Smoke and Mirrors (Sloane Monroe Book 8)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  James was doing better today, but he wouldn’t be released from the hospital yet. Officer Pearce had been stationed outside his room, and an additional two officers continued to keep watch on James’ house. The chief superintendent assured Noel that what happened before wouldn’t happen again, but it was a promise he shouldn’t have made. The killer was still out there ... and unpredictable. No one knew his next move.

  Noel followed me out to my car. As I got in, he handed me a small, black tote bag.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Look inside,” he said. “But don’t take it out. Not right now.”

  I pulled the bag open, staring down at the gun at the bottom of the bag.

  “It just doesn’t feel right to let you go out without it,” he said. “Just keep it out of sight, okay? And don’t get caught with it.”

  I’d always carried a gun in the past, but the laws here were different, making me hesitant to accept his offering. I did anyway.

  “I respect Australia’s gun laws,” he said. “They’re in place for a good reason. But this is a unique situation. We’re being hunted by a savage animal, and I’m not about to let you go straight at him empty-handed.”

  I thanked him and backed out of the driveway.

  I switched the radio on. The host was going over the top news headlines of the day, surprising me when she said a representative speaking on James’ behalf had formally announced he was resigning from his senate position in order to deal with personal issues at home.

  I’d planned on heading to Caroline’s office, but Grace’s emotional outburst had me rattled and wondering why she’d been triggered by what I’d said. Maybe she knew her mother had been physically abused. There was one person I hoped could provide answers to my questions—the boy she’d been dating, Tommy Walker.

  Tommy lived in an upscale suburb of Cairns called City View. I parked curbside, placed the bag Noel had given me in the glove box, and got out of the car, taking a moment to admire the surrounding area from his parents’ residence, which was situated high enough above the city to offer a spectacular, sweeping view of Cairns. I leaned against my car, breathing it in, and my thoughts turned to Cade. When last we spoke on the phone the night before he was finalizing the sale of his home in Jackson Hole. When I returned home, we would be free spirits with the ability to go anywhere. I couldn’t wait to discuss where we would put roots down next.

  A brown-haired, blue-eyed boy approached the car, standing in front of me with his legs spread and his arms crossed. He gave me a look that indicated strangers weren’t welcome on his property, and then he started in on a series of questions.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “Why are you parked in front of my house?”

  “Are you Tommy Walker?” I asked.

  “I am. You didn’t answer my questions.”

  “You know Grace, right? Grace Ashby?”

  “Yeah, how do you know her?”

  “My name is Sloane Monroe. I’m friends with James, her uncle.”

  The boy took a step back, providing a bit more space between him and my personal bubble, which he’d just penetrated.

  He relaxed his shoulders. “I’ve been calling the senator for days. What’s the deal with him, anyway? Is he okay? My mum said he was attacked in the park last night.”

  I nodded. “He had surgery last night, and it went well. He’s expected to recover.”

  I considered whether or not I should have been giving him any information at all. For all I knew, the kid was the killer. But everything I’d said so far had already been vocalized on the news for public consumption. It wasn’t a secret. And as far as appearances went, Tommy didn’t look like a killer. Then again, killers didn’t always look like killers. Nurse and soccer mom Kristen Gilbert was about as innocent-looking as one could be, and she’d injected her patients with adrenaline.

  “How’s Grace doing?” he asked. “Have you seen her? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. I was with her this morning.”

  “And?”

  “She’s doing about how you’d expect for someone who just lost her mother.”

  “Did she ask you to come here?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll ask again ... why are you here?”

  “You never asked why I was here. You asked why I was parked in front of your house. See the difference?”

  Based on the look on his face, I considered dialing down the sarcasm.

  “Grace got upset this morning,” I said, “and I thought you might know why.”

  “How would I know? I don’t know how she’s doing because her stupid uncle won’t let me see her.”

  “He’s not really letting her see anyone right now,” I said.

  “He let her see you.”

  It wasn’t true, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “What did you think of Hugh, her mother’s boyfriend?” I asked.

  “I didn’t like the guy.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Lots of reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Do you know what Grace’s relationship was like with Hugh and what it was like with her mother?”

  He tilted his head and stared at me. “Your accent sounds funny. Where are you from? Canada?”

  “I’m from America.”

  “You have a wacky president. He sends funny tweets on Twitter.”

  I smiled. “From what I hear, you have a wacky prime minister.”

  “If you’re not from here, then how do you know Grace’s uncle?”

  I told him about my previous visit to Australia.

  “You don’t really know him, though,” he said. “Why are you back in Cairns?”

  Bright kid.

  “James invited me here. I’m trying to find the person responsible for the murders of Caroline, Hugh, and Adelaide, and for the attempted murder of James.”

  “Is that what you do—you hunt killers?”

  I nodded. Close enough.

  “Do you know who he is?” he asked. “Have you found him?”

  Maybe I had. Maybe I was standing in front of him now.

  “I haven’t yet,” I said. “But I will. When was the last time you saw Grace?”

  He wagged a finger in front of me. “Not fair. Trick question.”

  “It isn’t a trick question. I heard Caroline got upset about your relationship with Grace and told you not to come over for a while. Did that upset you?”

  “I love Grace ... so yeah. Her mum shouldn’t have tried to keep us apart. She can’t keep us apart. No one can.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He shook his head. “You think I’m a suspect, huh? That’s why you’re here.”

  “At the moment, everyone is.”

  “Well, I’m not. I didn’t do anything to her mum. I’d never do anything to hurt Grace.”

  “You had a problem with her keeping the two of you apart, though, right?”

  “Not really. I knew it wouldn’t last.”

  “Do you know anyone who didn’t like Caroline or Hugh, or how their murders could be connected to Adelaide and the attack on James?”

  He thought about it. “What if someone is murdering people James cares about to get back at him for something he did?”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Did you see the news today?”

  “I heard it.”

  “I was thinking ... what if maybe this guy was trying to get the senator to quit all along?”

  And now he had.

  “Why would anyone go to such extreme lengths? And what reason would someone have to go after his family?”

  He narrowed his eyes, looking at me like I was naïve. “Politicians are idiots. They’re all stupid. Even my dad says so.”

  “Let’s say there’s truth to your theory. It would explain Caroline’s murder, but not the other two.”

  He shrugged. “How would I know?”


  “What do you think of James?”

  “He won’t let me see Grace.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He didn’t say anything. His office lady told me.”

  “Maybe I can talk to him and see if I can get him to change his mind.”

  He raised a brow. “Why? You don’t know me.”

  “I don’t, but Grace does, and I think she needs you in her life right now.”

  It wasn’t something I planned on doing, not until I ruled him out as a suspect. I’d said it to elicit favor, and given the fact he’d just cracked a smile, the idea had worked.

  “Sure,” he said, “if you think it would help.”

  “I imagine it’s been hard not seeing her all this time.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, well, it hasn’t been as long as you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I broke the rules. We just wanted to be together.”

  “How many times have you seen Grace since Caroline asked you to stay away?”

  He rubbed his hands together. “I ... I don’t know if I should say. Never mind.”

  I was losing him.

  “You know, I did the same thing once when I was your age. My mother didn’t like the guy I’d been seeing, and she forbade me to see him again.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I opened my bedroom window and piled a stack of clothes in front of it. After my mom went to bed, I waited until the heater kicked on, and then I snuck out.”

  “Did you ever get caught?”

  I nodded. “One night we were out driving around and my mother’s best friend saw me in the car with my boyfriend. I went home, expecting my mom to ground me for life. The weird thing was ... she didn’t. She changed tactics and started inviting my boyfriend to the house. It didn’t take long for me to realize I didn’t like him as much as I thought I did, and we broke up.”

  “I’d never break up with Grace. I love her.”

  “I believe you, and I believe she loves you. How many times have you seen her?”

  “Every night. Well, every night until her mum died and she moved in with her uncle. He has more security cameras. I’m scared he’d catch me.”

  He. Saw. Her. Every. Night.

  Every night without getting caught.

  “How did you do it?” I asked.

  “Caroline went to bed at eleven and woke up at six. I waited until the lights were out, and then I went to Grace’s bedroom window and tapped three times. She’d let me in, and I’d sleep next to her all night. Then I’d sneak back out and go home.”

  An obvious, burning question came to mind. “Were you at Grace’s house the night of the murder? Did you see what happened?”

  He stared at the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Not talking about it was talking about it. He hadn’t said no.

  “Please, Tommy,” I said. “I’m only trying to help the family get closure so they can move on. Just tell me what happened. If you do, I can protect Grace. I know you know something. Help me help her.”

  He pounded his fist onto his chest. “I protect Grace. I’m the only one. Not her mum, not her uncle, not her grandfather, and not you. Me. The only reason you’re really here is to get me to tell you things.”

  “And what should you be telling me?”

  “Nothing. He can tell you if he wants. I’m not doing it.”

  “He ... who?”

  “I can’t talk to you anymore.”

  “Of course you can,” I said.

  “No, I can’t. You tell the senator I love Grace. You tell him I don’t care if he lets her see me or not. No one can keep her away from me.”

  The man was agitated.

  He had spared the foreigner’s life, giving her a single reprieve when he could have chosen to end her, and still, she was nosing around like an ungrateful little bitch.

  Why couldn’t she leave things alone?

  He knew now that he’d been remiss in sparing her life, in giving her an opportunity to leave the country, removing herself from the unfortunate situation she had found herself in. He was sure she’d find the note he left, realize how close she’d come to death, and be too afraid to remain any longer.

  He’d been wrong.

  So wrong.

  To infect his wounded ego even further, as it turned out, the senator wasn’t dead either (an egregious oversight on the man’s part), and now the foreigner was running amuck, sprinkling herself in places she didn’t belong.

  The foreigner was getting a lot closer to the truth than the man was comfortable with, and when the morning news revealed her as a friend of the family, they’d given her name. The man had written it down, surprised when he did an internet search and found out her true identity.

  She wasn’t there for the senator, as once the man presumed.

  She wasn’t just a friend of his either, visiting to show support after the loss of his sister.

  She was there for him, to hunt him down.

  And she wasn’t leaving until she had him.

  He would go after her again—only this time, he’d show no mercy.

  After Tommy proclaimed no one could keep him from Grace, he’d abruptly whipped around and sprinted back to his house. I chased after him, asking for a chance to fix whatever I had broken between us. He wasn’t interested, and when the door slammed in my face right before I reached it, I stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do next.

  Then I started knocking.

  Tommy’s mother answered, a five-foot-nothing petite woman with brunette hair braided into a loose bun, wearing a bright, floral sundress and flip-flops. With one hand on her hip, she scolded me over her son being so upset. I tried to explain, and she interrupted me, saying she didn’t care what had been said between us. Her son had been through enough. She didn’t like seeing him agitated for any reason. I was strongly advised never to return to their house again, following which she shut the door in the same manner Tommy had done a minute earlier.

  Even though I’d pinched a nerve, and Tommy had become defensive over Grace, our conversation was a productive one. I sat in my car, going over what he had said, and I attempted to fill in the blanks of what he hadn’t. His words played over and over in my mind, like a message I had the ability to decode if I considered it long enough.

  I thought about the quote found inside my shoe.

  Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men and hang up them.

  Adelaide was the liar.

  James was the fool.

  A fool, by definition, was a person tricked or deceived into appearing or acting silly or stupid, thus making him a liar himself.

  Maybe there was something to Tommy’s suggestion that the murders were politically motivated and had something to do with James. But as far as I knew, Adelaide had no hand in James’ political dealings. If Adelaide and James were both “swearers,” as the quote suggested, there was a connection between them, one I was certain I didn’t understand yet.

  James was sitting up in his hospital bed, watching the news, and sipping on a cup of coffee when I walked in.

  “Good to see you, Sloane,” he said. “Did you get my text?”

  I nodded. “Did you get mine?”

  “You said we needed to talk. I was thinking the same thing.”

  I pulled a chair closer to his bed and sat down. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately. You’ve just lost your sister, and you’re grieving. You’ve also assumed custody of Grace and have been trying to help her recover. And you’re looking out for your dad too. It’s a lot to deal with, a lot of pressure, but I don’t think it’s the only pressure you’ve been under.”

  “You’re right. That’s why I’ve decided to step down as senator. I can’t focus on the job and my family and a murderer who hasn’t been caught yet and maintain my position and perform the duties expected of me. It’s not what I want, but it’s what needs to happen.”
r />   “I get it,” I said, “but the added pressure of your job isn’t what I was talking about.”

  He raised a brow. “It’s not? What are you trying to say, then?”

  “I’ve been sitting in my car in the hospital parking lot for the last hour, thinking about you and Adelaide and why you were both targeted by the killer. It seems odd to me that you two were labeled as a liar and a fool, and yet the killer didn’t send any kind of message when he killed Caroline and Hugh.”

  “I’m not sure what to tell you. Who knows what the reasons are for what he’s doing? It takes a certain kind of person to kill another person. You have to understand, we could be dealing with someone who isn’t in his right mind.”

  I understood just fine.

  “In the park, he could have easily gotten rid of me if he’d wanted to,” I said, “and he didn’t. Why do you think that is?”

  “When we catch him, we’ll ask him, and then you’ll have your answer.”

  His comment had been peppered with a hint of sarcasm, and I was just getting started.

  “Is there anything you need to tell me?” I asked. “Anything you should have told me before now but didn’t?”

  He set the coffee cup down and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for me to say here, Sloane. I get the feeling you’ve come here today to play guessing games with me, and I’m in no mood for it. I thought we were headed in the right direction together. Was I wrong?”

  “I went to see Tommy Walker today.”

  He shrugged. “And? What did he have to say?”

  “Tommy told me if I wanted to know what happened the night of your sister’s murder, the part I don’t know about, I should ask you.”

  I was paraphrasing, and it wasn’t exactly what Tommy had said, but for now, it was all I had to work with. I hoped it was enough to provoke him to talk.

  “What makes Tommy think he knows anything?”