Resonable Doubt

by Catherine Anderson

  She rolled her eyes and gave him an exasperated push. "Get out of my way. At this rate, we'll never get to Grants Pass."

  Two hours later, Breanna held a quarter up to the coin slot on a pay phone and dropped it in. With a shaking fin­ger, she punched out the number of the Grants Pass police, then turned to watch the front of the service station to be sure Tyler didn't walk up on her. He had instructed the at­tendant to fill her gas tank, then he'd gone around the op­posite side of the building to use the men's room. She only had a matter of minutes before he returned.

  When a female dispatcher answered the phone, Breanna said, "Hello, my name is Sharon Wilson. I own a small store in Canyonville, a grocery store. And—um—I heard some­thing on the news about counterfeit bills being passed in the area."

  "Yes, we had one incident. Have you had a problem, too?"

  "No—no—nothing like that. No, the reason I called was more as a preventive measure. I didn't catch the descrip­tion of the woman who passed the bill and I was hoping you could tell me what she looked like. You can't be too care­ful, you know, and Canyonville isn't far from Grants Pass. I'd like to be able to tell my clerks what to be watching out for and I'd like to have some idea of the woman's appear­ance."

  "What was your name again?"

  "Sharon Wilson."

  "Just a moment, Ms. Wilson." Breanna heard paper crackling. "Ah, yes, here it is. Female Caucasian, slender, medium height, middle twenties, with long, frosted brown hair and blue eyes." The dispatcher laughed softly. "That only describes half my friends. Ah, here we go. She drove away in a foreign car—the lady didn't know what make, but it was silver gray. Does that help?"

  Breanna leaned weakly against the wall of the booth. She longed to tell the woman the blond streaks in the suspect's hair were not from a frost job, but the absurdity of that thought stymied her. "Yes, that helps immensely,"

  "Now, as for what to look for. Counterfeit money can easily be detected, but you really should bring your work­ers in so an officer can instruct them as to what to watch for."

  "Oh, well, it may not be possible for all of them to come in. They're on different shifts. Aren't there any simple ways to tell?"

  The dispatcher sighed. "Well, one of the easiest ways is to take a suspicious bill and lay it alongside a good one. First check the red and blue fibers in the paper. Counterfeiters can't exactly duplicate the paper used by the U.S. Bureau of Engraving and Printing, not even with the new photocopy­ing techniques some are using. Next, look at the front and back for distinct print. It the portraits look dull, if the nu­merals are blurred on the edges, you could be in trouble. The serial numbers should be clear, evenly spaced, and counterfeit bills often have the same digits on every repro­duction. Like I say, it's hard to help you over the phone."

  "Oh, you've helped immensely. I really appreciate it."

  "It would be better if you could come in. Once you know what you're looking for, you could educate your employ­ees."

  "I just might do that. Thank you so much."

  Breanna hung up and hurried back to her car. The sta­tion attendant turned to smile at her, giving her windshield one last swipe with a blue towel. "Say, do I know you from someplace?"

  "No." Oh, God. Breanna opened the passenger door and climbed inside, slamming it behind her. She bent forward so her hair fell over her face. I don't believe it. They've got an APB out on me. I'm wanted. A sharp rap on her window made her jump. She looked up to see the attendant peering in at her.

  She cracked her window. "Yes?"

  "Aren't you Jason's sister?"

  "Oh, yes." She laughed with relief. "Do you know him?"

  "Yeah, real well. You're Bree, aren't you? Deanna's the married one with the short hair. I didn't use to be able to tell you two apart."

  "Yes, I'm Breanna. And your name is?"

  "Jim. Jimbo to Jason. We played basketball together in high school." Tyler walked up just then and the station at­tendant flashed Breanna a farewell grin, walking to the front of the car. "I filled you up and topped it off. Your oil is fine."

  Tyler handed him a twenty and Breanna's eyes were im­mediately riveted on it. Oh, please, don't let it be counter­feit. The man stepped to the island till and made change, then came back to count it into Tyler's palm. "Thanks. Stop in again. Bye, Bree. Tell Jason I said hi."

  "I will," she called.

  Tyler slid into his seat and buckled up. "An old friend?"

  "Of my brother's."

  "Well, we're ready for that treasure hunt." He started the car, shifted into first and pulled into the traffic. "Do you feel okay? You're kinda pale."

  "No, I'm fine," she lied.

  "Are you sure?"

  Breanna pulled back her hair from her cheek, meeting his gaze for an instant. Counterfeiting. It was incredible. "Yes, I'm sure."

  And she was. She stared straight ahead at the road, amazed at how calm she felt. Two days or a hundred, she would give Tyler the time he requested. She had no choice. She was in love with him.

  From the outset of their gold hunt, the detector beeped every time Tyler went near metal of any kind. Since the treasure hunt was his idea, Breanna didn't feel the least guilty when he spent more time digging than he did using the rental equipment.

  "Hurrah," she teased. "A bottle cap. If any treasure hunters are watching, this should impress them."

  Next they found an old belt buckle.

  "Don't laugh," Tyler warned. "I'm getting blisters doing this and we've only just begun."

  "Must we?" She squinted into the glaring afternoon sun. "I can think of other things I'd rather do."

  His eyes ran appreciatively over her figure. "So can I."

  He sighed when the detecting device shrilled another sig­nal. Breanna exchanged tools with him again, then took stock of their surroundings for a more exciting spot to search, preferably one in the shade. "Tyler, if we're going to go through with this stupid charade, shouldn't we be systematic about it?"

  "Meaning?"

  "Well, if there really were some gold, Uncle John would have buried it near something that he could have used as a marker, not out here in the open."

  "Good thinking. Trees, maybe?"

  "Or a big boulder, like that one in the upper orchard."

  "I'm game," he agreed. "Let's go."

  Breanna gasped with amazement when the metal detec­tor went crazy near the rock she had suggested.

  Tyler glanced at her, barely suppressing an excited smile. "You don't suppose old Uncle John is whispering clues over your shoulder?"

  "Dig! It has to be something big to set the detector off like that."

  He stuck the shovel into the dirt. He had removed about eight inches of topsoil in a two-foot circle when the metal blade grated against something. Breanna's body went rigid. He made a wider hole and tested the earth with a chopping motion. The blade still clinked.

  "Whatever it is, it's gigantic," he declared in a low voice.

  "Could it be a chest?"

  He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. "I didn't think you believed any of those old stories. Now look at you."

  "Well, could it be?"

  "It's sure big enough. A good three or four feet long and a couple of feet wide. It's going to be a hell of a strain to lift, if it is a chest."

  "Especially if there's gold in it," she added.

  The more Tyler dug, the more certain both of them be­came that they had discovered something significant. The object was large and rectangular.

  "I can't believe this," Tyler said. "I think we've really found something."

  Breanna knelt beside him, placing her hands on her knees and leaning forward, watching as he cleared away the earth around the iron. "Want me to dig awhile?"

  "Sweetheart, I like your hands just the way they are. I'm fine." He stopped digging for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. "Do I get a free din­ner out of this?"

  She giggled. "If there's gold in there, Mr. Ross, I'll take you to
the finest restaurant you can find. Do you know the price per ounce right now?"

  "It's up, isn't it?"

  "Better than it's been for quite some time."

  "You know, if this is gold down here," he reflected, "you should have a nugget made into a necklace, as a keepsake. It's not every family that has a history like yours. It would be quite a conversation piece, like having a family crest."

  Tyler bent over the shovel again. It seemed to take for­ever for him to dig out the soil around the buried object so that they could each get a grip on an end and lift it. When the moment arrived, she could barely contain her excite­ment. Tyler was as anxious to see the contents as she was; she could see it in his eyes. He motioned her into the hole, stepping down when she did.

  "Oh, I wish Gran was here to see this, Tyler. She'd be so excited." Coaly jumped into the hole with them, trying to dig, and she shooed him out, bending to grab her end. "Silly dog."

  "Ready? Now, if it's too heavy, don't strain to lift it, Bree. I don't want you getting hurt."

  "I'm stronger than I look."

  "Not that strong. Okay, one, two, three, heave"

  He turned slightly red in the face, but managed to raise his end about a foot. Breanna couldn't budge hers. Panting from the exertion, she said, "You'd think he would have put handles on it."

  "You know, I don't see how he even planned to open it. It's welded solid."

  "Yeah. Do you suppose it's upside down?"

  "I doubt it. Maybe it's just sealed." He placed his hands on its corners again. "Let me try by myself."

  "No way, Tyler. You'll hurt your back." She grabbed her handholds and strained upward. No sooner had she done so than something showered on her feet and the iron con­tainer grew lighter. Glancing down, she saw that her sneak­ers were covered with dirt.

  Tyler looked at her over his end of the box. "Bree, I just figured out what this is."

  "What?" she breathed.

  "A trough. We have just spent an hour and a half dig­ging up a damned old water trough."

  After all his hard work, she knew she shouldn't laugh, but his expression struck her as so funny that a giggle escaped. To her relief, she saw him grin. A second later, they were both laughing so hard that they'd dropped the trough and sat down on it to catch their breath.

  Sitting there beside him, the thought occurred to her that it really wasn't that funny. Their laughter bordered on hys­teria; it was an outlet for the tension they had both been under these last two days. Behind her eyelids, Breanna felt tears burning.

  "I don't believe this," he told her between chuckles, draping an arm around her shoulders to pull her against him. "I nearly ruptured myself getting this thing out of here. And all that's in it is dirt. Coaly thinks he's finally made a soul mate of me."

  Breanna sighed, holding her palm over her aching stom­ach, smothering another giggle. His arm around her felt so right, the possessive pressure of his hand so good. Her common sense told her to pull away, to keep a wall between them, but another part of her argued that anything so won­derful couldn't be wrong.

  "Look at the bright side. There could be some gold in the dirt." Another laugh rippled up her throat. "Now I'm glad Gran wasn't here. She'd never let us live this down. That trough has probably been lying there for years and years, sinking deeper and deeper."

  He reached to rub something off her chin, then glanced at his dirty hand. "I think I just made it worse." His eyes rose to meet hers once again. "You know, all the gold I need is right here."

  Breanna's chest grew tight with emotion. Even the way he touched her, so lightly, as if she might break, broke down her defenses against him. "Oh, Tyler..."

  She thought he might kiss her, but her turmoil must have shown in her expression. "I love you," he murmured. "I know I haven't done a good job of showing that I do. But I do love you."

  "Love doesn't mix well with secrets."

  A shadow crossed his face. "I know. That's me, the fella with bad timing. I guess I've no right to say it, do I?" A humorless smile curved his mouth. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. I'm glad you said it."

  "Maybe when all this is over, we can talk. Until then, I guess we're on hold."

  "Not entirely."

  "No?"

  There was an eagerness in his eyes that made her smile. "I gave you the two days, didn't I?"

  "Yes, you did." His hand tightened on her arm. "I guess that should tell me something, shouldn't it?"

  "Yeah, that my timing is as rotten as yours."

  "We both need a bath," he said, wiping her face again. "You're a mess. What do you say we go down and take one at dusk?"

  "Together?"

  His mouth claimed hers with an infinite gentleness that told her how much he truly cared. A tender caress, under­scored with a hesitancy that erased any lingering doubts about her decision to give him the two days. Breanna leaned into him. There were no answers to the questions that plagued her. Tyler just was, and nothing beyond that made any sense.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the way back to the cabin from their bath that evening, Breanna and Tyler walked with their arms around one an­other, hers around his waist, his draped over her shoulders.

  "When I was little, I loved it here," she said with a sigh. "At night, Gran would make fudge or hot chocolate and we'd sit around the fire while my grandfather told stories."

  Tyler traced circles on her arm, as if he couldn't get enough of touching her, even now. "I make a mean batch of fudge. I like to drop-test it and eat the balls. How about you?"

  "Yeah, except that I could eat the whole pan that way before it was done. I have to make a double batch if I expect to get any to keep."

  He laughed and tightened his arm around her. As they drew close to the cabin, she heard Coaly whining. Handing Tyler her soiled clothes, she said, "Go on in. I've got to take a walk."

  He glanced toward the outhouse, then at his watch. "Okay, but hurry." Giving her a quick kiss, he ran up the steps. "How's about I make some fudge? Sound good? We'll build a fire."

  "Sounds great." Breanna smiled as she angled across the drive, pleased that he trusted her enough to let her go alone.

  Just as she reached the outhouse, a hand clamped down on her arm. "Bree."

  Her heart missed a beat. "Dane, you scared me out of a year's growth."

  "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Keep your voice down." He pulled her behind the lean-to, then released her to lean against a corner post. In the moonlight, she could see he was pale. "Breanna, I'm in big trouble, the worst I've ever been in. But this time I'm not gonna drag you down with me. You've gotta get out of here, tonight. You understand? Grab your things, get in the car and go. Right now. Before it's too late."

  She put a hand on his arm. "Oh, Dane, what is it? What's happened?"

  "I... set the fire. I never meant to hurt anybody. I swear to God it was just a prank, Bree. You gotta believe that."

  "I do, Dane, I do."

  "It was Morrow! Thatcher and a guy named Darren, they were working with him, growing and selling marijuana, and they cheated him somehow." Dane's voice shook. "I didn't know that then. Chuck talked me into setting a small fire, just as a prank. You know how we all hated the hippies. I thought that was why, to scare them. I had no idea, no idea. I swear to God, Bree."

  "Go on, Dane." Darren, Joseph Darren. He had been killed in a car accident. Breanna remembered the name from the news story Gran had circled. A hippie from San Diego. She was beginning to see the picture now. After ten years, it was all becoming clear.

  "I put a gas can by one of their sheds and used a dyna­mite cap of Gramps's to set the fumes off. It had a long fuse, so it gave me plenty of time to run. And then it blew. But it blew like an atomic bomb. The whole damn mountain went up, Bree. Morrow had stashed more gas all around, in bushes, behind trees. And the explosion just kept setting cans on fire."

  Breanna closed her eyes.

  "And I did it!" Her cousin's voice rose to a shrill pitch. "I set th
e cap off. You and I even bought the gas."

  "You and I?"

  "Yeah, two days before that. Remember, when we filled all those cans for Chuck's generator? And we loaded them in Gramps's Jeep?"

  Breanna swallowed her nausea. Oh, God, please no.

  "I bought the gas on Chuck's charge card. He had my signature on the receipts. It was my cap that was used to set the fire. Don't you see? He had evidence against me. He could have sent me up with what he had on me. When Thatcher died, it wasn't just a prank anymore, Bree, it was murder."

  "All right, I understand." Breanna hugged his waist to hold him steady. "Dane, it's okay, it's okay."

  "No, it—it isn't okay. You don't understand. Rob didn't just happen to get pinned by that tree! Remember all the wild things he screamed at us? Accusing us? He thought we knew! He thought we knew!"

  "Knew what?"

  "Chuck drugged him, put something in his beer. Then carried him up there, downed the tree and used the winch on his truck to lift it and pin Rob under it. He murdered him, Breanna, burned him alive. Only he framed me for it, just in case it came out the fire was arson."

  Breanna stood speechless, clinging to Dane, her eyes riv­eted to his face.

  "Morrow used it against me over the years. Just little fa­vors, at first, dirty work, never anything serious. But the deeper I got, the bigger the favors got and the more I was involved, until there didn't seem to be any way out for me. I just did what he said, so he wouldn't ruin my life."

  "Oh, Dane..." She pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "If only you had told me. You should have trusted me. We could have gone to the police. I would have testi­fied for you. Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

  "It's too late for that now. Chuck's crazy. I mean really crazy. He's got to make a shipment. You won't leave. He's talking murder, Breanna. You've got to get out of here. I've tried to talk sense to the rest of them, but they won't lis­ten." He took in a bracing draught of air. "It was the twenty I dropped that did it, that's what clinched it. Chuck was turning them against me anyway, because I've been getting suspicious. I found out about... .well, this girl named Marcy, she did Chuck a few favors, knew too much. And then she had a wreck. I suspected Chuck of tampering with her car. And he's been out after my ass ever since. Some of the money came up missing, counterfeit money. The guys Morrow's tied up with now, they think I stole it. Morrow's set me up again. This time to get rid of me because I know too much."