John finally answered, and the ensuing conversation was surprisingly short and rather shocking. Willow softly closed the phone and stared across the ship at nothing.
“What did he say?” Jane asked, setting crackers and cheese on the table beside the laptop. “You listened more than you talked, and you barely got out the information on the crates.”
Willow looked up at Jane, seeing her through a surreal fog of detachment.
“Willy? What did John say?”
“That I’ve been dismissed.”
“Dismissed from what? This case?”
“My job,” Willow whispered. She looked down at the table, frowning. “I’ve been put on leave pending an investigation into my finances.”
“What!” Jane leaned over to make Willow look directly at her. “What do you mean, your finances? You don’t have any. You inherited five million dollars from Thaddeus Lakeman, but you gave it away two years ago. Other than your parents’ trust fund, you’re broke.”
Willow rubbed her forehead and stared down at the table. “It now appears that I also have half a million dollars in an overseas bank account.”
There were several heartbeats of silence, then Jane made a noise of disgust, turned on her heel, and walked to the stairs. “Duncan!” she hollered. “Get down here!”
Willow was vaguely aware of footsteps overhead, and suddenly both Duncan and Jane were standing in front of her, and Mickey had his paws up on the seat and was licking her face.
“What’s going on?” Duncan asked softly, pulling Mickey away and studying Willow. “What’s happened?”
“Tell him,” Jane said. “Tell us both exactly why your boss is investigating your finances.”
“Yar finances?” Duncan repeated. He leaned back against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and continued to study her. “What did Pike say?” he asked.
“He said that he received an official document, anonymously, that showed that I have half a million dollars in an overseas account, and that it was deposited there just three weeks ago.”
“And,” Jane prodded. “Are you saying John believes this anonymously sent document?”
Willow answered Jane but looked directly at Duncan. “He does now. There was also a note with the document, saying that the money was a payoff for throwing a case I lost six weeks ago. John couldn’t just ignore such an accusation, so he got a search warrant for my apartment Sunday afternoon. They found the overseas account on my personal computer, right there in my finance program, and they also found the password to it on a piece of paper in my bureau drawer. It shows that I accessed the account just last week, for a balance check.”
Jane snorted and shook her head as she looked at Duncan. “Can somebody do that? Can they open an account in another person’s name, and make deposits and stuff?”
Duncan said nothing, merely nodded, and Willow realized he was furiously thinking—about the motivation, the ramifications, and the next course of action for them.
Them. That’s why she wasn’t panicking, why she wasn’t sobbing in hysterics or cursing out John Pike for even thinking she was guilty—because she was one half of a them.
“Duncan. Say something!” Jane snapped. “Willow did not take a bribe.”
“That’s it,” Willow said, sitting up and looking from Jane to Duncan. “I’ve been set up to look like I took a bribe.” She turned to Jane. “And who do we know who’s well acquainted with bribes?”
Jane gasped. “Brent Graham,” she whispered, clutching her throat. Her eyes narrowed. “Did he run you off the road, too?”
Willow shrugged. “Probably. That’s why alcohol got poured down my throat. Again, to discredit me.”
“But why?” Jane asked. “Over some stupid pesticide that wasn’t stored legally?”
Willow nodded her head at Jane, though still aware that Duncan hadn’t said anything yet. “Do you have any idea how much money is involved in the Kingston waste site long term? Setting up an assistant AG who’s investigating you isn’t so much of a stretch. And half a million dollars is pocket change. Graham, if it is him, is only buying himself time to clean up his mess and cover his tracks. He’s just making sure my case disappears before I have a chance to build it.”
“But how did he learn you were even building a case?” Jane asked.
“According to Ray Cobb, all the fishermen were being watched once word got out that the lobster around Thunder Island were dying. Someone must have seen me go out with Ray. And that’s why my apartment was broken into last Wednesday, and why my files were stolen from my office that same night.”
“The whole thing sounds like a thriller,” Jane muttered, shaking her head. “It doesn’t sound like the kind of stuff that goes on around here.”
“But that’s exactly why it’s happening here,” Willow said. “Because the rest of the world thinks of Maine as a territory, not a state, run by a bunch of woodsmen who wouldn’t know a crime if it came up and bit us on the butt.”
Duncan suddenly smiled. Jane just looked confounded, with her hands balled into fists at her sides and her face red with building anger.
Willow couldn’t help but smile herself, and she suddenly relaxed with a deep sigh. Everything was going to be okay. She was going to be okay, because an angry and very calm troglodyte was the other half of her them.
Chapter Sixteen
They pulled into an eerily silent harbor, idling past mostly empty moorings that gave testament to the fact that just about every seaworthy boat was out searching for Gramps. Willow knew from past experience that the Fox home, which sat just up Main Street, was the center of an age-old vigil where the women were gathered around Mildred Fox to wait for word on her husband.
Willow could even picture the scene in vivid detail, because she had been part of such a vigil during her sophomore year of high school. She had sat all night and into the next morning with Bradley Grant’s mother, and been there when the Coast Guard and the harbormaster had come in and told Mrs. Grant they’d found her husband’s body about two hundred yards from his idling boat. And then they’d explained what they thought had happened, and that her son had likely been pulled under in five hundred feet of water. In time, they’d told her, the sea might give Bradley up, but they could only offer sincere condolences for her loss.
“Ah, lass,” Duncan said, hugging her to his side as they stood at the rail. “Have faith, woman,” he continued. “Gramps is going to come home to be the star witness of your case.”
Willow turned and buried her face in Duncan’s strong, warm chest. “He had no business sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.”
He hugged her securely, using his chin to hold her head against him, and rocked her gently back and forth. “Aye, counselor, but he did. These are his waters, and he has every right to get involved in whatever is threatening them.”
When she popped her head up to argue his point, Duncan used his thumb to wipe a tear off her cheek. “Ya cannot deny a man his convictions, Willow. Nor can ya control his actions.”
“I can still give him hell when he gets back.”
His soft chuckle vibrated against her. “Aye, ya can try. But he’ll likely give ya hell right back.”
Jane guided the Seven-to-Two-Odds against the Puffin Harbor pier, and Jason jumped off and secured the ropes. Willow stepped out of Duncan’s arms and nodded. “I’ll stand for a lecture from Gramps, as long as he’s giving it to me in person. Preferably today, before nightfall.”
Kee’s truck drove all the way out onto the pier, and before he could even shut it off, Rachel got out and came running toward them. “We saw you sailing in and came right down. John Pike’s been trying to get hold of you since Sunday morning,” she told Willow. “He sounded serious, but he wouldn’t tell me what he wanted.”
Willow stepped onto the pier and hugged her sister. “I just spoke to John. He was calling to tell me I’m in big trouble,” she told Rachel, taking hold of her sister’s shoulders to brace her against the news.
“It seems I’m being set up to take a fall. Somebody opened an overseas account in my name, deposited half a million dollars in it, and said it was for throwing one of my cases six weeks ago.”
Rachel gasped, her face reddening with anger. “John doesn’t believe that, does he?”
Willow shook her head. “He said he doesn’t believe any of it, but the evidence is solid and the damage to my reputation is already done.” Willow gasped. “Mabel,” she said, squeezing Rachel’s shoulders. “We have to go get her.”
“Your landlady? But why?”
Willow turned to include Duncan and Kee in the conversation. “John mentioned that the press had also been sent the documents, so he couldn’t keep it contained. I would bet there’s several news vans camped out at my apartment. We have to get Mabel out of there. She’s going to be outraged by the accusations, and she’ll likely go outside and tell them off.”
“Mikaela and Nick and I will go get her,” Rachel said. “She knows us, and she’ll be comfortable at our house. Ah, Gramps is missing,” she softly continued, touching Willow’s arm. “He’s been gone since yesterday morning.”
“We know,” Willow told her. “I’m going to Mildred’s house now.”
“Sorry, counselor,” Duncan said, turning her to face him. “The best thing ya can do for the Foxes is solve this case. Let the townsfolk take care of Mildred and look for Gramps, and we’ll approach the problem from our own direction. We find those crates, they’ll lead us to the boat, and the boat crew just might lead us to Gramps…with a bit of persuasion.”
Willow had to think about that. Duncan was right; sitting around waiting, holding Mildred’s hand and feeling somehow responsible, was not going to accomplish anything. “Okay,” she said, turning to Rachel. “You go get Mabel in Augusta, and I’m going back to Duncan’s house and see if I can’t put all these pieces of the puzzle together.”
“Ah, about Duncan’s house,” Kee said, looking from her to Duncan. “You’ve got company.”
Duncan went utterly still. “Who?”
Kee grinned. “Your mother and Camden.”
Willow watched, fascinated, as Duncan paled and muttered something nasty under his breath.
“Grammy Ross brought me a tea set,” Mikaela said through the open window of the truck. “And she brought Nick a stuffed pony. And Uncle Camden brought us both bottles of whisky.”
Willow stared at Mikaela, then at Rachel, then turned and glared at Duncan. Duncan finally came out of his stupor and shrugged. “It’s for their twenty-first birthday celebrations,” he explained, grabbing Willow’s hand and turning on his heel to lead her up the pier to the parking lot. “We broke a pulley,” he told Ahab as the captain came rushing down the pier toward them. “It was likely needing replacing anyway.”
Ahab didn’t bother to stop, but mouthed a curse and broke into a run toward his beloved schooner. Willow looked back as Duncan continued leading her to his car, and saw Ahab shaking his fist at Jason and scolding anyone within earshot.
“So it looks like I’m going to meet your family,” Willow said, turning her attention back to the silent, serious man beside her. “I can’t wait.”
Duncan stopped beside the left door of his Jag and took hold of her shoulders. “I need to warn ya about my mother,” he said. “She can be a bit…well…intimidating.”
“I imagine she must be,” Willow said, reaching up and tracing a finger over his tense jaw. “She raised you and obviously lived to tell about it. She must be quite a lady.”
“Aye,” Duncan whispered, his face flushing. “She is a lady. Her Grace, Margaret Went Ross, to be exact, Duchess of Spierhenge.”
Willow paled. “Duchess,” she repeated in a whisper. “As in…in lords and ladies and that kind of stuff?”
He nodded.
“And you’re the oldest son, so that makes—” She swallowed and tried again. “A duke,” she croaked.
He nodded again and finally smiled. “Not bad for a troglodyte, huh, lass?”
Willow went so weak in the knees, Duncan had to hold her up. He turned with a laugh, opened the car door, and carefully sat her inside. Willow’s head spun as she stared straight ahead while Duncan fastened her seat belt, only vaguely aware when he shut the door, walked around the car, and got behind the wheel.
His Grace, Duncan Ross. Her Grace, Margaret Ross. And that would make Molly what? Lady Ross. Aw, hell. She’d been calling a peer of the realm a troglodyte. She’d even written it out on his palm so he could look it up. No wonder he’d returned the favor in Latin! He was likely more educated than she was.
Without even thinking, Willow reached out and smacked Duncan in the belly with the back of her hand, making him grunt and making her sore wrist throb. “You jerk. You’ve been laughing at me all this time.”
“I don’t use the title, Willow. I didn’t ask for it, don’t want it, and ran off on my twentieth birthday and joined the navy in order to avoid it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He started the car, looked over, and smiled. “Because I wanted ya to fall in love with me, not my title.”
“I think I was just insulted. I am not mercenary, Ross.”
“Aye,” he said quickly, covering her still-throbbing hand and rubbing her fingers. “I know ya’re not. But it was rather fun being a troglodyte instead of a duke, even for a little while.” He leaned over to peer into her eyes, his own eyes serious again. “I never once played myself down to ya, Willow. The man you’ve known for the last two years is the real me.” He shrugged and put his hand on the gear shift, pushed in the clutch, and started out of the parking lot. “That ya decided I was a caveman was your way of keeping me at a distance.”
And again Willow had to think about that. Is that what she’d been doing? Snobbishly calling Duncan a troglodyte as an excuse to avoid falling in love with him?
It certainly looked that way. “Why did you walk away from your heritage?” she asked softly.
He darted a glance at her, then gave his attention back to the road. “Over a stupid falling-out with my father when I was just twenty. He wanted me to step up and take his place as head of The Rosach Distillery. I saw my whole life mapped out for me, and it wasn’t the life I was wanting.”
“You’re an adventurer.”
“I was,” he said, darting her another glance, this time with a quick smile. “But I’ve gotten it out of my system now. I’m wanting to settle down.”
“So you’ll go back to Scotland and run the distillery and take up your title?”
“Nay. Camden’s heart is in the business, not mine. I have a wish to own a quaint little pub on the coast of Maine.”
“Are you…are you rich?”
“I suppose I am.” He shot her another quick smile. “Most of my money is in the distillery or tied up in family lands, though. That’s why we had to take out a loan to pay off Mikaela’s mother when Mikaela was born. I wanted to cash in some of my stock then, but I couldn’t do that to Camden. Why, is being rich as bad as being a troglodyte?”
Willow finally found her own smile. “Almost.”
“That’s right, you gave away your inheritance from Lakeman a couple of years ago. Five million dollars is a lot of money to throw away.”
“For three years I considered it blood money. And by the time I found out different, I still couldn’t bring myself to keep it. So I gave it away, anonymously, to various charities. Did you make up with your father before he died?”
He seemed startled by her question, and nodded curtly. “Mostly. We were no longer estranged, but I’m thinking he was disappointed I never came home to stay.”
“We can’t always please our parents,” Willow said, looking down at her hands and fidgeting with the Velcro on her splint. “Lord knows I tried to live up to my father’s dream. He was so determined I’d be governor of Maine one day.”
“But aren’t ya? That’s what Rachel is thinking.”
Willow shook her head. “I know. And I don’t have
the heart to disappoint her, either.”
Duncan pulled the car off the side of the road just a quarter mile from his home and shut off the engine. He turned to her, his deep green eyes intense. “If ya’re not really wanting a career in politics, then what do ya want?”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I want to hang out a shingle for a private law practice down here on the coast, and help individuals solve what seem to them like huge problems.”
“But I thought ya loved your AG job.”
“I do, some of the time. But most of the time I’m defending faceless entities with class-action suits and ‘the state versus the bad guys.’ I know the citizens are my true clients, but I want to get to know them on a first-name basis and not be hampered by bureaucracy. As an AG, I have to play exactly by the rules, and those rules get in my way sometimes. Can you understand that, Duncan? Sometimes I just want to fight dirty, and holding public office doesn’t allow that.”
The smile he gave her was crooked, and his eyes danced with warmth. “Oh, I understand. But only because I know there’s really a brat’s heart beating inside ya. And that’s the heart I fell in love with.”
“Oh, Duncan,” she whispered, throwing herself at him, only to be brought up short by her seat belt, making her next words come out as nothing more than a yelp.
“Behave yourself,” he said with a laugh, patting her knee. “I tried making out in this car when I got it, and I still have the scar to prove it can’t be done. Save yar kisses for after we see my mother. I’m definitely going to need them then.”
Willow tamped down her blush and started fidgeting with the Velcro laces on her splint again. “Oh, how bad can she be if she raised you and Molly?”
Having no choice, considering the death grip he had on her good wrist, Willow trailed into Duncan’s kitchen behind him, only to find herself walking into a silence that could have been cut with a knife. The first thought that popped into her head, when she first spotted Her Grace, Margaret Went Ross, was dragon lady; the woman only lacked wings and a bit of smoke puffing from her imperially raised nose.
The Dangerous Protector Page 20
