Tangled Webs

by Irene Hannon

  He gave it a quick perusal. “Your vision must be almost back to normal.”

  “Close. Besides, I learned to spot poison ivy the hard way. Pops took me on a what-to-avoid walk through the woods on my first visit, but the lesson didn’t sink in until the next year, after I came down with the worst rash the local doctor had ever seen. I still have a few small bumps on my arm as a souvenir.”

  “In light of that experience, I’m surprised you ventured into the woods again.”

  “I didn’t—on that visit. But Pops eventually convinced me to give it another try . . . and I learned that vigilance and precautions solved the problem.” She swept a hand down her body. “Note the attire. No exposed skin. Plus these.” She pulled out her gloves and waved them at him. “Final precaution? All of this will go in the washer the minute I get back to the cabin.”

  “Remind me to take you on my next scouting expedition.”

  She tugged on her gloves. “I’d have brought you a pair too, if I’d had any extra.”

  “No worries. I’m immune to poison ivy. After all the vegetation I’ve been exposed to in every kind of terrain you can imagine, nothing much phases me.” He dropped to one knee and got up close and personal with the bank. “If you find anything, let me know.”

  She followed his instructions, working out from the center of the matted area in a gradually widening circle, but after he finished at the edge of the lake and joined her, she had nothing to show for her effort.

  “I hope you had better luck than I did.” She straightened up.

  “Sad to say, no.” He did a slow sweep of the woods surrounding the clearing. “That could be our man’s point of exit.” He indicated a spot at the perimeter.

  “How do you know?” As far as Dana could see, there was nothing to distinguish that section of forest from any other.

  Finn strode toward it, Dana on his heels. “See the broken branches?” He touched a few small twigs bent at an odd angle.

  The man must have the eyes of an eagle.

  “I do now. But even if my vision was normal, I doubt I’d have noticed them. They must give you Rangers some serious training in tracking.”

  “Enough.” He pushed aside the broken branches. “Let’s see if we can follow his path. Watch for anything he might have dropped or snagged on a twig or thorn.”

  They continued in silence, Finn leading the way. Dana followed a few feet behind, inspecting the ground and surrounding limbs as they passed.

  When they at last emerged onto a one-lane, rutted dirt road, Finn stopped. “Any idea what this is or where it leads?”

  “No. It’s not on Pops’s property, though. I tramped over every inch of it with him as a kid and there aren’t any roads or trails other than the drive leading to the cabin. This could be a national forest service road. An unused one, based on all the potholes and weeds.”

  Finn walked along the edge of the overgrown byway, scrutinizing the ground. All at once he dropped to the balls of his feet. “It’s being used now.”

  Dana walked over and bent down. Faint tire tracks were stippled on the dirt, along with partial footprints.

  “I think he parked right here.” Rising, Finn surveyed the narrow lane, then nodded toward some mashed vegetation on the shoulder, a dozen yards ahead. “That must be where he turned around. Let’s search this part of the road and the shoulder on this side. If he was loading any kind of equipment in the car, it’s possible he could have dropped something. Any clue, no matter how small, would help.”

  “I don’t know if my eyes are up to the task of finding anything small.”

  “Two sets are still better than one. We’ll both go over the whole area. Why don’t you start on the left?”

  They searched in silence for a few minutes, and in the end Dana was the one who found the one possible link to her midnight visitor.

  Bending, she examined the semi-matte black object nestled among the blue blossoms of a wild phlox. It appeared to be some kind of latch or fastener—and given its precarious perch, it couldn’t have been there long.

  “Finn! I might have something.”

  He jogged her direction and hunkered down to examine it. “Huh.”

  “Care to explain that cryptic comment?”

  He opened his backpack and dug out a small plastic bag along with a man’s handkerchief. “It’s a buckle.”

  “So?”

  “Do you recognize the brand?”

  She squinted at the lettering, just able to make out the unfamiliar name. Cressi. “No.”

  “They’re one of the largest manufacturers of water-sports equipment in the world.” He retrieved her find with the handkerchief and dropped it in the plastic bag. “This looks like a fin buckle.”

  She blinked. “You mean fin as in scuba diving or snorkeling?”

  “Yes. Based on the mud at the edge of the lake, there was obvious water activity there. It fits.”

  “But . . . why would anyone want to dive in my lake? Especially at night?” This was downright weird.

  “The obvious answer? He’s hunting for something.”

  “Like what? There’s nothing in there except bass and catfish.”

  “That you know of.” He weighed the buckle in his hand. “You told me your grandfather expanded the lake through the years. What was on the land he flooded?”

  “Nothing but woods and fields.”

  Finn tucked the buckle into the day pack. “Did he ever suggest the lake held anything of value?”

  “No.”

  “What about the original pond? Did he ever talk about that?”

  “Only to say it was too small and too artificially round. He wanted a lake that seemed more natural and wove in and out of the woods.”

  “And there was never any local scuttlebutt or a rural legend to suggest the lake contained anything . . . mysterious?”

  “Such as?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Pops never said a word about the lake other than to comment on how much he enjoyed the view and the fishing, along with the wildlife it drew.” Dana furrowed her brow. “Besides . . . how does this new twist relate to the vandalism?”

  “If someone is searching for some item of value in your lake, they might prefer not to have any witnesses.”

  A shiver of unease rippled through her. “So he might be trying to drive me away.”

  “That’s one explanation.”

  “Meaning the damage at my place may not be related to the vandalism at the picnic grounds.”

  “Maybe not.”

  A raindrop plopped on her nose, and she raised her face to the heavens as a low rumble of thunder rolled through the forest.

  He settled the day pack into position on his shoulder. “We better start back or we could get caught in a storm.”

  “I’m right behind you.” She followed him toward the woods, mulling over the latest discovery. “So what happens next?”

  “I want to have another talk with the chief. There may be a print on the buckle.”

  “You really think they have the resources to investigate such an obscure clue?”

  “It’s not hard to run prints through the national database.”

  “If there are any.”

  “True.” A gust of wind whipped past, and he surveyed the sky again. “Let’s try to pick up the pace.”

  She increased her stride as he led her back through the woods, toward the lake. The return trip went much faster, and they made it to the boat and back to the dock before the storm rolled in.

  But as Finn gave her a quick hug and set off at a jog for his cabin, she had a sinking feeling that while they’d escaped this storm, an even bigger one was brewing.

  It was done.

  Leah’s future care was secure.

  Roger passed the Welcome to Beaumont sign and exhaled, loosening his grip on the wheel. The whole trip had gone much smoother—and faster—than he’d expected, the pieces falling into place like
the plot of a well-constructed novel.

  The visit to the safe-deposit box room at the bank in Potosi, the three ten-ounce gold bars heavy in his pocket.

  The meeting with the bank manager afterward, who’d sympathized with his need to sell an old family holding and offered to phone a reputable dealer in St. Louis—who, in turn, was interested in purchasing the bars at a fair price.

  The promise from the dealer to wire the money to his account in the bank as soon as the gold was in hand and authenticated.

  With that meeting set for nine-thirty tomorrow morning, the money could be in his account within forty-eight hours.

  So on the drive back from St. Louis tomorrow, he’d stop at Woodside Gardens and let Alan Landis know Leah’s bill would be paid in full by Friday.

  For the first time in weeks, the tightness in his shoulders eased—followed by a rumble in his stomach. It was early for lunch, but nerves had quashed his appetite this morning. Why not swing into the Walleye and grab a bite before reporting for duty?

  Two minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot, glanced in his rearview mirror—and froze.

  Wayne’s pickup was on his tail.

  And based on the man’s grim demeanor, it wasn’t a coincidence.

  Stomach knotting, he parked and hauled himself out of the car. The man wouldn’t be tracking him down publicly unless there was an urgent need for them to talk. And it wasn’t about police business, or he’d have used his cell.

  Wayne swung in next to his car. Looked around the lot, which, as usual, held only a few cars at midmorning. Rolled down his window.

  “Meet me at my place.”

  “What’s the . . .”

  Without giving him a chance to finish his question, Wayne cranked his window up, backed out, and took off down the road.

  Roger watched him go, his brief burst of positive energy—and his appetite—evaporating.

  Dread pooling in his belly, he slowly climbed back into the car. Put it in gear. Pulled out of the parking lot.

  Wayne was long gone already . . . but the man was pacing beside his truck ten minutes later when Roger reached the end of the dirt-and-gravel road that led to the rundown farm.

  The instant he stopped the car and slid out, Wayne was in his face.

  “I thought you were going to get rid of the girl!”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Not fast enough.” A muscle ticced in his cheek. “She and that neighbor of hers are wandering around the property. They came within twenty feet of my lab this morning. Twenty feet!” His nostrils flared, tension quivering in the air between them. “If they hadn’t been talking as they approached, and if I hadn’t gotten quiet real fast, they might have heard me and come to investigate. That is not an outcome any of us want—trust me.”

  No, it wasn’t, based on Wayne’s angry flush and cold eyes. Nothing was more important to the ex-lead-smelter worker than protecting his lab and accruing the money he thought would buy him a new life.

  Nothing.

  Wayne would do whatever was necessary to achieve his misguided dream—even if that meant hurting people who got in his way.

  The knife in Roger’s gut twisted.

  “I warned her not to roam around.” He tried without much success to keep his voice steady.

  “It didn’t work. I want her gone.”

  “I can’t force her to leave, Wayne.”

  The man’s mouth tightened. “Then I’ll take care of it.”

  “How?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Roger drew himself up to his full height, buying him a scant one-inch advantage. “I’m not going to protect you if anyone gets hurt, Wayne. I already warned you about that.”

  “And I warned you. Say one word about my operation, do one thing to shut me down, and my photos are going straight to the highway patrol.”

  In the taut silence that followed, Roger debated his next move. Wayne’s photos would raise questions—but they contained no proof of any illegal activity other than trespassing . . . and he was done with that. Yet trying to explain why he’d been scuba diving on Leo’s lake at night was a tricky proposition. No matter what justification he came up with, the photos would damage his reputation and his credibility. Maybe even cost him his job.

  And that was all he had left.

  “Look—can’t you suspend your operation for a few weeks?” He hated the subtle plea in his tone, but he was running out of options. “Leo’s granddaughter isn’t going to stay here forever.”

  “No, I can’t! I busted my butt building a network of smurfers and brokers. If I don’t come through for them on a regular basis, they’ll move on and I’ll have to start from scratch. I’m too close to the end to do that. Either you convince her to leave . . . or I will.”

  “Fine. I’ll try again.” What else could he say?

  “You better succeed. Fast.”

  Roger turned away, retook his seat behind the steering wheel, and shut the door.

  There was one other option. Now that he had the gold, he could cash in some more of it, pay Wayne off.

  But he’d vowed to use the gold only for Leah’s care—and even that had pushed him way past his moral boundaries. Using it to pay blackmail to a drug dealer? He couldn’t go there.

  As he pulled out, Wayne was standing where he’d left him.

  Still holding all the cards.

  And unless he convinced Leo’s granddaughter to bid Beaumont farewell, the biggest loser in this nasty game could end up being Dana Lewis.

  Finn pushed through the door of the Walleye, lifting a hand in greeting when Hazel waved at him from across the café.

  “I’ll be with you in a sec.” She finished writing on her order pad and bustled over. “You here for a late breakfast or an early lunch?”

  “Neither. I just need a coffee to go.”

  “You certain I can’t tempt you? Chuck got in the mood to concoct fajitas today, and they’re delish.” She smacked her lips.

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “I might swing by to sample them later. But I need to go see the chief first.”

  “He’s not in.”

  How could the woman know that?

  “You sure?”

  “Ninety-nine percent. He pulled into the parking lot here twenty, twenty-five minutes ago, but after he exchanged a few words with Wayne Phelps, the two of them took off thataway.” She waved toward the south, away from town.

  Finn grinned. “You ever think of becoming a private eye? With observation skills like that, you’d make a fortune.”

  “These eyes don’t miss much, that’s a fact.” She winked and nudged him with her elbow. “’Course, I can’t always make heads or tails of what I see.”

  “Such as?”

  “I can’t imagine what the two of them could be up to. It’s not like they’re best buds.” She pursed her lips. “I wonder if Wayne had some damage at his place. There’s a wave of vandalism going around, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I don’t think that’s it, though. Wayne couldn’t have said more than a few words to him. Not enough to report a problem.” Her brow puckered. “I hope he didn’t drag him on some kind of wild goose chase. The chief is worn to a frazzle, what with trying to do his job and deal with his wife’s illness.”

  “Sounds like he’s juggling a lot of balls.”

  “That’s the truth. And it’s taking a toll, let me tell you. The other day, his hands were so shaky his coffee sloshed out onto the table. He joked about me filling the cup too full, and I went along, but it was nerves, pure and simple.”

  Finn could sympathize with the man’s plight—and the buckle in his pocket was going to add one more chore to his full plate. Couldn’t be helped, though. Dana’s safety was his top priority.

  “Well, if he’s not around . . .”

  “Wait.” Hazel leaned around him and peered through the picture window at the front of the café. “This is your lucky day. There he goes no
w—in the direction of the station. At least wherever he went was a short trip.” She straightened up. “You still want that coffee to go?”

  Finn was already heading for the door. “I’ll take a rain check. I might be back later for those fajitas too.”

  “You won’t be sorry.” She waved good-bye as the door shut behind him.

  He covered the distance to the station in four minutes flat, and sixty seconds after that, he was standing in front of the woman at the main desk.

  “Good morning. Is the chief in?”

  She gave him a once-over. “Yes. Let me see if he’s available.” She rose.

  “The name’s Finn McGregor.”

  Lynette tossed a smile over her shoulder. “I know. I’ve heard all about you from Hazel at the Walleye and Marv at the hardware store . . . and several other people. Welcome to small-town life. Hang on a minute.”

  As she disappeared down a hall, Finn folded his arms. The town grapevine must be thriving if that many residents were aware of his presence—and knew his name.

  Which raised an interesting question.

  If everybody in town knew so much about everybody else, why was the police department having such difficulty nailing whoever was disrupting Dana’s life?

  One more mystery to add to his growing list.

  But perhaps the next few minutes with the chief might throw some light on the puzzle.

  16

  You have a minute, Chief?”

  Roger swiveled his chair away from the window, scooted into his desk, and tried to conjure up a smile for Lynette. “I can always spare a minute.”

  “Well . . . to be honest, this might take longer than that. The good-looking guy who’s renting the Busch place is out front. He wants to talk to you.”

  Finn McGregor was here?

  Another piece of bad news.

  His visit had to be related to the incidents at Leo’s place. Based on how he and Dana had looked at each other Sunday during the button handoff, McGregor had more than a neighborly interest in the girl next door.

  How could a day that had started out on such a high note deteriorate so fast?

  “What does he want?”

  “He didn’t say, I didn’t ask. When a hot guy like that shows up, my brain stops working.” She fanned herself.