Hotshot P.I.

by B. J Daniels

  Did it bother Jake that she might have loved another man? Well, he needn’t worry; there’d only been one love in her life, was still only one.

  “I was flattered by the attention,” she admitted honestly. “At first.” At what point had the attention become too much?

  “What made you finally write him off?” Jake asked.

  She bit her lip. She’d literally written him off, and Jake had the incriminating letter in his pocket to prove it, not that the sheriff needed more evidence to convict her. “I just didn’t want to see him anymore.”

  “So you were running from Dex when you went back to the island to live?” Jake asked.

  She knew it had been more than that. Dex had frightened her in a way she couldn’t even explain. But she’d also wanted to go home. She’d wanted to go back to a time when she’d felt safe. And loved. And that time had been on Hawk Island. “It felt like it was time to go home,” she said.

  Jake said nothing.

  She’d had an uneasy feeling about Dex that she hadn’t been able to throw. Now she realized she’d been right not to trust him. She felt almost a sense of relief to have her misgivings about Dex confirmed. Unfortunately, all that insight came too late. Dex was dead. And she’d be going to trial soon for his murder.

  “Do you think he thought you had money?” Jake asked.

  She’d considered that. “What money? I’m a struggling artist.”

  “Hardly,” Jake said. “I’ve seen your work in galleries in Texas.”

  “I do all right, but not well enough for a man to want me for my money. And my parents lost everything after…what happened.”

  Jake winced. “And they blamed my father, I’m sure.”

  “No,” she said with conviction. “They were horribly saddened by what happened to Warren.” She looked over at him. “You lost your father to prison, but you can still see him. I lost both of my parents.”

  Jake looked away.

  “The only thing I own is the lodge at the lake, thanks to Aunt Kiki,” she said, then had a thought. “Unless he figured he could get his hands on Aunt Kiki’s money.”

  Jake shook his head, seemingly happier that the conversation had returned to the case. “Kiki would have been a long shot. You’re not her only heir.”

  She nodded, biting at her lip. “I still don’t know what he wanted or why he came to Hawk Island.” She looked out the window. The dying sun rimmed the mountains with gold. A deep purple filled the valleys and spilled over into the foothills. “That’s why I went to Bozeman, to try and find out. Not to get that letter.”

  “Tell me about the night Dex showed up at the island.”

  She hugged herself against the memories of that night and related to Jake how Dex had called, insistent that he had to see her. She’d agreed to meet him at the café just to get it over with. Jake frowned when she told him how strangely Dex had been acting, talking about his mother, playing with that string of beads. Her legacy. “He said I was part of that legacy.”

  Jake’s frown deepened.

  She brushed her hair back from her face and took a calming breath. “I thought maybe he’d been drinking. He wasn’t making any sense. Then he glanced past me into the darkness and saw something that.scared him.”

  “Something or someone?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know, I turned, but whatever it was—if there was anything at all—was gone. Suddenly he became very agitated and said he had to go. He wasn’t leaving the island until he got what he deserved.”

  “And maybe he got it,” Jake said, his gaze intent on her face.

  “I didn’t kill him.” She glanced away. At least she didn’t believe in her heart that she’d killed him. “Why would I kill him in my sleep? What possible reason could I have had?”

  Jake could think of a half-dozen reasons a woman might kill a man. And he figured a woman could think of at least six more without even being asleep. A woman who thought she could get away with murder because of her sleepwalking history could have any reason she wanted for killing Dex Westfall.

  Well, Clancy might be able to dupe Tadd Farnsworth, who couldn’t see beyond her shapely body and her aunt’s money. But Jake Hawkins wasn’t that easily fooled. He’d known Clancy. Maybe not as well as Dex had. Not wanting to continue with that line of thinking, he pulled a magazine out of the back of the seat in front of him and pretended interest in it he didn’t feel.

  After a few moments he looked over and realized the futility of his charade. Clancy was sound asleep. He stared at her beautiful face, peaceful in sleep, and wondered. Did she really sleepwalk? Did she kill Dex? Was it in her sleep?

  He reached across the aisle for the manila envelope he’d tossed there earlier. He’d placed a call to the librarian while he was waiting to charter a plane. The envelope had arrived by courier shortly before his takeoff from the Kalispell airport. It contained photocopies of stories about sleepwalker murder cases. He’d been shocked by what he read on his plane ride to Bozeman.

  Jake read case after case of what was known as homicidal somnambulism. One story, from medieval times, was about a woodcutter who thought he saw an intruder at the foot of his bed and, picking up an ax, killed his wife, who was asleep beside him.

  The whole concept was too alien for Jake. Sleep-related violence. Out of the millions of Americans who had sleep disorders, only a small percentage became violent, picking up axes, guns or sculptures to kill while sound asleep.

  He glanced over at Clancy, who was still sleeping peacefully, and tried to picture her. Her eyes would be open, her face bland. She’d be unresponsive to everything and everyone around her. In a hypnotic trance, functionally blind, the articles had said. She would pick up the sculpture, go up the stairs to the garret. Dex Westfall would be waiting for her up there. Who knew what for. And she would bludgeon him to death.

  Her brain would be awake enough to allow her to do all of this while the rest of her mind would remain unconscious to everything that was happening. She would wake to find herself standing over Dex’s body and be horrified at what she’d done.

  Jake shook his head. How could Clancy have stayed asleep through such a violent act and then have total amnesia from the time of falling asleep until waking? It was much easier to imagine her killing her boyfriend in cold blood.

  They were approaching the Kalispell airport when Clancy stirred and looked up at him wide-eyed. “I fell asleep?” She sounded horrified by the idea. “I didn’t—”

  “Sleepwalk?” he asked, tucking the manila envelope away. She really didn’t think he bought this, did she? “No, you didn’t leave your seat.”

  He had his own theory on Dex Westfall’s murder. One he didn’t like to admit, even to himself. “Dex was seeing other women, wasn’t he?”

  She seemed startled, and he told himself he should have felt like a louse, catching her off guard, half asleep. He didn’t.

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “A jury might read that as possible motive. The woman scorned. You know?”

  Clancy shook her head. “It wasn’t like that.”

  Right. “When did you find out about the other women?” he asked, already knowing the answer and realizing how damaging it was going to be in court.

  “Right before I left Bozeman, I found a note from some woman. I don’t doubt there were others. The man he housesat for mentioned Dex’s other girlfriends. But I just used that as an excuse to break off the relationship. I’d been trying to break up with him for several weeks.”

  Jake scoured a hand over his face. He needed a long, hot shower, a shave and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep in a real bed. “A note?”

  “It was from some woman Dex had met in a bar.”

  “Some woman he’d—” He didn’t have to finish; she anticipated this one.

  “Some woman he’d been…intimate with,” she admitted.

  Jake groaned to himself. “Where is the note now?”

  She shook her head.

  The note would
turn up, providing the prosecution with possible motive. Couple that with the letter in his pocket. “You wrote him a letter and broke it off right after that,” Jake said, not even needing confirmation.

  “Yes. Dex just wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I thought if I wrote it down—Now I know he was after something else.”

  “Tell me about Friday night, the night you found Dex in the garret.”

  She shifted in her seat and looked out the window again. “I left him at the café and went home a little after ten,” she said mechanically. Obviously she’d already recounted this story numerous times to the cops.

  “Did you go by boat?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She seemed to be waiting for another question, but when none came, she continued. “I couldn’t sleep. I went to my studio and worked for a while.”

  “Were you more angry or afraid?” Jake asked.

  “What?” She sounded surprised by his question and not the least happy that he’d interrupted her again. She obviously wanted this over with as quickly as possible. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I remember the year you started sculpting,” he said, wishing he couldn’t remember. “You used to work when you were upset.”

  “Both angry and afraid. I remember locking the doors. I never lock the doors at the lake.”

  “Then, you thought he might come over?”

  “I guess I was worried that he might,” she admitted.

  “How do you think he got in? Did he have a key?” He felt her gaze burn his skin. “Did he come by boat or walk?”

  “I didn’t give him a key, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know how he got there, what he was doing there, or how he got in. I don’t know anything. I went to bed around midnight, exhausted. The next thing I remember is waking up to find Dex dead.” She shuddered and hugged herself against the memory.

  Classic homicidal somnambulism. No memory. Confusion. Horror at having done it. Right. “The murder weapon was in your hand. How do you think it got there?”

  She didn’t answer. Jake glanced over at her. He knew that look. He remembered it only too well as a kid. He’d stepped over the line.

  “You don’t believe me,” she said. “You don’t believe anything I tell you.”

  He could hear the anger in her voice. And the hurt. He just didn’t expect the hurt to affect him the way it did. Damn her. He couldn’t afford these feelings.

  “You think I killed him?” Her face was flushed, but he had no idea whether it was from anger or something else. Like guilt.

  “You aren’t even sure you didn’t kill him,” he pointed out carefully. Then he went a step further, telling himself he had no choice. “It could have been a crime of passion.”

  “Passion?” she cried.

  Jake wanted to back off. But he had to get to Clancy somehow, he had to get at the truth. “Don’t tell me it didn’t hurt you. The guy screwed around on you. You thought he was the man of your dreams. You were in love with him. He turned out to be a jerk. A jerk who wouldn’t leave you alone.”

  Her eyes flashed. “You’re wrong.” She glanced away. “I wasn’t in love with him. I just wanted him to leave me alone.” She raised her gaze to Jake’s. He could feel the heat of it. “How can you possibly hope to find something that proves my innocence when you believe I’m a murderer?”

  Good question. And one Jake had worried about himself. He studied her for a moment. “I don’t know what to believe,” he said honestly. “All I know for sure is that Dex Westfall is dead and the cops think—maybe with good reason—that you did it.” He flicked the torn sleeve of her navy blouse. “And all you’ve done is dupe me. For all I know I’ll turn my back again and you’ll be gone, maybe for good this time.”

  “You’re wrong, Hawkins. And I’m going to prove it, with or without your help.”

  Jake looked over at her, admiring her determination if nothing else. He didn’t even want to think about what Clancy had told him. Or the things she’d told him that she hadn’t meant to. Dex Westfall had hurt her. He’d had other women. He’d played her for a fool from day one. And he wouldn’t leave her alone. He’d even followed her to the island. And what had Clancy done about it?

  Did he really believe she could kill someone? Not the girl he’d known. But what did he know about this woman? Nothing, he told himself. And he’d been in the P.I. business long enough to know that anyone could kill—given the right circumstances. And the fact that he knew Clancy had already lied at least once, didn’t help her defense.

  As the plane made its descent into Kalispell, Jake placed his hand over Clancy’s. He came up with several good reasons for doing it. None of them had anything to do with any feelings he might have once had for her.

  The night air smelled of Montana summer. It was warm with a gentle breeze that stirred Clancy’s blond hair as they walked to the Mustang.

  “Tell me something, Hawkins,” Clancy said as he opened the passenger-side door for her. “Has there ever been a case you couldn’t solve?”

  “No. And this one won’t be my first.”

  He watched her climb into the car and started to close the door, but stopped as something caught his eye. “What did you do to your ankle?”

  Chapter Seven

  Clancy stared down at the scrape on her right ankle. Fear shot through her. “I don’t know.”

  Jake touched his fingers to the discolored skin, tenderly, caressingly. She flinched.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked, jerking back his fingers, obviously surprised by her response.

  She shook her head, unable to speak. Hurt had nothing to do with her reaction to his touch. The pain of his fingers on her skin was a dull ache—far from her ankle.

  “How did you get that?” he asked, frowning as he inspected the injury.

  She flinched again, this time from a flash of memory. A hand coming out of the water. Grabbing her ankle. Pulling her—

  “Last night,” she whispered, staring out into the darkness. “On the dock when I was walking in my sleep—” She closed her eyes, trying to remember the moment when she’d awakened. It always felt like coming out of a fog with nothing ever very clear. Silver. A flicker of something silver coming out of the water. Then the hand and a sharp pain as the fingers reached out of the water and clamped around her ankle. Her eyes flew open. “He was wearing something silver on his wrist. It must have been a watch and it scraped my ankle.”

  Jake stared at her. “Who was wearing a watch?”

  “The man who tried to drown me last night,” she said, relieved she wasn’t losing her mind. “When he grabbed my leg and pulled me into the water, his watchband must have skinned my ankle.” She shivered, her relief shortlived. If it hadn’t been a dream, if she wasn’t crazy, then the scrape and the memory added up to something far worse. “Oh, Jake, I was right. Someone really did try to kill me.”

  Jake stared at Clancy, unsure how to respond. He realized she believed what she was saying, but the evidence was against it. If there had been someone else there last night, where had he gone? Wasn’t it more likely that she’d scraped her ankle when she fell from the dock into the water? And the memory of the hand and the watch? Part of a dream. She’d said she was walking in her sleep. If a person could believe that. Jake operated on solid evidence, not even putting much stock in his hunches, no matter how right they ended up being, until he had tangible proof to go with them.

  “You think I’m making this all up?” Clancy snapped. “Then, how do you explain the scrape?”

  He knew sharing his explanation with her right now would do him more harm than good. “I can’t.” He barely got out of the way before she slammed him with the car door. He walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in, wishing he could think of something to say that would cool her ire. Instead, he feared that anything he said right now would be wrong. So he kept silent, a male trait that he knew often only made her madder. But he’d risk it, he decided. It seemed the safest thing to d
o.

  They drove with the windows down out past the lights of the city, past Christmas tree farms and tiny resorts until they were running along the shoreline of Flathead Lake.

  Through the pines, Jake caught glimpses of the lake. It never failed to move him. The largest natural freshwater lake west of the Mississippi. The most beautiful. Incredibly clear by day. But by night, there was something haunting about it. Especially when the lights of the tiny communities nestled around it shimmered at its shoreline as they did now.

  Jake felt a dangerous pull deep within him. A pull for this place. And the people in it. One in particular.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Clancy still had a good mad going. She wouldn’t even look in his direction. That was probably just as well, he thought, dragging himself back from places he couldn’t afford to go.

  The moment he pulled into the marina parking lot, Clancy had her door open and was halfway out of the car. “You wouldn’t believe me even if you caught someone with a knife to my throat,” she said, slamming the door behind her.

  She was gone before he could get in a word. “Women.” Jake grabbed her overnight bag out of the back and followed her down to the docks where they’d tied her boat that morning. It seemed like days ago now.

  Music and the smell of fried foods filled the night air. A band at Charley’s Saloon a few doors down cranked out country, while french fries sizzled in hot grease at the Burger Boat across the street. It was June, and the small resort community bustled with tourists and locals. Kids cruised the drag, honking, squealing tires, revving engines, yelling at friends. Summer on the lake. Jake felt a stab of envy, remembering when he and Clancy were kids.

  Clancy was already in the boat, behind the wheel, waiting. Waiting, he realized, because he’d taken the key that morning. He grimaced. If he didn’t have the key in his pocket, she’d have left him in a heartbeat.

  He stopped on the dock for a moment, trying to figure out what he was going to say to her. In the distance he could make out the lights at Hawk Island Resort. They flickered on the water, beckoning him, drawing him back to the island just as Clancy had. He untied the boat and hopped in.