by B. J Daniels
“You let her watch you deactivate the security system?” Mac asked in disbelief.
“I guess the woman was less of an airhead than I thought and a whole lot less drunk than she acted.”
Pierce must have been very drunk. Also it wasn’t like him just to let this woman get away with what she’d done without some sort of retribution. “What are you going to do about her?”
“All I want is the metal box and its contents back and to forget this ever happened. I’ll just chalk it up to experience.”
Why don’t I believe that? Mac thought. “I’m going to need to know who the players are.”
“They’re all on the videotape,” Pierce said.
Mac shook his head. “Not the one standing behind Trevor.”
“What?”
“The shadow on the wall. Someone was standing behind Trevor, maybe giving the orders,” Mac said. “Or maybe just along for the ride.”
“I guess I didn’t notice more than three people, counting the driver, in the video,” Pierce said, still frowning. “Not that it matters. Like I said, I just want my…collection back. In fact, because of the history of the coins—”
“You mean because they’re stolen.”
“—I’d prefer that you simply locate the box and let me take it from there. That way you never have to actually have the coins in your possession. Does that make you a little more comfortable with this?”
Not really. “The coins are probably long gone by now.”
“I’m sure once you locate your nephew, he’ll prove to be a valuable resource in finding them.”
Shane Ramsey’s value was debatable right now. Mac looked toward the lake again, the mirror-slick water reflecting the wisps of clouds floating overhead.
Under other circumstances, he would have bailed out on this job in a heartbeat. He’d learned early on to avoid jobs that made him uneasy. Usually his uneasiness was for a damned good reason. A reason that could get a man killed—and it almost had happened on more than one occasion.
“Trevor’s death will make it harder to find the coins,” Mac said, turning back to Pierce.
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to get more money out of me for your fee.”
Mac studied the other man. “Everything about this one feels off somehow.”
Pierce nodded, his blue eyes hard as ice chips. “Yes, Trevor getting himself killed after stealing my coins does make it a little…unpleasant.” Pierce shook his head. “With a killer out there, you must be worried that the same thing could happen to your nephew. Especially if he has my coins.”
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Zoe cried, picking up the pan Jill had dropped.
Jill felt her eyes well up with tears. Suddenly she couldn’t quit shaking. The cinnamon rolls were in the oven and several kinds of additional buns and breads were about to go in when the cinnamon rolls came out. Hours had passed, and she was exhausted from trying to act like everything was fine and nothing had happened last night.
“I just remembered a phone call I need to make,” she said. “Can you handle everything for a while?”
Zoe nodded, still looking concerned.
Jill dusted her hands on her apron and headed for the small office off the kitchen. She closed the door behind her and looked up the number for Guises and Disguises.
“Hello,” she said, her heart in her throat. “I need to find out about the Rhett Butler costume I rented for Trevor Forester. I need to know when he picked it up yesterday. Are you the manager?”
“Yes, Tony Burns. Remember, we talked when you came in to reserve the costumes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I was going to call you this morning.”
“Really?”
“Mr. Forester didn’t pick up his costume.”
Had someone else picked it up for him? The other Scarlett?
“The costume you had me hold for Mr. Forester is still right here. I just wanted to let you know that I will have to charge the deposit to your card.”
If Mr. Burns had been in the room, she would have kissed him. Trevor didn’t pick up his costume! That meant the man she’d made love to hadn’t been wearing Trevor’s costume. She dropped into the chair next to the desk with relief.
Then she reminded herself that it didn’t necessarily rule out the man being the killer. He’d arrived by boat about the time Trevor had been killed. The deputies could be off fifteen or twenty minutes in their estimation of the time of death. Nor did it explain why he was dressed in the same costume Trevor Forester was supposed to have been wearing.
“Mr. Burns, how many Rhett Butler costumes do you carry?” Guises and Disguises was the only costume rental shop around.
“Two.” He sounded suspicious as if she was trying to get out of paying the deposit.
“Who rented the other Rhett Butler costume?” she asked, and held her breath.
“If you’re thinking we gave Mr. Forester the wrong costume…”
She was hoping that wasn’t the case. Otherwise, she was back to the man she’d made love to wearing Trevor’s costume—and that was the last place she wanted to be. “You would have a record of who rented it, right?” she said, praying that was true. Unless Trevor had picked up the wrong costume, Mr. Burns would have the name of her mystery lover.
“Let me check.” He sighed and laid down the phone. She waited. He finally came back on the line, his voice sounding not quite as confident. “There might be a problem.”
She held her breath.
“The other Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara costumes were rented by Trevor Forester.”
Jill slumped in the chair. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I guess Mr. Forester picked up the wrong costume.”
Not necessarily. He’d just planned to go with a different Scarlett. Whoever the woman was, she’d planned to meet Trevor at the party. Jill wondered whose idea that had been. Trevor’s? Or the other Scarlett’s?
Jill suspected the latter, given that Trevor tended to avoid conflict at all costs. Two Scarletts at his parents’ anniversary party spelled conflict with a capital C. But the other Scarlett had probably planned to meet Trevor in the lake cottage after he’d broken his engagement.
Could she despise Trevor more? She didn’t think so, but she was reserving final judgment until all the facts were in. She suspected she might have just uncovered the tip of the iceberg when it came to how rotten he’d been.
“Of course I won’t charge you for the deposit, since there seems to have been some mistake,” the manager said.
“No, the mistake was on my part,” Jill assured him. “Please, I insist you charge me for the deposit.” Why not? Trevor had charged two tickets to Brazil to her.
Mr. Burns sounded relieved. “You are most kind for being so understanding.”
That was her. Understanding. Her hand was shaking as she hung up the phone. Her mystery lover had been dressed in the only other Rhett Butler costume. Trevor’s costume. She felt sick.
After a moment she picked up the phone and called her best friend, Brenna Margaret Boyd. Her family owned the Bandit’s Bay Marina, but Brenna had gone into journalism and worked for the Lake Courier, helping out at the marina in her spare time.
“Brenna, it’s Jill.”
“Jill! I just tried to call you, but the line was busy. I just heard. How are you?”
Over the past few months, Jill had shared her concerns about Trevor with her friend. At least, the problems she’d had before last night. “Still in shock. I need your help.”
“Name it.”
With Brenna everything said between them was off the record, and Brenna had the resources to find out most anything. “The deputies seem to think I killed Trevor.”
“No! That’s crazy.”
“That’s why I need to know everything you’ve got on the murder,” Jill said. “Even the gossip.”
“I’ll call you back from the coffee shop up the block. Two minutes?”
“Thanks.” Ji
ll hung up and waited. The newspaper was rumor-mill central. Brenna would have heard a lot more than could be printed in the paper.
The phone rang not two minutes later.
“Okay, you want the basics?” Brenna asked. “This is what will be coming out in the newspaper this afternoon. Trevor’s boat was found floating northwest of the island at 8:45 p.m. His body was lying on the floor of the boat. He’d been shot twice through the heart at close range, making the sheriff believe Trevor knew his killer.”
Jill felt sick. “What was he wearing?”
“Work clothes. Jeans, T-shirt, work boots. He and the clothing were dirty.”
“So they think he’d been working on the island?” Jill asked in surprise, given that Trevor had told her he didn’t have to go to Inspiration Island yesterday.
“He’d been working somewhere,” Brenna said. “But since it was a Saturday, there wasn’t anyone else working on the island. So it’s unclear where he’d been. Still, the proximity to the island makes them think that someone followed him when he left to get gas and killed him out on the water.”
“They didn’t find anything that would indicate he’d had his costume with him?” Jill asked.
“No costume.”
Okay, he hadn’t been wearing the costume. It wasn’t in the boat. The killer hadn’t taken it off Trevor’s body and dressed him in work clothing.
It stood to reason that Trevor would have left his costume back at the condo. Obviously he’d planned to take his boat back to the marina at the condo and shower and change before the party. Unless he’d chickened out and decided to skip the party, given that two Scarletts would be waiting for him.
“No weapon’s been found,” Brenna continued. “No sign of a struggle, either. They haven’t released the caliber of gun used.”
“What about time of death?” Jill asked.
“Trevor bought gas at Heaven’s Gate Marina at the south end of the lake just a few minutes before eight. The deputies found a receipt in his pocket with the time on it. The dock boy didn’t notice which way Trevor went, but the sheriff’s speculating he went to the island for some reason, then might have been on his way to his parents’ house when he was shot.”
“They’re sure he was killed in the boat—not on the island?”
“Yes. And the dock boy remembers Trevor seeming nervous, upset. He kept looking at his watch. Trevor told the boy to hurry because he had to meet someone and it was about to storm.”
Jill thought about the boat she’d seen just offshore about eight-fifteen, only minutes before she saw the man wearing the Rhett Butler costume and thought it was Trevor. Did the man have time to kill Trevor and get to the party? But that didn’t explain the costume or why the man was in the lake cottage.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come stay with me for a while?” Brenna asked.
“Thanks, but I need to keep the bakery open. I need to work right now to keep my mind off everything.” She filled Brenna in on all that had happened, including the mystery lover in the cottage.
“You have no idea who the man could have been?” Brenna cried.
“Not a clue. Except he was built kind of like Trevor,” Jill said, realizing how lame that sounded. “I need to find him or the other Scarlett—who might be the Rachel that Trevor was planning to run off with.”
“Well, if Trevor and Rachel really were going to get married before they flew to Brazil, then they would need blood tests and a marriage license. They would have filled out a marriage-license application. Give me the name of the travel agent. Maybe he set it up for Trevor.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Jill said, and gave her friend the information.
“I’ll see what I can find. If you need anything else, just let me know. I’ll call when I hear something.”
“Thanks.” She’d barely hung up the phone when it rang again. “Hello?”
“It’s Alistair, Jill.” Trevor’s father sounded desolate.
“I’m so sorry about Trevor,” she said. “I was going to call you this morning, once it was a decent time. You must be in shock.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “The sheriff was here all night. It’s beyond comprehension. How are you, dear?”
“Just sick. Who would want to hurt Trevor?”
“I wish I knew,” Alistair said, then fell silent for a moment. “Could you come out here later? I really need to talk to you.”
“Of course.” They agreed on two o’clock. She wondered what he wanted to talk to her about. No doubt her relationship with his son. “How is Heddy?”
“Not good.” He hung up, unable to say much more.
Zoe was icing a huge tray of cinnamon rolls when Jill came out of the office. “Was that about me?” she asked, looking worried.
Her question took Jill by surprise. “Why would it be about you?”
Zoe shook her head. “You know me, always in trouble of some sort.” She sounded almost scared.
“Not this time,” Jill assured her as the back door banged open as it did every morning at this time and Jill turned to see her father. Since Jill’s mother had passed away four years ago, Gary Lawson stopped by in the morning for a warm cinnamon roll, a cup of coffee and a chat.
Jill loved the early-morning chats with her father, but this morning when she saw his face, she knew he’d heard about Trevor’s murder. Her father had wanted Jill to have the kind of marriage he’d had with her mother, and for a while, it had looked as though Trevor Forester would give her everything she could ever want.
“Hi, honey,” her dad said.
Just looking at him, she felt the tears she’d fought so hard fill her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Jill,” her dad said, pulling her into his arms. “You must be devastated. I cannot believe it myself. Who would want to murder Trevor?”
They both turned at the shriek and crash behind them. Zoe stood with a rubber spatula in her hand, icing dripping from it onto the floor, an almost empty pan of cinnamon rolls on the floor where it had fallen.
Zoe’s black-rimmed eyes were round as plates, and she looked even paler than usual. “Someone murdered Trevor?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.” She dropped the spatula on the counter and ran out the back door.
Jill stared after her, surprised by her reaction. Zoe and Trevor had never been close. In fact, Trevor thought Jill irresponsible and stupid for hiring the girl and hadn’t hidden his attitude from Zoe. The two had never said more than two words to each other.
“Is she all right?” Gary Lawson asked.
“I’d better go see if she—” Jill stopped at the sound of Zoe’s VW Beetle roaring away. “Oh, no! She was supposed to make deliveries this morning.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make them for you,” her father said. “Why don’t you plan on closing early today?”
She hugged her dad. “You are the greatest. Are you sure you feel up to this?”
“No problem.”
MAC STARED at Pierce. “I didn’t just hear you threaten my nephew, did I?”
“No, I was just saying… Look, I came to you so you could protect Shane,” Pierce said quickly. “I’m willing to bet that one of the thieves killed Trevor for the coins. If Shane has them—” he held up his hands “—the same thing could happen to him. As far as Shane stealing from me goes, I have no hard feelings against him.”
“That’s right, you just want the coins,” Mac said. “Retribution would be the last thing on your mind.”
“Not my style.”
Right. Mac recalled a time in college when Pierce had beaten another student within an inch of his life—over some girl.
Mac turned to leave, a curse on his lips. Why did his nephew have to steal from Nathaniel Pierce, of all people? And how had Shane gotten involved in the first place? It made no sense. Shane lived in Whitefish with his mother. What the hell had he been doing down here? And how stupid was that, getting caught on videotape?
“I’ll let you know when I
find your coins,” Mac said as he left. It was all he could do if he hoped to save Shane. But if his nephew had anything to do with Trevor Forester’s death, nothing could save him. If Trevor had graduated from burglary to murder, he was on his own.
Mac didn’t look back as he walked to his pickup. It was a newer Chevy with a camper, his home when a case took him away from the houseboat.
As he pulled onto the road, he wondered where to start looking for Shane. Maybe Shane had taken off after the heist with his share of the loot. But Mac had a feeling the boy hadn’t.
He took out his cell phone and speed-dialed his sister’s number in Whitefish.
She answered on the first ring. “Shane?”
“No, Carrie, it’s Mac.” He groaned silently at the worry he heard in his older sister’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I was just hoping it was Shane,” she said, sounding close to tears.
“You haven’t heard from him?”
“Not for over two months,” she said. “He was talking about taking a trip with some friends, so maybe he just—”
“Some friends?” Mac interrupted. “What friends?”
“I’m not sure. I called Oz and Bongo and Skidder, those are the guys he usually hangs out with. No one has seen him, but Oz’s girlfriend, Mountain Woman, said she saw him with some guy called Buffalo Boy.”
Didn’t any of Shane’s friends have real names? “She have any idea what Buffalo Boy’s real name is?”
“No one’s ever heard him called anything but Buffalo Boy.” She was crying now. “I’m worried sick about Shane. I just have this awful feeling.” Awful feelings ran in the family.
Carrie had probably done as well as she could raising Shane alone after her husband drowned in Flathead Lake a dozen years ago when Shane was seven. So far most of Shane’s scrapes with the law had been relatively minor: shoplifting, vandalism, driving under the influence and disorderly conduct.
Now, at nineteen, it seemed Shane had graduated to a higher level of criminal.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Mac told his sister, keeping what he knew to himself for now.
“You’re the best, little brother.”
