Secrets at Spawning Run

by Sally Roseveare

  Jill and Robert sat across from each other on the redwood deck overlooking the water. Both were surprised at Aurora’s reaction when told that Lampwerth drove a BMW. Then when Aurora explained about the abandoned car article that appeared in The Smith Mountain Eagle and the picture the police had shown her, an undercurrent of doom had engulfed all of them. Jill had felt faint and had to sit down. Aurora had quickly brewed them each a cup of green tea, and the color gradually crept back in Jill’s face.

  “Do you think we’ll find Mr. Lampwerth alive, Robert?” Jill asked now.

  “It doesn’t look good. Aurora said the BMW had been stripped of all tags, the serial number scratched off, glove compartment emptied. The windshield was broken and the vehicle identification number removed. Someone went to a lot of trouble to dispose of all identification. And don’t forget the blood in the foyer. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  “But there’s no motive, Robert. Why would anybody want to kill Mr. Lampwerth?”

  “Even though they respected him, not too many people really liked him, Jill, not even you or me. You know that.”

  “But that’s no reason to kill him. Maybe he’s being held for ransom,” she said. “After all, he’s an extremely wealthy man.”

  “I suppose that’s possible, but not very probable. If he were being held for ransom, one of us would have received a ransom note by now. My guess is that he simply surprised a burglar. I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She reached for a cigarette, then changed her mind.

  “Jill, tell me anything—no detail is too small—that you suspect could have upset Melton, something that prompted him to finally come to the lake. There has to be something. Think.”

  Jill groaned, knowing she could no longer shield Robert from the accountant’s suspicions. He had to know. She shifted in her seat and stared down at the floor.

  “Louis Beale told me in strict confidence on Tuesday that someone’s been embezzling funds from Lampwerth International. He hit Lampwerth with this news the Thursday evening before he disappeared.” She paused and glanced at Robert.

  “Go on.”

  Jill looked deep into Robert’s eyes. “Robert, I didn’t want to tell you this until we were back in D.C., but Louis believes you’re the embezzler.”

  He sat quietly in the chair with his eyes closed and hands clasped together before responding.

  “Guess I knew it would come out sometime. But it’s not what you or Louis Beale think, Jill. There’s an explanation, although rather far-fetched. You probably won’t believe me.”

  Puzzled, she stared at Robert. She’d expected him to deny vehemently any knowledge of embezzlement.

  “Try me, Robert,” she said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Smith Mountain Lake, created primarily to produce electricity and completed in 1966, is a haven for fishing, boating and just plain relaxing. Northern folks have discovered that, dollar for dollar, selling their homes in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, or New York and retiring to this Virginia lake, is a smart investment. If you motor slowly along the breathtaking, 500 miles of squiggly shoreline, you will see weekend cottages and permanent homes often side by side. Manicured lawns, some with masses of flowers cascading to the water’s edge, contrast spectacularly with unspoiled wooded areas dotted with blooming dogwoods, red bud trees, and mountain laurel. During the spring and summer months, colorful pots overflowing with a variety of blossoms stand like welcoming sentinels on many large and small docks. You might even glimpse a great blue heron fishing at the water’s edge, a bald eagle dipping, gliding and soaring in a cloud-free sky, or a red-tailed hawk searching for prey.”

  Aurora turned off the tape recorder. Something nagged at her. Flowerpots, colorful flowerpots. She glanced out the window, then looked again. A bright, red pot rested at the end of the dock; gone was the green one she had admired soon after her arrival. She looked across the cove at Robert Reeves’ boathouse, and saw a man replacing an orange flowerpot with a red one. There had been a green pot on Robert’s dock and her dock the day she arrived at the lake. She picked up her binoculars and read “Tom’s Tidy Lawn & Lake Service” on the back of the man’s tan coveralls. Interesting. Two color changes on my dock, three changes on Robert’s dock. And all in less than a week. Why would any lawn service put different colored pots on adjacent docks? And why change them so often? Oh, well, if that’s how they want to spend their time….

  Having lived at the lake for years, she recognized most of the landscapers’ signature trademarks. For instance, Tom’s Tidy Lawn & Lake Service maintained this yard and dock. His “thing” for docks consisted mainly of large clay pots in colors of orange, green, or red. Depending on the season, the pots were planted with pansies, petunias or geraniums. She picked up the binoculars again and recognized Biff, the same man who came to the house last week. She decided that the next time she saw him she’d give him some unsolicited advice on time management, even though she doubted he’d appreciate it.

  A faint snort from Little Guy brought her back to the present, and she put down the binoculars and turned on the recorder that rested in her lap.

  Luke paced his office floor. He couldn’t concentrate on his work. Usually getting out on the water soothed him, which is why he had started his scuba diving business and his sight-seeing / water-taxi service three years ago. An hour earlier he had grabbed his tackle box and casting rod, and gone fishing. When he missed a couple of good strikes, he realized that his attention was on Aurora and Sam, that there was no point in trying to fish. He had reeled in his line and returned to the office.

  Luke knew the cops suspected him of breaking into Aurora’s house and clobbering Sam. He didn’t know what Aurora thought. Surely she didn’t believe he could do such a thing. Then again, they’d only known each other a few days. If only he had called the police himself to report the boating incident. And how could he have been so stupid as to pick up that baseball bat? He walked over to the phone and dialed Aurora.

  “Hey, Aurora,” he said when she answered.

  “Hello, Luke,” she said in an icy voice.

  “How’s Sam? And how are you?”

  “We’re okay. The doctor ordered Sam to bed for a few days, but he won’t have any lasting ill effects.” She kept her voice low so she wouldn’t wake her husband. He needed all the sleep he could get.

  “You don’t believe I did what the cops are saying, do you?” Aurora didn’t answer. Luke repeated his question.

  “I don’t know what to think. You were in my house. The bat was in your hand. And you didn’t report the boat attack to the police as you said you would.”

  “I had an influential client waiting when I returned to the office, so I told my secretary to call the police. She assured me she’d take care of it right away.”

  “Don’t you think she would’ve reported it if you asked her to? That wasn’t a casual request you made. Or was it?” Aurora was so angry her voice shook.

  “She swears she called them immediately.”

  Aurora forced herself to keep her voice down. “Why didn’t you call from your boat phone as soon as you left my house?”

  “I tried. The battery was dead.”

  “Oh, Luke. Do you expect me to believe that? You don’t honestly think I’m that gullible, do you?”

  Luke knew their relationship had changed. He was sorry. He and Aurora had clicked immediately; he already considered her a good friend. The phone conversation wasn’t going well; he needed to talk to her in person.

  “It’s no good trying to talk to you over the telephone. I’m coming over some time today, Aurora. See you in a while. ‘Bye.”

  Aurora hung up. She didn’t want to see Luke. She remembered Sam’s recent warning about him.

  She looked over at Sam still sleeping peacefully on the bed, quietly closed the bedroom door behind her, and walked through the house. She was impressed with the cleaning service. In only a few hours, the three
workers had vacuumed, dusted, picked up the slashed cushions and other items from the floor, and scrubbed fingerprinting powder off walls.

  “Ms. Harris, we’re ‘bout done except for cleaning the bathrooms and hanging a few pictures. Don’t know which ones go where. And we still need to do the room across the hall over there.”

  “I’ll hang the pictures myself, Sheila. And don’t worry about cleaning my bedroom. I cleaned it thoroughly before bringing my husband home from the hospital. Just didn’t have time to do anything with the rest of the house.”

  “Are you sure? It wouldn’t be any trouble for us.”

  “It’s nice of you to offer, but I’m sure. And my husband needs to rest.

  “How much longer before you’re ready to leave? I’ll get a check ready.”

  “We’ll be here for about another hour. And don’t worry ‘bout writing us a check; Mr. Johns took care of it already.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Aurora quit stuffing darks in the washing machine when the telephone rang. Sam had brought all his dirty laundry with him from Augusta, and she’d not had time to wash but one load since he’d arrived. Until now, that is. Frowning, she left the laundry and hurried to the telephone.

  “Mrs. Harris, a body has surfaced!” Lieutenant Conner exclaimed. “Could possibly be the one you discovered on Wednesday.”

  “Where?” Aurora asked, as the familiar undercurrent of fear burned in her stomach. She sat down next to the phone, squeezed her eyes shut, and willed the fear to go away.

  “One cove over from Spawning Run. I’ll explain it all to you when I see you. Can you come down to the station right away?”

  “I can be there in about forty-five minutes,” she said. “But I’m not looking forward to this.”

  “I understand, but I’m glad you can come. Our office is on the third floor. See you then.”

  Aurora cradled the receiver and headed to the bedroom to leave a note for Sam. She didn’t want to wake him if he was still sleeping, but she couldn’t leave without letting him know where she was going.

  In the bedroom, Sam had heard the phone ring. He sat up, flung back the covers, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up. He waited, expecting a slightly off-balance feeling to hit him. Pleased, and a little surprised when it didn’t happen, he hobbled over to the dresser, pulled out underwear, jeans, and a faded black sweatshirt. He dressed, then sat down to put on his socks and walking shoes. Little Guy, sensing a change, barked.

  “And just what is going on in here?” demanded Aurora as she entered the bedroom. “Hush, Little Guy. Sam, you get right back in that bed.”

  “Nope. Not gonna do it. I’m sick of being cooped up. Little Guy’s tired of it, too. Just look at him.”

  Aurora stood there, hands on her hips. “You know you need one more day of bed rest. You heard Dr. Cameron.”

  “Susie-Q, I’m okay. Honest. I’m also bored beyond belief. Bet you didn’t know there are 309 dogwood blossoms on that tree just outside the window.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She grinned in spite of herself.

  “Fine, count them for yourself. But Little Guy and I are going for a short walk.” He turned and sauntered out of the room.

  Aurora glanced at the large dogwood tree on the other side of the window. There was no way she was going to count all the white blossoms, but Sam had piqued her curiosity. She hurried to catch up with him and Little Guy.

  “Want to walk with us?”

  “I’d love to, but Lieutenant Conner just called. He wants me at the police station as soon as I can get there. They found a body.”

  “I’ll ride with you.”

  “No, someone needs to be close by in case the cleaning service has any last minute questions. Besides, I’m ready for King to come home. It’s incredible how much I’ve missed him. I’ll call Carole from the car phone later, see if I can go pick him up. She’s probably had just about enough of The King of Hearts. If it suits Carole, I’ll swing by her place after I leave the police station, probably visit with her for a few minutes, too.”

  Chirp. Chirp.

  “The battery in one of the smoke detectors must be weak. I’ll go change it,” Sam said.

  Chirp. Chirp.

  “No, you shouldn’t be going up and down stairs. I’ll go. It’ll only take me a minute.”

  She gave Sam a quick kiss as he walked out the front door, implored him to walk slowly, and followed the chirp-chirp to the basement. She looked around, amazed as always at what a neat shop her dad had kept. She reached over a workbench and pulled a box marked “Smoke Detector Batteries” off the well-organized shelf.

  Setting the box on the workbench, she saw again the completed picture frame waiting for the craftsman who would never return. Fighting back tears, she picked up the frame and turned it over.

  Puzzled, Aurora stared at the inscription her father had written on a portion of the frame. It didn’t surprise her that he had written something; that was his custom. But this was the first time the message had been handwritten with a black marker instead of routed. And usually her dad inscribed a short line from a favorite poem or hymn, one that the two of them both loved. This one, however, read simply “Ask Wyeth.”

  Ask Wyeth? I have absolutely no clue what that means, Dad.

  She shook her head, returned the frame to its place on the bench, and replaced the battery in the smoke detector. Back upstairs, Aurora snatched up her car keys and headed to the police station. She blew Sam a kiss as she passed him in the driveway.

  “Drive carefully,” he called after her.

  Aurora pulled into a parking spot in front of the three-story red brick building. She entered the police station through wide double doors and bypassed the elevator to walk the two flights of stairs instead. As she came out of the stairwell on the third floor, she nearly collided with Sergeant Johnson.

  He grinned. “I thought I’d meet you in the lobby. Almost perfect timing, don’t you think? Our office is just down the hall.” He ushered her into a large room equipped with four desks, computers and several file cabinets. Stacks of papers and file folders were piled around the room.

  “Ms. Harris, we need you to look at the body we fished out of the lake today. Hope you’re up to that. I have to warn you, though. It’s a gruesome sight. Are you ready?”

  “Once was enough for me. Do you have a picture I could see instead? I honestly think I’d throw up if I smelled that body again.”

  “We wear masks; we’ll get one for you. We think it’s important that you view the actual corpse.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.” She donned the mask Lieutenant Conner handed her and followed the men into the morgue.

  The thump, thump, thump of her heart blocked out all other sounds. The blood in her head drummed against her temples. Every single detail of the floating mass—the smell, the feel, the hanging flesh—flashed through her brain. She knew she was close to losing it. She shut her eyes, clutched the doorjamb, and waited until the room stopped spinning before she opened her eyes and walked over to view the corpse laid out on the gurney.

  “It’s the same one.” She wheeled and fled from the room.

  Once seated in the office, Aurora silently congratulated herself. She hadn’t thrown up. She hadn’t passed out. She had faced her demon and won. She felt a surge of strength she hadn’t possessed since her dad died. She sipped on the bottle of ice-cold Coca-Cola Sergeant Johnson handed her.

  Conner said, “Forensics compared the blood stains in the foyer of the 214 residence to the stained bat at your house. They matched perfectly. We suspect that the dead man is J. Melton Lampwerth IV, but we haven’t received the final word from the lab yet.” He paused, then added, “And by the way, why didn’t you tell us Judge Anderson is your uncle?

  Aurora shrugged her shoulders, grinned sheepishly, then said, “Sorry. Does that cause a problem?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. Now there’s one thing I must say before I leave. That mask you g
ave me didn’t hide the stench at all.”

  “We know,” said Johnson, chuckling. “But would you have gone in the morgue without it?”

  Back in the car, Aurora stuck a beach music CD in the CD player. She loved the sound of the Tams, the Catalinas, the Embers, the Drifters. She made a mental note to take Sam shagging at a local dance club when he recovered. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel in rhythm to “I Love Beach Music” as she headed home. The fear that had plagued her was gone. She felt rejuvenated, alive, capable of tackling anything.

  Happiness swelled inside her. For the first time in many months, life was good again. Sam was healing fast, she now accepted her father’s death as an accident, her mother no longer suffered, and soon King would be with her. And the house was clean. Yes, life was good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jimmy Ray crouched in the thick woods across Spawning Run and sighted down the cold, gray rifle barrel. His finger twitched in anticipation as he touched the trigger. He aimed at the young water skiier struggling to cross the boat’s wake. “Pow! You’re dead!” Jimmy Ray lowered the rifle and grinned. “At least you coulda been. Jimmy Ray don’t miss.”

  “How many times do I hafta tell you to stop pointing that gun at people, Jimmy Ray?”

  “Whatsa matter, Clyde? Do I make you nervous? You a little scairt of ol’ Jimmy Ray, huh?”

  “You don’t scare me none. But the boss don’t want you shootin’ people for fun. We’re supposed to lay low. That rifle of yours got a hair trigger, don’t it? It could go off if you sneeze or even burp.” And yes, you scare the hell out of me, but I won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing it.

  Jimmy Ray glared at Clyde. “How long we gonna sit in these here woods? I’m gittin’ downright bored. Ain’t no action goin’ on ‘cross the cove. I say we git in the boat, sneak over there and make somethin’ happen. That little gal what’s been staying in that house is a real looker.” He pointed to the house at 210 Spawning Run Road. “And we ain’t seen her big dog for a coupla days. I’ll give her a real good time. And when I finish, you can have her. Probably just what you need.”