by Stacy Finz
“Yep. The Bealses said they don’t know anything about a development, that their ranch isn’t on the market.”
“Do you believe them?” Because Cash had faith that Aubrey knew what she saw.
“I do.” Jace stoked the coals, letting them turn an even white. “But this is where it gets interesting. Randy told Sawyer that they’re upside down on the ranch. Everyone but Grandpa took out big loans during the drought so they wouldn’t have to cull their breeding herds. The Bealses were hoping to pay down a huge chunk of that debt when they sold their yearlings in the fall. Then they get ripped off and guess what?”
“They can’t pay back their loan.”
“Bingo.”
Cash rubbed his jaw. “So they’re forced into a short sale, a perfect opportunity for the local developer.”
“Yep,” Jace said and pulled Cash into a quiet corner, away from a few guys who’d started to assemble in front of the grills. “I’ve known Mitch my whole life, Cash. I can’t believe he’d do something like this.”
This was the same guy who was cheating and lying and screwing with people’s livelihoods. And Jace didn’t think he was capable of swindling his neighbors? Call Cash a cynic, but as the old saying went, if it walked like a duck…“Aubrey saw what she saw, Jace. Pretty strong circumstantial evidence if you ask me.”
Brett interrupted their conversation with another announcement. Jill was only a block away. Aubrey left her conversation with Mama to join Cash and Jace’s huddle.
“You two look like you’re conspiring over here. What’s going on?”
Cash wrapped his arm around her waist. “Just talking. Want to get a beer?”
Even though they were supposed to be putting on a charade to quiet the rumors, it didn’t feel that way. In the short time they’d been…doing whatever the hell they were doing…things were starting to get real. Cash still hadn’t decided how to feel about that. Aubrey was on the rebound and Cash didn’t want to drag women in and out of Ellie’s life. It was no longer just him anymore; everything he did had to include how it would affect Ellie.
And Aubrey was moving to Vegas.
There was a slight commotion near the gate by the side of the house. The designated lookout signaled that Jill was here, and Brett motioned for everyone to hush up and take their places. Cash had never known a surprise party that had actually been a surprise, but he hoped for Brett’s sake that it went off without a hitch.
He and Aubrey stood by the fence, waiting for the guest of honor to make her grand entrance.
When Jill came in with Mitch, Aubrey pinched him. “Can you freaking believe it?” she asked under her breath. “Poor, trusting Brett must’ve had Mitch keep Jill occupied until the party started. Little does he know how Mitch was occupying her.”
“That’s why you and Jace keeping it a secret is facilitating the situation,” Cash whispered. Poor trusting Brett was not only being duped by his wife but by his two best friends.
“You’ve made your opinion known on this,” she hissed. “I’m not telling.”
“Surprise!” everyone yelled at once.
Either Jill was a good actress or she really was surprised; Cash didn’t know her well enough to judge. Mitch scanned the crowd, zoomed in on Aubrey, and scowled. Cash disliked him on sight. Then again, it was hard to be objective given all he knew about the guy. He moved a few inches closer to Aubrey and tightened his arm around her.
Message delivered.
Mitch quickly looked away. Cash watched him take another visual lap around the yard. This time, Mitch focused on Jace.
Feeling cornered?
Jill had thrown herself into Brett’s lap and they were kissing. A cheer went up, and Aubrey whispered, “This is more than I can take.”
Cash started to tell her that she was part of the lie but held himself in check. Her mind was made up; nothing he could say would change it.
Mitch joined the happy couple and did a fist bump with Brett. Cash observed the three of them talking, and that old spidey-sense that had once made him a great agent crawled up his spine.
Cash made eye contact with Jace and held it for a few seconds. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
* * * *
Ellie slipped away from the party just long enough to send a text to Mary Margaret.
“I finally got my period and it was horrible,” she wrote.
Mary Margaret had been the first of all their friends to get hers and had acted like it was life-changing. Like all of a sudden she was superior to everyone in seventh grade. All Ellie felt was nauseated and embarrassed, especially that her dad knew. Aubrey said she had to tell him because it was like a medical issue or something. At least she’d been the one to bring Ellie a tampon. If her dad had done it, Ellie would’ve died.
Mary Margaret pinged her back. “You’re a woman now.”
That made Ellie want to barf. She didn’t feel like a woman, unless feeling like a woman meant being this close to crying all the time. If her mother were still alive, she would at least have someone to talk to about it, although Aubrey said she and Ellie could have a sleepover and some “serious female bonding.”
But first, they had to come to this stupid party where Aubrey and her dad could feel each other up in public. When they didn’t know Ellie was looking, she’d seen them kiss. They’d probably get married someday and have their own kids. Where would that leave Ellie? She’d be odd girl out, like an orphan, which she pretty much already felt like anyway.
Next week, her dad was going to San Francisco for his old job and said she had to stay at the ranch with Uncle Jace and her cousins. More proof that he really didn’t want her around. At least her mother used to sometimes let her come to the station and go out to lunch with her and Uncle Woody. And afterward someone would drive her home or take her to a horseback riding lesson in a patrol car.
If her father had really wanted her around, he would’ve come for her a long time ago. She was better off in Boston, where she knew people and had friends.
Ellie was just about to send another text when Grady found her standing under the flagpole in the front of the house and wrapped his skinny arms around her legs.
“Ellie, we’re waiting for you. What are you doing?”
“I’ll be right there.” Gosh, he was such a pest, but she couldn’t help herself and gave him a hug.
“They’re about to cut the cake and there’s ice cream too.”
“All right, all right. I’m coming. Meet you there.”
Before he hounded her to death, she dashed off one last message to Mary Margaret. “See you soon,” it said.
Chapter 21
After the party, Aubrey sat with Cash on his front porch. Ellie was in her room, supposedly taking a nap. But Aubrey bet she was on her phone with her friends in Boston, gabbing about her day.
At least one Dalton was feeling chatty.
It wasn’t that Cash was morose, but to Aubrey, he seemed quieter than usual. He’d been attentive and friendly to everyone at Brett and Jill’s but had barely said anything on the ride home. Either something—or someone—at the party had upset him, or the anticipation of having to testify in the Whiting case on Monday was weighing heavy on him. She was guessing it was the case, because every time she’d broached the subject with him, he instantly became withdrawn. How could she blame him? It had been an unimaginable series of crimes. Who wouldn’t be reticent to talk about it?
In total, four women had been murdered while jogging in the Presidio, a national park near the Golden Gate Bridge. Charles Whiting had sexually assaulted the victims, mutilated them, and tied their dead bodies to a tree.
Cash had been the one to get Whiting’s confession. She’d read snippets of the killer’s statement in the newspaper, but according to Cash, it was four hours long and most of it too gruesome for print. The prosecution was planning to play it fo
r the jury while Cash was on the stand.
“Are you nervous about next week?” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
Cash huffed out a breath. “Not nervous…just not looking forward to it.”
“Is that why you’re being so quiet?”
“I didn’t realize I was being quiet,” he said, stretching out his long denim-encased legs and clasping his hands behind his head. “What do you want to talk about?” He turned his lawn chair so it faced her. “Want to talk about your interview? You can practice on me if you want.”
He’d just deftly changed the subject. If she hadn’t seen him do it in the past, she would’ve missed it. But she was on to his tricks now.
“I’ve got it covered,” she said. “You want to practice your testimony?”
“Vegas, huh?” He leaned his chair back. “It’s even hotter there than here in summer.”
She poked him in the arm. “We both know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, what am I doing?”
“You’re trying to distract me from talking about the trial. And it’s not working. What is it that happened in the case that got you fired?”
He righted his chair and stared off into the creek. The water level had dropped, as it usually did in August, but the creek was still running hard. With the rain and snow in winter, the level would rise again.
As the time stretched on, she assumed that once again he was evading the question.
“How closely did you follow the case?” he finally asked.
“A little bit. It was hard to ignore.” The murders had been on every newscast and on the front page of every newspaper. “I know that four women were murdered while jogging in the park and that the FBI arrested someone early on, but he turned out to be the wrong person.”
“I told them he was the wrong person,” Cash said, his voice laced with anger. “But at the time, my supervisors didn’t see it that way.”
“And that’s why you got fired?” It seemed rather extreme to Aubrey, especially because Cash had ultimately been right.
“It wasn’t as cut-and-dried as that, but it was at the root of the reason. First, they took me off the case. Ultimately, what did me in was that I told the special agent in charge that he had blood on his hands.” Cash’s mouth ticked up in a wry smile. “I also threw a chair at the wall. Not my finest moment.”
“Because they wouldn’t listen to you when you said they had the wrong person?”
“Partly.” He shook his head. “But it all came to a head when they held a press conference announcing they had the killer in custody.” Cash let out a rusty laugh. “The dirtbag they had in jail didn’t have enough brain cells to tie his own shoes, let alone carry out three murders without leaving a trace of evidence. There were so many indicators that he wasn’t our guy, so many telltale signs. But the killings were getting a lot of international attention because one of the victims was an exchange student from Brazil, and the brass desperately wanted to close the case and look like heroes. So instead of handling it the responsible way by sticking to protocol, the boss stood on the steps of the federal building and told the world we had the culprit behind bars. Our unsub hadn’t even been indicted yet, but suddenly it was safe to go jogging again in the Presidio.” Cash clenched his fists.
“Casey Farmington,” she said softly, almost afraid to voice where she thought Cash’s story was leading.
“She might still be alive today.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “And what did I do? Not a goddamn thing.”
“What do you mean?” Aubrey was confused. “You told them they had the wrong man and you were taken off the case. What more could you have done?”
Cash moved in his chair and it squeaked. “This porch could sure use some real deck furniture instead of these crap folding beach chairs,” he said and let out a tight, unconvincing laugh, clearly trying to recover some composure before giving up and blurting out, “I should’ve gone to the press and told them the truth, that we probably had the wrong guy. And that women should stay the hell away from the Presidio until we had the right guy. Instead, I followed the damn rules.”
Aubrey reached for him, but he got to his feet and wandered over to the porch rail.
“Cash, you can’t be serious. How could you have stopped a mad man from killing someone if you didn’t even know who he was?”
“I knew who he wasn’t! And yet I let the special agent in charge tell everyone that we’d nabbed him.” He rested his elbows on the railing and took a couple of deep breaths, as if he was trying to hold on to his rage. “Casey Farmington saw that press conference on the news and felt safe to go running again. Safe to use the trails in the park.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because her father told us,” Cash said, pulling the lawn chair away from the cabin wall and sinking back into it. “He’d warned her about being careful and she’d responded by saying, ‘Daddy, they have the killer behind bars.’ Those are the words that haunt me every night before I fall asleep.”
It was a lot of responsibility to heap on himself, and now Aubrey understood why he’d been so miserable in the days before Ellie came to live with him. But Cash wasn’t being fair to himself. The turn of tragic events had been out of his control. The idea that he could have gone to the press and prevented Casey’s murder was beyond ridiculous. If that was the case, lone wolves would have changed the course of history. Not to mention that Cash would’ve come off as a rogue agent, a crackpot, and the press more than likely would’ve taken his boss’s word over his.
People believed what they wanted to believe, especially if the truth was ugly. And having a serial killer still on the loose was about as ugly as it got.
“Cash, you can’t take responsibility. You didn’t kill Casey Farmington, Charles Whiting did. There’s nothing that would’ve changed that. And if you had gone to the press, they likely wouldn’t have taken you seriously. You’d been taken off the case, to some extent discredited, right? Why would anyone believe you over the top person at the agency?”
She wanted to wrap her arms around him and make the unwarranted guilt he felt go away. Cash Dalton was a good man. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d done everything he could.
“How come it was you who did the interrogation if you were taken off the case?” Aubrey didn’t know anything about the workings of the FBI or criminal investigations except what she saw on TV. Yet it seemed odd that he would’ve been involved at that level if he’d been marginalized.
He let out another cynical laugh. “That happened by accident. Someone called the tip line and said Whiting had bragged at a bar that he knew who the killer was. We get about a hundred of those a day, mostly nutjobs or well-meaning people who lead us on dead ends. One of the supervisory agents thought it would be hilarious to get me out of bed at the break of dawn on a Sunday to hunt down Whiting. Payback for my so-called ‘independent streak.’ Turned out the joke was on them because when I found Whiting, something about his demeanor told me it was a good lead. The more I talked to him, the more he divulged. First, it was ‘I know a guy who fits the description of the person witnesses describe as being in the park at the time of the murders.’ Then it was ‘The guy’s a good friend of mine,’ which eventually became ‘he told me he did it.’ Serial killers love to taunt law enforcement, and that’s exactly what Whiting was doing. He thought he was smarter than everyone else and could toy with us.
“I offered to give him a ride to the other side of town, and by the time we got there, my gut told me he was our guy. After feeding his ego, I got him to come in for a formal interview to talk about his ‘friend.’ Twenty-four hours later, I had the full confession. It was strictly luck, being at the right place at the right time.”
Aubrey slipped her hand into his. “Luck had nothing to do with it. You knew when the FBI had it wrong and you knew instinctively that Whiting was somehow
involved. Ultimately, you convinced him to spill his guts. You’re the unsung hero in this whole thing, Cash. To hold yourself personally accountable for the FBI’s screw-up is nuts.”
“Tell that to Casey Farmington and her family,” he said, unwilling to forgive himself. Carrying around the blame was too much, even for someone with his resilience. “Can we talk about something else now?”
“Like what?” There wasn’t a lot more to say. Soon, their summer fling would be over and she’d be moving away. If it wasn’t Vegas, it would be somewhere else. Somewhere where she could make a living.
And while it made sense in her head, the rest of her hadn’t caught up yet. This thing with Cash…was good. The kind of good that, if nurtured, could’ve turned into forever. But Cash hadn’t said anything that made her think they had a future. In fact, to borrow a cliché, the silence on his end had been deafening.
He glanced at the door, probably wondering what Ellie was up to.
“Do you need to check on her?” Aubrey asked.
“Yeah, I really should. Never a good idea to leave a twelve-year-old to her own devices too long.”
“Gotcha. I should get home and start packing.” Being the organizational freak she was, she’d already packed. But she hoped the reminder that she was leaving on Monday for a job interview might spark a meaningful conversation about the two of them.
“Vegas, huh?” He’d already said that. Vegas, huh?
“Yep.” She waited, and when he didn’t say anything else, turned to go, telling herself that it was for the best. He had too many demons to fight, and she was done battling her own.
* * * *
Two days later, Cash sat on a bench outside a federal courtroom, compulsively checking his phone for a text or an email. By now, Aubrey was in Las Vegas, probably just about to start her interview. He should’ve been consumed with the case, about testifying, but all morning he’d been distracted by the prospect of Aubrey moving away and starting a new life.
Sully came out of the courtroom and sat next to him in the hallway. Cash wasn’t allowed to sit in on the trial until after he testified. Those were the rules unless he was the lead investigator on the case, which he no longer was.
