Had Jake let Dog free to roam as a guard dog? What if a guest forgot something in his or her car? Dog would do what she did best, scare the bejesus out of people.
Another shadow emerged with Dog from the woods. Holly shrank behind a massive brick column. Peeking around the corner, she watched a man pet Dog. Mackie? The only other man who could pet Dog was Jake, but what was he doing at the river at midnight?
Holly opened the door to her room and put Rhett inside. She hurried to the balcony rail and scanned the grounds below. Nothing moved. Holly slid her hand over the railing and kept a lookout below as she padded across the balcony toward the garçonnière. When she reached Jake’s door, she tapped on it.
No answer.
She knocked again. Still no answer. Okay. Either Jake isn’t the light sleeper he thinks he is or he’s definitely the one with Dog.
Dog let out a bark, and Holly turned in the direction of the sound. Had Jake and Dog happened upon someone? What if the guy Jake had tackled in the entrance hall was back? She pushed aside her anxiety about facing Dog and dashed down the exterior stairs to the yard to help Jake.
She jogged past the chicken coop, the carriage house, and the honeymoon cottage, then toward where she’d seen Jake and Dog at the tree line. Every shadow morphed into a possible man or a dog. She looked back at the darkened house in the distance. If she screamed, would anyone hear her? What was she thinking, running out here alone?
“Jake?” she whispered.
A sweet, earthy scent laced the air. Cigar? Pipe? A long-forgotten memory of a wild party in college popped into her head. She sniffed the air. Marijuana? She sniffed again and followed the scent. As she passed the honeymoon cottage, the odor grew stronger. She eased into the shadow of an oak tree and leaned against its trunk and peeked around it.
A hand cupped her mouth from behind, snuffing her scream. “Shh,” a voice whispered in her ear. “It’s me.” Jake released her, and she turned to face him.
“You scared the living daylight out of me. What are you doing out here?”
“Patrol.” He cocked an eye at Holly. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Where’s Dog?” she asked, checking for the mutt, who would just as soon chew her leg off as look at her.
He motioned to the left with his head. “Dog. Come.”
Holly slipped behind Jake. She grabbed a fistful of his jacket and prepared to climb up his back if necessary. Dog trotted from the shadows to Jake’s side and sat, as if Holly wasn’t there. She blinked. Maybe Dog’s indifference was progress. At least, she hoped so.
Holly positioned herself on Jake’s opposite side and leaned in to sniff him.
“It’s not me. I smelled it, too. I was trying to figure out where it was coming from when you showed up.”
“Is that smell what I think it is?”
“Yep.”
They both lifted their noses and inched forward.
“It’s this way,” Holly said, turning toward the carriage house. “You think Angel is smoking pot?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if a psychic was into recreational drugs. She may think it heightens her awareness of the spiritual world.”
“Where’d that come from?” Holly said, surprised by his thinking. “I thought you weren’t into that mumbo jumbo, as you call it.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I wrote an article about shaman journeys once.”
“Oh.” Holly looked at the darkened carriage house. “What are we going to do if we catch her smoking pot?”
“Nothing. Remember. You’re observing and gathering evidence so the authorities can make a bust. A small-time user isn’t who we’re after.”
“So why do we want to see if she’s smoking?”
“The more we know about your guests, the better.”
They climbed the exterior stairs of the carriage house and stepped onto the balcony. Jake sniffed the air. “The scent would be stronger up here if she’d smoked here.” He walked to the far end of the balcony, then leaned over the side. “The Fletchers’ RV is parked around back.”
“Oh yeah.” Holly turned and headed down the stairs, with Jake and Dog following. Holly stopped at the corner of the carriage house. The scent grew stronger.
Jake put his hands on her waist. “Wait here,” he whispered. He eased around the corner of the carriage house to the back of the RV.
I don’t think so. Holly followed several feet behind Jake. A dim glow, maybe from a candle, cast a flickering light that spilled around the edges of the RV. Muffled voices came from the other side. The Fletchers.
Jake leaned against the RV, and Dog sat beside him. He looked back at Holly and motioned for her to go back. She tiptoed to Jake’s side. The unmistakable scent of marijuana wafted to her nose.
Holly leaned down and looked under the RV. She positioned herself on all fours for a better look and found herself eye to eye with Dog. She froze. Dog sniffed Holly’s face. She prayed Dog didn’t think she smelled good enough to take a bite out of her nose. Dog swiped her wet tongue across Holly’s cheek and then lay beside her.
She’d heard dogs didn’t smile, but she could have sworn Dog smiled at her. Holly smiled back. If she’d won Dog over, maybe her luck was changing. Maybe she could stop the smuggling and get Burl out of her life.
From her view under the RV, everything looked cropped. Lawn chair legs, half an ice chest, the fat end of a Louisville Slugger, a man’s hairy ankles above well-worn Sperrys, and a pair of sensible women’s shoes on feet at least two sizes smaller than Holly’s.
Jake stood a couple feet away, peeking around the corner of the RV.
“This is the last time I’m going to Houston,” Kate said, her voice unsteady. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Houston. A big city on I-10. Easy route from Holly Grove, just like Burl had said. Holly inched her way over to Jake, then tugged on his pants leg.
“Shh,” Jake whispered.
“You can, and you will,” Tom said, more like an order to his wife than a statement.
Was he forcing her to run drugs with him? Holly strained to hear every word.
“I’m tired of living like this,” Kate said, sounding as weary as her words. And there was something else in her voice. Anger? Resentment? How long had he forced her into a life of crime?
After a long silence, he said, “You can’t quit on me.” The edge in his voice was gone. “I need you,” he said, almost pleading.
“The risk isn’t worth the money,” Kate said in an odd nasal voice.
The ice chest skidded a few inches as Tom rattled the ice and pulled out a beer. He said something, but Holly couldn’t make it out over the clatter. The lid dropped in place with a solid slap. “Don’t worry about the money end. That’s my job.”
Holly jerked on Jake’s pants leg again. “They’re the smugglers. My contact said Houston was a distribution point.”
“Who’s there?” Tom called out.
Oh, crapola. Holly looked under the RV. The Louisville Slugger inched out of her view, and the Sperrys rocked in place. A cat landed on the grass in front of the Sperrys, which were on the move.
Dog let out a grunt.
Holly latched on to Dog’s collar as the cat leaped onto a fold-down step and into the RV, Holly hoped. Dog dragged Holly under the RV and banged against every pipe, until Jake yanked them both back. No way could they sneak away now.
“Follow my lead,” Jake whispered as he grabbed Dog by the collar. They stepped from behind the RV.
CHAPTER 29
Kate, with every hair still in place at midnight and wearing the same outfit she’d worn at dinner, sat in a folding chair. She looked like a soccer mom, except for the smoke that curled around her from the marijuana in the ashtray.
Tom stood in front of a folding chair, with a baseball bat in one hand and a longneck beer in the other. He took a protective step in front of his wife. “Come in the light, where I can see you.”
Clutching Dog’s collar, Jake step
ped under the RV canopy, and Holly followed. Dog growled, and the hair on her back stood on end.
“If I were you, I’d put the bat down and not move too fast,” Jake said.
Recognition flashed across Tom’s face. “What are y’all doing out here so late?” He leaned the bat against the folding chair.
Jake looked at Holly, then back to Tom. “We smelled the weed. I thought I might be able to buy some off you.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”
“It’s not for sale,” Tom said, easing back into his chair.
“Most doctors tell you to stop smoking,” Kate said, reaching for the reefer. “Unless you’re dying, anyway.”
“You’re not going to die.” Tom slammed his beer on the folding table. “Do you hear me?”
His wife shot a laser stare his way. “You don’t hear me!” Kate grabbed a handful of shiny brown hair and snapped a wig from her head. The wig of perfect hair dangled from her fingers. Patches of brown and gray stubble dotted a mostly bald head. Tears rimmed her big brown eyes as they flashed with anger. “The treatment is going to kill me before the disease gets a chance!”
A lump too big to swallow wedged in Holly’s throat. Houston. MD Anderson Cancer Center. Tears stung her eyes as she remembered the pictures of the two young boys Kate had shown off at dinner. Holly’s mom had lost the same battle, but Holly had been grown when it happened. Holly wished she could evaporate into thin air like Burl. She shouldn’t be here. What the Fletchers were going through was painful enough without witnesses.
Jake cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”
“How could you know? My husband bought this wig for me. He thinks if I don’t look like I have cancer, it’ll go away.” She threw the wig to the ground. “It won’t.”
* * *
“The Fletchers didn’t come to breakfast or go on the tour. After last night, they’re probably embarrassed,” Holly said as she and Nelda stood in the kitchen loading a wicker basket with pralines.
“I’d smoke them funny cigarettes, too, if I had cancer.” Nelda shook her head. “She’s got young’ns at home, too. Humph, humph, humph. I’m gonna say a prayer for that lady and light some candles, too.” Nelda folded a white linen napkin over the basket. “Hope these pralines make her feel better.”
“Thanks. At least I won’t knock on their door empty handed.”
“You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for. How could you know?”
“It’s not that. We were listening in on their private conversation.” Holly took the pralines. “A painful one.”
“Maybe God wanted you to hear. Maybe you can help.”
“Me?” Holly could barely help herself.
“You never know when God might call on you. This may be it.”
“If God is calling on me, we’re all in trouble,” Holly said, walking out the door. At least she could eliminate the Fletchers as suspects. They were in the fight of their lives, and running drugs just didn’t make sense.
A light mist drifted through the air as Holly ambled to the RV. She looked at the gray skies, which threatened to burst open. The tour would have a light turnout today, but that was okay. She didn’t need any more innocent people to suspect.
When she reached the RV, Jake was easing down the folding step. Kate followed him with her arm on his shoulder. She wore a pink scarf tied over her head, no make-up, and another soccer mom outfit. She wrapped her arms around Jake’s neck and said something, but Holly couldn’t hear what. Tom stepped out of the RV and shook Jake’s hand; then he wrapped his arm around Kate’s waist.
A heavy ache settled over Holly. She couldn’t imagine how difficult life was for them right now. And she’d made it worse last night.
Jake lifted his hand and waved at Holly as she approached the RV. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He plucked a praline out of the basket before Holly could present them to Kate. “Got to run.” He planted a peck on her cheek. “Sam’s expecting me.”
Kate wiped a tear from her eye, but her smile seemed to bubble from deep inside. A genuine smile. And it was pointed at Jake. She patted him on the arm. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Holly tilted her head, wondering what Jake had done but unwilling to ask in front of the Fletchers. She’d intruded enough last night. Besides, she could ask Jake later.
“We missed you at breakfast.” She held the basket out to the Fletchers. “Nelda made a batch of pralines for you.” She glanced at Jake as he strode across the lawn. “Minus one,” she said, smiling. “Jake loves them.”
“Mmm. I think I should sample these,” Tom said, pulling a praline out of the basket.
“He’s one special man.” Kate’s gaze darted to Holly’s left hand. “Boyfriend?”
Holly stumbled over what to say. She’d loved telling anyone who’d listen Jake was her boyfriend in high school. Now? What was Jake to her? “Uh, an old friend. I mean . . .”
“I know what you mean.”
“You do?”
“Sure. You love him but don’t want to put yourself out there.”
A shiver threatened to dance up her spine. She’d thought she loved Burl. Look what that had got her. “Oh, no. It’s not like that.”
“Are you sure? He seemed crazy about you. Couldn’t say enough good things about you.”
“Y’all were talking about me?”
“Some. Mostly, he made me see something I hadn’t thought about.” Her eyes watered. “It made all the difference in the world.”
“What did he say?”
“You probably know,” Kate said. “His mom ran off and left him when he was about the age of my boys. He said he could have stood losing his mom if she hadn’t run away. He is a grown man and can’t forgive her for leaving him. I was running away and didn’t know it. If I lose this fight, my boys are going to know I did everything I could to stay with them. They can forgive me for being taken, but not for leaving.”
Tom squeezed his wife to his side. “He gave my wife her fight back.”
And gave Holly one more reason it would be harder not to fall for Jake again.
* * *
Holly had never so much as opened a suitcase when she cleaned her guests’ rooms, until now. Maybe she should feel guilty about snooping around in their private belongings, but she couldn’t. Nothing was more important than finding the smuggler, and if it took a little snooping, so be it.
Guilt niggled at her, anyway. Most of the guests had to be legit, but she had to search all the rooms to know who wasn’t.
She lugged a basket filled with fresh towels and her cleaning basket, which teetered on top of the towels, as she climbed the stairs. Her flip-flops flapped with each step in the quiet house. Everyone was in the sugarcane maze or having their fortunes told by Angel, which gave Holly time to search the rooms.
One of the four upstairs rooms had a DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from the antique brass knob. Crapola. Not only did she have to peruse their stuff, but she also had to do it with a written request not to enter plastered on the door. Double crapola. Holly sighed, then looked both ways. She flipped the sign off the knob onto the worn Oriental rug. Oops. Must have fallen off.
Pushing her guilt aside and telling herself the means justified the end, she tapped on Mr. Dunbar’s door with the master key. “Housekeeping.”
No answer.
She inserted the master key and then opened the door. She called again, “Housekeeping.”
Holly stepped inside the suite and placed the basket of fresh towels and the cleaning basket on the floor, then closed the door. The sheets were folded back and the praline was on the pillow, just as she’d left the room last night, during turndown service. She shifted her weight and cocked her head to the side. If Mr. Dunbar didn’t sleep in his bed, where did he sleep? She eyed the straight chair in the corner by the floor-to-ceiling window facing the river. The 1860s walnut commode, which she had converted to a side table, had been snuggled up to the chair as if it were a footstool. Had he slept there? Surely not.
A small notebook in a red binder lay on the commode. Holly picked up the notebook and opened it. She ran her finger over the LCD screen that she’d expected to be a paper notebook. Cool gizmo. It lit up and filled with text. A novel? The words Final Target were written across the top of the page. Had the novel kept him up all night? And why didn’t he read in bed?
She looked out the window. A sliver of the river showed through the trees. At night there would only be darkness at that distance. But tugboats had lights. Was he on watch? She closed the notebook and carefully placed it on the commode in the same cocked position. With a techie gadget like that, wouldn’t he have a smartphone or some way to communicate if he were waiting for a barge with drugs on board? Why would he watch?
She wandered into the bathroom, where she found wet towels and washcloths draped over the side of the tub. Well, at least he’d bathed here.
Turning back to face the antique bed, she scanned the suite for his suitcase. She crossed the room and opened the double mahogany doors of the armoire. On the bottom shelf, a suitcase sat open, with undershirts and underwear folded neatly in it. His clothes hung above the suitcase. The scent of cedar drifted to her nose as she filed through his hanging clothes, checking each pocket. Something hard and smooth slipped through her fingers. A ring? She fished it out of the pocket and then held the gold wedding band to the light. A date was engraved on the inside, 10-22 . . .
Twenty years ago tomorrow.
She looked back at the bed he hadn’t slept in. Who comes to a B & B alone on his anniversary, then doesn’t sleep in his bed, and why?
Holly gnawed her bottom lip. This didn’t have anything to do with smuggling. She’d invaded Mr. Dunbar’s privacy, just as she’d invaded the Fletchers’ last night. She stuffed the ring back in his coat pocket, then rubbed her hands down her jeans, as though that would rub off the nosy deed she’d done.
“Lots of men carry their wedding ring, instead of wearing it, when they’re not with the old ball and chain,” Burl said.
Better Dead Page 20
