The Raven Master

by Diana Whitney

  But he’d had no choice. The only way Quinn could protect Janine was to drive her away, to make certain that she couldn’t be connected with him when it was finally over. And the end was close now. Too close.

  He went to the nightstand and fingered the deputy’s business card. Soon all the nasty little secrets would reveal themselves, and Janine would learn the sordid truth.

  Quinn sat heavily on the bed, recalling that he’d thought the nightmare was over when he’d been released from prison. But it had just been the beginning. Two days later, Cynthia was dead. It was only a matter of time before Darby Ridge’s sheriff discovered how she had died.

  Quinn had to hurry now. His time had just run out.

  Janine put on another pot of coffee, pasted on a phony smile and tried to conduct the morning routine as though her heart hadn’t been ripped out. It wasn’t easy.

  She kept a nervous eye on the stairway and waited for Quinn to come down for breakfast. Although his van was parked outside, he hadn’t appeared yet. That was only a partial relief. Janine didn’t think she was ready to face him but an uncontrollable segment of her traitorous heart longed simply to see his face. Since the man obviously wanted no part of her, she was disgusted by her own weakness.

  Glancing toward the breakfast table, she noted that although Edna and Jules were stiffly seated in their usual places both were quite obviously unhappy. Althea’s seat was still empty, so there was one less hostile person to stare icy daggers at Janine’s increasingly vulnerable back.

  Actually she wasn’t particularly bothered by Jules’s contemptuous expression and was, in fact, still furious with him for having taken part in spreading the unfounded and totally inexcusable rumor that Quinn had something to do with Marjorie Barker’s death.

  Edna, however, was another matter. The disillusionment and misery in her eyes sliced Janine to the core. She couldn’t blame the woman for being disgusted since she was just as disgusted with herself.

  It wasn’t that Janine regretted what she and Quinn had shared—she could never regret the most beautiful experience of her life—but afterward everything had unraveled. His disappointed expression had broken her heart.

  As fresh moisture gathered in her eyes, Janine grabbed a sponge and absently wiped the spotless counter. She fought the encroaching tears with a silent promise to deal with the pain later, in private. Now, however, she struggled to conduct herself with a modicum of dignity.

  A chair scraped away from the table. Janine squared her shoulders and turned in time to meet Jules’s frigid gaze. His lip curled in a sneer then he ignored Janine completely and spoke crisply to his grandmother, issuing a harsh command that seemed completely out of character for the usually docile young man. “I’ll warm up the car, Grand’mère. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  As her grandson strode out of the kitchen, Edna stared forlornly at her half-eaten meal, dropped her napkin and heaved shakily out of the chair.

  Janine spoke quickly. “Edna, wait.”

  The woman paused in the doorway but neither looked at Janine nor made any response.

  Swallowing hard, Janine laid the sponge down and nervously crossed the room. “I, ah, want to apologize if you were offended by what you saw last night.”

  Edna shook her head sadly. “The devil’s concubine must seek God’s forgiveness, not mine.”

  Taken aback by the stinging assessment, Janine stammered, “I—I think that’s a bit harsh.”

  The woman’s blue eyes were filled with sadness. “Pray for purification, my dear. Ask God for salvation before your soul is condemned to eternal damnation.” Then she patted Janine’s hand and waddled away.

  Stunned, Janine sat at the table and shivered. Even though she was used to Edna’s melodramatic zealotry, being described as the devil’s concubine was nonetheless unsettling. She massaged her forehead and was trying to shake off the disquieting notion that the woman might actually believe her own pious pronouncement when the doorbell rang.

  Janine moaned. Althea must have stormed off without her key. With any luck she’d returned to pack her things. If not, Janine would slap a thirty-day notice in her hand as encouragement. As for Jules and his grandmother, although Janine didn’t feel particularly charitable toward the grandson, Edna had had nothing to do with the unconscionable scheme and Janine was reluctant to punish the innocent woman by evicting her grandson.

  Perhaps if she offered more time, Edna could locate other accommodations—

  The doorbell rang again and was instantly followed by an insistent pounding. Since the entire house was vibrating, Janine leaped up and hurried to the foyer. Expecting to confront Althea, she angrily yanked open the door and was stunned to find a somber group of uniformed men on her porch.

  “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am.” Sheriff Rhodes tipped his hat, then nodded to the deputies, who promptly brushed past Janine and swarmed into the house. One officer headed toward the kitchen area; another moved down the hall toward her office and two more went directly upstairs.

  “What is this?” Janine stepped back as Rhodes entered the foyer. “What’s going on here?”

  The sheriff closed the door. “We have a warrant for Quinn Coulliard’s arrest, ma’am. Is he here?”

  She managed not to choke, although her voice was edged by panic. “What is he being charged with?” A loud crash emanated from the kitchen and was followed by a series of clanking sounds. “What are they doing to my kitchen?”

  Rhodes handed her a folded sheet of paper. “I’m sorry, Miss Taylor.”

  She stared numbly at the document. “What is this?”

  “A warrant to search the premises.”

  Her head snapped up in astonishment. “Search for what? Do you expect to find a fugitive in my cupboard?”

  Before Rhodes could respond, a lanky young deputy appeared at the top of the stairs and announced that the rooms were all locked. Behind him, a second officer was traversing the hall beating on each door and demanding entry.

  The sheriff turned to Janine. “I assume you have keys.”

  Furious but realizing she had no choice, Janine fixed him with an icy stare. “If you will kindly leash your men, sir, I will personally show you to Mr. Coulliard’s room.”

  Rhodes nodded sharply, issued a curt order to the officer on the stairs then followed Janine toward her office, where they found a perplexed deputy fumbling with the doorknob. Janine froze him with a look. When he stepped aside, she took the key from her pocket, unlocked the door and strode directly to her desk.

  After retrieving the guest-room master key, she tossed the warrant onto a file cabinet, and ignoring Rhode’s outstretched hand, brushed by the startled sheriff to make a beeline for the stairs. She heard footsteps behind her and knew Rhodes was following but continued to hurry down the hall hoping to spare Quinn the indignity of having a uniformed posse burst through the door unannounced.

  By the time she reached his room, Rhodes was on the upstairs landing. Janine rapped on the door and called Quinn’s name in a stage whisper. When there was no response, she tried again. “The sheriff is here. He has a warrant but I’m sure it’s all a mistake.” Silence. “Open the door, Quinn. You have to clear this up.”

  Rhodes came up beside her and silently extended his hand. With a sinking heart, Janine reluctantly dropped the key into his palm, stepped back and was horrified to realize that the other two deputies had drawn their guns.

  When Rhodes unsnapped his own holster, she grabbed at his arm. “That’s not necessary!”

  He brushed her aside. “Please stay back.”

  Instinctively realizing that Quinn was not inside, Janine simply sagged against the wall as Rhodes unlocked the door then opened it with a swift kick. Instantly all three officers rushed the room and were greeted by an earsplitting shriek.

  Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, God. Edgar.”

  Spinning around, she stumbled through the doorway into utter chaos. The hysterical raven was flapping wildly, trying to drive away th
e intruders. Screeching frantically, the bird faked a swoop toward one lanky deputy, who promptly dived behind the dresser. His partner flattened against the wall, shielding his face with his arms and screaming for someone to shoot the damned bird.

  When Rhodes crouched to level his service revolver, Janine emitted a horrified gasp, jumped forward and hung on to his gun arm like a treed opossum. “That bird can’t hurt you! Can’t you see that the poor thing is injured?”

  Rhodes straightened, glanced around, and as his gaze settled on the open window he holstered his weapon. “Looks like Coulliard’s gone,” he announced to no one in particular.

  Janine stared at the billowing curtain, realizing instinctively that the open window had not been Quinn’s means of escape. She was certain that he’d used the tunnel but kept that information to herself as Rhodes ordered his troops to search the room.

  As the young deputy emerged from behind the dresser, Edgar emitted another raucous screech. The man winced and turned to his partner, jerking his thumb toward the goosenecked perch. “You take that side.”

  “Me?” The man against the wall seemed horrified by the thought. “You’re closer.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the animal lover.”

  “Birds aren’t animals. They’re…they’re birds.” He shuddered. “I hate birds.”

  The lanky man was unimpressed. “Well, I don’t even own a dog—”

  Rhodes ended the argument with an unintelligible command, which put both deputies at attention, then he turned to Janine. “Can you take the bird out of here?”

  She cleared her throat and slid a nervous glance toward the irritated raven. “I doubt it. I’m afraid Edgar doesn’t like me very much, either.”

  Rhodes considered that. “Does it always stay on that lamp?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out.” Rhodes tugged down his brimmed hat, rounded the bed, then dropped to his knees and crept along the floor.

  The raven cocked a yellow eye, watching warily. When the sheriff pushed away the newspapers at the base of the lamp, Edgar arched a wing and hissed. Thankfully, however, the bird remained in place as Rhodes pushed the weighted base until the lamp was safely situated in the far corner.

  Satisfied, the sheriff crawled backward, stood and brushed off his hands. “There. Now you—” he gestured toward the younger officer “—search the dresser and bed. Terrence, you take the closet and the rest of the room.”

  The deputy called Terrence instantly opened the closet and unceremoniously began tossing out the contents. His partner pawed through a dresser drawer, flipping T-shirts and underwear haphazardly over his shoulder until the floor was littered with crumpled garments.

  Infuriated by the unnecessary desecration, Janine issued a strenuous protest. “This is positively barbaric. There’s no need to destroy the man’s possessions.”

  Rhodes merely shrugged.

  Janine was beside herself. “This is all a terrible mistake. As soon as it’s been cleared up, you’re going to owe Mr. Coulliard an apology for this…this…” Words failed and she encompassed the mess with a frustrated gesture. Finally she stuffed her hands in her pockets and sighed. “What on earth do you expect to find, anyway?”

  “Evidence.”

  “What kind of evidence—Oh, my God! Stop that at once!” Janine stepped over a can of shaving cream, scooped up a toothbrush and travel-size bottle of after-shave, then yanked an empty leather case out of the young deputy’s hands. “Surely you can conduct your search without dumping the man’s personal supplies on the floor.”

  Rhodes plucked the items from her hands and returned them to his deputy. “Please, Miss Taylor. We’re just doing our job.”

  “This is outrageous.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The sheriff grasped her elbow and insistently ushered her out of the room. Once in the hallway, Rhodes released his indignant captive, lifted his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Would you open the other bedrooms, please?”

  Janine folded her arms stubbornly. “Absolutely not.”

  He sighed. “All I need is a quick look-see to make sure Coulliard isn’t holed up in one of the other rooms. I won’t be conducting an evidence search.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “You won’t touch any of my guests’ things?”

  “No, ma’am.” After a thoughtful moment, he added, “Not unless I have to.”

  Janine started to quibble, then thought better of it. She knew without doubt that Quinn wasn’t in the house, and besides, a cursory glance of the search warrant had indicated that the sheriff was authorized to inspect every square inch of the building if he wanted to. The sheriff obviously planned to inspect the bedrooms whether she liked it or not, so Janine decided that cooperation might make the process quicker and less painful.

  With a resigned sigh, she opened the door to her own room. Then over the next few minutes, Janine opened the remaining bedrooms and Rhodes, true to his word, only looked into the closets and checked under the beds without touching any personal possessions.

  When he’d finished with the final room, he scratched his head and glanced quizzically out the hall window. She followed his gaze to where Quinn’s dusty beige minivan was parked at the end of the gravel drive.

  She cleared her throat. “Mr. Coulliard enjoys walking in the woods. You probably just missed him.”

  The sheriff’s knowing smile suggested that he didn’t accept the theory that Quinn’s absence was coincidental, but before he could respond, the lanky deputy emerged from Quinn’s room clutching a familiar, tattered photo. “Terrence found this in the nightstand. It’s her, isn’t it?”

  The sheriff took the photo and inspected it carefully. The two men exchanged a telling look, then Rhodes returned the picture with a curt command. “Bag it.”

  The young deputy nodded and disappeared back into the room.

  Rubbing her hands, Janine nervously stepped forward. “What has that woman got to do with any of this?”

  Rhodes regarded her thoughtfully and apparently decided to answer at least some of her questions. “Coulliard’s file was faxed from California. That photo was part of it.”

  “I imagine it would be. She was directly responsible for Mr. Coulliard being convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.”

  The sheriff lazily scratched his earlobe. “Is that what he told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believed him?”

  She felt like she’d swallowed a brick. “There was no reason not to.”

  He regarded her with the pity one feels for the victim of a cruel hoax. “Exactly what did he tell you about her?”

  “Well, that she was his fiancée and her name was Cynthia Zabrow…” She paused and, reassured by Rhode’s confirming nod, continued to carefully relate what Quinn had told her. When she’d finished, she faced him squarely. “I assume the file indicates that throughout the trial Mr. Coulliard consistently declared his innocence.”

  He was unimpressed. “Most people do.”

  “I believe him.”

  “I can see that.” He regarded her for a moment. “Did he tell you the rest of it?”

  Nonplussed by the man’s intense stare, Janine absently smoothed her clothing. “I know that he was unfairly convicted and unjustly imprisoned.”

  “And Miss Zabrow…did he happen to mention what happened to her?”

  Janine continued to fiddle with a loose thread. “I didn’t ask, actually.”

  “Maybe you should have.”

  She looked up. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Rhodes sighed and laid a hand on her shoulder. “The day after Coulliard was released from prison, he went to see Miss Zabrow. According to witnesses, they had one hell—begging your pardon—of a row.”

  Although that information was admittedly disturbing, Janine forced a noncommittal shrug. “He’d just lost nearly two years of his life because of her perjured testimony. I can’t blame him for being testy.”<
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  Without commenting on that, he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Right after that fight, there was a fire at Miss Zabrow’s apartment.”

  Janine sucked in a quick breath. “A…fire?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He scrutinized her reaction. “The funny thing was that Miss Zabrow was found in bed, her hands folded across her chest, just like she’d been asleep—Miss Taylor? Are you all right?”

  The hall started to undulate. Laying a palm over her eyes, she shook her head weakly. Rhodes slid a solicitous arm around her shoulders. Without the strength to push him away, she permitted him to guide her down the hall and into her bedroom. As she sat limply on the edge of the bed, the tears started. “I…don’t believe it.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Taylor. I don’t blame you for being upset but it’s true, all right. Coulliard’s fiancée and Marjorie Barker died exactly the same way.”

  “A coincidence,” she whispered.

  He pulled up a chair. “That’s not likely. Both had smoke in their lungs, indicating that they were alive when the fire started but neither one of them had made even the slightest effort to get away. According to pathologists, the body’s involuntary responses to suffocation should have kicked in and the victims should have made some attempt to escape. Once could be an anomaly. Twice adds up to murder.”

  “No.” She shook her head violently, understanding the facts yet completely dismissing them. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s no reason, no motive…”

  “Miss Zabrow’s testimony sent Coulliard to prison,” Rhodes said firmly. “In my book, that’s motive enough.”

  “But Quinn didn’t even know Marjorie Barker. Why on earth would he kill her?”

  “I don’t know, but when I catch up with him I plan to find out.” Standing, he adjusted his hat. “I have to get back to my men. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes.” The word almost choked her.

  After the sheriff left, Janine gave in to burgeoning hysteria. There had to be some mistake. It was that Quintin Collard person. He was the real killer. And the California authorities must have sent the wrong file, or if they sent the right one, Rhodes must have misread the information…