by Livia Quinn
“Yes, sir.” My deputy scanned the paper.
I suspected the manager was not going to be happy.
I was right.
“Are you out of your mind? I can’t close the golf course for a week. Oh. My. God. What is that smell?”
Someone needed to remind Giles Fitzhugh—that couldn’t be his real name—that he was not the owner of the golf club or the King of Mardi Gras, just a well-dressed peon to the country club set. Not even well-dressed this morning, in LSU sweat pants under an insulated camouflage jacket, the sleeve of which he had covering half his face.
“I’ll have you know,” his vehemence muffled in camo, “we have a tournament this week and matches scheduled every day, starting at seven tomorrow morning.” He pinched his nose between two fingers, cocked one ample hip and poked his finger at my chest. “If we quose for da west of the week, I’ll have to caw da bembers. I won’t awow it.”
The pointed digit came my way again, and he squeaked as I grabbed his finger. I really hate it when someone pokes me with his finger. “You want to stop doing that, Mr. Fitzhugh. I’m sure your members would want to do right by the man who lost his life here,” I said, nodding at the floor in front of him.
It was a dirty trick, but the snooty pompous little weasel had pissed me off. He took one look at the blood and other evidence still decorating the hall and ran outside to the nearest bush. I followed him. When he was done, I followed him back inside and described the victim. “Sound familiar?”
“That sounds like Ray, our maintenance man.” The way he said the word maintenance implied a class distinction for Giles.
“Did he usually come in on Monday?”
“No. He isn’t...wasn’t allowed on Sunday or Monday.”
“So I guess he got what he deserved.” He actually started to agree with me, the mean-spirited stooge. “Are you allowed?” I asked.
He didn’t get it right away. When he did, he paled. “Well…of course, I’m the manager.”
“Did Ray have keys to the clubhouse?” I opened my pad.
“He had a key, but not the code to the alarm. I’m the only one with thos…” His eyes widened, “Except the president of the club. Oh dear, I don’t mean to suggest—that is, Ray might have gotten them sometime or other, but as far as I know he didn’t know the alarm code.”
Though I enjoyed bringing this phony down a notch, I knew he wasn’t the culprit. If I didn’t miss my guess, he was OCD. Killing someone by bashing his head in wouldn’t be his M.O. Not that he couldn’t kill someone; anyone could, given the right motivation.
“What’s the president’s name?”
He rattled off the name and number.
“What about the locker room? Who had codes to the lockers?”
“We remodeled the locker room and each member in good standing got their pick. First come, first serve.”
“Do you keep the list of members and their lockers? Check the locks out by some kind of list?”
“Um, well, I’d have to ask the girl who keeps our files. She goes to St. Mary’s High School.”
Great. All this posturing and the locks and locker combinations were in the control of a teenager. “Name?” I wrote it down, but I could see there were more holes in the clubhouse security than there were greens on the course.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Fitzhugh.” I held out my hand. “I’ll need your key. And the codes.”
He grumbled under his breath, but delicately dropped the keys into my palm, careful not to touch my skin. “The alarm code will be temporarily changed to protect the evidence.”
“One other thing. Do you know River Pomeroy?”
“Never heard of him. Wait! Isn’t that woman who broke in a Pomeroy? You know one of our club members filed a complaint against her for theft.” This was delivered with an excess of malicious glee. Interesting.
“I’m aware of the complaint. So far, there’s been nothing to support that claim.” Damn it. I shouldn’t have responded to Fitz’s comment.
“Well, from what I hear, Pomeroy’s at it again.”
“You’re free to leave now, Fitzhugh. We’ll let you know when you can reopen.”
He stalked out.
Stalked was definitely the wrong word.
Chapter 23
“Yowsa! You got a bigger set than me.”
* * *
Jack
Kirkwood yawned and rubbed his eyes as I drove up. “What happened to the quiet little crime-free town you promised me, Jack?”
“If you’re referring to what I said when I offered you the job, forget it. After five years of custody fights with my ex, no one wants quiet or ordinary more than me.” The key the landlord had supplied took some jiggling but we finally got in.
The front room smelled of incense and something I couldn’t put my finger on. It was musty but spare, and tiny, the living room just large enough for a small ugly couch, a cheap coffee table and TV. It had the feel of a vacant hotel room.
Ryan spoke as he poked at the telephone books neatly stacked under the phone. “You get the impression he didn’t live here?”
I walked over to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A pack of off-brand beer, a Styrofoam container of Cool Cats, and what looked like alfalfa sprouts.
“Is that wigglers?” Ryan asked from over my shoulder.
“Yeah, looks like ol’ Ray might have been fishing recently. You find anything?”
“There was a desk in the bedroom. I found part of a cell phone bill made out to Ray Meeker.” He handed it to me. I was thinking if Ray Meeker was a fisherman, maybe he had been killed somewhere else. Or maybe that accounted for the smell. Nah, didn’t seem likely. The smell had been too strong, too strange.
“There wasn’t a cell phone on him. Did you find one here? I’d sure like to see who’s been calling him.”
“Not yet,” Ryan said. “Doesn’t look like he stayed here. One suit of clothes in the closet, no shorts or socks in the drawers. Nothing but a used razor in the trash can in the bathroom. I bagged it.”
I nodded. Kirkwood was a good man. He’d been my wingman in the Navy, but after sinus surgery was told he couldn’t fly anything but helicopters and low altitude aircraft. When I won the election, I managed to lure him away from Search and Rescue. See, Ryan was kidding about wanting peace and quiet; it was anyone’s guess how long he’d make it in a boring little town like Destiny.
As for me, I’d had more excitement in my personal life than on deployment; enough to last a lifetime. When this case was solved, I could picture myself in an aluminum boat, kicked back, jig pole in hand, a cool cat on my hook...
“All right. Let’s make one more pass and move on.”
He turned to me, head cocked, eyebrows winging up, “Move on? Where to?”
“Somewhere that’s going to get me in a lot of trouble.”
“Ohhh, yeah.” Ryan grinned.
Was it that obvious?
“You know how it is. War brings men closer than a lot of couples and you’re broadcasting loud and clear, Laser. Hell, I figured if you weren’t interested, I might ask her out myself.”
“Well, before you go getting involved with a suspect let’s get this case solved,” I growled.
Ryan chuckled, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
I never said I was good at subterfuge. “Sweep the bathroom and kitchen, flunkie. I’ll double back behind you in the bedroom.”
We bagged and tagged what little we gathered. As I locked the front door, I got a call from Peggy. Tempe had just sat down to fill out the Missing Persons report.
I read off some of the most frequent calls on Meeker’s phone statement and told her to call me when she knew something. Then Kirkwood and I headed to Harmony.
What Tempe had referred to as her ‘voracious monster’ was in reality an elegant, though time worn, plantation home with a classic veranda surrounding the bottom floor. There were two ladders on one side and a sturdy scaffold. Rolls of insulation and stacks of blue
roofing tin sat nearby.
“Man, these old places can suck the contents of your wallet and leave it gasping,” Kirkwood said.
“My thoughts exactly—but it’s got class.”
“If you like that old broken down tramp look,” Ryan said. “You got a key?”
“Hell, no. We’re just going to be here when she gets home. Peggy got the honors.”
“Yowsa! You got a bigger set than me. You’re going to catch it on both ends, Laser.” Said the man whose call sign had been Stones.
He pulled a breakfast sack out of his car and sipped from a cup of coffee. My head hurt from caffeine deprivation, and my stomach rumbled.
“Give me a break, will ‘ya, and hand me that coffee.” I held out my hand. I’d taken one sip when I heard tires squealing on asphalt a block away.
“Suck it down, flyboy. It’s show time.”
* * *
Her march toward me was so determined, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d taken a swing at me. She was something: the colored strands of her hair flying around, crackling with electricity in the cold air; cheeks flushed with temper. Her eyes, when she glared up into mine, were an emotional hurricane.
“What’s this about a warrant, Sheriff?”
She made the word “sheriff” sound like “scumbag”. I resisted smiling, as it seemed like a good way to get hurt. “As I told you before, I’m just doing my job.”
“Well, just do it then. Here’s the key.”
Off-guard, I automatically put my hand out. It stung after she slapped the key into it.
“Search all you want. I’ve searched the last two nights. Now if you don’t mind, I have places to go and people to see.” She turned, head high, like the Queen dismissing the Guard.
I grabbed her arm. When she turned, I felt the flush to my skin, the hairs standing up like they had in battle, a spontaneous reaction to impending danger. I let go.
“Sorry. You have to stay.”
“Really,” she said, sarcastically. “Pour quoi?”
“Because especially now, I don’t want to be sued for stealing something from your house. Honestly, Tempe, I thought you’d be more cooperative.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you’d asked for permission, I’d have opened my door and baked you a cake. But it will be a sizzling hot day in Iceland before I cooperate now. And here I thought you were concerned about my brother. I believed all that crap about getting Peggy to start looking around unofficiall—”
“She did—”
“I even went ahead and filed the report believing you meant to help me find him.”
Ryan spoke up, “She did—”
“It’s okay, Ryan. Ms. Pomeroy is just a little upset right now.” I’ll say. I felt the heat of her skin through her jacket and her eyes flickered, hot with anger. I hoped it was anger. She sure seemed to have a way with electricity.
Kirkwood cleared his throat and shifted.
“Deputy Kirkwood is correct. Peggy made the rounds to the surrounding towns. The only bar where your brother was seen was the Wasted Turtle, where the contractor’s employee said he saw him. The woman has yet to be identified.”
That shut her up. For about two seconds, maybe less. “And you’re searching my house for what, exactly?”
“Any possible murder weapon, ties to the victim, clues to your brother’s whereabouts. All I have is your word and a statement from this Rutledge guy that River didn’t show up on the job Monday.”
She started to object.
“I didn’t say I don’t believe you, but I have to follow procedure. There’s been no ransom, no evidence of foul play. He might be layin’ up somewhere with this woman. And...”
“And?”
“You might not know your baby brother like you think you do.” I thought she was going to blow then. If mad was a planet, she’d have been Mars.
“I want River’s amphora back.”
“It’s still being held as evidence.”
Actually, I’d broken my promise to her. It was being tested this very moment. With the body missing, solving the case, finding the killer and maybe her brother, might depend on those backup slides.
I felt a twinge in my midsection when her shoulders slumped. She looked as tired as I felt. Unlocking the front door, she threw the keys on the table in the hallway. “Do your worst; it can’t be any more than I did last night. I’m going to make coffee.”
She wasn’t kidding. The rooms looked like a preschool class had spent the night here. I nodded at Ryan to start in the living room. I headed for the upstairs, her brother’s living quarters.
She served us coffee and stayed out of our way. Everything about her was so calm she nearly disappeared into the air around us. She had to be running on empty.
“So, what were you looking for?” I asked.
Her auburn lashes feathered down over pale cheeks as she rested her head against the back of the sofa. “Anything that would give me a clue where River is. His plans, a note—a little black book.”
“I take it you didn’t find anything.” Her lids opened to reveal blue irises. They swallowed me down into their depths and brought back memories of flying across a cloudless winter sky.
“Have you?”
Duhhh, Earth to Jack. The woman is speaking to you, and you’re standing here like a horny teenager. “Have I what?”
“Have you found anything? A murder weapon? Blood... anything to point to River as a murderer?”
Accusations. The calm was dissipating like a deceivingly passive electrical line just before the transformer blows. I actually imagined I heard thunder.
“I don’t care if you strip my house bare and carry the pieces to the best lab in the country. River didn’t kill anyone. Now, I seem to be the only one taking my brother’s disappearance seriously.” Her voice cracked. “He could be in serious trouble, lying in a ditch somewhere, anything. I have to find him. I took today off for that purpose, and since you’re obviously not going to help me…” She took a deep uneven breath.
Here we go again, I thought, as her eyes brimmed. Waterworks. “I will follow up on your brother’s disappearance as soon as I get done here, now that you’ve filed the report.” My cell phone rang.
“Yeah, Peggy.”
Tempe
I began taking the trash I’d set in piles next to the door last night and loading them in my truck while the sheriff answered his cell. I was tired, frustrated and scared. Really scared. Not for myself, but for River. I wasn’t even angry so much about them searching my house, though something in me felt a little betrayed. Well, okay, more than a little, but mostly—it was inconvenient as hell.
Everybody knows the longer someone is missing the less likely you are to find them, and in River’s case the reasons were two fold—the time factor in turning up clues to his whereabouts, and the fact that he would die from being away from his amphora for too long. Not to mention that if someone had him, and they knew how to take advantage of his power…
When I entered the kitchen, I heard Lang’s voice clearly, “Damn it. Peggy, are you sure?” He rubbed his hand across his neck. His deputy looked from me to Jack, who flipped his phone shut with a snap.
He looked at Ryan, “Peggy did a reverse locator on the numbers.”
He skewered me with that cutting stare. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. The number most often called was to Alliance.” He repeated the phone number. “Ring any bells?”
It was Phoebe’s number.
Chapter 24
“What is this, a bong?”
* * *
Tempe
“He called my mother?” My mind stuck on those words in a mire of incredulity, while images exploded like a kaleidoscope, of the man in the clubhouse, my mother the last time I’d seen her. “I-I don’t get it. What would he be calling Phoebe for?” My head pounded with confusion.
“I assure you I’ll find out.” He regarded me suspiciously.
“What? I knew nothing about this.” But somet
hing niggled at the back of my mind.
Lang noticed. “A man is dead. If you know something, it would save a lot of time...”
“Whose time, Sheriff… yours? What about us? My mother, my brother. It’s like a witch hunt.” Was there such a thing that applied to Djinn and their families? “And it’s all just keeping my energy and yours from finding River. Can’t you see that?”
He shook his head disgustedly. “I’ve asked you to trust me. If your family is innocent of any wrong doing, I’ll find the truth.”
“If. If. If. When you finally figure out we’re all innocent of any wrongdoing…” I let him see the fear I was feeling, “It may be too late.” I picked up my keys. “Now, help yourself to anything I own, but if you try to stop me from leaving this house, you’ll be sorry. That is, if I’m not under arrest.” I put as much grit in my voice as I could. The anger and fear I felt was churning menori to life. I had to get out of here.
“Hold up,” he said. “Ryan, lock up behind me.”
He started to put his hand on my elbow, but must have sensed the spinning vortex of emotions bubbling up inside of me, like a tsunami nearing the coastline. An image came unbidden of my mother blowing the windows out of our living room in the middle of an argument with my father. And I hadn’t even known she was mad.
He followed me out to my truck as I escaped. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure.” I wasn’t lying. Only burning off this churning energy inside me would keep me from coming apart. I lifted my face to the wind and wondered if I could just raise my arms and let it take me somewhere…anywhere.
“Just… don’t do anything stupid. Trust me to get to the bottom of this.”
His eyes implored me to do just that, and oh… “I wish I could,” I said, climbing into my truck and gunning the engine.
He stood in the street watching as I flew away from Harmony.
I drove to Alliance to talk to Phoebe, to no avail. I asked her neighbor watching from his back porch if he’d seen her.
