeped once, indicating a new text. I glanced at the screen. Dana. Torn between wanting to talk to Grant about the note and not wanting to let Dana down, I waffled briefly. Grant pulled a baggie out of his desk and slid the note flat inside. Then he unlocked his lower desk drawer and opened a small lockbox he kept in there to hold items entrusted to him by clients until he had time to open the safe in his office closet. I watched through the open window as he slipped the note in, relocked the box and then his desk.
    “Go. One of the crackpots in the office today probably left it. We’ll check with the police tomorrow.”
    “How did they pick my car out?”
    “Maybe they didn’t. Maybe whoever did this figured the employees parked in the back. It’s not unusual.” He reached through the window and ran a finger down the side of my cheek. My face heated at his touch. “Go, have dinner with Dana. Don’t worry about this.” He cocked his thumb at his desk drawer.
    I walked back to my car, wishing I could forget the note as easily as Grant wanted. That made one more thing I didn’t dare share with Dana.

      
    My heart sank when I pulled up to Dana’s and spied two police cars parked on the street in front of her house. I yanked my cell phone from my handbag and looked to see if I’d missed a call or a text. Nothing.
    I bolted from the car, cursing myself for selecting spike-heeled sandals this morning. My ankle twisted painfully under me as I raced up the steps to Dana’s house. Like many in the Keys these days, it was a stilt house, and a set of open-backed stairs curved up the outside to a deck. As I stepped on the deck, the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors framed Dana sitting on her couch, her head in her hands. Two sheriff’s deputies stood alongside the couch, the female deputy holding a cup of tea in her hand. I paused, uncertain whether to rush in or wait for an invitation. The impact-resistant glass muffled the sound of my approach.
    The male deputy turned and bent over to say something to Dana. Her sad eyes met mine through the glass. She started to stand and collapsed back into her seat. Mascara ran in dark rivulets from her eyes to her chin. The slider rumbled as the female cop pushed it open.
    “Are you her daughter?” The kindness in her eyes calmed me. Whatever she was here for, it wasn’t intentionally to upset Dana.
    “No, I’m a friend.” But she is like a mother to me, I thought. I hobbled over to the couch as fast as my sore ankle allowed and sat next to Dana. She turned her head toward me and buried her face in my shoulder. I did the only thing I could think of; I stroked her hair and patted her back. The sobs that burst from her frightened me.
    The female deputy handed me the cup of tea. I glanced at it and back at her. What was I supposed to do with tea?
    “What happened?” I asked. I managed to swivel the hand with the teacup to the coffee table while I continued the patting motion with the other. The tea nearly spilled. I glanced down long enough to push aside the small shadowbox with the coins I’d noticed last time. “Why are you here?” I asked the cop.
    The deputy arched a delicate eyebrow at me. “The death certificate is being issued, probable suicide. We wanted to tell her in person.”
    My thoughts flew back to the note. Someone knew this. Who? And why hadn’t Diego known? He’d never even hinted at a cause. Maybe he