by Rickie Blair
Roy chuckled. “Smartest thing you’ve ever done, I’d say.”
In my mind, I added a knee strike to Roy’s fantasy comeuppance.
“Why didn’t you come back after everything was settled?”
Frank dropped his gaze to his feet. “Claire never forgave me. She said none of it would have happened if I’d only trusted her. And eventually—” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It was too late.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding and the walls of the parking garage closing in. I couldn’t decide whether to forgive him—or hate him even more. Before I could come up with a suitable reply, the young man with the knife gave an exaggerated snort.
“How long do we have to listen to this drivel?”
“Shut up,” I blurted.
He stepped toward me, raising his knife and scowling.
“Stop it,” Roy chided.
“Wait a minute—” I whirled on Roy. “If you killed Randy Dignam in his house in the middle of the night, where was his wife?”
Chapter Thirty
Roy chuckled at my question. “Dignam’s wife was at home. She came downstairs in her nightgown to find his body on the carpet. Brenda was hysterical at first, but once we calmed her down, she appreciated the tidiness of our solution. She had become convinced Randall was cheating on her. She wanted to leave him, but Brenda likes her creature comforts. A professor’s alimony would not have supported her in the style she believed she deserved. Our arrival was the fortuitous break she’d always hoped for.”
“But the police saw her talking to her husband two days later. On that video from the park.”
“That was Eugene. I had a devil of a time convincing him. Eventually, he went along with it. The professor was dead, and we couldn’t do anything about that. Why should the company die with him? Brenda and I dressed Eugene in her husband’s overcoat, with a ball cap partly hiding his face, and he met Brenda at the bandshell. I told the police Eugene was with me that night, poring over company records at the office.”
“You’re a good liar, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “The police didn’t suspect us of anything. It was easy to convince them Randall was alive—especially after our phone call to that idiot administrator at the university.”
“Irina Lasher? She said there was noise on the line.”
“That’s because we made the call next to a dishwasher running through the rinse cycle. We used Dignam’s cell phone so she would recognize the number.” Chuckling again, he gazed into the distance. “I miss those days. It was a simpler time. None of this Skype nonsense.”
“But then who killed Irina? It wasn’t an accident.”
He snorted again. “I’d like to see you prove that. If she was careless enough to wear dangling jewelry around an industrial shredder…” He shrugged. “Irina was too smart for her own good. She put two and two together after your first visit and came up with five—five grand, that is. A pathetic blackmail attempt, and the first installment of many, obviously. She had to be stopped.” He tsk-tsked. “Everybody thinks the Palmers are made of money. We have expenses too, you know.”
I tilted my head incredulously.
With a smirk, he continued his story. “When Irina contacted me again, to say that Verity Hawkes had given her crucial evidence, and then increased her demands… well, something had to be done. Fortunately, we had a man on the spot, watching her, since her first call.” He flicked a hand. “Show her.”
The burly weightlifter stepped into the light as he drew back his hoodie.
I gasped. “You’re the security guard. From the university.”
“So, you see, Verity,” Roy continued. “It was pathetically easy to eliminate Irina and frame you for the crime.”
The guard lifted a hand to high-five Roy, but the older man merely sniffed. The guard dropped his hand and stepped back.
“What about the university chancellor? And the fraud allegations?”
Roy nodded. “A stroke of genius.”
“None of it was true?”
“No. As for the chancellor, Randy Dignam had always been a thorn in his side, what with all those rumors about female students.”
“Rumors you embellished.”
“Perhaps. The chancellor wasn’t sad to see the last of the professor, so it never occurred to him to ask any questions. Especially after we made a sizable donation to the university’s charitable foundation.” He frowned. “In the end, Eugene was the real problem. Ours was an elegant solution, but he was never happy with it. Even after the hydro towers went up, he still wanted to investigate that purported burial site. He went on and on about it. Obviously, that was impossible.” One of his feet tapped incessantly on the concrete, but he appeared oblivious to it. “I thought he’d forgotten about it. But then—”
The sound of a car engine caused Roy to turn sharply. Headlights silhouetted him in their beam. An engine revved, and a single car started to move.
I sucked in a breath. No, Tracy—not yet, I thought. Not until I get the whole story.
The car headed straight for us, picking up speed. If Roy didn’t step aside, he’d be slammed against the hood. I turned my face away. I didn’t want to witness what seemed like an unavoidable collision of man and vehicle.
With a shriek of brakes, the car fishtailed to a halt only feet away.
The driver’s door opened, and Tracy stepped out.
The young man waved the knife at her. “Hi, cuz.”
“Hi, Seth. I see you got my message.”
My mouth gaped. Funny, friendly Tracy was a sociopath like the rest of her family? How had I not seen that coming? And the idiot with the knife was—her cousin? I no longer wondered why people called this family those Palmers. I only wondered at that level of restraint. I would have used a different word altogether.
Tracy smirked at my shocked expression. “Honestly, Verity. What did you expect—poking around in our corporate business like that? Did you think Seth and I would let you destroy our inheritance?”
“I didn’t do anything to your inheritance.”
“Of course you did. If the story of the professor’s death got out, Palmerston stock would plummet. There would be criminal charges, civil suits—the investigations and probes and trials would go on for years, draining the company’s finances and ruining my prospects. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Your prospects?”
“Tracy’s our next CEO,” Roy said with unmistakable pride.
“But Nelson is the—”
“Not for long,” Tracy said with a smirk. “Daddy’s never been able to make the tough decisions. He could never have done what Uncle Roy did all those years ago.” She stared with undisguised affection at her great-uncle, who returned her grin with a wink. “And my grandfather wasn’t much better,” Tracy continued. “If Roy hadn’t stopped him, Eugene would have ruined the company. Even on his deathbed, he couldn’t resist getting my father all riled up with a lot of nonsense.”
“I don’t understand.”
Roy resumed his story. “Eugene always suspected the professor had evidence to prove the existence of the burial site, but we searched his house and couldn’t find anything. We destroyed his research and decided our secret was safe. We had no idea that your idiot mother—”
Frank surged forward at this, but when I blurted, “Don’t—he’s not worth it,” he halted with a scowl.
Roy gave a delicate sniff before resuming his tale. “Like I said, we thought our secret was safe. Until Eugene started babbling on his deathbed. The Hawkes woman—she knows. It wasn’t much of a leap to realize he had sent the location of the burial site to your mother. And worse—that Claire might have other evidence as well. We had to get it back. Then we could dismiss Eugene’s claims as the ravings of a senile old man. Your father was the logical choice to find the evidence and return it to us.” He shook his head. “It should have been simple.”
“But noo—” Tracy broke in, rolling her eyes. “Amateur sleuth Verity Hawk
es couldn’t leave it alone.”
My heart sank as I realized this was not the first time I’d heard that.
“You should have let the past stay buried,” Tracy continued. “Now—turn over the evidence and we can all go home.”
“It’s at Rose Cottage. And without me, you won’t be able to find it,” I countered, playing for time.
Tracy pressed the key fob in her hand. The Jaguar’s trunk responded with a metallic click. “Seth, put Verity in the trunk.”
I sucked in a quick breath. I couldn’t learn what they were planning if I was locked in the Jag’s trunk. “Oh, come on,” I blurted, hair rising on the back of my neck. “You seriously intend to force me into a car trunk? Who does that? It’s—stupid.”
Frank limped forward and held up a shaky hand. “Let Verity go, and I’ll give you the evidence,” he rasped. “I know where it is.”
“You had your chance,” Tracy said.
“You can’t get away with this,” I sputtered. “It’s—stop that!”
Seth ran his knife along Frank’s jaw, drawing drops of blood. Frank shuddered, but he otherwise ignored him.
“Psychopath,” I muttered. Then, louder, “Why would I agree to this? You’ll just dump me in a hole somewhere.”
Seth lifted the knife again.
My father looked at me intently. “Verity—Don’t give yourself a complex over this. Just do it.”
Roy nodded sagely. “That’s good advice.” He turned to Seth. “I assume you disconnected the escape latch?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“Then I see no reason for further delay. Verity?”
I didn’t respond, because I was suppressing the urge to vomit. Then I got it—a complex. Don’t give yourself a complex.
“Get in the trunk.” Seth brandished his knife. “We don’t have all day.”
I walked to Tracy’s Jag, perched on the back fender under the open trunk lid, and swung my legs over. It was difficult with my hands tied behind my back, but before long, I was curled up on my side.
The trunk closed, leaving me in darkness.
My heart started to race, blood pounded in my ears, and drops of sweat trickled between my shoulders. The carpet that lined the trunk dug into my cheek. But I took a moment to get my breathing under control before lifting my head. Nobody needed to tell me the world was a dangerous place. My parents tried to prepare me for those hazards, each in their own way. But today, my father’s automotive tips were the most useful.
Because I knew how to get out of that trunk.
Seth had disabled the escape mechanism, but he wasn’t bright enough to dig behind the wall panels and cut the wire that ran to the release latch by the driver’s seat. All I had to do was find that wire and tug on it to open the trunk lid.
Then I could jump out at a red light and start screaming, if it came to that.
Twisting, I sidled over until my back touched the far wall and I could thrust my hands into the pockets along the bottom. It was more difficult than I remembered—what with the twist ties restraining my movements, the fact my arms were behind my back, and the extra insulation that ensured the Jag’s quiet ride. That—and the fact I hadn’t done this since I was six years old.
Which meant I could be forgiven for ignoring the muffled shouts that erupted outside the car. A Palmer family row, I assumed. I redoubled my efforts.
I had to stop when a solid thump against the trunk rocked the car hard enough to cause my hands to shift. The disagreement must be getting serious.
With a muttered oath, I resumed my efforts. Nearly there…
The shouting stopped. Straining my ears, I thought I heard scuffling. I held my breath.
Then I heard the unmistakable click of the trunk opening.
Light poured in, and I blinked repeatedly.
A face peered in at me.
“Are you okay?” Jeff asked.
“Damn it,” I said. “I nearly had it. I would’ve cracked this in another minute or two.”
“I can close the trunk if you want another go at it.”
“Very funny. Get me out of here.”
Jeff helped me out of the trunk, snipped off the twist ties, and gave my arm a squeeze. I flexed my fingers, staring at the scene before me.
A trio of police cars surrounded the Palmer family, the cruisers’ headlights illuminating the bad-tempered group. Seth—unarmed and wearing handcuffs—scowled. Roy—his suit jacket rumpled and missing a button—looked grim.
A squirming and furious Tracy—her upper arms caught in the solid grip of none other than Detective Ferret Face—er, Unwin—outdid them both. She spit on the pavement at my feet.
Well. The nuns would not approve of that unladylike behavior.
Seth’s friend, the security guard, was already locked in the back of a cruiser, looking disgusted.
Turning my back on them, I undid a shirt button, then reached into my bra to wrest out the burner phone I’d purchased at the convenience store.
I handed it to Jeff. “Did you get it all?”
“Every word.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
His lips twitched in a half-smile. “Always.”
“Did you pick up Brenda Waterson?”
“Team’s on its way.”
“Tell them to take the glass ashtray from her coffee table. I think you’ll find it matches the blows on her husband’s crushed skull. Once you dig up his body, that is.”
“Which is where, by the way?”
“The hydro right-of-way in Strathcona. I can give you the exact location—within a couple of yards.”
“How did you find it?”
After undoing another button, I slid the postcard out from under my bra. With a triumphant air, I whirled, holding it up. “It took twenty years of regret and a deathbed confession, but Eugene Palmer finally did the right thing.”
I winked at Roy.
The flush on his face was unmistakable.
While re-buttoning with one hand, I handed the postcard to Jeff, who looked bemused. “What?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s just—I didn’t think there was that much room in there.”
“I’ll deal with you later,” I whispered.
Raising my voice, I added, “Of course, Eugene thought he was sending the location to my mother. I think he was a little forgetful near the end.”
Roy’s mouth made a grim line, but he did not reply. No doubt the family had enough lawyers on speed dial to be well-acquainted with the concept of keeping their mouths shut. But it was too late for that.
“Get them out of here,” Jeff said, curtly nodding to the uniformed officers.
Epilogue
One week later…
Snuggled in my chenille robe, with my feet on Jeff’s lap, I settled into the sofa in Rose Cottage to enjoy one of the last fires of the season. Boomer was curled up on the armchair opposite, eyes closed and feet twitching occasionally. The General was in his usual spot on the back of the sofa by Jeff’s shoulder, his tail languidly swishing while he trained his one good eye on the dog.
As the logs crackled and snapped on the grate, I reached for my mug of hot chocolate. Such blissful indolence would soon be impossible since the gardening season was almost upon us. My woodland planting scheme was completed, rolled into a cardboard presentation tube bedecked with purple and white ribbons—the same colors as the anemones that figured prominently in the design. I couldn’t wait to start on it.
Sighing with contentment, I sipped the velvety cocoa while watching Jeff’s tape of the previous night’s hockey game.
“It could have gone horribly wrong, you know.”
Startled, I set my mug on the coffee table to look at Jeff, who was absently massaging my feet while his gaze was glued to the set. “What did you say?”
With a sigh, he picked up the remote to click off the television, placed my feet on the floor, and turned to face me. “Your plan to expose the Palmers—it could have gone horribly wrong.”
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br /> “What do you mean?” I asked indignantly. “Randall Dignam’s body has been recovered and his killer is behind bars awaiting trial. The indigenous burial site is slated for excavation with the full cooperation of Nelson Palmer. He even set up a university scholarship in Irina Lasher’s name. Nothing went wrong.” I paused, chewing at my lip. “Unless you count Frank’s injuries. He was a little peeved you didn’t step in sooner.”
Jeff grinned wryly. “I apologized and explained the situation. He’s fine with it. Especially now that Nelson Palmer is paying for his dental work.”
“Besides, you knew where Frank was at all times. Even if I hadn’t alerted you, it would have been easy to find me.”
“Probably, but a heads-up would have been nice.”
“I called you.”
“After you went to the Palmerston building. I’m talking about earlier—when you saw the hydro corridor.”
“That’s because I hadn’t figured it out then, not really. It wasn’t until Tracy invited me to the reception that I suspected the truth. There were no caterers, tables being set up, extra staff, or anything like that in the rotunda. It was nearly deserted. How could they host a champagne reception an hour or two later? That’s when I called you—and bought that burner phone in the convenience store outside the Palmerston building. I figured they’d take my own phone.”
“That was a good idea,” he conceded.
“But still, I wasn’t certain until I saw the smashed display cabinets in Eugene’s office—after all, nobody could get past Palmerston security who wasn’t supposed to be there. That was obviously a setup.”
“But you didn’t know I was tailing Frank.”
“That’s right—because you never told me. So, who’s the one withholding information here?” I lifted my eyebrows.
“I said I was keeping an eye on him.”
“Not specifically.”
“Let’s not argue.”
“I didn’t start it.”
My voice must have been shrill, because—with a snort—Boomer jolted awake. Sitting upright, paws outstretched, he stared, head jerking back and forth between us.
