BAD PICK

by Linda Lovely

  Okay, my turn in the confessional. I told them everything I remembered about my meeting with Ruth, including my unease at her split personality tendencies—friendly one moment, hostile the next. I ended my story with Ruth’s agreement to meet Amber at Jamieson Gorge Nature Park.

  “I still should meet Ruth,” Amber spoke up. “If she thinks we’re alone, I might get her to talk.”

  “And maybe get yourself killed,” Ursula objected.

  “I’ve worked undercover.” Amber looked to Danny for approval. “You can come early, get in position, run to the rescue if things go south. It may be our best chance of discovering the truth.”

  She glanced my way. “I asked Brie to drop me at the park. Told her I’d call for pick-up when we finished. Gave Brie permission to call for help if thirty minutes passed and she hadn’t heard from me. Even if Ruth is a killer, I reasoned she wouldn’t try anything with Brie as eyewitness to the meeting. The plan’s sound. Even better with deputies nearby.”

  Almost everyone had objections. But, ultimately, Danny approved, and the naysayers were forced to recognize Amber was a trained law enforcement officer and an adult. She knew how to evaluate risks, and she was entitled to make her own decisions.

  Once it was evident the plan would go forward, Danny turned to me. “Brie, you’ve scouted this park. I’d like you to come with Amber and me tomorrow. You can help us figure out the best way to set up before you drop Amber off.”

  I agreed.

  The only people pleased with my decision were Danny and Amber. Even Mollye was out of sorts. Her fiancé made it plain she wasn’t invited.

  FORTY-SIX

  We drove in two cars. Amber and Danny rode with me in my Prius. A sheriff’s cruiser followed in our wake, carrying gear and two deputies. Since the—I guess you’d call it a stakeout—would take place outside Danny’s jurisdiction, he’d alerted the Greenville Sheriff’s Office, and they were sending a deputy observer.

  Our route north took us past the Temple of True Believers about eleven a.m. Times for the Sunday worship services marched by repeatedly on the Temple’s gaudy neon sign. Today’s service started at ten thirty. The parking lot was packed. No doubt Pastor Nickles was inside, preaching fire and brimstone, hurling verbal fireballs toward Brie Hooker, alleged murderer and devil-goat worshipper.

  Was the reverend’s granddaughter, Ruth, capable of employing real fire to smite perceived enemies? Would she plot to kill an illegitimate half-sister?

  Shop talk dominated the conversation between the two law officers, Amber riding shotgun, Danny in back. Since I didn’t care how the Ardon County Sheriff’s deputies and the Miami police differed in regard to officer training, equipment, pay, or benefits, I tuned out. That left me ample time to wonder why I was needed to play nature park guide. True, I’d visited before, but I hadn’t stayed long.

  Except for the deep fissure that gave Jamieson Gorge its name, the nature park’s geography was unremarkable. Its rolling hills were covered with dense forests. No marsh areas or sinkholes to avoid. No steep pinnacles to serve as handy lookouts.

  We were perhaps fifteen minutes from our destination when I noticed the snow. There’d been enough early morning traffic to make the state blacktop a slushy mess. The snow blanketing the woodlands beside the road looked four-to-six-inches deep. While it would probably melt in forty-eight hours, it wasn’t likely to disappear before two o’clock, even if the sun came out. And the sun’s appearance seemed iffy. Couldn’t spot a single break in the thick gray cloud cover.

  February ice storms were more common than snow during South Carolina cold snaps. Yet every few years a system dumped several inches of the white stuff. For kids and employees it was cause for celebration. Even a forecast of snow could prompt preemptive school and plant closings. As an Iowa transplant I snickered at this panic until I’d witnessed inexperienced South Carolinians attempting to drive in wintry conditions. There was also a scarcity of snow ploughs. Hard for authorities to justify their expense.

  “Well dang.” Danny peered out the windshield. “I didn’t count on snow. If the park’s as deserted as Brie says, we can’t all pull into the parking lot and tramp around. Tire and foot tracks would put Ruth on alert. She’d know something was up.”

  Recalling my conversation with the Greenville official, I made my first contribution to the conversation. “A trail on private property enters the park from the south. I think my contact called it the Smith farm.”

  I pictured the rim trail I’d circumnavigated and the less-traveled south-facing offshoot. “Park rangers have occasional trouble with poachers using the farm to sneak inside. If the owner knows hunters use his property to trespass, he might not be keen about giving you access.”

  Danny pointed at a sign announcing a roadside picnic area ahead. “Pull off up there,” he said. “May be muddy but we’ve got enough muscle to push the car out should we get stuck.”

  Danny called the deputies on our tail and told them to park behind us. “Brie, wait in the car. Amber and I need to chat with the other deputies. Maybe the Greenville deputy who’s meeting us knows the Smiths.”

  My passengers were gone less than five minutes. In that time my hot breath did a bang-up job fogging the front and side windows. I’d turned off the engine along with the defroster and heater when I parked. Didn’t need to run the heater with all the clothes I had on.

  Given how cold I got on my last Jamieson Gorge visit, I’d dressed for this outing and was singing the praises of the silky long johns under my jeans and the fur-lined boots keeping my tootsies toasty.

  Danny opened the door to the back seat and jumped in. “We have a plan. Take the next left. I have directions to the Smith place. The Greenville deputy got us permission to visit. He’ll meet us there.”

  The condition of the Smith’s drive indicated years had passed since any new gravel had been laid down. I did know how to drive in snow and I skated through muddy slush in more than one spot. I parked when I assumed we’d reached the end of the drive. It was hard to tell. A window shade twitched. After two sheriff’s cruisers—one from Ardon County, one from Greenville—bookended my Prius, a gaunt woman appeared on the front porch. Wrapped in a heavy coat, she stared at her visitors.

  “Mrs. Smith, thanks for allowing us to walk through your property,” the Greenville deputy called to her and tipped his hat. “Much appreciated, ma’am.”

  The woman turned her back, walked inside, and shut the door. Not a word exchanged. Made me wonder what inducements had convinced her to cooperate. Did she have a son in the county jail?

  The hiking party set out on the narrow trail. It only allowed two to walk abreast. Sometimes we had to drop back to single file. Danny took the lead with the observing Greenville deputy and the two remaining Ardon deputies assumed rear guard. Amber and I were sandwiched between the men.

  “Thanks for coming, Brie,” Amber said. “I feel better having you here.”

  Why? My only contribution was moral support.

  Once we reached the park boundary and the gorge rim loop trail, I suggested the officers turn left. It offered the shortest route to the main trail that bisected the nature park. Our group halted twenty feet short of the parking lot to avoid leaving visible footprints in the pristine field of snow. The white camouflage made it much harder for me to pick out the worn spur trails I’d spotted on my earlier visit, but once I found them the deputies veered off in search of observation spots. The ideal spots would keep them hidden yet allow fast access to the parking lot if Amber got in trouble. Three of the deputies settled in to wait, while Amber, Danny, and I hiked back to the Smith farm and retrieved my Prius.

  As I chauffeured Amber to the meeting, Danny hid on the backseat floor under a blanket. Actually under two blankets. One wasn’t big enough to cover his not-so-dainty body.

  Though I was only along to drive and accompanied by two gun-toting officers, my hear
tbeat’s staccato rhythm could have put a drummer to shame. I was frightened for Amber—and yes for me.

  As soon as the park entrance came insight, I realized the entry was blocked. A beefy black Cadillac Escalade was parked smack in the middle of the slender blacktop drive.

  I recognized the man in the driver’s seat. Jack Ford, Ruth’s fiancé. I’d seen his picture in the papers and peeking out of gold frames in Ruth’s living room. Ruth glanced our way, then slumped back against the passenger side front door.

  I slowed the car to a crawl. “This isn’t going to be a private meeting.” I spoke loud enough for Danny to hear under the blankets. “Ruth brought her lawyer fiancé, Jack Ford. You know the politician who hopes to be South Carolina’s next choice for Senator.”

  “Drive right up beside them.” Amber’s voice was dead calm. “I have my gun ready just in case. Let’s find out what Jack and Ruth have to say.”

  “Got it. I’m ready, too.” Danny’s voice was muffled but understandable.

  I pulled the Prius parallel to the Escalade. That put Amber’s window a few feet opposite Jack’s. The glass dividers in both cars powered down in synch.

  I feared I’d wet my pants. Was Jack holding a gun out of sight, too?

  “Ruth?” Amber had decided to totally ignore the fiancé, talk over him. “I’m Amber, can we speak in private?”

  Ruth didn’t respond. Her head was bowed. She didn’t look up. Her hair hung forward, hiding even her profile.

  “You will leave my fiancé alone,” Jack growled. “And you will tell your whore mother she’d better leave Lawrence Toomey alone, too. He’s a great man. He’ll make an excellent Supreme Court Justice. We thought you people would give it up when your blackmail accomplice died. Harriett was a real bitch. She would have sold you out, too. We fight fire with fire.”

  “What? Harriett? Blackmail?” Amber shouted. “Ruth, what is he talking about? Say something. He’s not making sense.”

  Ruth slowly raised her head and turned in Amber’s direction. She swept her fingers through her lanky hair to get it out of her eyes.

  I couldn’t believe what I saw.

  Winking gold, twin gavels.

  Ruth wore a matched set of gavel earrings. Either she hadn’t lost an earring or someone had commissioned a chest full of the expensive dangles.

  I reached over and sunk my fingernails into Amber’s thigh to get her attention. “Look at Ruth’s ears,” I whispered. “Look at her ears.”

  Jack revved the Escalade’s throaty engine. A second later, they left with a fishtail flourish. Ruth and a hundred unanswered questions disappeared down the road.

  Danny popped up from the backseat. “What in blazes?”

  Blazes indeed. Had Jack just admitted he or one of the Toomeys had killed Harriett and set the Summer Place fire?

  FORTY-SEVEN

  I made no attempt to follow Ruth and Jack. Danny, Amber and I sat in dazed silence with the car idling in park.

  “You saw the earrings, right?” I asked Amber.

  “Yes. Doesn’t look like Ruth lost one of hers.”

  “What are you talking about?” Danny asked. While he’d been able to hear what Ford said, the only thing in his field of vision was the underside of the blankets.

  “Ruth was wearing a pair of gavel earrings,” I explained. “Unless she found someone to make her a replacement or she’s stockpiled duplicates, Ruth isn’t the person who lost one at Summer Place.”

  I paused. “Do you suppose Lawrence Toomey handed those gavels out as keepsakes to all the women in his life? I’d sure like to take a peek in his wife’s and his mother-in-law’s jewelry boxes.”

  Amber nodded. “That must be it. The earrings were handcrafted, special occasion gifts marking his Supreme Court nomination. Danny, who could give us a list of area jewelry stores that specialize in custom, high-quality gold pieces?”

  The deputy rolled his eyes and looked at me. “Do we have any idea who has the skinny on the area’s best custom jewelers?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  I practically shouted the answer. “Mollye!”

  Danny unfolded himself from his floor hideaway. The blankets covering him had teased cowlick tufts of his hair, making them stick out in multiple directions. I fought the urge to giggle. The deputy looked decidedly less commanding and a lot more cuddly.

  “Guess I’d better let the deputies who are freezing their butts off know they can pack it up. No meeting today.”

  He wasn’t the only one who should give folks an update. “Is it okay if I make some calls? My folks, Eva, and Ursula must be sitting on pins and needles. I’d like to let them know we’re all okay, completely out of danger.”

  Danny leaned forward. “How about I have a deputy make those calls. He can pass the word along that everyone’s fine and we’re headed back to Ardon County. When people start peppering him with questions, he can honestly say he knows squat. I’m not ready to share what Ford said with anyone yet. In Ardon County a secret shared with one person at breakfast tends to be on the radio by noon.”

  “What will you tell Mollye?” Amber’s tone was teasing. “Are you brave enough to call yourself. Or will you sacrifice a fellow officer?”

  Having met Moll, the detective rightly guessed Danny’s fiancé would relentlessly pester any caller for details. Then there was a related problem. How could we get Moll to give us the jewelry info we wanted without spilling the beans?

  I chuckled. “Here’s a thought but you’ll have to do the calling. Tell Moll you have an idea for a unique wedding gift and want to run it by a few quality jewelers who work in gold.”

  Danny shook his head. “I’d pay for that lie, probably with a solid gold trinket. But it’s not a bad idea. I can pretend someone at work needs info on jewelers, not me.”

  While the deputy made the necessary calls to fellow officers, I stared off into space. My brain was working overtime, trying to jam puzzle pieces together. It would be so much easier if I had any notion what the finished puzzle was supposed to look like. I had so many questions. What did Ford mean when he called Harriett an accomplice? Had Harriett been blackmailing Toomey? If so, how did the blogger find out that Amber existed?

  Ford had me rethinking my suspicions. Could it be someone in the extended Toomey clan really had intended to poison Harriett at the luncheon? Was his comment about fighting fire with fire an analogy or did he know who torched the Summer Place cottage? Finally, what was Ruth’s role? Was she a pawn in this homicidal soap opera or a player?

  There were too many questions. Maybe we should start with motive. Was Harriett blackmailing Toomey over a bastard child or had she uncovered some other secret? The answer snuck in my brain’s backdoor as I catalogued known victims of Harriett’s extortion schemes. Of course, Matt Hill!

  He’d been cooperating with police trying to catch Harriett red-handed. Danny could chat with those officers. Surely they’d tell an Ardon County deputy all they knew.

  Then again, the subject of the sting was dead. Would the police want to waste time diving back into the case when there was no one to prosecute?

  FORTY-EIGHT

  I shared my brainstorm about the officers involved in Matt Hill’s sting operation with Danny. He asked me to reach out to Matt for the names of his contacts.

  I looked up Matt’s restaurant and phoned the reservations line. The greeter remembered how Paint and I had helped when they were short staffed and scurried off to find Matt.

  I told Matt we needed to determine if Harriett had been blackmailing another prominent Greenville victim. Didn’t mention a name. Matt was eager to help. “If she took him for a lot of green, maybe the cops can get some of it back for the poor sap.”

  I didn’t explain my real goal was to put the poor sap—or possibly his kin—in jail for murdering Harriett.

  At the Sheriff’s Office, I s
at down as if I’d been invited while Danny and Amber discussed their next moves.

  “I called Sheriff Mason last night,” he said. “His niece got hitched in Boston so he’s stuck there. That Nor’easter’s grounded all flights. Told me I was in charge…to use my best instincts. Hope they’re good enough. Can’t imagine the stink the Quinns will raise if they find out we’re investigating their daughter as blackmailer. Then there’s Toomey. He’d crucify us for insinuating his jewelry gifts were somehow linked to an arson attempt. We’d better latch on to hard proof before any hint of our suspicions go public.”

  “That’s a good reason to let Brie and me tackle the jewelers,” Amber argued. “That is if you get a list from Mollye. It’s Sunday. Most retail shops are closed. Hard for your deputies to make discreet inquiries about gold earrings. But a couple of women determined to get a piece of custom jewelry designed for a special occasion? We can finesse it.”

  Danny shrugged. “I’ll call Mollye.”

  We sat in amused silence eavesdropping on Danny’s half of the conversation. Whenever he fibbed, his cherub cheeks turned pink. Good thing he wasn’t Skyping. Mollye’d detect each and every prevarication in an instant.

  Danny’s need to dissemble about the goings on at Jamieson Gorge gave him the most indigestion. He said Ruth never set foot in the nature park. Technically true. He added it was a shame the hoped-for meeting hadn’t succeeded in getting Ruth to disclose new information. Kinda true. The only new disclosures came from Jack Ford.

  The deputy also fibbed about my whereabouts, saying he had no idea what I might be up to. Since Amber and I had coached Danny about the jewelry, his request for a list of custom jewelers was slightly more suave. He quickly jotted down three names.

  By the time the deputy ended the call, beads of perspiration had popped up all along his hairline. That was despite my conviction the Sheriff’s Office had set its thermostat in the sixties. Sweating suspects didn’t appear to be part of the winter routine.