by Sam Cheever
Hal yanked his gun free and pointed it at my intruder.
I frowned. “How did you get in here?”
Devon Little shrugged. “You never changed the locks.”
I would have to fix that right away. “You have no right...”
He held up a hand. “Before you launch into full lecture mode, I’m here for a very good reason.”
“I can’t imagine what would be a good enough reason for you to break into my home.”
He reached down behind the stool and lifted something, placing it on top of my island.
I frowned. “Dad’s painting?” Then I saw that he’d taken it out of the frame. “What did you do to it...?”
Devon shook his head. “Pipe down and come take a look.” He reached over and tugged on the edge, pulling the canvas free and lifting it. I felt my eyes go wide. There was another painting underneath.
Hal beat me to the island. “I’m guessing that’s the Monet?”
Devon nodded. “I wasn’t the first one to de-frame this picture, Joey. The staples holding the Cessna painting over the other one were newish. There were only a couple on each side. This was clearly meant to be a temporary hiding spot.”
My gaze slid over the beautiful piece of art beneath the Cessna painting. I reached a finger toward it, wanting badly to caress the strokes of paint. “It’s stunning.”
Devon nodded. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
I blinked, forcing my gaze from the Monet. “Yes. Someone hid the painting there. But who? And when?”
“I’m guessing it was your dad.”
My head was shaking almost before he finished speaking. “Why would dad...”
“He found the painting,” Hal said. “He knew who the thief was.”
“And I’m guessing he threatened to go to the police,” Dev added.
“That’s why he was killed,” I breathed. Suddenly the valuable art didn’t seem quite so appealing. “But how?”
Devon shrugged. “We might never know. Maybe he saw the person stealing the painting. Maybe Betty did and told him.”
My gaze shot to his. “You knew?”
“That Betty was the killer’s third victim? Yes. It was all just too handy. And Michael Blount too.”
“The auctioneer,” I breathed. “Arno checked on him and found out he was dead.”
“Killed a couple of days after Betty. Though nobody realized it was murder. I drove out to his place after Betty died and discovered he was gone too. That was when I understood what we were dealing with.”
“And when you became a recluse?” I suggested as the pieces fell together.
He nodded. “I thought it was better to keep my distance from you. The killer seems willing to do whatever it takes to get this painting back. I didn’t believe you were in any danger until that FBI guy turned up at my place. At that point, something changed.”
“But what?” Hal asked him. “Why would the killer suddenly start killing again after two years?”
“Cox,” I said. “From what Pru said he couldn’t let it lie. And when he came down here the killer probably thought there was new information.”
“Unfortunately, that makes sense,” Hal said.
“Cox is definitely a problem. He’s been snooping around my place for months.”
“He approached you?” I asked, surprised. “If he thinks you have the painting why’s he pestering me?”
“I haven’t spoken to the man. Not since right after your parents passed. But he’s been on my property several times, watching me from a distance. I’m assuming he’s been watching you too, probably hoping one of us would lead him to the painting.”
A cold chill crept down my spine. “Is that why you left your cabin?”
“Yeah. I figured it was only a matter of time before Cox led the killer my way. And I wasn’t wrong, was I?”
Hal slipped his gun back into the holster in the small of his back. I’d forgotten he was holding it. “You’re assuming the killer thought the homeless guy was you?”
Devon pointedly skimmed a look over his clothing. “Yeah. My disguise worked out well for me, but apparently not for him.”
“What do you mean?” I was confused.
“The homeless guy. I think his name was Tom. He’d been hanging around because I gave him food once in a while and he slept in the shed at the back of my property. He’d been mugged in Indy apparently and wanted nothing to do with city streets. So, he jumped a train and rode it into the country, hopping off near New Fredrickstown and hoofing it until he landed here.”
Hal glanced a question and I clarified. “It’s a town about seven miles away from here, slightly bigger than Deer Hollow. They have three traffic lights, I think.” We shared a grin.
“Anyway, looking at Tom gave me an idea. People don’t see guys like him. They don’t want to look too closely. So, I let my hair grow and wore baggier, rattier clothes.”
“You made yourself look like a bum,” I verified.
“Exactly. Unfortunately for Tom, I’m pretty sure he moved into my cabin after I left and probably started heading the opposite way. He was about my height and age and he might have looked a bit like me under all that hair.” Devon shrugged. “We white, middle aged guys all look alike.” He gave me a grin that took me back to much happier times.
Hal nodded. “You think he might have bathed and dressed in your clothes...”
“I’m guessing. Yes.” Devon frowned, pain flitting through his gaze. “I told him to leave. I said there was somebody after me and if he was nearby when they came he’d be in danger. But apparently he didn’t listen.”
“If that’s true, then Cox is directly responsible for the death of that poor man.” I said.
We stood in silence for a moment, each of us buried in our own thoughts. I finally moved over to the refrigerator and pulled out three beers, handing one to each of the men and drinking deeply from my own. The icy beverage was refreshing and helped ease the knot of tension in my back and neck from the day’s events. “So, what do we do now?” I jerked my head toward the painting on the counter. “With that?”
Dev wouldn’t meet my gaze so I looked at Hal. “Call Pru and have her come get it. The sooner that thing’s out of here the sooner you’ll both be safe again.”
“What about the killer?” Dev asked. The expression on his face made it clear he didn’t care much for Hal’s idea.
“Arno’s working on it. We’ll give him everything we know and let him do his job. As long as the killer doesn’t see a way to get the painting, he should be neutralized for the moment.”
I liked Hal’s reasoning. It made sense. “Okay. Do it. Call her. She can deal with Cox internally at the FBI. Hopefully he won’t bother us anymore either.”
Hal made his call and Pru promised she was on her way. “She should be here in a couple of hours,” he told me and Dev.
“Good. Then I’m going to go take a hot shower. My neck and shoulders are killing me.”
Hal nodded, his gaze resting speculatively on Devon. “I’ll keep an eye on the painting.”
Implied in his statement and the rigid stance of his large frame, was that he’d also be watching Devon, since he didn’t seem to be completely on board with our plan.
Caphy’s nails clacked across the tile of the foyer and moved in our direction. She came into the kitchen, wet and muddy up to her shoulders and wearing a wide, doggy grin.
“Oh, Caphy girl. Did you go in the pond again?”
Her tail smacked against Hal’s jeans-clad thigh. “Maybe you should take her into the shower with you,” he joked.
“Ugh.”
Devon stepped forward. “I’ll take her out and hose her off for you.”
“Thanks,” I told him gratefully. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Take your time,” Hal told me. “You look beat.”
I was. But I wouldn’t be able to rest until the painting was out of my house and in the proper hands. And it occurred to me that I would
finally be accomplishing what I believed my parents had been trying to do before they were killed.
It would be a good way to honor their memory and help me put the pain behind me. Clutching those comforting thoughts close, I headed upstairs with a considerably lighter step.
I took a really long, really hot shower and emerged feeling human again. The house was quiet. Almost too quiet. With a start I realized that Caphy had never come back inside. I’d left the bedroom door cracked and if she’d been in the house she would have come looking for me.
I dressed quickly and headed downstairs.
The house felt empty. Though I called out to Hal and Caphy, neither one responded and my spidey senses went on full alert.
I ran into the kitchen and the first thing I noticed was that the painting was gone. The second thing I saw was my sexy PI, draped over the floor between the island and the sink, a bloody lump on the back of his dark head.
“Oh my god, Hal!” I ran over and checked his breathing, relieved to discover he was still alive. I checked his pulse and found it beating strongly underneath my fingertips. “Thank god,” I murmured to myself. I slapped Hal gently on the cheek. “Hal, wake up.” I slapped him a few more times, each time a little harder. The last time I slapped him his head snapped sideways and smacked against the cabinet.
A big hand shot up and grabbed my wrist. “I’ve already been assaulted once,” he said in a gruff, pain-filled voice.
“Sorry. I was trying to wake you up.”
His eyes fluttered open and he groaned, covering them with his hand. “You almost knocked me back out.”
I grinned sheepishly. “Can you sit up?”
He shoved at the floor and I helped him lift himself into a seated position, easing him back against the cabinet. “What happened?”
Hal gingerly touched the knot on his head, grimacing. “I was rinsing the beer bottles in the sink and somebody hit me on the back of the head.”
I spied the amber glass bottle beneath the counter and reached for it. “I’m guessing with this...”
Hal grabbed my hand before I could touch it. “Fingerprints.”
I flushed with embarrassment.
Hal slipped a finger inside the lip of the bottle and lifted it. There was a smear of blood on the bottom of the beer bottle.
I looked around. “Where’s Dev?”
Hal frowned. “He was still outside with the dog when...” His eyes went wide. “The painting?”
“Gone.”
Hal swore softly. But I barely noticed. His mention of my dog brought a new sense of panic. “I have to find Caphy.”
“She’s not in the house?”
“No.” He shoved off the floor with one hand and settled the beer bottle onto the counter. “Let’s go find her.”
In that moment I think I fell a little bit in love with Hal Amity. He’d been attacked and the painting he’d just promised to turn over to his friend at the FBI had gone missing again and all he wanted to do was help me find my dog. “She might be with Dev.”
I considered whether she would have followed him back to the hangar and decided she might have. She’d done it in the past. But an even darker series of thoughts were shoving their way to the forefront in my brain.
What if the killer was there? What if he’d taken the painting and done something to Dev? And what if my dog had gotten caught in the crossfire? “If she’s not outside the house I need to call Arno.”
Hal didn’t argue. Apparently, he’d considered the same possibility I had.
Caphy was nowhere to be seen in the grounds around the house. She wasn’t in the pond and when I went into the woods and called her she didn’t come running.
“This is bad,” I told Hal.
“Let’s not assume the worst. Maybe she just followed Devon out back.”
“She would have come. She’d have heard us whistling and calling.” My stomach twisted painfully and I was finding it difficult to breathe. A dull, steady pain throbbed in my chest. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”
Hal patted my back. “Call Arno. Then we’ll head back to the hangar.” His handsome face was tight with pain and something else. He looked worried. More worried even than Caphy’s disappearance seemed to warrant. “What is it?”
He looked at the ground, avoiding my gaze. Cold slimy terror gripped my lungs. “Tell me, Hal.”
“Whoever attacked me took my gun.”
My knees buckled. And I thought for a beat that I might be sick. He grabbed my arm, tugging me upright as stars burst before my eyes. “She’ll be okay, Joey. Don’t poke your toes over the edge of the cliff.”
I sucked air, panting with alarm. “What does that even mean?”
He actually smiled. “My mom used to tell me that all the time. It means don’t come to the worst conclusion. Don’t borrow trouble. However you want to say it. Let’s keep it positive until we know something that makes that impossible.”
I swallowed bile and scrubbed a shaky hand over my clammy forehead. “Okay, I’m positive I have a bad feeling about this.”
He clapped me gently on the back. “That’s my girl.”
A small silver car pulled up my driveway and we turned to look, thinking that Pru had finally arrived.
“At least Pru’ll have her gun,” I said, raising my arm to let her know where we were.
Hal grabbed my arm and yanked it down. “That’s not Pru.” He pulled me backward, into the shade of the trees at the edge of the woods. “Head into the woods and call Arno.”
I started to argue.
He tugged my arm none too gently. “Joey, do as I say. I promised Arno I’d keep you safe and that’s what I intend to do.”
I frowned.
“Circle around and go to the hangar. If you find Caphy take her into the office with you and lock yourself in. Wait there until Arno or I come to get you.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “I’m not going to leave you alone.”
“Joey, I don’t have time to argue with you.”
The little car stopped behind Hal’s SUV and the door opened. A man climbed out. A man in a light gray suit.
“It’s just Cox.”
Hal grabbed my phone and hit 9-1-1 then he shoved it back at me. “Do as I said!”
A voice came on and I watched him stride out of the woods, toward the agent waiting for him on my circular drive.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
“This is Joey Fulle out on Goat’s Hollow Road. I need to report a theft and an attack...”
The operator asked me several questions. I only half listened as I watched Hal approach Cox and stop in front of the smaller man, his stance rigid with anger. One of Hal’s hands kept moving backward, toward the gun that wasn’t there. That, more than anything told me he didn’t trust the other man.
“Miss Fulle?”
I forced my mind back to the call. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Officers have been dispatched. I want you to promise me you’ll stay on the phone until they get there.”
To my horror, Cox reached into his jacket and came out with a gun, pointing it at Hal’s broad, unprotected chest. I dropped the phone and started forward.
In the distance I heard a tiny voice calling my name. Miss Fulle? Are you there? I need you to stay on the line...
Hal’s hands curved into fists. I stopped, unsure what to do. If I marched over there then Cox would just have two people at gunpoint and Hal wouldn’t be even a tiny bit safer. But if I stayed where I was...
I thought about doing as Hal had said, but by the time I circled around and got to the hangar there was no telling what Cox would have done to him.
If I could get to the house... I eyed the clumps of large evergreens interspersed across the yard. I could use them to hide my progress across the yard. But there was a large open area between me and the first copse of trees.
I’d never make it before Cox saw me.
Then my worst nightmare happened and my decision wa
s ripped out of my hands. Caphy ran from the back of the property, growling and barking with her tail in the high, fast wag that signaled maximum aggression. She turned the corner of the house and spotted Cox, then took off like a shot directly toward him, and Cox shifted his gun away from Hal, pointing it directly at my dog.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“No!” I screamed and took off running. At the very least maybe Cox would see me coming and get confused about who to shoot. Unfortunately, he knew who the greatest threat was. He kept the gun pointed at Caphy as she bounded ever closer, teeth bared.
“Caphy, no!” She didn’t hear me, or wasn’t able to redirect her obsessive focus on the man she’d correctly identified as a threat.
Hal turned when I screamed and finally realized what was about to happen. His gaze found mine and filled with fear.
“Hal! Help her! I screamed.”
Hal spun and whipped his arm up, smashing it against Cox’s arm. But it was too late.
The gun went off, sending death through the air, searching for my sweet, over-protective pitty, and Caphy yelped as the bullet found its mark.
I screamed long and wild as grief tore massive holes in my heart. My steps faltered as Caphy staggered backward, one leg lifted as she yelped with pain.
I threw myself in her direction, reaching her as she fell to her side in the dirt, panting and crying in pain.
I could barely see her through the tears. I dropped to my knees beside her and covered her with my body, kissing the soft, squishy width between her beautiful green eyes. She lay on her side, her broad chest heaving as shock took its toll on her compact, furry body.
She swept a broad, pink tongue over my face, a rough caress meant to soothe me even as she fought pain and fear of her own.
Sirens sounded in the distance shrieking ever closer as I lay sobbing over my dog. But in that moment I didn’t care. I didn’t care about Cox or the stupid painting or anything else except my dog.
Suddenly firm hands found me, wrenching me away from Caphy. I cried out, trying to grab hold of her again.
“Joey, let me have her. We need to get her to the vet.”
I slapped at his hands, inconsolable and sobbing violently.
