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His Deception

Page 8

by Patricia Rosemoor


  “You want me to close the café on a Sunday?” Katelyn asked. That could be a hit to her business.

  “This is a potential crime scene we need to investigate.”

  “C-crime scene? You’re saying S-sam may have been m-murdered?” she choked out.

  “I don’t know yet, Ms. Wade. For all I know, it could have been a terrible accident. He could have been out here on the pier, tripped, and hit his head.”

  “He has a head wound?”

  “A gash. He could have been unconscious when he went into the lake. I understand his clothing was caught on something under the pier. Whatever it was, it could have held him there until he drowned. But I have to do an autopsy to make that determination. Plus my people will have to check out this whole area in the daytime for any kind of evidence that might tell us what happened. We don’t need interference from your customers.”

  “And staying open during the investigation probably wouldn’t be good for business,” Thorne added.

  No doubt he was correct. And truth be told, she was so distraught, she didn’t know how she would be able to run anything anytime soon. Too bad she hadn’t opted to hire an assistant manager who could take over for her when the café reopened on Tuesday.

  “Not to mention what the media will have to say about it,” Weaver added. “You might want to make yourself scarce.”

  “Media?” Katelyn echoed.

  Weaver shook his head. “We can try to keep them out as long as we’re investigating, but then they’ll swarm this place.”

  Reporters in her face. Asking her all kinds of questions. Maybe finding out who her father was. It wasn’t common knowledge, though she wouldn’t be surprised if an Internet search led them to that information. And then there would be photos and videos, her face plastered all over by the media. That thought horrified Katelyn. She couldn’t deal with reporters. Not now. The idea of her name and her business being connected with these awful circumstances made her shudder.

  “I’m amazed reporters aren’t here now,” Thorne said.

  “A little late on the uptake,” Weaver agreed, “but don’t be surprised if they show any minute. I’ll ask Cole to get a uniform to park up at the entry to your driveway. I want to keep reporters off the property until we finish our investigation.”

  “All right. I’ll close for the day tomorrow,” she agreed. And thankfully, the café was always closed on Mondays. Hopefully that would give her a long enough break to pull herself together. “I need to talk to you and Detective Cole about another incident.”

  “Another murder?”

  “Seven of them, actually,” she said. “At Bascom College.”

  Grunting, Weaver said, “Well that’s an interesting development.”

  He waved Cole over, and Katelyn gave the men the details: that Robert Hamilton was her father, that he’d gotten an email threatening his own children, and that the FBI was investigating. In addition to her own and Thorne’s cell numbers, Katelyn gave Cole the numbers for her father and Special Agent Isabel Ortiz.

  “How long will it take to get the results of the autopsy?” she asked the medical examiner.

  “Not sure yet,” Weaver said. “A drowning is never medically clear-cut, and it certainly can be staged to disguise a murder. I would have to be certain before officially ruling Gilbert’s death an accidental drowning. I’m looking at a comprehensive autopsy that will take some time. Luckily, Gilbert hasn’t been in the water too long.”

  “You can tell how long it has been?” Katelyn asked.

  “Not exactly. But in the first forty-eight hours, the skin is wrinkled, especially on the hands and fingers, and blotched and discolored pink to red. Any longer and the discoloration will be greenish bronze. If those signs are starting to show, which is hard to tell out here, I would say he could have been in the water a little more than forty-eight hours. That’s a good starting point. For now.”

  Katelyn’s stomach whirled. She didn’t need the details.

  Thorne asked, “If we want to avoid the media tomorrow, does someone have to stick around on-site while your men work here?”

  Weaver shook his head. “You’d probably get in the way.”

  “I have your cell numbers now,” Cole said. “I’ll call if we need you.”

  Katelyn realized the EMTs had placed Sam on the stretcher in a black bag and were zipping it up. Weaver nodded goodbye and went to join them.

  Detective Cole asked Katelyn, “Does Gilbert have family here in Lake Geneva?”

  “No. He’s originally from the Upper Peninsula.”

  “Michigan, huh? Do you have names or numbers?”

  “I’m afraid not.” She frowned. “We need to get word to his family.”

  “It may take a little time, but we should be able to find them. What else can you tell me about close acquaintances? What about a girlfriend?”

  “No one since I’ve been here. I know he had a thing for a woman in Fontana.”

  “Fontana?” Thorne said.

  “A town at the west end of Geneva Lake. I thought maybe he’d finally gotten together with her. Apparently not.” And that would never happen now.

  “Does she have a name?” Cole asked.

  “He called her Charlie. Never mentioned a last name, though.”

  “Charlie from Fontana.” Cole made note of it. “Did he tell you anything else about her? What she looked like? Where she worked, maybe?”

  Katelyn tried to remember anything Sam had told her. “Just that she was a hot redhead and he met her in one of the bars overlooking the lake there.”

  “That narrows it down some. Assuming she made an impression on someone working in one of those bars, we’ll find her.”

  “Sorry to be so vague about her,” Katelyn said. “But I have met a few of his friends here in town.” She gave him the names of a couple of guys who’d come around to the bar several times to see Sam.

  “What about you?” the detective asked Thorne.

  “New in town. Never met the man.”

  After making a note of Sam’s address, Cole left them, assuring Katelyn that he would be in touch soon.

  Katelyn looked around. The EMTs had carted Sam’s body toward the parking lot without her realizing it. “They’re gone,” she murmured.

  “The mortuary picked him up while you were talking to Cole. But your customers aren’t gone,” Thorne reminded her.

  A glance up at the railing confirmed that.

  “I don’t know that I can do this.” She would burst into tears if she had to explain the situation to complete strangers.

  “Let me handle it. Take a break and come back at closing.”

  She checked the time on her cell. That would give her twenty minutes to settle down inside. “All right. Thanks.”

  Thorne to her rescue yet again.

  —

  Despite a barrage of questions from customers when he hit the patio, Thorne kept his explanation to a minimum, merely saying the man who drowned was the former bartender, and that it was up to the medical examiner’s office to give more information when they had it.

  He gave the same explanation to Tansy. That and the fact that the café would be closed the next day. The take-charge waitress immediately set out to spread the word among the waitstaff and kitchen help and said she would take care of the cash register as well, since Katelyn wasn’t around. Thorne wondered if Katelyn knew what a gem she had in Tansy. He was certain the woman could run the place in her boss’s absence.

  Which would be a good thing, considering the circumstances.

  He ran up to his room and quickly changed into dry clothes, then headed back to the café as most of the remaining customers drifted toward the parking lot. Obviously on edge, Chad was waiting for him.

  “Sam’s dead?” the kid practically shouted. “Man, who would have thought it? How the hell did that happen?”

  How, indeed? “I don’t have a clue.”

  Thorne couldn’t help but make connections. The Bascom College s
hooting had taken place a week ago Friday and then the shooter had disappeared, though he’d abandoned the weapon. Hamilton said he’d gotten the threatening email first thing Monday morning. Sam Gilbert had disappeared on Tuesday. Thorne had arrived in Lake Geneva on Wednesday. According to the ME, Sam probably had been in the lake for two days. Since Thursday. Maybe he’d been there, stuck under the pier, when they’d taken that morning walk.

  And he’d missed it!

  “Why don’t you get out of here,” Thorne said. “I’ll clean up.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

  Then Thorne reminded him, “No work tomorrow. The café will be closed while the authorities run their investigation.”

  “So Sam was murdered? It wasn’t an accident?”

  Considering the threat against Hamilton’s children, could the death a few days later of a man working for Katelyn possibly be a coincidence?

  “That’s what they’ll be here to find out,” Thorne told him.

  Shaking his head and muttering to himself, Chad took his leave.

  Thorne simply didn’t believe in coincidence. At least not in one with such a tragic note. He didn’t believe Sam’s death was an accidental drowning. But why would he have been murdered? Katelyn had told him Sam Gilbert knew she was related to Hamilton, but how would that have had any bearing on Sam’s death? Since the restaurant was closed on Mondays, she wouldn’t have had time to tell him about the threat. Or had she? They were friends. Maybe she’d talked to him. Whether or not he knew about the threat, Sam might have walked in on someone who’d been doing something suspicious.

  Someone trying to get to Katelyn…

  The thought twisted his gut. Not exactly professional. If anything happened to her…He couldn’t think about it.

  He was her bodyguard. Sworn to protect her. Anything personal had to take a backseat to that. He hated misleading her about who he was and why he’d suddenly appeared in her life. He had to think with cold logic, had to do what he needed to do, no matter her wishes. No matter his own. Only it would be easier on both of them if her wishes somehow met up with his when it came to her safety. He was going to have to act fast. Get her out of town. Out of harm’s way. Luckily, he’d made provisions for that possibility before landing in Lake Geneva.

  But he wondered how he was going to convince Katelyn to leave when the place she’d poured her heart and soul into needed her the most.

  He had to find a way. Had to keep her safe until the authorities figured out who was responsible both for Sam’s death and for the threat against Hamilton’s children. Potentially the same person.

  Hopefully, that day would come sooner rather than later.

  —

  Katelyn had been glad for the short reprieve. Thankful that Thorne had taken over, she’d rushed to the guest house, where she’d had to deal with a couple of curious guests who wanted to know who’d died and under what circumstances. She’d had to skate around the details and finally had escaped to her own quarters. There, she’d had a good cry in private for the tragic loss of a friend. The phone had rung several times. The caller ID had told her the local newspaper and a Kenosha television station were already trying to get to her. She hadn’t answered. Instead, she’d pulled herself together at least temporarily, long enough to talk to her café staff before they headed home. Learning that Thorne had beaten her to it didn’t surprise her. Nor had Tansy’s taking charge. The waitress was bagging the money from the register.

  “Almost finished,” Tansy said. “I’ve already filled out the deposit slip.”

  While most customers paid with credit cards, there were always some who preferred cash. On weekend nights, the cash was substantial, which meant tonight Katelyn would have to drive to the bank to visit the night deposit box.

  “Thanks for taking over, Tansy.”

  “No problem. A couple of years ago I was a waitress-slash-assistant manager at a chain restaurant in Kenosha.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go on to be a manager.”

  Tansy shrugged and handed her the bag. “I enjoy working directly with customers. Plus, they keep me moving around all night—an easy way to keep fit.” Her smile faded into a tense expression. “I haven’t been around all that long to know Sam well, but I’m really sorry about what happened to him.”

  “Me, too.” Katelyn forced the words past a lump in her throat.

  She knew her eyes were a little swollen from crying, and from the way Tansy was looking at her, the waitress was obviously worried.

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Sad but functional,” Katelyn said. “You go on home.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay. See you Tuesday.”

  Tansy left, looking back only once. And then it was just her and Thorne. Alone together. Eyeing the café and patio, Katelyn realized that while the tables were cleared, the chairs were still upright on the floor.

  Frowning, she said, “The place still needs to be mopped. Where is Radtke?”

  “Truthfully, I haven’t seen him since coming back up from the pier.”

  “But he was here earlier?”

  “Before all hell broke loose, yes. I don’t remember seeing him around after that.”

  So Radtke had undoubtedly taken the opportunity to abandon his duties for the night based on the restaurant’s being closed the next day. Which left Katelyn wondering if she was going to have to hire yet another new maintenance man.

  Sighing, she said, “Time to get out of here.”

  Thorne zeroed in on the bag in her hands. “What about the night’s receipts?”

  “I’m taking them straight to the bank.”

  He left his post behind the bar. “I’ll drive you.”

  “I’m fine. I can drive myself.”

  “I’m sure you can. I just need some company,” he admitted. “It’s been a hell of a night.”

  “All right,” she relented. In all honesty, she wanted some company, too. “Let’s go.”

  After locking up, they moved straight to the parking lot, empty but for the cars owned by customers renting rooms in the guest house.

  Thorne pointed to the back of the lot. “My truck.”

  Katelyn followed him and allowed him to help her into the passenger seat. She tried not to let him get to her, but everywhere he touched her glowed with an unwelcome warmth. Getting close to Thorne was like playing on a teeter-totter. She didn’t know which way he was going to go at any given moment.

  Thorne hauled himself into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and headed out of the lot. Up ahead, she saw the uniformed officer whose patrol car was blocking half the road and a couple of oncoming cars trying to get past him. One occupant held a large video camera.

  “Reporters,” she murmured.

  “Duck down if you don’t want them following us.”

  She immediately complied.

  Thorne waved to the cop and headed toward town. He glanced in the rearview mirror.

  “They’re not following. You can relax now.”

  Sitting up, Katelyn turned to look out the rear window. When she realized they’d gotten away without her having been spotted, she settled down. She gave Thorne directions to her bank, sitting stiffly and hugging the money bag, wondering why he’d been so insistent upon escorting her.

  Even though he’d claimed he needed company, he kept quiet. He hadn’t even known Sam. Of course, he’d been the one to free Sam’s body from under the pier. Maybe he was just playing the hero, claiming he needed company so he could take care of her. She wouldn’t put it past him. Thorne Hudson was certainly an enigma, one she wasn’t going to try to figure out tonight. Her mind was already spinning with the evening’s unexpected tragedy. She just wanted this sick feeling to end.

  At this time of night, the trip to the bank took less than five minutes. Katelyn unlocked the secure box mounted on the outside of the bank building and dropped in the bag with the night’s receipts.
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  Five minutes later, they were back. The reporters were gone, thankfully. As they passed the patrol car and entered the Lakeside parking lot, Katelyn wondered how the man on guard had gotten rid of them.

  On the walk back to the building, she was feeling overwhelmed by it all. Unable to stop thinking about Sam, about seeing his bloated body roll out from under the pier, she trembled with stress and exhaustion, and her knees felt like jelly. A break in the pavement almost toppled her, but Thorne caught her by the arm and saved her from a fall. Heat seared her where his fingers wrapped around her flesh. A different kind of heat suffused her cheeks. She hadn’t been watching where she was walking. Thorne compounded her embarrassment by sliding his arm around her waist as if she couldn’t be trusted to walk alone. He brought her solidly up against him.

  She croaked, “You can let go of me.”

  “True.”

  But he didn’t remove his arm.

  Not wanting to argue with him, nor wanting to think about how good his touch felt, she let him support her all the way to the building. Once in the lobby, empty at this time of night, she expected him to drop her at her door and head upstairs.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked instead.

  Her hand shook slightly as she unlocked her door. “Talking won’t bring Sam back.”

  Katelyn stepped inside her apartment, softly lit with the table lamp she’d left on low. Turning, she faced Thorne, who didn’t look like he wanted to go anywhere. He practically filled the doorway, one arm set across the jamb. He was some incredible-looking man. And he could be so kind and attentive when the spirit moved him. She could use comfort from him right now. In more ways than one. Perhaps inappropriate considering the situation, but truthfully, she wasn’t sure she could stand being alone right now. And he was offering…

  She finally stepped back and said, “Come on in.”

  He followed her inside and locked the door behind him. She took a look at the landline phone near the table lamp. Seven calls. She quickly scrolled through the IDs. Newspaper. Radio. Internet. Television.

 

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