Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries)

by Lovely, Linda

  The sick bastard was directing Dear’s murder play and taunting me, implying I couldn’t do a doggone thing to stop his production. His carefully chosen words could be interpreted innocently. Even if I’d been wearing a wire, he’d admitted nothing.

  “An interesting game.” I feigned indifference. “Do you have a similar affection for weapons, say electronic control devices? I hear a new long range stunner has become quite popular in your old stomping ground.”

  “You do say.” He tapped a finger absently against his lips. “There’s always that nagging problem with weapons—they can be turned against their owners. I’ll bet you’d be highly embarrassed if someone fired your gun at you.”

  My Irish temper flared. Two can play this game.

  A waiter stopped at our table. “May I get you something, sir?” Kain’s striking profile and projection of wealth hadn’t escaped the junior barkeep’s notice.

  “Yes, please. A martini—stirred not shaken.”

  With a tee-hee, the waiter sped on his way.

  “I confess I can be a bit of a ham. But I do have a James Bond aura, don’t you think?”

  No way, you pile of gussied-up manure.

  Repulsed by his cat-and-mouse game, I decided to lay down some verbal covering fire. Maybe I’d smoke out a reaction that would lead us down a promising investigative path. “I hear times are tough for ex-patriots,” I began. “Especially those who exploit orphans. That might prompt an imaginative entrepreneur—someone with your brains—to choreograph a land flip. You know, mortgage fraud as diversification—multiple product lines?”

  Kain took the salvo in stride. He even chuckled. “My, my, what an imagination.”

  I continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Now me, I’d never try a land flip. Too many mouths to keep shut if the plan goes south. Say, if I tried a land flip with Emerald Cay, I’d need to rope in Dear’s developers, plus a mortgage broker. Oh, by the way didn’t one of your countrymen just set up shop in Beaufort? Then I’d need an appraiser with a murky past and a compliant attorney. I imagine one with financial woes wouldn’t ask many questions.”

  Kain’s complexion signaled I’d scored direct hits. His ears turned scarlet. Dots of red sprang high on his cheeks, making it look as if he’d been lit up with laser scopes. His hands curled into fists. I reckoned he was dying to beat the snaffle out of me. Too bad there were so many pesky witnesses. I’d drawn blood. The scent made me greedy.

  “I’ve taken a keen interest in real estate,” I added. “In fact, I intend to visit the courthouse daily to check Emerald Cay title transfers. If I spot irregularities, I’ll pass the word. Nice thing about being retired. I can pursue any passion wholeheartedly. And I have two passions now—monitoring real estate deals and finding evidence to fry one psycho killer.”

  My pent-up rage spent itself in a quavering crescendo. “Retirement’s been a tad boring. Now I have a new lease on life, a mission.”

  The waiter sidled up to the table with Kain’s drink. He gave the raving madwoman—me—a wide berth. I panted as if I’d just finished a marathon.

  “Here you are, sir,” the waiter said timidly.

  “Thank you,” Kain replied with a wintry smile. “Afraid I can’t stay. I’ll pay my tab now.”

  He placed a twenty on the table. “Keep the change,” he said coolly. The waiter grabbed the bill and scurried away.

  “You’re quite the conversationalist, Marley.”

  I had to give the guy credit: his teeth still flashed in an ersatz smile.

  “What passion and imagination. Too bad you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Nonetheless I’d rein in your wild accusations. They might provoke some psycho to bully you. If he had a defective personality, he might threaten those near and dear to you—your step-kids, your sister, your nieces and nephews. And, just for fun, he might hint about starting closer to home so you could watch. With a neighbor, perhaps?

  “Ah, Deputy Braden Mann’s headed our way. My cue to leave.”

  Leaving his drink untouched, Kain rose and strode briskly toward the exit. He was out the door before Braden reached our table.

  “What happened? What did the SOB say?”

  I bit my lip, willed my erratic heartbeat to slow. “He’s our killer, but the bastard didn’t incriminate himself. Give me a sec to find Janie so we can talk.”

  Kain’s not-so-subtle threats shook me. If my big mouth placed my own life at risk, I could accept it. Putting others in danger was something else. I elbowed my way across the club to where Janie perched on a stool, gossiping with April. “The ladies room,” I said, “now.”

  My neighbor started to frame a smart-ass reply, then my expression registered. “Sure.”

  In the restroom, I checked under stall doors to make sure we were alone. “Janie, I don’t know how or why, but Kain ran a background check on you. He knows about your marriage. He knows you, uh…play the field. His parting shot was a threat to hurt you—and other folks I love—to punish me, shut me up. I believe him. He’s one evil bastard.”

  For once, Janie was speechless—no wisecrack comeback. She looked scared.

  “We’re changing tonight’s plans,” I continued. “You’re staying at the hotel with Braden and me. There’s safety in numbers.”

  “Braden won’t be happy,” Janie replied. “Three’s a crowd.”

  Kain’s nauseating reference to a ménage à trois assaulted my brain. Sweat popped out on my forehead and my hands trembled like forgotten November leaves. “Don’t worry about Braden. He’ll understand.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Braden checked us into a different hotel. The room was spacious. Good thing. Otherwise Braden’s pacing would have worn a rut in the carpet. He never sat, cruising the room in looping circles as we talked. The room featured two queen beds. Janie and I each staked out a personal headboard backrest.

  “Are you nuts?” Braden growled.

  I had to admit the verdict was out. “Okay, I screwed up. I shouldn’t have let Kain know we have leads on a land flip. But how can it hurt? His reaction confirms my hunch. He boiled over because he’s vulnerable. That food chain he created is way too long. He realizes one of his cronies might squeal.”

  “Possibly, and your heads-up gives him time to cover his tracks. Maybe he’ll ‘disappear’ more loose ends. If he hired Underling to kill Bea and Stew—and lest we forget, you—what’s to stop him from ordering more hits? Maybe he’ll wipe out everyone he considers a potential liability. Hell, Hollis County’s population may take a nosedive.”

  Dammit, had I put more lives in jeopardy? Even if they were crooks, I didn’t want their grisly deaths on my conscience.

  Braden paused, rubbed his temples. “Then again the man may just vanish. Hightail it out of the country and back to East Kingdom Come before we can nail him.”

  Crap. The idea of Kain skeedaddling hadn’t crossed my mind. Adrenaline and hatred had jammed the gears in my mental machinery.

  “God, I’m sorry. I was wrong. But maybe it’s not a disaster. The man is smart and greedy. He knows we have no proof, and I’m sure he put up firewalls. It’s entirely possible he’s never come face-to-face with most of his co-conspirators. The ones who do know him must realize he’s a stone-cold killer. He’ll count on their willingness to take his secrets to jail—or the grave—rather than risk his wrath.”

  A recall of his whispered threats made me shiver. “Numbing fear, that’s his specialty. So, no, I don’t think I’ve triggered a bloodbath. I doubt Kain kills on whim. Stew and Bea were loose cannons, peripheral to his scheme. Their deaths served a purpose. They scared Gator and Sally into compliance. Now that his crazy-killer cover’s blown, he’d be stupid to commission more bizarre hits.”

  Braden nodded. “Maybe. But the man enjoys his little games. If he’s arrogant enough, he may want to rub our noses in his mess, thinking he can still walk away.”

  The deputy looped the room again, then plopped onto the room’s sole chair. “So where are we?
Nowhere. Kain’s been questioned twice, the last time by Sheriff Conroy, and he didn’t break a sweat. He has no record. On paper, he’s a solid, very rich citizen. We don’t have a shred of evidence to tie him to any murders, Sharlana’s disappearance, foreign worker exploitation, or any real estate scam. Everything’s hearsay and innuendo.”

  Jamie bolted upright. “What about that two-million-dollar down payment for Hogsback Island? It had to come from somewhere. And I’ve been writing checks to Help-Lease for months. Can’t some expert track the money?”

  “Yeah, maybe SLED’s forensic accountants can penetrate the corporate smoke,” Braden agreed. “That might prove he’s a principal in Help-Lease and Emerald Cay, LLC. But we also need evidence these companies are engaged in illegal activities.”

  The deputy slumped in his chair. “Financial skullduggery’s out of my league. Despite the clever capers you see on TV, most perps are dumber than dirt. I’ve never needed to analyze corporate balance sheets to prove a murder motive. Usually the husband or boyfriend’s still holding the gun.”

  He stared at his hands, cracked his knuckles. “If we could only catch this Underling. Flip him and we could prove Kain’s connection. Unfortunately I doubt an assassin who learned his trade in some Eastern Europe mob is willing to sing.”

  Janie cleared her throat. “Forget your cop accountants, Braden. If there are any checks or papers tying Kain to the purchase of Hogsback Island or that labor outfit, I’ll find them. And I don’t need a stupid warrant. I’m alone in Gator’s office for hours every day. I know his computer password. I understand how he thinks, where he squirrels things away.

  “My master key opens every door in the building,” she added. “I’ll ransack the office of that twerp, Woody, too. He must be in the thick of this, right? I can’t help you with Sally though. She has a custom lock on her office. A very secretive lady.”

  My mouth hung open in astonishment. Janie was the most loyal person I’d ever met. If I murdered someone, she’d bring a shovel and bury the body, no questions asked. Yet she was volunteering to play Nancy Drew in palazzo pants to send her boss to prison. It seemed totally out of character.

  “Hey, don’t give me that look,” Janie snapped. “Gator decided it was okay to leave me twisting in the wind, either because he’s scared or greedy. Take your pick. My snooping’s justified.”

  Braden gave Janie a hard stare. “This isn’t a game. If our theories are right, Kain has killed two, possibly three people. He sicced one of his mad dogs on Marley twice. She’s got the luck of the Irish to be alive. Janie, I’m ordering you to stay out of this. If there’s a paper trail, SLED will find it. I’ll start interrogating the folks on Marley’s short list as land flip conspirators.”

  My neighbor rolled her eyes. “Okay. Unpucker your sphincter. I just wanted to help. But if you expect me to crawl in a hole and pretend I’m not screwed, stop talking and go to bed.”

  Braden phoned the front desk for a six a.m. wake-up call. For form’s sake, I pulled back the covers on Janie’s bed. She deftly positioned her foot against my posterior and gave a firm shove.

  “Forget it. I’ve watched you sleeping. You churn the covers like a Cuisinart. Climb in with Romeo. He’s got incentive to put up with you.”

  I used the bathroom to undress, then Janie took her turn. While my friend was in the john, the deputy crawled between the sheets in his tighty whities. To the best of my knowledge, the man didn’t own pajamas.

  He pulled me against his body and whispered. “Sorry I jumped on you. If we’re going to work together, you can’t keep secrets.”

  “I know. It won’t happen again,” I whispered back. “And I’ll keep my temper. Kain got to me. No excuse for diarrhea of the mouth. Not with lives on the line.”

  “You’re frustrated,” he said. “It gets to all of us.”

  His incipient hard-on pressed firmly against my bottom. “You know we could get rid of some of our frustrations,” he whispered. “I can be very quiet.”

  “Not a chance,” I replied, though the heat radiating from his body already had x-rated visions dancing in my brain. Like sugarplums. Then I smiled and mentally amended the image, like a sweet Popsicle.

  Sleep doesn’t come easily if you’re horny, overtired, or stressed. I was all three. Wide awake, I asked myself the same questions over and over.

  Did I believe Janie would butt out and leave the investigating to authorities? Nope. Could I change her mind? No way. What could I do to protect her?

  Get her to move in with Braden and me?

  Maybe.

  ***

  The wake-up call startled me. Janie’s loud groan expressed her opinion.

  “It’s Saturday,” she griped as she padded toward the bathroom. “Tell me again why we had to get up at six a.m.”

  “Some of us don’t work banker’s hours,” Braden called after her. His cheerfulness seemed to ratchet upwards in inverse ratio to Janie’s irritation. There was friction between them, and Braden relished sticking it to my neighbor, angling for a rise.

  We dressed quickly and barely said boo until we zoomed over the bridge and stopped at a McDonald’s drive-thru for big coffees, no food. I waited for everyone to ingest a mood-leveling dose of caffeine before broaching the idea of Janie moving in with Braden and me.

  My friend yelped like she’d been scalded, then hooted with laughter. The deputy silently brooded, but I caught him doing an eye roll.

  “You think I’ll be safer living with someone who’s been shot at and basted like a ready-to-roast duck?” Janie chuckled. “No thank you. Pussy Galore and I will take our chances on the south side of Blue Heron. Besides you’re allergic to Pussy.”

  Janie’d named her twenty-pound white Persian after one of James Bond’s stronger-willed females, the pilot in Goldfinger. Braden hadn’t even been born when that movie debuted.

  Quit harping on his age. He’s not asking you to marry and bear children.

  I swiveled in the front passenger seat to focus on Janie. She grabbed the arm I draped over the seat and squeezed it like she was making lemonade. “Look, I’ll be good—and careful,” she said. “I’ll play clueless Suzy Secretary at work, and I’ll keep my doors locked at night. Don’t worry about me, Marley. Worry about yourself.

  “Have you thought about leaving the island?” she demanded. “Going back to Ohio or Idaho or wherever it is they grow corn. Now that would be smart. Deadeye Dick ordered both of us to leave the investigating to the authorities. He doesn’t need civilian volunteers.”

  Braden pounced on the suggestion. “I hate to admit it, but your friend has a point. Given Kain’s threats, it might be prudent for you to vacate Dodge.”

  “No way. I won’t turn tail and give him the satisfaction. Besides Chief Dixon needs me—even if the sheriff’s department doesn’t.”

  My husband always claimed my jaw jutted out an extra inch when I entered mule mode. If so, my chin now staked out territory well beyond my face. I felt exceedingly stubborn.

  We rode in silence. The deputy seemed to be vying for a new land speed record between Hilton Head and Dear Island. No fear about speeding tickets. We arrived at the makeshift dock before the seven a.m. ferry started boarding passengers. Once on the island, Braden dropped Janie and me at our homes then left to call on the chief. Before Janie said goodbye, we made plans to attend the afternoon’s joint memorial service for Stew and Bea.

  Inside my house, I wandered aimlessly, trying to decide what to do. With little sleep, my mind wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Maybe that’s why I puttered for two hours—surfing the Internet, doing laundry, and making a grocery list—before I checked my answering machine.

  Though the caller didn’t identify himself, I knew Henry Cuthbert’s whiny voice. The twin appeared to have dibs on speaking first. The background noise featured twittering birds and croaking frogs. Not the type for New Age soundtracks, the boys must be outdoors, calling on a cell phone. Their high voices vibrated with excitement. I rewound and
listened again.

  “We caught fat-ass dead to rights,” Henry gloated. “Followed Hugh when he snuck off in Mom’s skiff. He beached on the backside of Sunrise Island, waddled above the high-tide mark and stuck a note in a seashell.”

  “Hey, it’s my turn, give me the phone,” Jared wheedled. “We can lead you right to the killer. Meet us where you crashed our party. Bring the man, Deputy Dog. Let’s say high noon.”

  The teens started banging on metal—a car hood?—to hammer out a rhythm for some freebased rap lyrics: “Meet at high noon, fat-ass Hugh will sing a new tune…” Laughter erupted and the kids hung up.

  The call practically made my knees knock. The twins were obnoxious and loathsome, but that was their job; they were teenagers. They had the right to grow up and out of it. No one should die at fourteen. With no notion of their present whereabouts, I had no way to protect them for the next two hours. A call to their home or a drop-in could make Hugh antsy. Maybe he already suspected the twins of spying. I would have to wait. Meet the boys at noon.

  Figuring Braden’s consult with the chief would be brief, I didn’t call. He’d arrive in plenty of time to join me. However, when eleven-thirty rolled around, I started to worry. Minutes later, Braden’s car breached the driveway, and I flew out the door. No time for lollygagging.

  He poked his head out the car window. “I know you’re glad to see me, but we really should wait until we’re inside. The neighbors, you know.”

  Braden waved toward Janie’s house, then frowned when he realized I’d turned to lock the door. “Ye gods, what now?”

  “We have business to take care of—two little boys who love to play with matches.”

  ***

  “Take your next right.”

  “Where?” Braden complained. “There’s no road.”

  “Semantics, my dear. It’s a logging road. See, the underbrush is only thigh-high. Besides we’re stopping in about two hundred feet. We walk the rest of the way.”