Chasing Shadows

by Karen Harper

  “Good,” Claire said. “Good idea.” Besides, she was the one who needed time to get herself settled down.

  13

  “I still can’t get over finding Lola like that,” Jasmine told Nick as they sat on the second-floor shaded veranda at the back of the house with the lemonade Neil had brought them.

  Her hand went to her throat, and the sight of the puppet strings cutting into the woman’s neck slammed at Nick again. He’d only had a glimpse of the scene from the back door of the shop, but it haunted—no, wrong word around here—it sickened him.

  “I was so glad Claire was with me—not to walk in there alone,” Jasmine went on, turning toward him in her canvas deck chair. “I suppose she told you that my first instinct was to run—to let someone else report her death. Claire talked me out of it, but our finding Lola like that isn’t going to help with Sheriff Goodrich and his detective on my tail.”

  “No, she didn’t tell me. And don’t obsess about the sheriff. I’ve held him off so far.”

  “But I’m sick of questions and accusations, however subtle. From him, even from Claire.”

  He sat up straighter and turned toward her. Her gold bracelet kept rattling against the wooden arm of the chair, and it annoyed him. He took a swig of lemonade, then said, “Claire is on your—on our—side. Her job is to establish and, through others, to corroborate you did not kill your mother, that either she overdosed accidentally or on purpose or someone—not you—harmed her.”

  “But, I mean, if I’m indicted, and you call her to the stand in my defense, can we trust her?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice rising. “She’s good, she’s well-trained. I’ve seen her in action in a high-stakes, tense trial, so what do you mean?” He felt a flash of fear that—no, that couldn’t be. He believed Jasmine did not kill her mother.

  “Well, here we are with the fact that Mother’s meds did her in, with or without outside interference,” Jasmine plunged on. “At lunch at the park yesterday, when Claire took a pill, she admitted to me she has narcolepsy and what she called ‘mild cataplexy.’ I’m sensing she wants to accuse someone of hurting Mother because she sympathizes with her. Did you know about Claire’s illness?”

  “She told me up front.”

  “Well, did she tell you about the powerful medication she takes day and night to control it?”

  “Not in so many words, but—”

  “I knew it. And you’re so taken with her you’re giving all that a pass, aren’t you? Nick, the stuff she takes at night is so dangerous that if someone else gets a sip of it, you have to call poison control. It can cause hallucinations if not properly handled, so can she even recognize reality if something goes awry with her treatment? One of the ingredients in her night medicine is the so-called ‘date rape’ drug, and I’m telling you that just because they’re more or less ‘knock-out’ drops. And get this. Since she’s on this case about Mother possibly being depressed enough to commit suicide, I figure you should know that liquid med she takes has that side effect—depression and thoughts of suicide! I like Claire, but I’m afraid you do, too, in quite another way, and you’re trusting her too much.”

  Nick was steamed but he tried to keep control. No, he didn’t know all that, but he trusted Claire and her judgment.

  Jasmine’s bracelet rattled again as she reached to grasp his wrist. Was he being played here? Did she really have a point? Was she jealous? Damn it, was she innocent?

  “Nick?”

  “Jasmine, get this through your head. You’re not the one doing the research, putting this case together. I am, with Claire’s help and Heck for backup. You want to replace your lawyer, that will get all three of us out of here. Otherwise, trust me—and her.”

  But he was shaken. Surely, he hadn’t given away how attracted he was to Claire. If so, he was losing it. With this second death of Francine’s maid, he couldn’t afford to lose time, Claire’s work, or this explosive case.

  * * *

  The opening bars to “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” sounded on Claire’s cell phone. She hoped it was Darcy so she could talk to Lexi. But her caller ID said it was Jace.

  She told Heck, “I’ve got to take this,” and walked outside onto the first-floor front veranda.

  “Jace, are you ready to fly out of Jacksonville?”

  “Don’t I wish. I had an accident—hit my head on a tree branch and fell. I went to a walk-in clinic and got stitched up. No concussion as far as the doc and I can tell.”

  “That’s terrible. Where was this?”

  “More later. Listen, I hated for us to end on a bad note right now—always hate that when I’m flying. I’d really appreciate it if you’d just meet me in the lobby of your hotel this evening, so I can say a couple things when I’m not so upset. You know, shades of ‘the greatest marine who ever lived,’ fly-off-the-handle Master Sergeant Jason Britten in my genetic code.”

  “Well—all right.” She pictured Jace’s favorite photo of his dad in full marine uniform. Actually, it had always reminded her of the one of Jace, Jr., that Lexi loved so much. He’d had such mixed feelings about his father, about being Jason, Jr., that he had always insisted on being called by his nickname. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back to the hotel though,” she told him. “Can I call you, and we’ll be a little flexible? But are you sure you should fly? Is your head okay for sure? You know you had a couple of football injuries.”

  “Back in the dark ages. Other than a killer headache, I can tell I’m all right, and, like I said, I got checked out. Listen, Claire, if you’re out at that plantation estate they briefly mentioned in the paper—”

  “In the paper? What paper?”

  “You and your employer are in a photo in the St. Augustine Record this morning with the story about your finding that woman’s body and—”

  “And that’s why you want to see me?”

  “No, it isn’t. I know my work can be dangerous, but you’ve had two strikes against you now on two cases—two dead bodies too near you, sweetheart—so maybe your work is getting dangerous, too.”

  Sweetheart?

  “Jace, I’m all right. Fred Myron’s death and now Lola’s are not strikes against me, just coincidence.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes so-called coincidences might not be. You know that.”

  “There is no link between the two cases or what happened with the shooter and now this woman’s murder. I am going to keep working this assignment and—”

  “Let’s not argue. Not now and not when we talk in person. All for one and one for all—and that one and all is Lexi, right?”

  She sighed and leaned against a porch pillar. “Right.”

  “It’s just I have something to tell you—and you can tell your lawyer friend, too—maybe about your case.”

  “What? Jace, like what?”

  “Call me as soon as you can when you get back.”

  * * *

  Claire saw the sheriff’s car coming up the lane before she went back inside after talking to Jace. Poor Jason Allen Britten, Jr. Something had shaken him up, maybe even something about her case, but that didn’t make sense. She ducked into the house to summon Jasmine and saw her coming down the staircase with Nick.

  “Everyone’s favorite local sheriff is here,” she told them, wondering where they’d been upstairs.

  “Loco sheriff, you mean,” Jasmine said. “He might want to interrogate you to corroborate what I told him about finding Lola’s body.” She kept smoothing her hair and her blouse, though—thank heavens—Claire didn’t notice that either were messed up.

  “Maybe I should make myself scarce,” Claire said, looking at Nick. “Counselor, what do you think?”

  Standing a bit away from a front window, Nick looked out at the approaching car as Claire stood behind him, peek
ing around. The sheriff got out and slammed the car door. He must be alone. When he took off his hat, she noted he was gaunt-faced and bone-thin, when she’d been expecting a fat-cat look.

  Nick said, “I don’t think it would be a good idea to really hide from him, but we can let Jasmine’s explanation of what happened at the puppet shop stand unless he asks for you.”

  Claire knew Heck was still in the library working on transcribing notes from Neil’s interview. Neil had walked out to Bronco’s trailer to talk to him. “I’ll be out back if you—or he—needs me,” Claire told them and hurried toward the rear of the house as a knock resounded on the front door. She heard Jasmine greet him and his strong, sharp voice.

  Knowing she’d probably have to talk to him eventually, though he could just get her statement from the St. Augustine detective, she went out the back door and walked past Neil’s Creature from the Black Lagoon pride and joy. The black lagoon, indeed, she thought. Some of Win Jackson’s photos showed dark depths in the foliage and water on the river, but it was hardly a lagoon.

  She walked to the edge of the clearing and saw Bronco’s black pickup parked next to the silver Airstream trailer Neil had described. Sleek, shiny aluminum, retro-looking, but then she’d read somewhere that the design never changed, so it could be brand-new. Despite the fact it sat in the shade of a huge, peeling gumbo-limbo tree, wouldn’t it be hot in there?

  But as she went a bit closer, she saw and heard a generator, so maybe that provided air-conditioning. Over that whine, she heard men’s voices.

  As she watched, a man she didn’t know—no doubt Bronco—came into view, pacing, hitting the tree trunk and the trailer each time he passed. Unlike how she’d missed a guess about the sheriff’s appearance, she had imagined this is how Bronco Gates, gator and snake hunter, would look. He was a big, bearded man, though he moved like a much smaller one.

  “She didn’t deserve that!” She overheard the man’s loud voice. “I got her favorite food here. She was gonna drive out here tonight, and we was gonna cook it, all the fixin’s. Jasmine never should’ve let her go from here! I’m gonna find who did that!” His words were punctuated by a string of angry oaths.

  Claire surmised he hadn’t heard about the murder on the news, hadn’t called Jasmine or anyone else to learn about it before just now. This was fresh anger and pain.

  “Look, man,” Neil was saying, his voice raised, too, “keep a low profile about the two of you. No good you go on a rampage or a hunt for whoever did it. The cops are on it, Jasmine’s lawyer Markwood and his special interviewer, too, and she wants to talk to you soon. And don’t you go telling her you two had a spat, either. Just keep it cool.”

  Claire stepped back against a palm with coconuts in a huge cluster looming above. She hoped one of them didn’t conk her on the head, but she wanted to hear the rest of this. That big, blustery Bronco Gates and petite, shy and quiet Lola Moran? And they’d had a spat? Well, all’s fair in love and war. But did what she just learned impact her interviews in any way? Here was Neil, playing support man to Bronco’s anger and grief when he’d seemed to be setting him up before—or was he doing that now, too?

  Bronco’s voice still carried to her, though she couldn’t see him now. “I got to talk with Miss Jasmine and that woman Clara.”

  “Claire. Claire Britten. Yeah, well, like I said, she wants to talk to you, too.”

  Thinking Neil or even Bronco might come looking for her right now, Claire took a few steps away and hurried back to the house so they wouldn’t know she’d overheard.

  * * *

  Claire went to the library at the back of the house, watching out the window to see if Neil or Bronco had followed. Leaving his laptop and papers on the table, Heck had gone out near the river and was talking on his cell, gesturing wildly. He usually came off as calm and controlled, but occasionally she sensed he was hiding a temper. Maybe something about this house made people lose control.

  Pressing her nose to the window, looking in the other direction, she peered out again toward Bronco’s trailer. No one coming after her. Even though she was in another room, she could hear the sheriff’s ringing tones but could only make out a few words of what he said. Occasionally Nick’s calm voice, or Jasmine’s strident one chimed in.

  Despite the thickness of the walls, the high ceilings and hearths, this house carried sounds quite well. She recalled Jasmine had said she thought the ghost voices at night were just wind in the connecting chimneys. That meant Neil could have overheard Jasmine and Francine arguing even if he was not in the same room or hovering outside a door. Right now, Claire could tell the sheriff was on the subject of why Jasmine fired Lola and something about money—did Jasmine owe Lola any backpay, or had Lola taken something from the house she should not have?

  Well, Claire thought, she was getting to be not only an interviewer but an eavesdropper. One of the rules she’d learned about being an effective forensic statement analyst was not to get personally involved with the witnesses. But, in this case, for Nick—with Nick—she’d done exactly that.

  She bided her time until she heard the sheriff leave. Nick came looking for her. “Where’s Heck?” he asked.

  “Out back on the phone.”

  “I wanted you anyway. The sheriff said he got your deposition from St. A, so you’re off the hook with him for a while anyway. He said your rendition of things synced with Jasmine’s.”

  “I could hear a bit of what he said, even in here.”

  He came to stand behind her at the window and put his hands on her shoulders. His touch was comforting, and she needed that. Again, he seemed solid, someone to lean on, and how she’d missed that since she’d lost Jace.

  “It’s part of the sheriff’s MO to come on like that, I guess,” Nick said, his voice low. “He needs a big case to help him run for state office.”

  “And,” she said, leaning back just slightly into his hands, “maybe if he could deliver the treasure of Shadowlawn to the state, that would get him big PR, too.”

  “You never cease to amaze me.” His breath ruffled the hair at her temple. “I intentionally didn’t match his tones, but kept my voice low, though Jasmine, unfortunately, doesn’t follow my lead.”

  “I can see why he upsets her. Nick,” Claire said, turning toward him, though that made him drop his hands from her shoulders, “Bronco Gates just drove in a short time ago, and Neil’s out with him. I went out and—overheard something.”

  “I don’t deal in hearsay, but tell me.”

  “Bronco got pretty distraught when Neil told him about Lola. I think he and she were sort of a pair, before some sort of argument—spat, he said.”

  “Bronco involved with her, not Neil?”

  “Right. And Bronco was saying he wanted to talk to me, so there’s a switch, but I want to take him up on it.”

  “Let’s initiate that, because the way that cocky son-of-a-gun sheriff is acting, I think we’re getting more pressed for time. But if Bronco’s distraught, you’ll have to take Heck or even me with you.”

  “All right. Not Neil for sure. We all have agendas, but his is starting to matter. I don’t want one witness in on what another one says.”

  “Here comes Neil now, so let’s see how this goes.”

  Nick sat and Claire was still standing when Neil came in. Before he got a word out, Heck hurried in, too.

  “Bronco’s pretty distraught,” Neil said. “Usually, not much riles him, but he and Lola were good friends. He’s not all bluster. He has a loner streak—hunters are like that, used to lying in wait, I guess—and she was quiet, too. Well, anyhow, he’d like to talk to you before you leave today, Claire. Said he was ‘fixin’ to have a memorial service’ with the frog legs and hush puppies he planned to cook for her tonight. I told him you’ve got a shadow, takes all your notes,” he added, looking at Heck, “but he said, no shadow, no
notes.”

  “Well,” Nick said, getting up, “that all sounds great, except she’s not going alone. I’ll walk her out, and if I’m told to leave, we’ll reschedule with him another time. All right, Claire?”

  Although she said, “You’re the boss,” she realized her talking to that big, bearded man alone could almost be worth the risk.

  14

  Nick and Claire approached Bronco Gates’s Airstream trailer slowly. “Bronco?” Nick called out. “Neil said we could come talk to you.”

  The big man poked his head around the curved corner of the trailer so fast that Claire realized he must have been outside. For one moment, as a sliver of sun caught his face, she wondered if he’d been crying. He was not quite as tall as Nick, but seemed larger with his muscular shoulders. It was almost as if his head sat directly on them with no neck.

  “I’m Nick Markwood, Jasmine’s lawyer,” he told Bronco as they came closer and Bronco walked to meet them.

  “How you both?” Bronco said. The men shook hands and he nodded at Claire.

  “This is Claire Britten, who is helping me to be sure Jasmine and Shadowlawn are protected.”

  “Tragic no one done that for Lola,” he said, frowning. His thatch of unruly brown hair dipped almost into his eyes when his brow furrowed. “But who would’ve guessed she needed a bodyguard? Miss Claire, Neil told me you was with Miss Jasmine and found her—like that.”

  “Yes. I was hoping she could help me, but we were too late to help her. I’m sorry—for her loss and yours, too.”

  “Neil told you we were close, huh? You two mind settin’ out here?” he asked, turning away and gesturing toward several beach-type chairs set in a circle. So did this man have regular visitors out here?

  “Don’t want to be cooped up right now,” he went on. “Got a smoke pot out here to keep the skeeters off.”

  “Yes, this is fine,” Claire told him. “I realize this is a difficult time, so I could come back tomorrow to talk.”