by Rachel Grant
“Thanks. That makes me feel great.” She rinsed her hair and shut off the shower. She stood in the tub, glad to be behind an opaque curtain, so Simone couldn’t see how much her comment bothered her. “People can be foolish when money and family are at stake.”
“Jason is interested in you.”
“No, he’s not. Not really. His actions toward me have been…forced. Feigned interest could be a front to get more information and catch me off-guard.” She reached around the curtain and grabbed a towel and began to dry off. “Please don’t tell Jason what I’ve told you. You can’t tell anyone. If the Montgomerys know I’m looking for the will, then I won’t be able to interview them.” She stepped out of the shower and headed for her bedroom. Simone followed.
“Being alone with one of them should be the last thing you do right now.”
“I have an interview scheduled with Earl at four this afternoon.” She collected underwear and clothing for the day. “Maybe I’ll find out something important. It must be one of them. My money is on Laura.”
“You shouldn’t go to the interview alone.”
“I have a gun.”
Simone startled. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
She flopped down on the bed. “What do we do now?”
“Find the will.”
AT ONE IN THE AFTERNOON, Mark took a break from the Banks murder investigation and went to Libby’s. She didn’t answer his knock. He walked toward the street and looked up at her office. He could see her looking through the open window. “Libby, answer the damn door,” he shouted.
She would make the coming conversation as difficult as possible. He knew he had it coming, but she also needed to look at the situation from his point of view. He might have been wrong about her, but his actions as a cop were not only justified, they were necessary.
When she finally answered the door, the rush he experienced shocked him. Smart, funny, earthy, and beautiful. Libby was everything he wanted. But her expression was cold. Scary cold. “Chief Colby. What a surprise to see you.”
In a perfect world, this would be the time when he melted her icy reserve. But this world was so far from perfect, and he had an investigation that took priority over his miserable, screwed-up love life. “Cut the crap, Libby.” He entered the house and closed the door. “You know why I’m here.”
“If you’re here to search the house, then you’ve entered without permission or a warrant. Anything you find won’t be admissible in court.”
Damn, she really wanted to push his buttons. He had a lot to make up for, but when it came to his job, he wouldn’t hesitate to push back. “Do you want to do this at the police station, with your lawyer present?”
“Not particularly.”
“As a material witness, I have every right to detain you.”
Her eyes were as green and cold as the bay outside her front window. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” he said and meant it. Hell, if she were at the station, at least he’d know she was safe, protected.
Her bravado left her and she looked afraid. Of him. Dammit. He was fucking this up, again. He pulled her to him. “You’ll never know how relieved I was to receive Simone’s page today.”
She pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”
“You can be angry with me all you want. I’m still glad you’re okay.”
“What do you want?”
“Did you see or hear anything next door between three and four this morning?”
She shook her head. “I was asleep. Besides, these walls are thick—built when lumber was cheap and milled just a block away. An explosion could go off next door and I wouldn’t hear it.”
The requisite question about the Banks murder out of the way, he could zero in on why he’d really come to talk to her. “Tell me what you know about the will.”
“Will?” she asked.
“You flinched, Libby. I’ve finally realized something that I should have guessed before—it would have saved us a lot of trouble. You’re a terrible liar.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But you had me arrested because I’m such a fantastic liar.”
“No. You were arrested because we had overwhelming evidence against you. Now tell me about the will.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” He strode to the kitchen. He paused a moment on the threshold, caught for a moment with the image of Libby bound on the floor. He shook the memory off and entered the room. Even though his subsequent actions had been justified, in remembering what she’d gone through, he recognized it wouldn’t be easy to bridge the gap between them. But he wouldn’t give up even if it took every damn day of his sorry life.
He picked up the empty coffee pot and began filling the reservoir with water. Time to focus on the job. He had an assault and two murders to solve. “Don’t make this difficult. This is important. We’ll deal with our relationship later.” He reached for the coffee canister and noticed the empty slot in the knife block next to it.
“We don’t have a—” She stopped talking when he pulled out a blade.
He studied the manufacturer’s mark. The knives were expensive and German made but not uncommon. They’d found only a set of cheap Chinese knives in Eli’s house. He glanced at the sink. It was spotless, no dishes or knives waiting to be washed. “You’re missing a knife.”
“I noticed that this morning, after Simone told me Eli had been stabbed.”
“Which knife is missing?”
She walked up to the block and pulled out a large chef’s knife. “This is the ten-inch. The missing one must be the eight-inch.”
Exactly the knife that had been found in Eli’s chest.
He hated this. She should be his prime suspect. As a cop, he lived by the rule that there is no such thing as coincidence. Investigation is usually absolutely straightforward. Follow the evidence and find the suspect. But that wasn’t the case here. She’d been set up.
Now he knew with certainty they would find Libby’s fingerprints on the murder weapon. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—arrest her again, meaning he had to find the real murderer, fast. “Any guess when the knife disappeared?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been in here much since last Thursday. I haven’t cooked at all.” She paused. “Was Eli killed with my knife?”
Yes. “Maybe.”
“My hairbrush is also missing. You might find my hairs on Eli’s body.”
Crap. Could the situation get any worse? “When did you first notice your brush was missing?”
“When I showered last Thursday. After I was attacked.” She met his gaze and he knew they were both thinking about the same thing. Her voice turned husky. “Before we went to your house.”
“Your brush has been missing for a week. That’s serious premeditation.”
“I didn’t kill Eli.” Fear had entered her voice.
He held her steady gaze. Trusting her went against years of training and experience, but none of that mattered. Not with her, not in this situation. “I believe you.”
Her shoulders dropped as she let out a breath. He wanted to reach out and hold her but didn’t think she’d allow it. “So, tell me about the will.”
“What do you want to know?” Some of her chilly reserve was gone.
“Do you think Angela found it?” he asked.
She bit her lip and nodded, slowly. “I think so.”
“And you think Earl, Laura, or James killed her?”
“One, all three, I don’t know. Lyle is my chief suspect.”
“But Lyle didn’t kill Eli Banks last night, and I believe the two crimes are related.”
She didn’t ask why. She must have come to the same conclusion. “You might want to find out who Eli’s heirs are,” she said. “He owns two percent of the mill.”
That was news to him. “Two percent. How’d he manage that?”
“The usual way. Blackmail.”
Mark started. “What?”
She smiled, clearly pleased with herself. “Maybe I should become a cop.”
“Maybe not.”
“Yeah,” she said, “I’m not nearly annoying enough.”
He gave her a pointed look. “But you’re getting there.”
She laughed. She reached for the coffee and scooped grounds into the filter. She had accepted their unspoken truce. “Eli Banks was the lawyer who wrote out the will. He probably told Lyle about the will the minute Millie left his office. Years after she died, Eli pretended to broker a deal between the union and the mill. Part of that deal gave him two percent of TL&L and the union three percent. I can’t think of any reason for the Montgomerys to give Eli two percent of the mill except blackmail.”
“Did Eli have the will?”
“He might have had a copy. Or he just threatened to talk. Either way they had to pay him off. I bet when the union negotiations were going down, Eli saw his chance for a big payoff that was nice and legal, no money laundering required.”
“The union got three percent. How does that fit into the puzzle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was Eli involved with the union in any other capacity?”
“Not that I’ve heard. I think the union is important, though. By all accounts, Millie wanted TL&L unionized. And I think Angela focused on the union in the last months of her research.”
“Was she looking for someone Millie trusted?” he asked.
“I think so. You should know that the union had no Kalahwamish Indian members. The union shouldn’t have been a part of her study.”
A small thrill of excitement spread through him. Libby was on the right track, he was sure of it. He reached for a mug and waited for the coffee maker to finish brewing. “I want to know everything you know about the union. I don’t care if it seems insignificant.”
“Billy—Millie’s oldest child and Angela’s father—came back from the war in 1945. The union started in 1946. That wasn’t a coincidence. Everyone thinks Billy got the union going.”
“But no one knows?”
“No. He had to work in secret. It was too dangerous. Lyle had organizers beaten. One was killed. Then someone—probably Billy—set up a system for controlling the flow of information. Everyone worked in cells—similar to the triangular structure of terrorist cells. Traitors were rooted out with false information. The workers managed to hold a secure meeting.
“Lyle didn’t know about the union until he showed up at work one day to find all the employees on strike. They stood solidly together. No scabs. The mill shut down for a month, until Lyle—his children really—Lyle only ran TL&L in their name—gave in and signed the agreement supposedly brokered by Eli Banks. The union got better pay, better hours, vacation time, and three percent of the mill’s annual profits to divide among the membership.”
“And Eli Banks got another two percent,” he said.
“Yes. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
“How many people were on strike for a month to get three percent?”
“Two-hundred and thirty-seven loggers and mill workers,” she said.
“Why would the union agree to Banks receiving such a large share?”
“Fear, probably. After a month, they were anxious and needed to get back to work. They were all—absolutely everyone—living on company land. They faced eviction and starvation. They were saved because TL&L had a huge post-war contract with the US government to provide lumber for housing. The company had a deadline to meet or they’d lose the contract and no more federal contracts would be forthcoming. Without that contract, Lyle might’ve evicted everyone and started over. He had cash reserves from the war—he could’ve out-waited the union. Guess who bid the contract with the government?”
“Billy.”
“Exactly. He timed everything. He set up the contract. He knew the supply dates would make Lyle cave. He personally selected the strike date. I’m sure of it.”
Mark poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. Libby hesitated, and then joined him.
“Seems to me this information is as off-topic for you as it was for Angela,” he said.
“I’ve interviewed a lot of people in the last two weeks. Many of them wanted to talk about Billy Montgomery whether I asked about him or not. When Lyle was alive, no one could openly talk about what he did. Billy’s a folk hero in Coho. He earned several medals for bravery while fighting in the Pacific Theater, but people here think that’s nothing compared to taking on his father. He was on his own, and in his own way, he won.”
“But his dad never knew.”
“No. Billy didn’t want credit, and he didn’t want to destroy Lyle. He just wanted to make things better for Coho. He couldn’t take on Lyle in the open—he would have lost. His brothers and sister sided with their father every time. If he wanted to stay and make things better in Coho, he had to work in secret.”
“And Billy was Angela’s father.”
“Yes. She hated Lyle. I don’t think I realized quite how much until I read her journal.” Libby stopped suddenly, clearly worried about her slip.
“I’ve read the journal. Jason sent it to me this morning.”
“Good. I thought you should have it.”
“Angela wasn’t like Billy,” Mark resumed. “She wanted to openly confront Lyle.”
“Yes. But she was careful. She knew she would be in danger if Lyle found out she was looking for Millie’s will. So she kept it to herself. She was so cautious she never even wrote exactly what she was looking for in her journal.”
“But at some point, Lyle learned what she was looking for, and she disappeared.”
Libby nodded. “Yesterday I left a message for the union archivist; I’m trying to track down a union organizer Millie might have trusted.”
“Good. I want to know everything you find out.”
“I’m going to interview Earl Montgomery today at four.”
“Be careful. Bring Simone or someone from your crew with you.” He looked at his watch and cursed. “I should run.” He touched her hand. “I mean it about being careful. If I could do it without any of the Montgomerys finding out, I would officially re-open the investigation into your attack. But I don’t want to give them any hint that you’re cooperating with me. They’ve worked so hard to keep us at odds; it would be nice if they believe their plan is working.”
She looked startled, and then wary. “So you understand that one of them is my stalker? One of them attacked and framed me?”
“Yes. I’ve listened to the tape and read Angela’s journal. I went over the timeline of your stalking and I think the Montgomerys wanted to destroy your credibility. I intend to figure out who attacked you and make them pay. ”
“You’re a little late,” she said.
“You have to understand, based on the evidence, my actions were correct. They did a damn good job of framing you.”
“I don’t have to understand anything.”
He’d expected her to hold on to her anger, but he was still disappointed. They would never be able to move forward if she couldn’t view the situation from his perspective. “I had to treat you like any other suspect. I had to make the call to arrest you.”
“But you didn’t have to believe it.”
“Libby, I’ve been a cop for eighteen years. Do you want to know how many times I’ve seen that much evidence against a suspect and then found out they were innocent?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Exactly none.”
“But you know me. I’m not just some other suspect.”
“That only made the situation worse. I wanted to believe you were innocent because I’m in love with you. But I’m a cop and trusting cops end up dead cops. We follow evidence, not feelings.”
He hadn’t meant to tell her he loved her. He waited for her reaction.
“It’s too late,” she said.
His pager beeped. He looked at the number, recognizing it as the medical examiner’s. “Listen, I’ve gotta run—there’
s this minor little investigation going on—we can talk later.” He sprinted toward the front door.
She followed. “There is no later for us.”
He couldn’t leave this way. He stopped short and turned. She walked right into him and he trapped her in his arms, cupped her face, and kissed her. He smiled when her hands gripped his shirt and pulled him closer, and she made a soft sound that said she wanted more. He kissed her as though he had all the time in the world and nothing else on his mind.
She looked dazed when he reluctantly let her go. “I intend to change your mind,” he said. He’d already told her how he felt; there was no point in holding back now. “I’m completely, totally, crazy in love with you, Libby. I’ll do whatever it takes to win you back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
WITH RECORDER AND NOTEBOOK in hand, Libby set out for her interview with Earl. She’d taken Mark’s advice and asked Alex to accompany her for the interview, but he’d called and told her he was running late and would meet her at the Montgomery mansion, so she walked alone across the historic district to a Gothic mansion that featured prominently in her own personal horror movie.
En route, she passed white picket fences surrounding lush green lawns, which fronted immaculate old houses complete with gingerbread siding, cupolas, and mullioned windows. Had Jason’s deal had gone through? Had the town been sold? In the coming months, the streets could be filled with people in period costume, reenacting the lives of those who lived here one hundred twenty-five years ago.
What would happen to the town and the deal if she found the will? Legally everything in the historic district could belong to the tribe.
Her cell phone rang, bringing her back to the present. She answered the phone and kept walking.
“Hi, Ms. Maitland. I’m the archivist for the Millworker’s Union. I understand you’re interested in locating someone who was in the union in the 1940s. You’re in luck. I was able to pull the Coho chapter boxes quickly, and even found the name you were looking for—Nathan Simms, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“There’s a notation in the file. In the seventies, another researcher wanted to get in touch with Mr. Simms. We managed to track down an address for her. It’s old, but the address is a starting point.”
