Cody stopped at Sherwin-Williams and gathered paint chips in the color combinations he and Erin had discussed. Then he headed for her house. Three blocks away the light in front of him turned red, and his phone buzzed with an incoming text.
It was from Erin. Just two words. But they sent a waterfall of dread crashing over him.
Dog alerted.
* * *
Cody held open the glass door leading into the building department, and Erin walked through with a nod of thanks. It was her investigation, but Cody was a gentleman.
Friday’s package situation had turned out all right. The authorities had evacuated the surrounding houses and defused the bomb without incident.
Since then, she’d thanked God several times that Cody had called her instead of heading over there. Cody probably hadn’t. She’d invited him to go to church with her and Mimi and Opa, and he’d declined, saying he needed to get some estimates finished. That was all right. Cody was in the same place she’d been four months earlier. Courtney hadn’t given up on her, and she wouldn’t give up on Cody.
The killer had acted fast. In the less than two-hour time frame between when the package was delivered and the police arrived with the bomb detection dog, he’d sliced the tape on top, inserted the bomb and taped it back up.
If Cody had opened it, he’d have been killed instantly. If he’d waited until he got to her house, he might have taken Mimi and Opa out, too. Or if he’d opened it in Joe’s truck, they’d both have been blown to bits.
At the thought of the Lee County officer, a smile threatened. All along, Cody was the friend Joe had hounded her about meeting. What would’ve happened if she’d given in and agreed to meet him, if they’d both given in? Where would they be today, enjoying a solid friendship, having moved past their history and settled into an easy camaraderie? Or would their relationship have grown into something more serious? The latter seemed like nothing but a fantasy, far out of reach, but a part of her wanted to believe it was possible.
Some relationships made a lasting impact, causing change that endured for a lifetime. She’d experienced the negative side of that. But what about change for the good? Could a man like Cody undo all the damage of the past, or was she beyond that point? Would he even want to try? He’d suffered his own wounds.
She squared her shoulders and shook off the thoughts. Right now they were at the Lee County Building Department, seeking out details on the plans Donovan Development had for the land the apartment building had occupied. As they walked toward the planning department, Cody greeted each of the employees they passed. Then they sat to wait their turn. Erin didn’t expect any surprises. Donovan had already given them the abridged version of what he’d hoped to do, plans he’d scrapped when Whitmer hadn’t been willing to sell.
A short time later one of the clerks called Cody by name. After the woman made introductions, they both sat.
Cody leaned forward to rest an arm on her desk. “I talked to Sheila yesterday. She was going to pull the preliminary plans for the project Donovan Development had planned on Pine Island.”
The woman rose—Tamara, according to Cody’s introduction and her nameplate. When she returned, she handed him a roll of blueprint-size pages. He spread them out on the desk and began reviewing them.
Erin turned her attention to Tamara. “How well do you know Donovan?”
“Just on a professional level. He’s been in here a few times for different projects and things he’s doing.”
“What’s he like to work with?”
“He’s all right. A little pushy sometimes, but he’s a powerful man. Probably used to getting his own way.”
Cody rolled up a page, and Erin looked at what was beneath. It was an artist’s rendering of what appeared to be a resort. A hotel rose from the center, eight or ten stories tall, with a pool, a couple of restaurants, miniature golf and walkways that curved through tropical plants and a water feature.
Erin lifted her brows. “All that on one acre?”
“No.” Cody rolled that sheet around the first. “This incorporates the properties on either side, too.”
Erin nodded. “Then he’d own everything from Charlotte Harbor on the north end of Boca Vista to Back Bay on the south.”
“With nothing across the street except marshland bordering Charlotte Harbor to the west.”
Erin leaned back in her chair. “That’s if all three property owners agreed to sell.” The owners on either side of Whitmer’s apartments hadn’t mentioned being approached. Of course, no one had asked. Law enforcement’s focus had been on what those owners may have seen the day of the storm.
Cody finished reviewing the plans and handed them back to Tamara. After they thanked her for her time, they made their way back to the front of the building.
Erin stepped into the parking lot and clicked her fob. “Donovan put a lot of time and money into his plan. I agree with your friend in there. Men that powerful are used to getting their own way.”
Cody slid into the passenger seat. “If the two owners on the end agreed to sell, Whitmer would have been the only thing holding up a lucrative deal. And if those offers were as good as the one made to Whitmer, they wouldn’t have been happy about him throwing a monkey wrench in the thing. Looks like motive to me.”
“But would they have the means or incentive to go to this extent?”
“Money is a good motivator, especially if someone is desperate enough.”
“True.” Erin cranked the car and backed out of the parking space. “How well do you know the neighbors on either side of your grandfather’s apartment building?”
“I know the couple on the left pretty well. They’re older. Not as old as Pops. Maybe in their sixties. But they befriended him, even had him over for meals several times.”
“What about the owners on the other side?”
“According to Pops, the other neighbor’s a single guy. I saw him in passing a couple of times. I waved, and he waved back.”
“I think I saw him the day you were getting your pops’s things. Dark, short-cropped hair, clean-shaven, drives a red Tacoma?”
“Yeah. Looks nothing like our suspect.”
But that didn’t mean he didn’t hire someone to set the charges. She pulled into traffic, then glanced over at Cody. “I’m going to drop you off at home and go talk to them.” By the end of the afternoon, she hoped to find out just how desperate those neighbors might be.
A short time later she backed out of her drive, a grilled cheese sandwich and a plastic container with apple slices lying on the seat next to her, a travel mug of tea in the cup holder, all prepared by Cody. By the time she reached Pine Island, both the food and the tea were gone. She made her turn onto Boca Vista Court and drove to the end.
The red Tacoma she’d watched roll past a couple of weeks earlier was sitting in the drive. She rang the bell and the door swung inward.
“Jordan McIntyre?”
“Yes.”
She introduced herself to the man she recognized as the Tacoma’s driver. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Sure.” He motioned her inside.
As he led her to the living room, she took in her surroundings. A leather sectional occupied two walls, and heavy oak bookcases framed a large picture window. Interspersed among the books were vases, figurines and other collectibles.
Pictures graced another wall, an eleven-by-fourteen wedding photo in the center. Judging from the hairstyles and the yellow tint, the picture was at least forty years old. Many of the others were studio portraits, their subject a boy, infant to high school age. Nothing about the space said midthirties single guy.
He swept his arm toward the sectional. “Have a seat.”
She complied, and he sat at the other end.
“How long have you lived here?”
“This time? Four years.”
“Wisconsin. But this is where I grew up.”
She nodded. “Your parents transferred the house to you five years ago, right?” She knew the answer. She’d already looked up the information on the property appraiser’s website.
“Yeah.”
“Is there a mortgage?”
“No. Mom and Dad paid it off before they retired.”
“Where are they now?”
“Montana, I think. They bought a motor home and have been traveling the continent for the past four years.” He grinned, showing straight white teeth. “Spending my inheritance.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Framing carpentry. I work for Coventry Construction.”
Hmm. One of the contractors who did work for Donovan Development. “How long have you worked for them?”
“I just started ten days ago.”
Okay, maybe not.
“They offered me two dollars an hour more than I was getting with Gersham Contracting.”
“Why aren’t you working for them today?”
“I was this morning. Finished a job, and the next one won’t be ready to start till tomorrow. There was a glitch on getting materials delivered. The hurricane has everyone backlogged.”
“What year is that Tacoma out there?”
“2017.” He smiled again, his demeanor personable. “Three more payments and it’ll be all mine.”
She returned his smile. “That’s always a good feeling. Did anyone from Donovan Development ever contact you about buying this place?”
“Yeah, Donovan himself. He offered fifty percent over market value. Even though it’s mine, I didn’t think I should unload it without talking to Mom and Dad. But they were good with it, so I told Donovan I’d take his offer.”
“What happened with the deal?”
“It fell through, or at least got stalled. The people on the other end agreed to sell, too, but the guy in the middle didn’t. It was all or nothing, so the sale never happened. Or hasn’t yet.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I was okay either way. I like it here. It’s comfortable and quiet. My boat is right out there, tied to the dock on Back Bay. And the place is paid for. What more could I ask?”
By the time Erin left, she’d eliminated Jordan McIntyre as someone likely to be behind the setting of the charges. He had a good job, a house free and clear and a decent truck almost paid for. Nothing about the man seemed desperate.
The other stop didn’t provide any likely suspects, either. As soon as Dave and Margaret Smith opened the door, Erin recognized them from her church, though she didn’t know them well. That in itself didn’t kick them off the possible suspect list. After all, serial killer Dennis Rader not only attended church but was also president of his church council.
But the conversation Erin had with them assured her they shouldn’t be on her list of suspects. Dave had retired two years ago from his job as an engineer in upper New York State. He and his wife were enjoying their dream of living near the water in a warm climate. When Donovan had added another $50,000 to his already generous offer, they’d agreed to sell, but they’d been relieved when the deal had fallen through.
Erin made her way off Pine Island and headed toward Fort Myers. She wouldn’t eliminate either of the neighbors as suspects completely until they’d been thoroughly checked out, but in the meantime, it seemed she’d just hit two more dead ends. Which meant investigators had been working on the case for almost two weeks and had no solid suspect.
A killer was still on the loose, one who had Cody in his sights.
SEVEN
Cody’s eyes snapped open. Something had disturbed him. He lay on his left side in the darkened room, the chest of drawers in the corner barely visible. A soft glow came from behind him.
He rolled onto his other side. His phone lay on the nightstand, its screen illuminated. It was probably a text notification that had awoken him. He swiped the screen. Yes, one unread text.
Two taps later, he bolted from the bed, eyes still fixed on the message:
R U back home? Smoke coming from bedroom window.
He keyed in a frantic reply:
No, calling 911. Be there in 20 min.
The return message came back moments later:
Already called. Just get over here.
He flipped the switch, then squinted in the stark white light. He couldn’t show up on the other side of the county in his gym shorts and barefoot. The jeans and T-shirt he’d worn yesterday were draped over the back of the upholstered chair. He struggled into them with shaking hands, then put on his tennis shoes.
When he’d finished, his pulse was still racing, his thoughts flying in a thousand different directions. He’d asked Jack to keep an eye on his place, but he hadn’t expected the man to send him a middle-of-the-night text like this. His home, his workshop, all his possessions, the things he’d retrieved from Pops’s place—would anything even be salvageable?
He snatched his keys and wallet and ran for the front door. Alcee met him there. As he punched in the code to disarm the alarm, she looked up at him and released a whine. He rearmed the system, and the series of beeps that followed ratcheted up his tension. The vise that had clamped down on his chest the moment he read Jack’s text refused to release.
When he swung the door inward, Alcee forced her way into the opening and erupted in a frenzy of frantic barking.
“Alcee, hush.” She was wasting valuable time.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Firefighters were on their way, maybe even already there, sending powerful streams of water shooting into his home, dousing the flames. There was nothing he could do till they finished.
The place was likely crawling with cops. He’d be safe there. Unless...
A block of dread slid down his throat and congealed in his stomach. He closed the door and pulled the phone from his pocket. Had he paid attention to the sender when reading the text? Or had he, fresh out of a sound sleep, just read the message and panicked?
The conversation was displayed on the screen. Jack’s name wasn’t. The number had Cape Coral’s 239 area code but wasn’t programmed in his contacts.
Cody sank onto the couch, the phone still clutched in his hand. Alcee approached and rested her head on his leg, as if trying to console him. It didn’t help. The killer had his address and phone number and had played him. And Cody had almost fallen for it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The living room light came on, and he heaved a sigh. Now he’d have Erin’s chastisement to add to his own. He deserved both.
Erin stepped into the room, eyebrows drawn together and hair in disarray above her silk pajamas. “I heard the alarm beeping, like it had been reset, and Alcee barking. Were you trying to leave?”
“I got a text that my house was on fire.”
“From who?”
“I thought it was from my neighbor.”
“So you were going to leave to check it out all by yourself. I’m really starting to think you have a death wish.” Her voice held an uncharacteristic shrillness. She was going to wake up Mimi and Opa if she didn’t tone it down.
“Alcee stopped me.”
Erin planted her hands on her hips. “At least someone in this house has some sense.”
Ouch. That hurt. He brought up the keypad on his phone. “I’m calling 911. There’s a good chance the killer’s waiting for me. The police might be able to catch him.”
He’d just finished explaining everything to the dispatcher when the door leading to the mother-in-law suite creaked open the rest of the way, and Opa stepped into the living room.
“Everything okay?”
Erin’s head swiveled in his direction. “Cody got a text that his house is on fire.”
Opa’s eye
s widened. “Oh, no.”
“We think it’s a setup.” Though her grandparents didn’t know the details, Erin had told them that Cody had witnessed a crime and had to hide out for a while.
For several moments Opa stood looking at them. Then he nodded and disappeared back into the suite with his wife.
“How did Alcee know I was in danger?”
Erin sank onto the couch next to him and reached over to stroke Alcee’s head. “We have no idea the things animals sense. But you were probably putting out some frantic vibes. She’d have known something was wrong, even without being aware of the specific dangers.”
Cody nodded, his hand joining Erin’s on Alcee’s head. Yeah, he’d definitely put out some bad vibes. He’d been so panicked, his brain had disengaged. If the dog hadn’t slowed him down enough to stop and think, he’d have charged right into danger. Alcee had just saved his life for the second time.
No, probably the third.
The toxicology report on the soup hadn’t come back yet, so he had no proof. But despite what he’d said to Erin about being a show-me kind of guy, he couldn’t deny it any longer. The maintenance guy had put something in his soup. Something intended to kill him. It had been the first attempt on his life, and Alcee had saved him.
Tonight the creep had crafted another way to try to get to him. And Alcee had come through again.
* * *
Darkness settled over everything, smothering every last sliver of light. Erin’s heart beat against her rib cage, and her breaths came in short, shallow gasps.
It was a dream, wasn’t it? Yes. Just a dream. It was one she’d had so many times she’d trained herself to recognize it.
But did it always feel this real? Maybe this time it wasn’t a dream. Maybe it was actually happening.
No. She asked herself that question every time, because it always felt real. Someone said people didn’t feel pain when dreaming. They were wrong.
Trailing a Killer Page 11
