“I understand that, but lying to the detective doesn’t erase what happened.”
“That card has nothing to do with the current investigation into that man’s death.”
She couldn’t even utter Charlie Marks’s name. Then again, since the man had attacked—raped—Lucinda, was that even surprising?
“I know nothing about why or where he disappeared to all those years ago, and I’m not interested in knowing anything more about the man.”
Tori wasn’t about to be so cavalierly dismissed. “I gave you the courtesy of seeing that card before we gave the original to the Sheriff’s Department. Only now my home was burgled and trashed, and the only thing we know for sure that is missing is the original card. Apart from Kathy and Anissa, nobody knew about it—except you.”
“Are you accusing me of breaking and entering your home?”
“Not at all. But I wouldn’t be surprised if one of your employees did the deed for you.”
Lucinda said nothing.
“It’s too bad, Ms. Bloomfield. If we weren’t to become business partners, I thought at least we might become friends. I won’t make that mistake in the future.”
And with that, Tori turned, wrenched open the front door, and stalked out of the mansion.
After taking copious amounts of photographic evidence, Tori and Anissa returned to Swans Nest for a brunch break. The food was excellent, but the celebratory mood they’d all experienced the night before was now a distant memory. After tidying the kitchen, the women returned to the Cannon Compound to set to work tidying the house. It took several hours to get it back in shape—and for a deputy to show up to take their statements. Despite Osborn’s assurance they could clean up the mess, the deputy was annoyed that they had done just that. Since Tori, Kathy, and Anissa had assumed the deputies weren’t going to bother to do more than make a report, they weren’t the least bit apologetic.
“What gets me,” Anissa said, as the three of them flopped down on the living room chairs, “is who else could have known about that card?”
“Like I told the detective,” Tori said, “the three of us—and Lucinda.”
“We did talk about it at the bar last night,” Kathy pointed out
“As I suggested to Lucinda when I confronted her, our burglar could have been one of her employees.”
“Who do you suspect? Avery Simons or Collins the butler?”
Tori thought about it. “I’ve had some time to think about it, and I think it was Collins. It’s been bugging me since last night. One of the guys sitting alone at a table at The Bay Bar, nursing a beer, looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him, probably because of his clothes. I’ve seen him there before, too. I think it was Ronnie Collins slumming.”
“Noreen did say he was Lucinda’s spy,” Kathy pointed out. “We need to cross the road to get the cats back home; why don’t we stop in The Bay Bar and ask before we do.”
“Would Paul tell you?” Anissa asked.
“I don’t know. But Noreen told us the other day that he and Ronnie weren’t exactly friends anymore, but she didn’t mention they were enemies, either.”
“Maybe he’d tell us where Ronnie lives,” Tori suggested.
“You could Google him. There are lots of sites that have public records,” Anissa suggested.
“Let’s try that first, but then we need to get going,” Kathy said. “Those poor cats have been cooped up in my pantry for hours.”
The computers were back online, so Tori sat down in front of hers and typed the name into the browser. The search turned up eighty-five Ronald Collins. She looked at the Times of Ward County news account she’d read days before and got Collins’s middle initial. That narrowed the possibilities to three, and one of them was in Ward County. The report gave his address as Lake Bluff Road.
Coincidentally, Lake Bluff Road was the way one arrived at the bridge to Falcon Island.
“Yeah, but it’s also about five miles long and strewn with farms, tract houses, and single trailers, not to mention the big campground where RVers filled with weekenders and snowbirds resided,” Kathy said.
“What’s the number?” Anissa asked. “We can do a drive-by on Google Street View.”
Tori pulled up the appropriate page and moved the mouse until she found the property in question: a shabby, run-down single-wide trailer, surrounded with knee-high grass and looking derelict.
“What’s the date on the drive by?” Kathy asked.
Tori frowned. “Three years ago.” She stared at the screen. “Somehow, I can’t imagine Collins the butler living in a dump like that. I mean, his clothes were impeccable. And if he’s the cook, too, he’s almost as good as you, Kath.”
“I wonder if we could find out when he bought the trailer.”
“Some counties in the state have a GIS system that lists who owns what properties,” Anissa said. “Unfortunately, Ward County isn’t one of them.”
“Paul might know that, too.”
“We can but ask,” Tori agreed.
“Do you need me for anything else?” Anissa asked.
Tori shook her head. “We’ve already infringed on your only day off.”
“Yeah,” Kathy agreed, “and I’m sorry the circumstances ruined your breakfast. I still feel I owe both of you a stress-free gourmet meal.”
“I’ll take a raincheck,” Anissa said, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the front door.
Tori and Kathy followed.
They gave Anissa a wave as she drove her pickup out of the compound’s lot and Tori and Kathy crossed the road for The Bay Bar.
The bar had been open for a couple of hours, but they didn’t see much in the way of traffic this early in the day. Paul stood at the end of the bar talking to one of the three bikers nursing beers and gave the women a wave as they entered. They took their usual seats near the kitchen and waited until Paul excused himself and headed their way.
“Kinda early for you girls to visit,” he commented
“Yeah,” Tori admitted.
“We saw the Sheriff’s cruiser over at your place. Everything okay?”
“Somebody broke into my house overnight and trashed the place.”
“Whoa. Not nice,” Paul said. “How bad was it?”
“Mostly messy,” Kathy said. “Whoever it was broke a window and dumped the dresser drawers and went through the closets in our bedrooms and office, but the rest of the house was untouched. We think they were looking for something specific.”
“And they found it,” Tori said.
“And we think the person who broke in knew we wouldn’t be home last night because he heard us talking about the dry run and watched us leave the bar.”
Paul’s expression darkened. “Who?”
“First answer this question; was Ronnie Collins in here last night?”
Paul’s gaze dipped. “Yeah. You think it was him?”
Tori and Kathy nodded.
“Why?”
“Because earlier this week, Anissa was hired to clean out the cabin rented by Mark Charles—aka Charlie Marks. We helped her and Kathy found a Valentine’s Day card that was signed by Lucinda Bloomfield.”
Paul’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t make sense. Charlie never had a shot with Lucinda.”
“Apparently he had more than a shot,” Kathy offered. “The card was signed ‘Luv you always, Lucinda.’”
Paul’s expression could only be called skeptical. “It had to be a phony.”
Tori shook her head. “I showed Lucinda a copy—and hours later the original was stolen. It was the only thing missing from the house after the break-in.”
“Well, not exactly,” Kathy said, but didn’t go into details. “Tori gave a copy of the card to Lucinda yesterday afternoon. We don’t know if she showed it to Collins, but he could have been listening in on their conversation and then decided to liberate the original. Without it, there’s no proof that Lucinda ever had a relationship with Charlie.”
Paul frowned. “It still
doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Collins has been protecting Lucinda for years. Maybe he figured he still needed to protect her from being barraged with media attention and memories of the past,” Tori explained.
“Okay, I get that,” Paul said. “But I can’t wrap my head around Lucinda Bloomfield having any kind of a relationship with Charlie Marks.”
Tori sighed. “Not surprising. You’re a man.”
“And by your tone, I feel like I’ve just been insulted.”
“Not at all,” Kathy assured him. “But I’m betting you know nothing about alpha males.”
“Excuse me?” Paul asked, sounding confused.
“In romance novels, lots of women are attracted to alpha males.”
“Also known as bad boys,” Tori added. “You know, tough, macho guys, with big hairy chests and arms.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, maybe not all that hairy, but they’re often misogynists.”
“Sounds like those kinds of guys are just jerks.”
“Yes, but it’s the love of a good woman who redeems them—at least in fiction. In real life? Not so much.”
“Is it out of the realm of belief that Lucinda, poor little rich girl, would have wanted to rebel and chose someone her parents would never have approved of to … fool around with?”
Paul still didn’t look convinced.
“Think of it this way,” Tori continued. “You guys didn’t believe Charlie when he boasted about knowing Lucinda back in high school. So if he actually was seeing her later, after you all had graduated, once again, you probably wouldn’t have believed him.”
“She wouldn’t be the first woman to be branded a cock tease,” Kathy said.
“Try this on for size: What if Lucinda wanted something her parents didn’t want to give her—like more freedom, she could have used Charlie as leverage. ‘Let me do X, or I will be involved with Y.”
“Sounds pretty devious.”
“Young people often are when they want something,” Tori said. After teaching high school students for more than seven years, and having been one herself, she pretty much had them pegged.
Paul didn’t seem convinced. “I’m telling you, I pulled that piece of shit off of her. She was terrified, she was brutalized. There’s no way she was faking that.”
“No, but if Charlie Marks felt like she’d been stringing him along, he might have felt she deserved what she got.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Paul hissed.
“I don’t believe it—I’m saying he might have believed it. We’ll never know because we can’t ask him.”
“What I don’t get is why did Charlie—or Mark or whoever he was—come back to Lotus Bay in the first place? What did he hope to gain? Why did he change his name? Why did he dare to come back to a place where he was hated?”
Paul shrugged. “I’ve been trying to figure that out ever since I heard he was back—and dead.”
“And more importantly, why would someone kill him?” Kathy suggested.
“Well, it wasn’t me. I had no clue the guy was here. And whatever beef I had with him was long since over. Ronnie and I don’t talk much anymore, but I’d say the same was true for him, too.”
“Yes, but you don’t work for the wronged person,” Kathy said. “How many people in Ward County are butlers?”
“It’s a job,” Paul said flatly. “From what he’s said, he cooks, he cleans, and he manages the estate—but under Lucinda’s eagle eye.”
“We looked him up on the Internet,” Tori said. “Saw that he lives on Lake Bluff Road in a trailer.”
“He doesn’t live there,” Paul said.
“Then he’s moved?” Kathy asked.
“No. That’s a rental property he owns. He has a room up at the Bloomfield mansion.”
Tori and Kathy glanced at one another and shared a knowing look. Ronnie Collins was the estate’s butler, but was he also Lucinda’s live-in lover? It really wasn’t any of their business, and they weren’t about to voice the idea to Paul, who obviously had never considered the possibility. But it explained a lot. Lucinda might not have asked Collins to trash Tori’s house, but if he was in love with her he might decide to intervene on her behalf if only to spare her from more embarrassment from the past. That said, was he as clueless as Paul that Lucinda had actually had a relationship with Charlie Marks? If he had been—he no longer was.
“Is there a chance Ronnie Collins knew Charlie Marks was back in the area?” Kathy asked, echoing Tori’s thoughts.
Paul shrugged. “I have no idea. I sure as hell didn’t. I’m betting Charlie shied away from his old haunts.”
“His neighbor did say he kept to himself. She said he did odd jobs. Doing work under the table might be a way to stay out of the IRS’s sights, too.”
“Hey, Paul!” one of the guys at the end of the bar called. “Another round.”
“Sure thing,” Paul said and moved to the taps to pour three more beers. He didn’t return to speak with the women.
“We ought to go rescue our cats,” Kathy suggested, her voice edged with defeat.
“Yeah,” Tori agreed.
The women got up from their stools and headed for the door. Paul didn’t bid them a cheerful goodbye.
They hadn’t learned anything of real value by talking to Paul, but they did have a better understanding of what might have gone on decades before.
Still, they had no clue as to who killed Charlie Marks, which was a real bummer.
28
While the cats weren’t eager to return to their carriers, they were happy to come back to their real home and let Kathy know that they deserved treats for their hours-long ordeal. Soft touch that she was, she obeyed their commands.
By then, it was time to think about food—and what they’d have for dinner. Tori had forgotten to freeze the chicken breasts they’d bought two days before, so Kathy took out three and put the rest in plastic bags to freeze. Now all she had to do was decide what to do with them. She assumed Anissa would be coming to dinner—she usually did—and so Kathy wasn’t surprised when the blue pick-up rumbled into the compound’s lot.
“Anissa’s here,” she called to Tori as she sat down at the kitchen table with one of her cookbooks.
Tori emerged from the newly tidied office just as Anissa knocked on the door and then entered the kitchen. “I’m back.”
“We noticed. It’s almost suppertime. We’re having chicken. You staying?”
“I never say no to chicken. Or burgers. Or hot dogs, or even leftovers,” Anissa said and grinned.
“Sit down and I’ll pour us some wine,” Tori said. “Then we can trade stories about the horrors of the rest of the day.”
“My day wasn’t that horrible,” Anissa said, peeling off her jacket and hanging it on one of the pegs by the door. She took her usual seat at the table. “When I got home, there was a strange message on my answering machine from none other than Rick Shepherd Enterprises.”
“On a Sunday?” Tori asked.
Anissa nodded. “Yeah. Apparently, he’s looking for someone to take care of his lawn-cutting operation in the Lotus Point area.”
“But you’re a contractor, not a landscaper,” Kathy said.
“Don’t I know it,” Anissa said. “The message said that they’d had someone with a single mower take care of the small yards at the Point, and they wanted to contract that out.”
“And the significance of that is?” Tori asked.
“Think about it. Mark Charles was a guy who cut lawns around the Point with his lawnmower. If he wanted anonymity, might he have worked for someone like Rick Shepherd? The people whose grass he cut wouldn’t know him by name, only that he showed up once a week during the summer and made their lawns look tidy.”
“That sounds plausible,” Kathy said, “but how do we prove he worked for Rick Shepherd, and what’s the significance if he did?”
“Well, the person on the phone—and it wasn’t Rick Shepherd him
self because I would have recognized his voice—dropped the name of one of my customers who suggested I might be able to help them out. I called my customer to say thanks and left a message asking about mower guy. He might have seen Mark Charles’s picture in the paper. If so, that would be a good ID.”
“Is he likely to call you back?” Kathy asked, flipping pages and studying the pictures of various chicken entrees.
Anissa nodded. “He’s waiting for a quote on rebuilding his front steps, so I will be talking to him by tomorrow at the latest.”
“Great,” Tori said.
“Wait—how does your customer know Rick Shepherd?” Tori asked, measuring to see that everyone’s glass had the same amount of Zinfandel.
“He didn’t say. I’m guessing he might have once rented one of Shepherd’s properties because he definitely owns the house he’s fixing up piecemeal. He’s interested in hiring me for the jobs he doesn’t want to tackle.”
“Which sounds like you aren’t desperate enough to cut anyone’s grass,” Kathy guessed.
“I don’t even like cutting my own. Whatever happened to all the teen and tween boys who wanted to make a little dough and would bum their dad’s mower and some gas to cut lawns and make a few bucks?”
Tori passed the wineglasses around. “Probably making videos on YouTube and raking in much bigger bucks and without all the sweating.”
“Did you call Shepherd back?” Kathy asked.
Anissa shook her head. “I figured I’d wait until business hours tomorrow.”
“Maybe you could ask a few more questions about the job—get a better idea of what properties you might be working on.”
“What for?”
“Well, if we hadn’t lost the list of names and telephone numbers, we could have compared them.”
“Well, you did lose it—so what’s the point?”
“I guess you’re right.” Kathy sighed. “What do you think about oven-baked chicken barbeque?”
“Hot or sweet sauce—or both?” Tori asked.
“I was thinking sweet.”
“Honey, as long as I don’t have to cook it, I’m happy with anything,” Anissa said and took her first sip of wine.
A Reel Catch Page 20
