“That’s probably not a bad idea.”
Gunner scrubbed at his lined, weathered face. “Don’t feel like no place is safe no more,” he admitted. “’Specially not at my age. The younger crowd that passes through here are rough. Drugs got ’em bad. No moral code. Ain’t like the old days.”
“Tell me about Larry. He one of the younger guys into drugs?”
“Nah, he seemed like a good dude. Always seemed to have a little cash on hand, although none of us knowed how he come by it. He’d disappear for hours and sometimes days, then show up with food and folding money.”
“Dealing drugs, perhaps?”
“Not Larry. He had a son OD from drugs and was dead set against it.”
“What about Ash, the guy killed last year? Did he spend time away from camp and return with cash?”
Gunner’s eyes drifted upward and to the right as he cocked his head to one side. “I’ll be damn. He sure did. Is there a connection, ya think?”
“I need to find out who they were working for. Could be the key to unlocking the killer’s identity. You have folks drop by here looking for work?”
“Sometimes. But work’s more plentiful in the warmer seasons, when farmers are tending their fields or people need some painting done or some other odd job.”
Liam thought it over carefully. He’d pieced together an illegal gambling operation that had recently begun expanding into prostitution. The homeless murders had to be tied in somehow—he just needed to figure out how. And for that, he needed Gunner.
“I suspect that with Larry’s recent demise, someone else will approach one of you, offering cash in a shady business arrangement. Will you let me know if they do?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“I’ll pay you for information.”
“Ain’t no need. We appreciate the groceries you bring out every week.”
“I insist.” He felt guilty enough involving Gunner in the mess. But whether or not Gunner turned informant, his life—and the other men’s lives—were already in danger.
“Tell you what you can do,” Gunner began, rubbing his scruffy chin.
“Name it.”
“When this is over, help me find a job. A real job. Steady. Enough so’s I can afford a proper shelter.”
Liam regarded him with surprise. “You’re giving up the life?”
“Case ya haven’t noticed, I’m getting old.” Gunner cackled and straightened his tattered pants. “The wanderlust has faded. I regret nothing. I seen the entire country and lived like a free man. But the truth is, I’m not sure I can make it another winter out in the cold.”
“Say the word, and I’ll take you to the local YMCA now and help you find a job.”
“But you need me here.”
“I can use Buddy or one of the other guys, Gunner. Just tell me which one you think’s the most trustworthy.”
Gunner shook his head. “Nah, sir. I’m going to earn my keep and fulfill my end of the bargain.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful. Trust no one,” Liam warned. “Not even the cops.”
Especially the cops. For the crimes to go on for so long, they were either turning a blind eye or, worse, they were ringleaders.
“If there’s any danger, call me and I’ll swoop in. Still got your phone?”
Gunner fished it out of his jacket pocket and held it up proudly. Thank heavens for the government policy that made it possible for the homeless to be given free cell phones. It was a lifeline for them, a connection to the world.
“Can’t tell ya how grateful we are for these,” Gunner said, returning the phone to his pocket.
“No problem.” Not long after arriving in Baysville, he’d made sure each of the men obtained one, using the address of the nearest shelter as their place of residence.
Gunner held out a hand. “I get you info you can use on your case, and you can set me up at the Y. Deal?”
“Deal.” No matter what happened, he’d find a way to convince Gunner to leave camp. He could only hope that some kind stranger had done the same for his uncle.
He reached his destination, and Gunner got out of the car. After a quick goodbye, Liam slowly eased out of the field and back onto the main road. Harper’s home was just ahead and to the right. She’d probably fuss at him working in the field when he was supposed to be laid up in bed taking it easy, but Liam couldn’t resist stopping in to see her.
* * *
A KNOCK SOUNDED at the front door, and midstir on the soup, her hands stilled. A quick glance at Mrs. Henley and Harper breathed a sigh of relief. Her neighbor had heard it, too. This was no phantom noise.
“You stay put. I’ll get the door,” Mrs. Henley said, pushing herself up from the table. “Were you expecting someone?”
Harper spotted Liam’s red pickup truck in the driveway. She’d been so wrapped up talking with her neighbor she hadn’t heard his arrival.
“It’s Liam.”
Mrs. Henley’s brows rose. “Who?”
“Officer Andrews. You met him the night that truck almost ran me over.”
“Ah.” She grinned. “I thought I noticed a spark between y’all. Maybe he can talk you into staying in Baysville where you belong. I’ll let myself out so you two can be alone.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.
Mrs. Henley winked. “Sure I do.”
“If you won’t stay for supper, at least take some soup home with you. I’ll fix it up while you get the door.”
Her heart tripped at the sound of Liam’s deep voice as he crossed the threshold. And when he entered the kitchen, the sight of his tall body and gray eyes that smoldered like gunmetal set off butterflies in her tummy. Harper tried to rein in her smile. Liam had no business driving all around town with his injury.
“You shouldn’t have—”
“I’m fine.”
She wasn’t so sure. “You have no business driving with that injury.”
“What injury?” Mrs. Henley cut in.
“Have a seat,” she ordered Liam, pulling out a chair.
“It was nothing. A minor—” he began.
“He was shot in the leg yesterday.”
Mrs. Henley gasped. “What’s the world coming to? People actually shooting at our police officers.” She shook her head as she accepted the plastic container of soup from Harper. “Thanks, dear. And you be careful, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Smells amazing in here,” he said after she’d left. “What have you been cooking?”
“Sautéed shrimp and she-crab soup. Hope you don’t have a shellfish allergy.”
“You could have picked up fast food burgers for tonight and I’d be happy—as long as we’re together.”
The warm glow flowing through her body had nothing to do with the kitchen heat. Damn, even his voice sent her heart rate into overdrive. “I better stir the sauce.”
She returned to the stove, checking the burner. It was a bit of an obsession with her to closely watch the stove. One kitchen fire was enough for a lifetime.
“To answer your earlier question, I was speaking with Gunner and the other homeless men at their camp down by the railroad track.”
“Did you talk to him as part of your undercover work, or were you taking them more food?”
“Both.”
Satisfaction flooded Harper at his admission. Liam must trust her at least a little bit to divulge his business. She continued stirring, waiting to see if he offered more of an explanation.
“I’m beginning to think there’s a connection between the vagrant murders and the illegal gambling and prostitution rings.”
“Why?” she asked, removing the pan from the burner. Everything was ready.
“It makes sense that whoever runs them would hire transients for muscle work.”
&nbs
p; “Like roughing up people who don’t pay their gambling debts?”
“Right. And making sure the prostitutes fork over a large percentage of the money they take in.”
She returned to the table, shaking her head. “Hard to believe this kind of thing has been going on under our noses.”
“Enough of work. What have you been up to all day?”
Liam had opened up about his undercover work; couldn’t she trust him with the latest bit of weirdness at the house? Would he think she was crazy? Honestly, though, she’d love an objective opinion. If Liam believed her nuts, then there was no relationship to be built. Best to find out now.
“Actually, something did happen today,” she admitted, smoothing the denim on her thighs. “It’s hard to talk about. I don’t want you to think I’m nuts. It only happens when I’m alone and—”
“Just tell me.” He tipped her chin with a crook of his index finger, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’ve heard lots of strange tales as a cop. I won’t judge you. Are you hearing strange sounds again? Receive any more threatening emails?”
“More noises,” she said past the burn in her throat.
No shock or flicker of skepticism crossed his face.
“If you think my train has boarded for crazy town, just tell me,” she prodded.
He stood and scanned the room, as though searching out things unseen. “When was the last time you heard them?”
“Last night, before I went to the hospital to see you. I’d had a glass of wine and drifted off to sleep only to wake up to all the weird sounds. I heard more this morning, too.”
Liam circled the room, eyeing everything top to bottom.
“One of the strange noises I’m hearing sounds like a pebble hitting a window. It made me flash back to the past.”
“How’s that?” he asked, continuing his search.
“I know I told you that I’d caught Presley sneaking out a few times at night. Once, I heard pebbles bouncing off her bedroom window. I guess a signal someone was outside waiting on her. I was only nine at the time and didn’t want to rat on my big sister. Maybe if I had...” Harper swallowed hard. “Maybe Mom would have read her the riot act and Presley would still be alive.”
Liam was back at her side, kneeling at her feet. “No,” he said firmly. “Stop it right there. You aren’t responsible. It was a horrible accident.”
“Or was it?” she whispered hoarsely. “There was that thing standing by her body.”
Liam stood. “One mystery at a time. Were you in the bedroom when you heard the noises?”
“Yes. The first time.”
“And the second time?”
“I was in here, in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t at night. No way it was a dream or the effect of a glass of wine. There’s no rational explanation for it at all.”
“Creepy. You must have been scared. Which no doubt was the intent behind it.”
“The noises are awful—the basement doorknob rattling, hard breathing, scratching and even the sound of a child crying.” An involuntary shiver racked her body. “If Mrs. Henley hadn’t come inside with me, I might have driven straight to your place.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
“At what?” she asked in confusion.
“Your bedroom, for starters. I’m going to sort this out immediately.”
He headed up the stairs, and she reluctantly trailed behind him. “I don’t know what you’re expecting to find. I can assure you that as long as someone else is in the house, you won’t hear anything unusual.”
“All the more reason to be suspicious.”
He breathed hard, rubbing the wound on his leg, but she knew better than to mention it. Liam was undeterred once his mind was set.
Harper gripped the polished mahogany rails as she climbed. Each step felt like hiking a mountain. Once inside the bedroom, Liam methodically scanned every corner and searched behind every piece of furniture. He seemed so out of place in the feminine room, and she was eminently conscious of her bed—the place where she’d indulged in more than one fantasy of the two of them together.
She cleared her throat. “What exactly are you searching for?”
“I’ll let you know when I—” He pulled something from the top of an old watercolor painting on the wall opposite of her bed. “And here we go.”
“What is it?”
“A camera,” he said grimly. “Bet there’s hidden microphones or speakers, too.”
What did it mean? Where had they come from? Harper shook her head. “It’s not mine. I don’t understand.”
“It’s planted. Someone is trying to scare you.” He skimmed his hand along the top of her dresser. “Aha! Found them.”
She hurried to his side, where he extended a hand. Tiny black speakers and wiring rested in his upturned palm. Harper backed away as though he held a nest of baby vipers.
“This explains the noises.”
“But—how?”
“Everything must be operated remotely by computer.” His gray eyes were as cold and stormy as the autumn sky. “Who’s been in your bedroom?”
“I—I don’t know. Nobody!”
Liam stormed out the door and down the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To find the rest of them.”
She scrambled after him, only to trip halfway down the stairs. One moment she was stepping on solid ground, and the next her feet flailed into emptiness. Before she could scream, strong arms grasped her beneath her legs and back.
“I’ve got you,” Liam said.
She buried her head against his broad chest; the crisp linen of his dress shirt smelled detergent-clean, and Harper relaxed against him until the wild beating of her heart mellowed.
Liam picked up several tiny metal objects from the steps. “What’s this?”
It couldn’t be—yet, she couldn’t deny the solid proof in front of her. “Jacks.”
“Like—in the kid’s game?”
She retrieved the jack from his hand and closed her fist around the six-pointed metallic piece with enough pressure that the sharp nubs indented her flesh. This child’s game piece was real—nothing ghostly about its solid substance.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Presley and I used to play jacks together all the time.”
“That doesn’t explain how they got here.”
The world went fuzzy as she bent down to pick up the toys. Surreptitiously, she swiped at the wet pools that formed in her eyes. Jacks was the one game she could beat her older sister at. They’d have mammoth games of onesies, twosies and on up to fivesies, which was the edge of Presley’s maximum pickup skill. As for herself, she’d practiced until she’d mastered ascending to the tenth level. She pictured the two of them, cross-legged on the bedroom floor, shrieking with glee as they picked up the pieces before the tossed rubber ball bounced down.
Harper picked up the scattered pieces, counting eight in all. “Two are still missing. The game comes in sets of ten,” she informed Liam. Her eyes swept the stairs, but she couldn’t locate any more.
“That’s hardly the point,” Liam said. “How did they get here to begin with? Did you drop them earlier?”
“I haven’t even thought of jacks in years.” These had materialized from thin air.
Liam shook his head. “Gaslighting. Someone is seriously messing with your head.”
“But why? What would be the point? I don’t have any enemies.”
Harper followed him into the kitchen, where Liam began the same methodical search he’d conducted upstairs. From behind the toaster oven, he pulled out yet another camera and speaker. “And here we go,” he announced in grim satisfaction.
Harper plopped down at the kitchen table, squeezing the eight jacks. The pain kept her grounded to the surreal discoveries in her home. The place where sh
e ate, slept and bathed—all the time under the assumption she was safely sheltered from the world. Bathing... “Check the bathrooms,” she croaked. Had someone seen her naked—at her most vulnerable? And if so...were they recording the images to blackmail her?
“What if there’s a place on the dark web with nude photos of me?”
Liam’s face darkened. “Normally, I’d say that’s highly unlikely. That’s not the reason why your tormentor snuck hidden cameras through your place.”
She wasn’t sure if Liam’s reasoning was reassuring or not. No matter what, her privacy had been invaded, and she’d never feel the same here again.
“I’ll check it out.” His footsteps echoed through the house as she laid her head on the table and shut her eyes. If only burying her head in the sand was a real possibility.
Liam’s steps grew louder, and she lifted her head.
“Good news. Nothing in either of the bathrooms.”
“Suppose I should be grateful for that.”
“I want the names of everyone who’s been in here the past couple days.” Liam pulled out his cell phone and swiped the screen.
“It can’t be anyone I’ve let in,” she protested.
His lips pursed into a straight line. “Don’t count it out. Consider everyone a suspect.”
“Okay. Let’s see. Kimber’s been over. And her crew cleaned out the basement while I wasn’t home.” She latched onto that idea. “Must have been someone on that crew, right? Some sicko playing a joke on me—the old crazy girl living alone in the house where her teenaged sister died. He and his friends are probably having a good laugh right about now.” Anger replaced apprehension. “We’ll get all their names from Kimber. Think you can pick out the culprit in the interviews? Could be the whole crew is in on the joke.”
“Anything’s possible,” he conceded, his fingers flying over the keypad as he made notes. “Who else has been here that you know of?”
“Nobody.”
“That’s not true. Mrs. Henley just left.”
“Lurlene Henley?” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. Deadly serious.”
“She’s a sweet old lady who’s lived across the street from me all my life. A friend of my mom’s. What possible reason could she have for gaslighting me?”
Unmasking the Shadow Man Page 10
