by Linda Lovely
An alternate theory occurred to me. “Perhaps the FBI has it half right. Maybe the thief works in your lab, and Jake figured out his identity. After the thief killed Jake, Dr. Glaston tumbled onto him so he had to kill again. If that’s what happened, framing you might not be personal—maybe you are just a convenient pawn.”
Julie turned back from the window. “But the set up began before Jake was killed. It wasn’t an afterthought. Besides, how did this evil colleague make his way onto the estate—or know where to go and what to do once he got here?” She crossed to the couch and collapsed. “I don’t think anyone from our lab—except yours truly—has ever driven through the Olsen gates. The FBI is checking alibis for every person with lab access, but so far only my alibi sucks. I was here for the Glaston murders, and Mom was present when Jake died.”
“I don’t think I like where this conversation is headed.”
Julie and I both jumped at the sound of Darlene’s voice. “Sounds like we’re back to the ‘mother and daughter had opportunity and motive’ nonsense Quentin Hamilton’s pushing. That lead FBI agent—Sherry Weaver—admitted he’s the one pointing a finger our way.” Darlene crossed the great room and took a chair across from us. “I’d like to give him the finger and then some. The creep’s been pocketing our money to protect us, and simultaneously knifing us in the back. He’s getting his walking papers today.”
Despite newly added strain, Darlene looked spiffier. Perhaps she had one good night’s sleep between yesterday’s five a.m. body bag count and today’s finger-pointing newscast. Wearing hip-hugging peach Capri pants—pedal pushers to anyone my age—and a short matching top, the widow looked wired, not tired. Each gesture that raised her top showed off her trim, evenly tanned midriff. Darlene’s short cap of platinum hair glistened in the afternoon sun.
Julie stood. “I’m exhausted. Think I’ll lie down for a while.”
Lethargy seemed to have sapped the young woman’s energy. Her retreat up the winding staircase almost looked like a slow-mo replay.
Julie’s need for solitude was understandable. While family bonds give us the strength to pull through periods of grief and peril, constant togetherness stifles.
Who doesn’t need a personal timeout to preserve sanity?
Alone, I expected Darlene to hash over the murder scenarios or hurl more scatological insults at her enemies. She surprised me with an immediate plea to help her review plans for Jake’s visitation and memorial. A phone call from Larsson’s Funeral Home had left her uneasy.
“They’re expecting hundreds of people. I have so many balls in the air; I know they’ll crash on my head any minute. Just talk me through the funeral arrangements. Tell me if I’ve overlooked anything.”
I chewed my lip. Nope, couldn’t do it. I was incapable of acting as Darlene’s sounding board while this big black cloud hovered over our friendship. There was no good way to bring it up, and delay wouldn’t help. I needed to admit my prying and ask for an explanation.
“Let’s go outside. I’d like a breath of fresh air.” For this conversation, I didn’t want to risk eavesdroppers—even Harvey, a presumed pillar of discretion.
Darlene tilted her face to the afternoon sun as it peeked from behind scudding white clouds. “This feels wonderful; I’ve been cooped up too long.”
The breeze was light, its scent tangy. We sank into cushy poolside seats on side-by-side chaises. Apparently, the absence of suitable sound-bite activity coupled with high boat-rental fees had prompted the news hounds to sniff for leads on terra firma. The departure of the floating news armada returned the aquamarine lake to gentle tranquility.
“Darlene, I don’t know where to start, but there’s something I have to ask.”
“Well, damn, Marley, spit it out. You needn’t stand on ceremony with me. You look like you’re going to tell me someone else died. For once, I’m pretty sure everyone’s accounted for.”
“It’s about Duncan—”
“You’re lovers, right?” She laughed at my startled expression. “Hell, I didn’t need a crystal ball to predict that. Not with the smoldering looks between you two. I saw the chemistry, just couldn’t forecast the reaction time.”
Darlene’s grin looked genuine. “You’re okay with that?”
“Why shouldn’t I be? You’re single. So is Duncan. I like both of you. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”
I licked my lips and limped on. “Both you and Duncan misled me. At his house last night I saw photos of his daughter Kelly and your Julie—photos that spanned a decade. They were best friends for years. You and Duncan had to be more than nodding acquaintances in Ames.”
“Did you ask Duncan to explain?”
“No, I just mumbled my excuses and ran.”
She sighed. “You’re right, we have some history but not the kind you’re picturing. The four of us—Mike and me, Duncan and Sheila—were friends. Since our girls went everywhere together, we saw each other regularly.”
Darlene stared at her hands and twisted her wedding ring back and forth. “When Mike died, police came to my bakery to deliver the news. Mike had the day off, told me he’d be golfing. When the cops said Sheila was a passenger, I was confused. What were the two of them doing out in the country on his golf day? I thought maybe one of the girls had a problem and they took a drive to discuss it.”
“But that wasn’t what happened?” I prodded.
“No.” Tears leaked from my friend’s emerald eyes. “That car accident killed Mike and my illusions. When I cleaned out his locker at the firehouse, I found love letters and hotel receipts. I still don’t know why Mike was stinking drunk when he cracked up the car. Worse, I don’t know why he stopped loving me.”
Darlene gave into full-scale, body-racking sobs. I felt miserable reviving this old torment when she had so many fresh ones. Yet I needed to finish, to cauterize my suspicions. “So why did you lie? If you and Duncan were innocent bystanders, why not admit you knew each other in Ames?”
She straightened, swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “We sort of backed into it. I didn’t want Julie’s final memory of her dad to be as a cheater, so I asked Duncan to forego mentioning Sheila’s affair in his divorce. He agreed.
“The girls think Mike and Sheila got together to plan a surprise birthday party for them—their birthdays are five days apart. Sheila realized it was in her best interests to play along.”
I frowned. Darlene’s story still didn’t explain the need to prevaricate. “Sorry, but I still don’t see any reason for you to lie about your relationship.”
“Duncan and I became quite close just not in a romantic way. When I moved to Spirit Lake, I encouraged him to move, too. He felt straitjacketed in Ames. Neither of us wanted to talk about our past. We figured if we said we were old friends, people would pump me for information about his ex and his divorce. And they’d ask him about my husband’s car accident. You know how it is in a small town. It just seemed easier to pretend ignorance.
“There was never, ever anything romantic between us,” she finished, “though we talked a lot our first years here. We were hurt and lonely. Professing ignorance of each other’s pasts didn’t hurt anyone. Our girls thought we were daft, but they shrugged it off. Neither lived in Spirit Lake. They didn’t care.”
Curiosity prompted my next question—one that was none of my business. “Did Jake know you and Duncan were close?”
Darlene shook her head. “No. When Jake first introduced us, I feigned surprise at meeting an Ames transplant. Never had the nerve to backtrack. I was afraid I’d look like a deceitful jerk. I never told Jake about Mike’s betrayal either. Duncan’s the only one who knows the whole story.” Darlene’s eyes met mine, her look questioning. “Are we okay? Do you understand how I got sucked in?”
I nodded. “I guess.”
In my opinion, she’d owed Jake the truth. I couldn’t see how an initial white lie would have tarnished her image in Jake’s eyes. And it seemed downright wrong for her to encourage her husband to
hire Duncan as his attorney under the circumstances. However, I’d made enough mistakes to know I wasn’t qualified to second-guess someone else’s conscience.
Darlene reached over and took my hand. “We’re still friends then?”
“Yes.” I squeezed her hand. “We’re still friends.”
A thought struck me from out of the blue. Perhaps Jake wasn’t ignorant of his wife’s relationship with Duncan. If Thrasos did extensive background checks on new hires, wouldn’t the firm have dug into the background of his potential mate? And his new attorney?
“Darlene, you need to tell the FBI what you’ve told me. Casually mention you’ve known Duncan for years. I’d bet anything Quentin Hamilton had his minions dig into your past before your marriage. If I’m right, he’ll spoon-feed the info to someone as soon as there’s some way he can make it look damning. The man has a hard-on about incriminating you and your daughter.”
Darlene’s eyes widened. “Jake would never have asked Thrasos to investigate me.”
“Maybe not. But Kyle and Hamilton are buddies, right? Kyle isn’t a pauper. He could have paid for the background check, or asked Hamilton to bury his spying in Jolbiogen’s corporate bill.”
“Goddamn. I hate the idea of that arrogant jerk dissecting me like an insect,” she said. “Thrasos International will be off this estate by the end of the day.”
“Don’t forget about damage control with the FBI,” I urged.
“I won’t.” Darlene stood. “Let’s go back in the house. I still need help with the funeral arrangements.”
FOURTEEN
In the sunroom, Darlene waved me to a seat before walking over to a large paisley-covered ottoman. Raising the cushion that served as its lid, she extracted a half-finished knitting project and a new skein of yarn.
“I’m making this for cousin Tina’s first grandchild.” She held up the start of a baby afghan. “Mind if I knit while we talk? It relaxes me. If I don’t do something to keep my hands busy, I’m liable to start smoking again—and it’s been twenty years since I quit.”
The afghan captured a rainbow of hues. “It’s beautiful. Wish I had the patience.”
“Did you see Jake’s obituary in the morning paper?” Darlene asked.
“Yes. Very nice. But I was a bit surprised to see you’re holding the Tuesday visitation at Larsson’s Funeral Home. Weren’t you planning to have it here?”
“The sheriff and FBI vetoed that. Security reasons.” Her knitting needles clicked. “Frisking anyone kind enough to pay a sympathy call seemed a little tacky. Guess the authorities figure there’s still a slim chance Julie and I might be victims rather than killers. Delaney doesn’t want to be responsible if more people die.”
Made sense. I nodded. “Good decision. Larsson’s is big and set up to handle a crowd.”
“Yep, it’s also neutral territory. We can stake out one corner, and Kyle, Olivia and Eric can take the opposite one. That’ll leave a demilitarized zone between us for noncombatants.”
Darlene’s industrious fingers flew.
“Still might be a good idea to pat down Jake’s relatives for weapons,” I said. “I had a run-in with Olivia today. What a donnybrook. Seems she shares Kyle’s rather dim view of you and your friends—me in particular.”
Darlene glanced up from her knitting. “Where on earth did you see Olivia? She normally avoids any place she might encounter—how shall I put it?—riffraff like you.”
Figuring my tale of department store intrigue would cheer Darlene, I recounted how I’d stalked Olivia after I heard her voice. My friend shared my merriment right up to the moment I described Olivia’s reaction to my dig about Kyle’s mother being in residence.
“What did you say?” Darlene dropped her knitting and clamped onto my arm, her grip a vice. “Nancy is living with Kyle?”
“Yes.” I’d assumed Darlene knew. Obviously I was wrong. “When Anna Huiskamp cleaned May’s house today, she mentioned that Nancy had moved in with Olivia and Kyle.”
“Dammit! Jake detested that gold-digger. Said the woman lacked any maternal instinct or sense of decency. He kept little Kyle because he didn’t think any child should be raised by an uncaring slut. Jake loved the boy, even though he knew Kyle wasn’t his.”
Darlene blushed scarlet and squeezed my arm with a wrestler’s fervor. “Marley,” she pleaded. “Promise you’ll never repeat that. Jake wanted that secret buried with him. He raised Kyle, loved him as a son. He never wanted Kyle to learn he wasn’t his flesh-and-blood. Jake figured Nancy would never tell the boy differently.”
“Of course I won’t tell.”
My mind reeled. Perhaps a scorecard would help me keep track of all the secrets tumbling around in my brain.
Darlene sighed, picked up her yarn and searched for a loose starter strand to unravel the new skein. “How odd.” She tugged on a slip of tightly folded white paper stuffed into the yarn. Her eyebrows shot upward. “It’s Jake’s handwriting.”
A series of indecipherable emotions flickered across her face as she scanned the note. “What the hell? Here, read it.” She thrust the paper with its big, loopy handwriting toward me.
Dear Darlene – If you’re reading this, our marriage was too damn short. I didn’t want to involve you. Unfortunately, there’s no one else I can count on. I need you to hand deliver a package to Sherry Weaver—she’s an FBI agent—one you can trust. Don’t tell anyone about this note until you have the package. And don’t try to retrieve it if you think you might be followed. Lord help me, I don’t want to put you at risk.
The location of the package is our final Spirit Lake treasure hunt: Though far from the San Andreas fault, the floors rattle and roll. At the top, cars whiz past your head yet spell no danger.
I tucked the parcel in a gutter—fitting. Please be careful.
Have a wonderful life, my love. Jake
I couldn’t freakin’ believe it. Ye gods. Another damn riddle? Two months earlier, a psychotic killer forced me to help decipher a brainteaser to retrieve his missing property. Eyes closed, I shook my head. I wanted no part of another riddle chase.
“Why the hell didn’t Jake just tell you where to find the damn package?”
My outburst sounded like a rebuke. The idea of a riddle tied to more murders angered me. I struggled to tone down my ire. The game wasn’t Darlene’s idea. “Why didn’t Jake hand the evidence over to the FBI when he hid the package? Maybe then he’d still be alive.”
“Damned if I know.” Darlene raked a hand through her short hair. “Weaver told me Jake called her the day before he died. Hinted he’d tell her everything after our party. He must have had his reasons. As far as the riddle goes, Jake must have decided it would be tough for anyone else to decipher his note. An insurance policy if someone found the note before I did.”
I stood, expecting Darlene to follow suit. “You and Julie finally caught a break. This note could lead the FBI right to Jake’s killer. You’re going to call Weaver, right?”
My friend picked her knitting back up. “I don’t plan to tell a soul.”
Her vehement tone shocked me.
“One, I haven’t the foggiest where Jake stashed the damn package. Two, I’m not about to call the FBI until I see what’s inside. Someone’s trying to frame Julie and me. For all I know, the FBI’s in bed with them. They’re certainly cozy with Hamilton.”
“Don’t be crazy—”
“Crazy! Who’s to say the real killer hasn’t beat me to Jake’s hiding place? Maybe he’s swapped Jake’s evidence for manufactured crap that makes Julie or me look even more guilty. I’ll be damned if I’ll give the FBI more reasons to waltz us off to jail.”
I held my hands up, palms out. “Whoa. Don’t let paranoia overwhelm common sense. Granted someone is trying to distract the FBI, but even Jake trusted Weaver.”
“I’ll call her—eventually.” Darlene’s eyes met mine. “But not until I know what’s what—until I see what’s inside that package with my own eyes.”
How to reason with her? “What if you never figure out Jake’s hiding place?”
“Oh, it’ll come to me,” Darlene muttered. “It’s somewhere we went together. Jake wouldn’t hand me a puzzle I couldn’t solve. Not when it’s so important. The clue makes it sound as if the building’s set close to a roadway—cars whiz by. My first thought was an overpass. Too bad Spirit Lake doesn’t have one.”
“Hey, there’s one collection of buildings that almost fits—the shops near the Emporium. They sit on a sloped side street. The rooflines of the shops are almost level with the road behind them.”
Darlene’s puzzled look prompted me to press on.
“We used to stop at a coffee house near Arnolds Park. You know, our generation’s version of a karaoke hangout.”
“Yeah, I’m with you.” A fleeting smile crossed her face. “But that’s not Jake’s hiding place. We played this game often enough to learn each other’s idiosyncrasies. He’s pointing me toward a landmark, not a group of buildings. It’ll come. I just hope it’s soon.”
I bit my lip, thinking. “Well, if it’s an historic building Ross can help. Is it okay to give him a clue? He and Eunice are coming to Aunt May’s for dinner tonight.”
Darlene nodded. “Ross knows Spirit Lake better than anyone and he knew Jake. But how could you get his take without telling him about the note. Don’t forget, Jake’s dead—and so are the Glastons. I don’t want someone else winding up with toe tags because of me.”
I wholeheartedly agreed.
“I’ll tell Ross about the riddle game you played with Jake and mention you found a clue he’d saved for your next outing. If Ross unravels the riddle, we can decide what comes next.”
On the drive home, I considered how much Jake had trusted Darlene. You didn’t confide a lifelong secret like Kyle’s bastard paternity on a whim. Nor did you reach out from the grave with clues about a murderer unless you had absolute faith in the recipient.
