“I know. Counseling after the fire helped me see the truth but the guilt never goes away completely. I’ve never told anyone but my counselor about the nightmare.”
“Thanks for trusting me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
Smiling, he felt her settle into the bed, using his chest for her pillow. Her hand threaded through his chest hairs, rippling current along the skin. She hooked her left leg over his. Her smooth, slim, bare leg.
She was all relaxed now, soft and pliant. Never mind the blaze in her nightmare. He’d need the fire departments from three towns to extinguish the conflagration in his body. He was about to slide down and kiss her, but she’d fallen asleep. Her hand rested lightly on his chest. Her jaw was slack and her breathing regular and easy.
If he left now, she might wake up. Or the nightmare could return. He’d be back here anyway, so he might as well stay. He eased down in the bed and blinked, resigned to a night of no sleep.
Things between them had changed, but he should be careful of what new direction they went. He liked her. He wanted her. And vice versa. Probably. But he couldn’t allow himself to mistake lust and respect for love.
Chapter 17
Lani recovered quickly and they skipped the Independence Day festivities in favor of continuing their interviews. The celebration in Dragon Harbor was low key, bunting and flags along Main Street and random pops and bangs from small fireworks. Nearly everyone went to nearby Thomaston, where the annual parade and fireworks drew tourists and Mainers from all over the state.
She agreed when Jake opined the lull for the noontime parade didn’t mean the Wheelhouse regulars weren’t on their usual stools. Sure enough, Ava Warren was at her post. Hee took Ava’s hitting on him in stride. Later called it a game. Game. Bull. Lani felt like waving semaphore flags or maybe beaning the spike-haired chick with an empty beer bottle to announce her presence at his side, but she stifled her impulses. After all, she needed whatever Ava knew.
The flashy bartender allowed as how she’d worked side by side with Gail that summer but the two of them didn’t get along and didn’t talk much. Ava said she knew some people who might be able to help but wouldn’t divulge names. She promised to talk to those anonymous people and she’d get back to them. Jake supposed afterward she’d want money if and when she had anything for them.
Later they placed phone calls, disturbing the holiday for some men Gail’s friends had named. One was a dentist in Bayport who panted throughout the conversation. He barely remembered her sister among a series of girls he bedded that summer in a drunken stupor. Another whispered he’d been with Gail only one time and left the state for basic training afterward. He didn’t even know she’d died.
And so it went through the entire list.
Disgusted, Jake said he wanted to give the new fire investigator all the names. Maybe he’d have more luck. But she insisted there was no reason to expose people to official scrutiny if the interviews resulted in no real suspect. His reaction probably had less to do with frustration than anger over Gail’s promiscuity. Big-time blow to a guy’s ego. Lani struggled to suppress her fury at her twin because she understood her pain. Hadn’t she found her own way to combat pain? Granted, a tough-chick act was less drastic.
The next morning, he dropped her off at the library while he went into Bayport for building supplies. She greeted the library volunteer and waved off her offer of assistance. “I know where to look.” And you just want to know my business.
She settled down with the microfiche machine, a dinosaur in this Internet age, but these small-town newspapers hadn’t yet been digitized. If they ever would be. Rather than reports on the fire, she was looking for something else. She flipped through issue after issue of the Bayport Chronicle. Nothing. She turned off the machine in favor of the computer, where she skimmed old issues of the Bangor and Portland papers. She rubbed her eyes, as scratchy as hundred-grit sandpaper, almost missing what she’d hoped to find. Then there it was. Galt lied.
“Excuse me, dear, Millie said you were over here. You are Lani Cameron?”
She turned around to see a small white-haired woman in a peach pantsuit standing beside her. A familiar face, but she couldn’t place her. “Yes, ma’am. Can I help you?”
A wide smile wreathed the woman’s pink cheeks in wrinkles. “I came over to say how glad I am to see you. I used to see you all the time back when I managed the dining room at the Eastward Inn.”
“Mrs. Verrill!” Lani stood and gave the woman a hug. Whoo hoo, a lucky coincidence. “Of course I remember you. Please sit down. We can have a nice chat.” She pulled out the chair at the next computer.
*****
“You look like you just hit a million in the lottery,” Jake said an hour later when she hopped in the Jeep. “Or did you get Glenn Close’s autograph while you were in there? I heard her yacht’s in the harbor.”
“Not even close.” At his groan, she laughed. “Okay, you drive and I’ll share.”
“You wouldn’t tell me what you were doing in there. More sleuthing?”
“And luck. I looked through the old news for any articles mentioning Galt, Sergeant Galt back then. I happened across a photo of J.T. Meagher giving a campaign speech in Portland. Guess who was standing behind him off to one side.”
His mouth thinned and a frown crimped his forehead. “No kidding. But why?”
“The article mostly talked about J.T.’s policies, but at the end mentioned his entourage included his chief of security, Norman Galt, who worked also for the town of Dragon Harbor Police Department. You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Damn good detecting.”
She swatted his arm. “Thanks, but it means he must’ve met Gail. And me, but I don’t remember him.”
“He probably accompanied J.T. on the campaign trail. Didn’t hang around stuffing envelopes and making phone calls. Or maybe he really doesn’t remember you girls.”
“I have another source. This is where the luck comes in. Emma Verrill.”
More frowning. “Name’s familiar but I can’t—”
“She managed the Eastward Inn dining room when Gail waited tables that summer. She spoke to me in the library and I sat her down for a nice long talk. Seems after Galt’s wife left him, he ate dinner at least four times a week at the inn. Gail worked dinner shifts most nights.”
“So she’d have served him. Galt did lie.”
“Question is why.” Lani leaned back, pondering the angles.
“I’m having coffee with Otis and his pals Thursday. I’ll see what they say about Galt and the ladies. Don’t be too hopeful this will lead anywhere helpful.” He gave her hand a squeeze.
She savored the warmth of his callused hand. He was right that nothing would happen soon. She had to be patient. A tall order, as desperately as she wanted her sister’s murderer caught and punished. Her throat tightened with the familiar wave of sadness that rose and fell but never flattened to a calm sea.
For now she was content to accompany Jake to visit his mother. She could complain about his hovering but not about seeing the woman who’d always welcomed her and their group warmly into their home.
When they walked onto the terrace at the Pine View, she felt her stomach drop to her toes. This woman whose wheelchair was parked at a shaded table wasn’t the Grace Wescott she knew. Seeing the frail body and vacant eyes broke Lani’s heart.
Jake introduced her. “Maybe you remember Lani,” he said. “She and her twin sister spent their summers at the old Cameron place, Birch Brook Farm.”
Interest flicked across Grace’s face, then vanished. “Hello, dear,” was all she said.
Lani sat nearby, watching him help his mom do a simple jigsaw puzzle. Or rather, he found the pieces and pointed out where she should place them.
One day her father or mother, younger than Grace by several years, might be in such a predicament. If years from now Brody Cameron slipped into dementia, she could lose him twice. She felt a
s if a hard ball was stuck in her throat and she blinked against the emotions crowding her. Maybe she ought to consider reconciling.
Jake pointed to the antics of goldfinches darting around the bird feeder. His laugh, a rich rumble of mirth, coaxed a smile from Grace. In spite of the torment of guilt he put himself through, he was a good man, still kind and funny. And, yes, protective.
And she was falling for him.
She envisioned no future for them. She trusted him with her life but not her heart. He would leave. He lived on a boat. She hardly blamed him since she would be leaving too. And the suspicion he wanted her because she resembled Gail left her chest feeling hollow.
She sure couldn’t spend another day alone with him while she organized their research on her laptop. Seeing him all the time just made her want him more. She’d go starkers, as the Brits said. Or she’d jump his bones. Besides, she was used to living alone and needed a day to herself to regroup, the same way she did after a crazy day at school.
She looked up to see his mom studying her.
“I remember you,” Grace said. “You were too noisy in the library. I had to ask you to leave.” She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Lani laughed and Jake winked. In a few moments they rose to leave. She pressed a kiss to Grace’s cheek. The papery skin was cool against her lips and smelled of lilies of the valley.
“Goodbye, Henry, love,” Grace said, as her son kissed her goodbye. “Bring the boys tomorrow.”
They left her with the birds and a completed jigsaw of a Maine harbor.
*****
When they drove toward Dragon Harbor, Jake wondered if because Lani hadn’t argued about accompanying him, she’d conceded staying together was the only way to keep her safe.
He reached for her hand and kissed it. “I’m glad you came with me today. I haven’t been able to reach Ma in weeks and you managed.”
“Only for a minute.” Her shoulders twitched as if in embarrassment. “I did nothing but sit there. Her brain just needs time to work through the old memories. Trust her to latch onto the one that had me misbehaving.”
“What were you doing to get tossed out of the library? Mouthing off as usual?”
“Very funny.”
“Come on. What? I can tell from your expression you remember.”
She huffed. “I don’t. Well, sort of. Back when I was a kid, before our crowd hung out together. We were noisy, like Grace said, but not just me. More than once, she had to ask Gail and me and our friends to leave.”
Jake nearly choked. The good humor felt strange, as if he’d discovered a new emotion. In spite of their mission and their differences, she lightened his heart.
When the welcome sign greeted them at the village, he said, “I need to work on Gram’s house. Part of my cover, remember.”
“Fine. You can drop me off at the harbor.”
Stubborn. She’d returned her rental car and depended on his chauffeuring but she resented giving up freedom. Too damn bad.
He slanted a glance her way but couldn’t read her. “I suppose you’ll phone me if the killer tries to get on board the Amy Jo.”
“I seem to recall you saying I’d be safe there because the harbor master and police station were nearby.”
“I said it, true enough. But I’ve reconsidered since you brought up the possibility of Chief Galt being involved. Gram’s house it is.” He turned into the old cottage’s driveway and cut the engine. “I have to get ready for the wallboard. For that, I’ll hire a real carpenter. You can work on the files while I do more demo in the hallway and put in insulation.” He got out, forcing her to exit as well if she wanted to keep mixing it up over her safety.
She glared at him over the hood. “No way. All that dust and fiberglass could gum up the laptop. If I can postpone painting the farmhouse, you can postpone this work.”
The fire in her eyes tempted him to go over there and kiss away her objections, but she’d probably slug him. She was up to something. Ditching him again? He wouldn’t let her. Odds were high the killer would strike again soon.
“My repairs won’t wait,” he said. “Uncle Joe’s had three offers on his boat. It’ll sell soon and I can’t stay here until the walls and floors are done.” A white lie. He could camp out upstairs. “You can take the laptop to the back porch, away from dust.”
She blinked, stared at him blankly. “The Amy Jo’s not your boat?”
He shook his head. “My uncle just lets me live on her until she sells.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Then who’s Amy Jo?”
He had to chuckle. Jealous? The notion gave him inordinate satisfaction. “My cousins. Uncle Joe’s daughters, Amy and Jo Anne. Who’d you think?”
“No one.” She ducked into the backseat to retrieve her laptop.
*****
After he opened the door, Lani made a dash through the living room and kitchen, barely registering the rolls of pink insulation stacked in the living room and his warning to avoid the loose floorboards. She heard him chuckling as she slapped her laptop onto the bench. Sinking onto the wicker loveseat, she booted up.
Jake’s cocky smirk stared at her from the screen. Her cheeks burned from her embarrassing blunder. Motor Mouth should be her moniker. She needed to rein in her impulsiveness as well as her emotions. She was an idiot.
The pounding and crunch of demolition inside made her shake off her musings and get back to work. If he could work, so could she. And she could focus without picturing the slide and bulge of the muscles in his arms and back as he wrenched out the old wall coverings and stuffed in insulation. Crap.
Entering the information from their interviews and Jake’s background checks gave them a way to analyze suspects. According to him, anyway. She had her doubts but the process at least gave her something positive to do.
An hour later, Jake’s cell phone jangled and he spoke in a low voice to the caller. A few minutes later she heard his confident steps coming her way. The happy blip of her pulse at his approach had her forehead crinkling. The screen door squawked as he joined her on the porch.
“Want a cola?” he asked, holding out a frosty can. The chalky odor of white plaster dust coating his gray T-shirt and the salty tang of his work rolled off him.
“Perfect. Thanks.” Relishing rather than minding the smells, she told herself to ignore the warmth in his eyes and the trickle of sweat on his temple that needed wiping. She scooted the computer off her lap and onto the bench. “None of this makes much sense.”
“It will. We’ll see a pattern eventually. We have to.”
He settled on one of the packing boxes that lined the walls and popped open his soda can. “My task force contact had some more news for me.” His stony expression revealed nothing.
“Good or bad?” she asked.
“Depends.” He took a long pull on the fizzing drink. “The team out west tackling the capture of El Águila picked up one of his men who gave over some info on Hector Vargas.”
She scooted forward. “So why isn’t that good?”
“Seems his real name isn’t Vargas but Johnson. His mother was a Vargas. He’s a cousin—big family—but that’s all the guy knew. Apparently he looks as white bread as you and me. Is bilingual with no Spanish-accented English.”
Lani sighed. “Rats. So much for spotting an obvious Mexican gun runner. He could be a tourist, a boater, anyone.” From Independence Day on, tourists crowded the narrow coast roads, armed with cameras, backpacks, golf clubs, fishing gear, and maps to the historic lighthouses. Too many people.
“Not a tourist. If Hector Vargas or Johnson, or whoever the hell he is, is here, he’s been here since spring. Winter weather was too chancy for gun smuggling. They’ve shipped out at least three boatloads of weapons and ammo that we know of. Now we’re onto them, the task force figures they’ll make one more shipment before moving their operation. God knows where. I have to nail this down before then.”
She nodded. “Did this contact, Donovan, have a
ny more on the background checks?’
“Some. They eliminate some people and add complications to others. Gail’s college boyfriend’s old alibi still checks out, but it doesn’t matter now because he died in a car accident two years ago. Mike Spear at the marina’s clean as a seagull’s wing. No traffic violations, no drunken rampages, no hint of anything except being a family man and church elder. The harbormaster has a pristine employment record, Cape Cod before he came here. Same story on everyone else he checked on. He’s sending a longer report by e-mail.”
She hated to ask, but... “What about Kevin?”
“Nothing yet.”
Not sure what that meant, she sipped her soda. “What’s your next move?”
“Go back over the same people we’ve already checked out. See if I missed something. Correction, try to see what I missed.” He leaned against the screening and closed his eyes. “After you’ve entered all our data, maybe you can look everyone over again. You have good instincts.”
“Thank you, Mr. Agent Man, says the apprentice G-Woman.” She gestured at the screen. “All this data can be helpful, but finding Gail’s old secret lover has little to do with the kind of stuff a background check is likely to find, like financial difficulty or jail time or a substance abuse problem. From how she was acting the night of the fire, he was more than one of those casual hook-ups with the others. I like local gossip for leads in this situation.”
“No argument here. But I see one area where the background checks might come in handy. If our killer has linked up with an arsonist for hire, we might find their association in what my ATF guy can come up with.” He shifted on the box and rubbed his thigh. “Granted, nothing so far hints at criminal connections for anyone. So gossip and old history it is.”
Gesturing at his less than comfy seat, she said, “What are all these boxes out here? Your grandmother’s belongings?”
He wagged his head. “Some. The rest is from Ma’s house. Hank and I packed up all the family stuff thinking we’d divvy it up sometime.”
Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) Page 15
