“I fail to see how killing Beth Wynngate is going to get your money returned to you.”
Dorsey’s eyes widened, and his jaw slackened. “Kill her? Ain’t nobody trying to kill her.”
“Don’t lie to me! Why else were Marty and Abbie out there when the cabin exploded?”
Confusion clouded his eyes. “What cabin explosion?”
Sammy narrowed his eyes at him. Dorsey appeared surprised, but ex-cons were often good actors. His department hadn’t reported the arson crime to the newspapers so the few Lavender Mountain locals who knew the fire department had been called out didn’t know what had caused the fire.
“I know about the high-speed chase. Weren’t no mention in the papers about a cabin exploding. We ain’t got nothing to do with that.”
“You saying your cousin Marty didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“No, sir.” Some of Dorsey’s defiant bravado faded. “I admit they were out there keeping watch on Wynngate. I told them to wait for an opportunity when she was alone and then lean on her again about the money. Last time I talked to them, they’d followed y’all out to the cabin. Figured you’d return to work the next day and Wynngate would be alone at the cabin. The perfect opportunity to squeeze her for the money.”
Sammy’s blood chilled at the thought of Beth being alone in the woods and “squeezed” for money. “Let’s back everything up a minute. Tell me more about your claim of paying off Judge Wynngate.”
Dorsey shrugged. “Everybody knew he could be bought.”
“You got any proof you paid him this money?”
“No,” he admitted, his voice souring again. “I didn’t pay him directly. I paid one of his collectors. Cash. Just as I was told to do.”
“Who took your money?”
A cagey look came over his face. “Don’t know his name.”
“You’re lying. You expect me to believe you paid a stranger fifty thousand in cash?” Dorsey wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he did appear to have some street smarts.
“I did. I swear it’s true. Some buddies of mine got time shaved off their sentences doin’ the same thing.”
“And how do you know this collector didn’t just pocket the money and never forwarded it to the judge?”
“He paid him,” Dorsey insisted. “Just my bad luck that federal heat was coming down on the judge not long after he took my money. The middleman told me I’d have to wait it out a few months. If Wynngate gave me a light sentence, it could be viewed in a negative light for the judge. The feds were looking for a pattern. Guy told me that when the heat died down, the judge would lighten my sentence on appeal.”
First thing he needed to check was Lambert’s claim of a federal investigation on the judge. He’d see if Harlan could use his contacts to find out unofficially. That should prove much faster than a formal inquiry.
Dorsey kicked at the empty chair beside him in disgust. “Then the bastard up and dies on me. Can you believe that crap? All that money wasted.”
“Forget about the money. It’s gone and you’ll never get it back. You’ve already done your time. It’s over. Think of the future. Now you’re looking at a bigger mess. Attempted murder.”
Dorsey threw up his hands, eyes wide with panic. “I wasn’t anywhere near that cabin. I’ve been here in Atlanta at my mom’s house. Didn’t even know about the explosion until you told me five minutes ago.”
“Yet you readily admit you had family members there that night, working for you.”
“They didn’t do it! I know them. They wouldn’t kill nobody.”
“Why should I believe a word you’re telling me?”
“Ask around. Check with the feds about my story. Look, man, all I wanted was my money back. I ain’t never killed anybody and don’t plan on starting now.”
Sammy steepled his fingers and regarded Dorsey’s pleading eyes. “So you say. But greed and revenge are powerful motives for murder. I’d say both of those factors are at play in your head.”
“I didn’t do it!” He kicked at the chair again.
“If you’re not guilty we’ll find out soon enough. But your admission about involving your cousins in a scheme to extort money from Beth Wynngate is pretty damning. It places them right at the scene of the crime.”
“That don’t prove nothing. You can’t keep me here.”
“Of course we can. You’ve technically broken parole.”
Dorsey squeezed his eyes shut and crinkled his nose, evidently regretting his words. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I want a lawyer.”
Of course he did. Sammy nodded and rose. “Don’t even think about asking anyone else in your family to come after Beth Wynngate. If you do, I’ll make sure you’re so old by the next time you get out of prison that you’ll go directly into a nursing home to live out whatever’s left of your sorry life.”
“I ain’t messin’ with her no more. You have my word,” Dorsey said, surprising him. Then again, a man would say anything to avoid returning to prison.
As though reading his mind, Dorsey spoke once more. “Like you said, the past is the past. My money’s gone. Best I can hope for now is to live out my days in peace. Try to be an honest man.”
Sammy walked to the door, but Dorsey hadn’t finished speaking his mind.
“Sounds like someone’s trying to kill that girl, but it ain’t me.”
* * *
THE ATLANTA TRAFFIC was heavy. Sammy kept hitting redial on his phone, but Beth didn’t answer. With every failed ring, his unease grew. Surely she hadn’t already gone out on the town on her own. And not while there were so many unanswered questions. Hell, they still bore the scars from last night’s attempt on her life. Impatiently, he began weaving his way through the clogged lanes as fast as possible. At the hotel, he left the Jeep parked at the main entrance. “Back in a moment,” he told the startled valet drivers.
Sammy raced through the lobby and entered the elevator, punching the button for the thirty-third floor. When the elevator door opened, he pushed through and scanned the hallway. To his left, he took in the sight of a man and a woman about to enter the exit stairwell. Relief washed over him.
“Where are y’all going?” he called out to Aiden and Beth, rushing over to them. “I’ve been trying to call.”
Something was off. Beth looked disgruntled and wobbly all at once. Aiden’s eyes flashed with an annoyance that was replaced so quickly with his usual effervescent charm that Sammy wondered if he’d seen it in the first place. And after the scene at his condo earlier, why the hell had he come around? That must account for the frustration in Beth’s eyes. She was still upset over his remarks a few hours ago.
“We were going to go out for a drink at the Polaris, but Beth changed her mind,” Aiden said smoothly. “She decided to wait for your return. Tells me you’re planning a celebration this evening.”
Sammy glanced at Beth. She placed a hand on her forehead and shot him a rueful smile. “I might have to take a rain check on the celebration dinner. Aiden brought over some merlot and it’s hit my system like a ton of bricks.”
Aiden chuckled. “Seems my sister can’t hold her liquor.”
That didn’t sound like Beth to overdrink. It seemed out of character. “The celebration can wait,” he said.
“Sounds good. Guess I’ll head on back home.” Aiden extended a hand to Sammy. “We’ll do it another night?”
“Sure. I’ll call you.”
“Great. Catch you later.” Aiden raised an arm at the stairwell door. “Guess I’ll take the stairs and burn some calories.”
Beth started back toward their room and stumbled. He grabbed her elbow to keep her from falling. “Easy now.”
She drew a deep breath. “Thanks. I can’t believe how dizzy I am.”
“If you’re dizzy, why in hell were y’all going to take the stairs in
stead of the elevator?”
She grimaced. “Seems that in my present condition, Aiden was afraid I’d embarrass him in the lobby.”
“Then he shouldn’t have taken you out. Period. Besides, you’d have been in public with him anyway at the Polaris.”
Beth shook her head, as if to clear mental cobwebs. “Right. Who knows what he was thinking? I love my brother, but sometimes he befuddles me.”
“What was he doing here? Apologizing again?”
“Yep. Showed up with a bottle of merlot and a hangdog expression.” She gave a soft chuckle. “I can’t stay angry with him when he pulls that.”
For the second time that day, unease prickled down his back and he slowed his steps. Beth cocked her head to the side and smiled. “What’s the matter? Somebody step on your grave?”
He tamped down the apprehension. Beth was here with him, a little tipsy, but they were both intact. A small miracle considering last night’s attack. This was still a cause for celebration. Maybe he should wait until tomorrow to tell her of Dorsey’s claims. After all, the ex-con could be lying. And she’d been so angry at him when the intruder had entered her house and he’d asked if the judge might have had some secret. He and Harlan would investigate his allegations about her father. If they were true, then Beth would be the first person he told.
Inside their room, he led her to the bed and propped her up with pillows. “I’ll call room service and we’ll have dinner by candlelight right here. No need to go out.”
“Perfect,” she agreed with a grin. “Just don’t order celebratory champagne. I’m not up for it.”
Neither was he, matter of fact. Thanks to Dorsey Lambert. A small corner of his mind remained disquieted. The case still didn’t feel over.
Not yet.
Chapter Fourteen
Beth glowed with contentment as she gazed around her Falling Rock home. In only two days, Cynthia had arrived and taken charge of the holiday decorations. A twelve-foot-high balsam fir in the den was lit with twinkling lights and the fireplace mantel decorated with fresh garland and cinnamon-scented pine cones. In every room, even the bathrooms, Cynthia had set out scented candles and holiday figurines. Beth had to hand it to her stepmother; she was a whiz at creating a warm, cozy atmosphere at Christmas, right down to the aroma of freshly baked gingerbread and cookies. Her nesting instincts at this time of year contrasted with her usual social activities of superficial cocktail parties.
The oven alarm dinged. “Pull out that pan for me, hon,” Cynthia called out, elbow-deep in a new batch of cookie dough.
Beth retrieved the lightly browned chocolate chip cookies and set them on the cooling rack. Much as she was enjoying the domestic bonding with Cynthia, a small part of her remained hurt that she’d cut out on Beth last week after the first sign of trouble. Of course, she hadn’t expected Cynthia to stay in the house, but it rankled that her stepmother hadn’t even offered to have her as a guest at her Atlanta home until the danger had passed.
At least she was thankful that the threat had been removed. Nothing suspicious had happened since Dorsey Lambert’s arrest. Even though he’d been released yesterday, Beth hadn’t received even a hang-up call or any hint she was being followed. The only matter casting a tinge of sadness today was the thought of returning to Boston next week. How much did Sammy care that she’d be leaving? They’d been almost inseparable the last few days. When he wasn’t at work, he spent all his free time with her. The thought of their returning to their normal lives living hundreds of miles apart made her heart pinch.
As though she’d conjured Sammy from sheer willpower, his Jeep pulled into the circular driveway.
“You should fill a tin with cookies for him,” Cynthia suggested. Beth shook her head in bemusement. Since arriving, Cynthia had been friendly with Sammy instead of acting formal and vaguely condescending. Beth wasn’t naive enough to think she actually approved of her choice in boyfriends, but her stepmother probably figured there was no harm in their temporary relationship. Beth would be leaving soon enough.
She strode to the front door and flung it open, determined to enjoy whatever time was left with Sammy.
He didn’t return her welcoming smile.
Now what? “Is it Lambert? Has he done something?” she asked, holding the door open.
He entered, glancing into the kitchen where Cynthia hummed along with a Christmas carol as she continued baking. “We need to talk. Somewhere private.”
Must be serious. “Downstairs, then.”
Only when they were seated in the recreation room did he lean forward and speak. “When I interviewed Lambert earlier this week he claimed that he paid a middleman to have your father reduce his drug sentence.”
“That’s absurd,” she scoffed, raising her voice. “What a piece of—”
“Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Beth gritted her teeth. “Go on. What else did he lie about?”
“As I was saying, Lambert claimed to have paid fifty thousand dollars for your father to lighten his sentence. He started harassing you in the hopes of getting his money back. He had two family members, he wouldn’t name names, search your father’s study that night, seeking proof of payment.”
“What good would that do? Even if there was, it’s not like he could enter a store and show a receipt to return merchandise and get his money returned.”
“I’m sure he believed you’d do anything to protect your father’s reputation, including paying him off.”
“Blackmail,” she said grimly. “Not that I would ever have agreed to such a thing.”
“No doubt Lambert wouldn’t be satisfied with merely getting his money back.”
“He’d start asking for interest, then payment for the pain and suffering of being incarcerated. It would never end.” She observed Sammy’s set face more closely. “But Lambert’s claim is nothing new. What else did he say?”
“That federal authorities were investigating your dad several months before he died.”
Beth couldn’t speak right away, and she bit the inside of her mouth to stop the involuntary tremble of her lips. “You wouldn’t be telling me this if you didn’t think it was true.”
He nodded. “I checked it out. Your father was under investigation after numerous allegations that he accepted bribes.”
“Go on,” she whispered at his pause, expecting the worst.
“There appeared to be some validity to the claims, but they dropped the investigation upon his death.”
“I see.” She pictured the last time she’d seen her father, in the hospital ICU unit after triple bypass surgery. Had the stress of an investigation contributed to his heart attack? Sammy took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“But it’s possible Dad was innocent,” she insisted. “I mean, they didn’t actually declare him guilty of any crime.”
“Anything’s possible.”
Beth blinked back tears. Sammy was just being kind. More than likely, her dad had been involved in shady business. He drew a nice salary as a federal judge, but they’d enjoyed a very luxurious lifestyle—expensive schools, oversea travels, gorgeous homes. Perhaps, in hindsight, that had been a bit of a stretch based on his salary. But she’d always attributed the wealth to his smart investments and side businesses.
With a sinking heart, she remembered one odd fact that had struck her after Dad died and the will had been probated. He’d owned several companies, but four months prior to his death, he’d liquidated them all. At the time, she’d wondered if he’d done so because he had a premonition of his deteriorating health and wanted to simplify his financial affairs.
“Does Cynthia know about that investigation?” she asked.
“You know her better than I do. What do you think?”
Beth considered her own question. She hadn’t been living nearby to see them regularly while all this had been going on,
but she didn’t recall anything that would lead her to believe Cynthia was aware of possible impending doom. There had been no whispered conversations, or sudden talks of Dad retiring early. Nothing to indicate they were anything but settled and happy in their comfortable life.
“I don’t think Cynthia knows anything,” she said slowly.
“I don’t know what?”
They both whipped their heads around. Cynthia stood halfway down the carpeted stairs, an oven mitt in one hand and a tray of cookies in the other.
Beth stood and ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
“Obviously.” Her stepmother gazed back and forth between them. “What’s going on?”
Sammy shot her a sideways look that said, “This is up to you.”
“Maybe I should tell her. I mean, if Lambert came after me for money, she might be in danger, too.”
“Danger?” Cynthia slowly made her way down the steps and laid the cookies on a coffee table. “Tell me what’s going on. I thought Lambert had been arrested.”
“He’s already been released. You better sit down for this.” Beth gestured toward the couch and they sat, Sammy across from them. “You know Sammy interviewed Dorsey Lambert earlier this week and he claimed to have paid Dad for a lighter sentence.”
Cynthia’s lips pressed together for an instant. Her face reddened, and she removed the mitt from her hand, smacking it down on the sofa. “He’s nothing but a liar. Surely you don’t believe him, do you?”
Sammy cleared his throat. “Actually, there was an ongoing federal investigation prior to your husband’s death. Were you aware of that?”
Cynthia’s mouth parted in astonishment. “Investigation? Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. I personally spoke with the federal officer overseeing it.”
“Why, I—I don’t know what to say. Edward never said a word to me.” Cynthia cast her a bewildered glance. “Beth?”
“He didn’t say anything to me, either.”
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