“How are you holding up?” Ryan asked. “I felt bad about leaving town right after Porter died. But I didn’t see how I could have been of any help if I’d stayed.”
Sloane reached over to smooth back his hair. “The Gales and O’Neills have been enough to handle. You would only have made things more stressful.”
“I’m pretty stressed out right now. The police took me in for questioning again today. They said you and Jacqueline gave them documents detailing my loans from Porter. I never expected that information to come to light. What the hell happened?”
Because the house was out in the country, the only sounds competing for my attention were crickets. I could hear every word they said. But it worked both ways. Ryan and Sloane could also hear me if I made a wrong move.
“We didn’t have any choice. The family attorneys went over all of Porter’s papers because of the complexities of the will. They told us to give the information about the loans to the police.” Sloane sounded defensive. “You did borrow a great deal of money from the Gales. How long did you think it could remain a secret?”
“They also know I put up my Zellar land as collateral.”
“Be realistic. There was no way to hide it from the attorneys. Or the police.”
“Sloane, do you know how bad this looks for me? The police learned I have a gambling problem. They have proof I owed your husband hundreds of thousands of dollars. And that I lost my property to him. You and Jacqueline have made my life extremely difficult. Earlier today the police searched my family’s house at the orchard!”
“You shouldn’t be surprised. The police suspect anyone who had access to insulin. They searched my house, and Jacqueline’s, and the O’Neills’. Why are you angry at me?”
“I’m not angry. I’m worried. Like Porter, my mom didn’t use cartridge insulin pens. She took her insulin via a needle. They suspect I took one of her vials and switched the solution.”
“The same could be said of me. Do you see me getting hysterical?”
“I’d feel better if you did. You’re way too calm. And they’re suspicious about why I left the fairground for a couple hours after the tug-of-war fight. I told them I only returned to the Zellars because I needed to get away and calm down after the fight. But the Zellars’ farmhouse is where my mother keeps her insulin. The police asked me if I took this opportunity to empty one of her insulin vials and replace it with potassium chloride. And they have loads of witnesses to confirm I was in and out of that tent at Trappers Corner where Porter kept the damn cooler.” Obviously frustrated, Ryan hit his hand on the couch. “I think they’re about to arrest me for Porter’s murder.”
“They will if you act like this.” Sloane stood up. “I don’t need more problems this week. I’ve had quite enough, especially now that I’m pregnant. That’s why I asked you here.”
“Then it’s true,” he said. “You are pregnant. Is the baby mine?”
I let out a startled cry and fell forward, knocking over a metal watering can.
“What the hell was that?” Ryan jumped to his feet.
“Who’s there?” Sloane asked in a harsh voice.
Heart pounding, I ran back to Natasha’s car, this time far more noisily. I heard Ryan yell, “Get back here!” at my retreating figure.
“Drive.” I threw myself into the car. “Now!”
Natasha pulled out of our hiding place. “Put on seat belt,” she ordered.
“I think Ryan and Sloane murdered Porter. And Sloane may be pregnant with his child.”
This so shocked Natasha she responded in Russian. I looked back, but didn’t see Ryan’s truck. Good. We had a head start.
Natasha suddenly braked, throwing me forward.
“What happened? Why did you stop?”
“Almost hit woman.”
I looked out my passenger window to see Jacqueline dart in front of the truck. “Are you okay?” I asked her.
She hurried to my side of the car. “Marlee, what are you doing here? Your friend almost ran me down.”
“Most sorry,” Natasha said. “But we must leave.”
“Jacqueline, go back in the house and lock your doors. I just heard Sloane and Ryan talking. I think they killed Porter. And that baby of Sloane’s is probably Ryan’s.”
Jacqueline turned paler than usual. “What!?”
“Please get back in the house. Call the police, too. Our cell phone batteries are dead. And don’t go anywhere near Sloane or Ryan.” I bit my lip. “To be safe, why don’t you get in the car with us. We’re going straight to the fairground to look for a sheriff’s deputy I know.”
“Don’t be silly, Marlee. I’m not going anywhere. And I’d like an explanation for why—”
Without warning, Natasha took off, leaving Jacqueline staring after us. “What are you doing?” I said.
“Getting away from Ryan. He is in truck behind us.”
I looked out the rear window. She was right. “Step on it.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Natasha sped along the country roads like a Russian Janet Guthrie. If she’d competed in the Blackberry Road Rally last month, she probably would have won. Grateful for her driving skills, I also gave thanks that at no point did I catch sight of Ryan’s truck. I hoped that meant he couldn’t keep up with Natasha.
“Here we are.” Natasha squealed into the fairground parking lot. Every parking space was taken, so she drove onto the sidewalk and came to a stop. We both jumped out of the car and rushed up the long walkway leading to the carnival midway.
“Why we not go to police station in Oriole Point first?”
“Because of the Blow Out crowds, most of the police will be here,” I explained. “Including Kit and Detective Trejo.”
“How we find them?”
She had a point. The fireworks were due to start in twenty minutes, causing everyone to flock to the midway, the best place to view them. All I could see were throngs of excited people. Due to the music coming from the nearby fairground stage where a popular band from the 1980s was finishing their concert, the noise level had ratcheted up.
“I told Kit to meet me in front of the Blueberry Fun House at ten o’clock. But I hope to catch sight of him or Greg Trejo before then. I’m worried about Jacqueline. What if Ryan and Sloane do something to her?”
“Why would they? And she look like she not believe you.” She frowned. “I tell you what I do. I know what the Trejo detective looks like. We met during murder case of my husband. I go search for him, and you look for the sheriff called Kit. Maybe we find them before fireworks. If not, I meet you at fun house.”
I kissed Natasha on the cheek. “You’re my favorite beauty queen.”
She grinned. “No konechno. But of course.”
As Natasha went off in one direction, I headed in the other. Although I hoped Kit would be at the fun house a little early, he was nowhere in sight. But if he planned to meet me here soon, he couldn’t be far away. If only I could position myself high enough to scan the crowd. A chorus of screams met my ears, and I looked up at the Blueberry Hill Death Drop. I toyed with getting in line for the ride, but remembered how quickly it was over. Not enough time for me to search from my high vantage point. Also, I had no desire to be strapped into the same gondola that Porter had died in.
Frustrated, I wandered through the midway, looking for an alternative. The white and yellow lights of the Ferris wheel caught my eye. Perfect crowd viewing, especially since Wyatt O’Neill was not currently operating it. Eager to reach the ride, I nimbly dodged fairgoers. A little too nimbly, it turned out, as I tripped headlong into a man coming from the opposite direction.
“So sorry,” I said, readjusting the messenger bag slung across my body. “I wasn’t looking.”
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Wonder Woman.”
I recognized him as one of the two carnies who harassed Jacqueline the first night of the Blow Out. “Not you again. Is there no way to avoid you?”
“Sweetie, you’re the one wh
o almost knocked me down.” He looked around. “Where’s Honey?”
“Jacqueline isn’t here, so you won’t be able to chase after her like an insensitive baboon. Now move aside.” I put my hand on his rock-hard chest and gently pushed. He didn’t budge. “And you may want to stop calling every woman you meet ‘honey.’ Or ‘sweetie’ or ‘babe’ or—”
“Honey is her name. I worked with her five years ago in Philly. Called herself Honey Lynch.” His sour expression turned gleeful. “Since you called her Jacqueline, you must be one of her marks. I get it. She’s on the grift and you don’t know you’re part of it.”
“Grift?”
He cocked his head at me. “Isn’t this rich? Wonder Woman doesn’t know she’s being conned. Now it makes sense that you tried to protect her from us. Proves how simple you are. Honey Lynch has never needed anyone to rescue her.”
“If you’re accusing her of being some kind of a con artist, that’s impossible. Jacqueline has lived here for two years.”
He snorted. “If enough money’s at stake, a good grifter will run a game that lasts for years. And knowing Honey, I bet she found herself a juicy game. Let me guess. She married some rich guy.”
This brought me up short. “Yes. But she was his wife’s nurse for months. That’s another reason she can’t be a con artist. She’s a nurse. Jacqueline works for a health care agency.”
He rolled his eyes. “Jeez. How do you think you run a game? You need to be on the square; that’s how to fool people into thinking you’re legit. Hell, I’ve known con artists that played at being schoolteachers, priests, real estate tycoons, beauticians. A nurse would be easy for Honey. Back in Philly, she worked a con on some hotshot surgeon. I’m sure she picked up all kinds of pointers about doctors and nurses she could use one day.” He chuckled. “Looks like that day has come.”
I nearly believed him. After all, three Gales had died since Jacqueline’s arrival. I’d been uneasy about that from the beginning. But except for a small cash payment from Eric Gale, she hadn’t benefited from the deaths, leaving her no motive. Unless she was a homicidal maniac. Only she didn’t seem the maniac type.
“A nice story,” I told him. “But you’re mistaking her for some other woman.”
“Oh, no, she’s Honey Lynch. Me and Tom knew it was her as soon as we saw her. Of course, she’s made herself look like a real plain Jane. No makeup, cutting off all her hair, wearing ugly loose clothes. If you’ve never seen Honey all dolled up, you’re missing something. She’s damn sexy. Looks like that singer, Faith Hill.”
I struggled to imagine Jacqueline all glammed up. “Why didn’t she recognize you and your buddy?”
“She did. Even remembered our names. But she sure wasn’t happy to see us. You see, Honey cut us out of that grift with the Philly surgeon. A grift Tom and me helped set up. When she saw us here, she got nervous we might still be angry with her. But we’re not.” He shrugged. “At least not as angry as we were. But we figured she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t, which meant she’s on the grift again. Honey was afraid we’d blow her cover. We only chased after her to have a little fun.”
I tried to recall how that encounter had gone with Jacqueline and the carnies. I did remember they had called her “honey” several times, but I’d assumed they were just being rude.
“You’re starting to believe me. I can tell by that worried look you got. Seen it on a mark’s face every time they realize they’ve been conned.”
“If she is playing a con game, it doesn’t look like she’s getting much out of it.”
“Only because you don’t know who else she’s playing it with. Honey always had a partner.” He tapped me on the nose. “And you should thank me for setting you straight, Wonder Woman. I might have saved you from being conned.”
I watched him disappear into the crowd with dismay. Was he right? Was Jacqueline a con woman whose real name was Honey Lynch? And had she come to Oriole Point to find a way into the wealthy family who owned Blueberry Hill? What troubled me most was the last nugget the carny shared: Honey always worked with a partner. Sloane arrived on the scene within a year after Jacqueline. Both women came from somewhere else, both had little contact with their own families, both ended up marrying a man who owned Blueberry Hill. And while Jacqueline hadn’t been left much when she was widowed, Sloane hit the jackpot when Porter died. Especially now that she was pregnant.
Whoever killed Porter had access to insulin vials and to Porter’s own supply. Both Jacqueline and Sloane had access. And if they were working together, both had a motive. Whatever Sloane inherited would no doubt be split with Jacqueline. Jacqueline told me yesterday that she planned to leave Oriole Point. Sloane mentioned on the car ride from the church that she wanted to sell Blueberry Hill and make a new life for her and her child somewhere else. It looked like they’d already made plans for their escape once the money was safely in Sloane’s hands. What a triumph if they could get away with it.
With a sigh of frustration, I scanned the midway, not recognizing a single face. The police needed to take Sloane and Jacqueline into custody as soon as possible. Along with the carny, who should be brought in for questioning. This time, I’d taken care to memorize his name tag: Pete Hensley. Kit had to be nearby. Greg Trejo, too. Only I’d never find them in this crowd, at least not while on the ground. Once more I set off for the Ferris wheel.
After buying a ticket, I settled into one of the passenger cars. The carny swung the restraining bar closed, then stood back with a bored expression. As the Ferris wheel rose in the air, I began to search the crowd below. The Ferris wheel afforded a sweeping vista of the midway, teeming with people and ablaze with colored lights.
On my third and final rotation, I was prepared to admit defeat. The ride moved too fast for me to see anyone on the ground clearly. However, the next time the Ferris wheel stopped to let someone on or off, my car happened to be right at the top. I took advantage of this to once more search the crowd.
“Yes!” I caught sight of Kit Holt speaking with another sheriff deputy near the Tilt-A-Whirl. I gave thanks for the bright neon clown face shining down on them. Without the sign, I might never have seen him.
“Kit!” I yelled, waving my arms. “Kit!”
The din of the carnival midway drowned me out. I had to get off this ride before Kit disappeared into the crowd. It felt like the Ferris wheel hadn’t moved for about five minutes. Did the ride break down? I groaned at the thought.
I shouted to the carny below, “Please get the ride moving again!”
Another long minute passed before the Ferris wheel started up. However, the Ferris wheel did not stop at the bottom to let me off. Instead, it went up about ten feet and halted.
“Please, I want to get off.” I looked down at the carny, only to see Wyatt O’Neill staring back at me. He must have switched with the other man during one of my rotations.
“Wyatt, let me off the Ferris wheel.”
With a malicious grin, he started the ride again, making it stop once more at the top. “Wyatt!”
I’d been so busy searching for Kit, I didn’t realize the rest of the passengers on the Ferris wheel had disembarked at some point. Amusement park rides stopped running before the fireworks show began. Years ago, someone became injured on the roller coaster when the carny operating it got distracted watching the fireworks. Since then, fairground attractions shut down during that time. Only Wyatt had no intention of doing so—not where I was concerned.
I leaned as far forward as I dared, which made my passenger car rock back and forth. If the ride hadn’t been so tall, I might have considered jumping. If only for the possibility that I’d land on the smarmy little beast’s head. “Wyatt, let me off this ride or I’ll start screaming!”
“Go ahead,” he yelled back. “Everyone will just think you’re having fun!”
Maybe if I screamed his name, Kit would hear. But when I turned to where I’d seen Kit last, he was no longer there. Great. What if this idiot ke
pt me on the Ferris wheel for the entire fireworks show?
Waving both arms, I bellowed, “Somebody help me! I’m stuck on the Ferris wheel! Police! Call the police!”
Mercifully, the Ferris wheel began to move. When I reached the bottom, a sullen Wyatt jerked the lever to stop the ride. “You’re determined to get me into hot water with the police.”
I couldn’t exit the ride fast enough. “You’re the one who keeps doing stupid things to attract their attention.”
“At least Lucas has my back.”
“If his dad has anything to say about that, he won’t.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
But I had no time to calm the idiot’s nerves. I needed to find Kit. Running about the midway in this crowd seemed futile. Kit promised to meet me in front of the fun house at ten o’clock. I might as well wait there. As I muscled my way through the crowd, I wondered if Ryan had followed Natasha and me to the fairground. Even if he hadn’t recognized me as the person eavesdropping on him and Sloane, he knew something had gone amiss. By now, he must have spoken with Jacqueline. She knew exactly where Natasha and I were headed.
I winced to recall how I told Jacqueline that Ryan and Sloane were lovers and had probably murdered Porter. If I’d put the blame only on Ryan, I’m sure she and Sloane would be thrilled. But I also incriminated Sloane, which jeopardized their con game just as it was about to come to a close. Which meant I should steer clear of Jacqueline and Sloane until the police arrested them. But was Ryan a threat to me as well? Had Sloane seduced Ryan in order to convince him to switch insulin vials? Exactly how many people were involved in Porter’s murder?
Despite the unhappy events of this past week, I prayed Ryan had not taken such a dark turn. Gambling, lies, addiction, infidelity: they paled beside murder. My heart would break if Ryan had killed a man over those miserable gambling debts. And it would destroy his family.
Killed on Blueberry Hill Page 24
