A Dangerous Inheritance

by Leona Karr

  In a very short time, a skeleton wearing clothes emerged before Josh’s eyes.

  “Good, it’s intact,” Hawkins said with the joy of someone having just discovered a treasure. “We’ll have to run the bones through tests for detailed analysis, but the color and texture of the bones indicate that the death occurred at least two years ago.”

  That let Uncle Willard out, Josh thought with relief. He’d only been in residence less than a year.

  “It’s a male,” Hawkins said, pulling away a garment that must have been trousers.

  “Looks like he might have been shot, “Pete offered, peering at a jagged hole in the skull.

  “Well, let’s get him loaded up and give him an escort to the laboratory,” Hawkins said, showing an urgency that was missing while they were uncovering the grave.

  They laid the stretcher on the ground beside the open grave and eased the skeleton onto it. As they did so, something fell out of a disintegrating pocket in the clothes.

  “What’s this?” Hawkins picked it up with his gloved hand. “Looks like a wallet.” He eased it open and peered at a legible driver’s license protected by the leather covering. “Well, I guess that answers that.”

  “Who is it, boss?” Pete asked.

  “If this wallet belongs to the corpse, he was Malo Renquist.”

  Josh felt as if someone had hit him in the head with a baseball bat. The earth seemed to waver under his feet as he gasped, “Are you sure?”

  “No,” Hawkins snapped impatiently. “I’m not sure. The wallet could be stolen. There’s no way to be sure before we run a bunch of tests. We’ll have to match the remains to medical and dental records, age, height, and myriad other matches before we come up with a positive identification.”

  “You know this guy—Renquist?” Pete asked. “You seem a bit upset to think it’s him.”

  Upset? Josh swallowed back a flood of swear words. All he could manage was a nod. “How long will it take you to…run the tests?”

  Hawkins shrugged his slim shoulders. “Who knows? Maybe a few days, maybe months? Whoever he was he must have had money. He was wearing a ruby ring, and an expensive Rolex time-and-date watch.”

  “Maybe the watch got broken when the guy got shot,” the young man offered.

  “That would help us date the time of death,” Hawkins agreed.

  “No, it can’t be,” Josh said in a choked voice.

  The broken watch displayed the date and approximate time of his sister’s fall from the hotel balcony.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stacy spent a restless afternoon, waiting and wondering what gruesome discoveries the men were going to find when they dug into the shallow grave. She knew the mountain had once been a logging site and it was possible that someone had been buried there for years without discovery. Maybe there had been a marker at one time on the grave and the elements of rain, snow and wind had taken it away. Or maybe the person buried there had been killed by another’s hand and hidden there.

  She shivered, feeling an unreasonable apprehension she didn’t understand. It’s this blasted apartment. Everything about it had grated on her nerves from the very beginning. She’d never been one to believe that restless spirits could inhabit a place, but the Haverly Hotel had made a believer out of her. Even the ghost of her uncle seemed to haunt the place, and then there was Glenda— How could one young woman leave behind such a quagmire of feelings and speculation? Glenda’s hold on Josh was stronger than a living rival would have been, and Stacy knew that a living, breathing woman would have been easier competition for his attention. The night they’d spent together at the motel was only a brief escape from the consuming commitment that claimed him.

  Deciding that what she needed was a nice long bath to settle her restlessness, she ran a tub of soothing warm water nearly up to the rim and sank down in it. As she relaxed, her thoughts turned in a different direction. Would Josh stay with her in the apartment tonight instead of sleeping in the room across the hall? Would the sexual attraction still be there for him without the buildup of romantic music and a motel room?

  Stacy wasn’t experienced in any kind of casual sexual relationship. She had been a virgin when she’d met Richard and decided that he was the man for her. She’d accepted his proposal of marriage with a naiveté that bordered on fantasy. Looking at their relationship through rose-colored glasses, she failed to see warning signs that he was not all he pretended to be. She had convinced herself that he was everything she could want in a husband, and his drug-related death had nearly destroyed her.

  She had learned her lesson, hadn’t she? Why would she even consider a casual fling with Josh Spencer? She knew better than to trust the deep feelings he created in her. Last night, in his arms, she had felt complete, at peace and deeply in love, but this morning they were almost polite strangers. Why didn’t he say something about what had happened between them?

  And why didn’t you? She didn’t have an answer to her own question.

  As she climbed out of the bathtub, she clung to the hope that maybe they could talk things out tonight. She slipped on her robe and prepared to dry her hair. As she took out her hair dryer from a top drawer in the vanity, she noticed that a smaller drawer below it was slightly open. Puzzled, since she’d only been using the top one, and the others had been empty, she pulled the drawer open the rest of the way.

  It was no longer empty. A lady’s brush lay there, with strands of hair as long and black as her own tangled in the bristles. Stacy stared at it for a long horrifying moment, then she slammed the drawer shut.

  Her thoughts raced madly, seeking a rational reason for the brush to be there. Could she really trust her memory about that drawer being empty? Maybe she’d missed looking in it when she’d put her things in the top one?

  Even as she tried to convince herself that it could have been in the drawer all the time, she knew it was wishful thinking. Even though she could almost hear Glenda laughing, Stacy wasn’t ready to accept the presence of a haunting spirit tormenting her.

  All right then, ruling out any ghostly explanations, how did the brush get there?

  The same way Glenda’s ribbons got on the stairs. Someone put it there. The same somebody who had switched on her uncle’s inventions.

  Stacy’s skin prickled with the thought that someone had been standing in front of the mirror, just the way she was doing, and had deliberately placed the brush in a half-open drawer, making sure that she would find it.

  Someone had been in the apartment last night while they were in Pineville. Locking the door had been no deterrent—somebody had a key! The delay in replacing the locks had allowed continued entrance into the hotel and the apartment. She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life. Even in the city, she’d had more protection from unseen stalkers and housebreakers.

  Nervously, she quickly dressed in her new western-style jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt. She was waiting on the front steps when the men returned to the hotel almost at sunset.

  As they eased a canvas stretcher into the van, she could tell from the covered shape that they’d found a body. Neither the coroner nor his helper seemed to be excited or tired, but Josh looked as if he’d found the experience draining.

  “Thanks for your help,” Hawkins said as he closed the back door.

  “You’ll let me know?”

  “May take a little time,” Hawkins warned.

  “What about Sheriff Mosley?”

  “We’ll send him a report.” The coroner’s tone made it clear that the sheriff wasn’t too high on his official list. “We’ll talk to Mosley after we’ve had a chance to evaluate what we’ve got. You can fill him in if he comes around.”

  Hawkins and Pete climbed into the van, and Josh stood there watching as they headed back to Pineville. He felt as if someone had clobbered him on the head and scrambled his brains.

  Malo Renquist dead! The hated man who had fueled him with vengeful venom for two years had been dead and buried all that time, it se
emed. Josh had no doubts about the identification. The size of the skeleton fit Renquist’s build, and the expensive jewelry and the leather wallet matched his lifestyle. It was Renquist, all right.

  All the way down the mountainside, Josh had struggled to accept the inconceivable. Renquist had not fled to avoid persecution; he had been killed. Now the search was over. Josh had found him, not hiding out somewhere but right here on the mountain. Most likely buried by the person who had shot him.

  Josh rubbed a hand across his eyes, trying to mentally see through a haze of conflicting truths and questions.

  “Was it that bad?” Stacy asked with a concerned expression.

  He realized then that she had come up behind him. Naturally, she was filled with curiosity about what they’d found. For some guarded reason, he decided to delay telling her the truth.

  “Hawkins and Pete took care of the digging and handling of the…remains. I didn’t do anything but watch.” He swallowed hard, remembering the shock of realizing that Renquist was dead.

  “Was it an old grave?”

  “Not real old,” he hedged as his thoughts careened in every direction.

  “Well, I’m sorry you had to witness the whole thing. I bet you could use a beer about now.”

  Josh’s eyes narrowed. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll drive into town and have a couple of them.”

  He wanted to have a talk with the sheriff. As far as Josh knew, Mosley had made zero attempt to track down Renquist’s whereabouts after he disappeared the night Glenda was killed.

  Had the sheriff known all along that there was no need?

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Stacy demanded as growing apprehension shot through her. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Uncle Willard, does it?”

  “No, the grave is too old for that,” Josh assured her quickly. He wasn’t going to tell her it was possible that her uncle had somehow discovered the grave and decided in his queer way that it needed a tombstone.

  Stacy could tell that he was lying to her by omission. There was something that he wasn’t telling her, but she knew him well enough by now to know that badgering him wasn’t the way to find out what he was withholding.

  “A drink in town sounds good to me, too. I’ll go with you.” He looked ready to refuse to take her, but probably knew she was likely to follow him in the old Jeep if he told her to stay at the hotel.

  “Okay. Let’s go,” he said abruptly.

  A few minutes later they were on the road to Timberlane, and Josh’s silence was so heavy it was like a wall between them. His withdrawal effectively stopped her from telling him about the hairbrush. She sat on her side of the seat and stared out the window.

  Happy hour was in full swing as they parked in front of the Powderhorn Saloon, and the enthusiastic twang of a guitar floated out into the street.

  “I’ll get you settled with a drink,” Josh said as they got out of the truck. “Then I’ll see if I can connect with the sheriff.”

  “I know my way around a bar. I can get my own drink,” she answered. If he wanted to keep some distance between them, she’d oblige. “Go ahead and take care of your business.”

  “I’m sorry.” He grabbed her hand as she started to flounce away from him. “I’m in a muddle right now. I’ll explain things later. Okay? And I insist on seeing you inside.” He surprised her by giving her a quick kiss. “I don’t want any of those good old boys trying to pick you up. Better that they know who you’re with so I won’t have to bloody some noses when I get back.”

  The warmth of his kiss stayed with her as he opened the door and ushered her inside. The interior of the building was so dimly lit that Stacy was grateful for Josh’s guiding hand as they moved away from the door. A long old-fashioned bar stretched across one wall, and, at the far end of the room, a cowboy look-alike strummed a guitar while straddling a stool on a small stage. The rest of the floor space was crowded with tables, chairs and booths.

  Apparently Josh could see better than she could because he purposefully maneuvered her across the room to a round corner table where a couple of men were sitting.

  “Hi, fellows,” he greeted them. “Can I park this pretty lady here for a spell, while I run an errand?”

  “At your own risk.” Ted laughed as he got to his feet and held out a chair for Stacy.

  “And only if she’ll let me buy her first drink,” Abe, the storekeeper, bargained with a smile.

  “Agreed,” Stacy said returning his smile. “But only if you let me get the second round.”

  “Hey, I like this girl, Josh.” Abe chuckled. “How long you going to be gone?”

  “Down, boy,” Josh said, laughing. “I’m just heading for the sheriff’s office for a few minutes.”

  Ted shook his head. “He ain’t there. Irene was in here a few minutes ago. Said they closed up early today. She joined us for a beer and then headed for home.”

  “If you hang around here, you’ll probably catch him,” Abe suggested. “They’ve got a running poker game going in the back room that Mosley seldom misses.”

  Josh hesitated. Trying to track the sheriff down might take more time than waiting for him here, but would they be able to have a private talk?

  “I think I’ll just give his house a call,” Josh decided, and headed for a phone outside the rest rooms in the back hall. He wanted to ask Mosley some pointed questions about his past relationship with Renquist. Josh wasn’t sure that the sheriff would even admit to having one, but if the man was lying, he might trip himself up.

  The sheriff lived alone on a small spread just outside of town. In the past, he’d had several women trying to live with him, but none of them had ever stayed very long.

  No answer on the phone. Damn, Josh swore. All he got was a recording that gave him the deputy’s number to call in an emergency. Obviously, he didn’t want to be bothered with any unimportant calls and made his deputy field them.

  When Josh returned to the table, he said, “All right. I guess I’ll stick around and protect Stacy from you guys.”

  They ordered drinks all around.

  Stacy sat back and let the joking and men’s talk flow over her. Some of the tension eased from Josh’s face. Good, she thought. Maybe he’d put aside whatever had been bothering him.

  A moment later, she realized how wrong she’d been when he turned to the storekeeper and asked, “While Renquist had the hotel, did you see the sheriff up there quite a bit when you made your deliveries?”

  Abe looked thoughtful. “I reckon I did.”

  “What was he doing up there?”

  Ted gave an ugly snort. “Nothing to do with keeping the law, that’s for sure.”

  Abe nodded. “There was plenty of illegal gambling and whoring going on in that place, night and day, I think. I’d overhear talk in the store, you know.” He looked uncomfortable. “Your sister would shoot the breeze with me now and again. I gathered that she and Renquist, you know, were—?”

  “Did she ever say anything about Mosley being up there a lot?”

  “Not that I remember, but she could have.”

  “I was wondering if the sheriff might have gotten at odds with Renquist? Maybe over a gambling debt?”

  Ted frowned. “Why do you ask, Josh?”

  Because Renquist ended up dead with a bullet in his head.

  Aloud, Josh said, “I’m still trying to figure out why the sheriff didn’t go after Renquist when he disappeared. Think about it. The sheriff didn’t seem to find the way Renquist fled the scene to be the least bit suspicious. Why not?”

  Josh looked around the table as if expecting one of them to come up with the same answer as he had. Mosley knew Renquist was already dead..

  Ted sighed. “Why don’t you let all that go, Josh? It’s time you got on with your life.”

  Abe nodded. “I agree. All that unhappiness is over and done with.”

  “Is it?” Josh finished off his beer with a couple of deep drags. “We’ll see.”

  T
ed turned his attention to Stacy. “Chester and Rob were in the café today. Said you’d given them a couple of days off. Have you decided to stop work up there?”

  “No,” she answered evenly without elaborating.

  “Chester seemed a little confused about the renovations.”

  “He’s always confused,” Josh said shortly, putting an end to that line of conversation.

  After another round of drinks, Josh looked at his watch and checked the back room. The poker game had already begun. No sign of the sheriff. Had Mosley learned about the discovery on the mountain and decided to make himself scarce? The more that Josh thought about the sheriff being the one who had put the bullet in Renquist’s head, the more it seemed to fit the circumstances. Glenda could have lost her life because she was a witness to murder.

  Stacy could tell that Josh’s mood wasn’t getting any better. His friends tried to lighten up the conversation with some good-old-boy gossip, but Josh didn’t respond with any offerings of his own. She wasn’t surprised when he refused another beer and asked her if she was ready to go.

  Josh wasn’t any more talkative on the ride back to the hotel than he’d been in the bar. Although convinced in his own mind that the buried corpse was Renquist, he didn’t want to say anything until the forensics evidence backed him up. His vengeful fixation on Renquist was well known, and he didn’t want to be accused of spreading false rumors around.

  Stacy’s steps were a little unsteady when she got out of the car. She didn’t know how many rounds they’d ordered, but when she had two stacked up in front of her, she’d called a halt.

  Josh chuckled when she stumbled slightly on the stairs. “I think you’re a little squiffy.”

  “I am not,” she answered shortly, but after the wine incident earlier, and now this, it must be evident that one drink ought to be her limit. Still, she had her pride to think about. “Just a little tired,” she insisted. “I feel like a little nap.”