by Cassie Miles
“All the time.” He adjusted his belt so he could lie sideways and prop himself up on an elbow. “I found something you might find interesting. A glove.”
He had already encased the glove in a plastic evidence bag. She took it from him so she could study it carefully. Black leather with white trim and inner lining; it looked expensive. “I don’t recognize it.”
“If it belongs to someone who is staying at the Castle, it shouldn’t be difficult to figure out who.”
The wind washed over her, and a chill trembled her bones. Somehow, all roads led back to the Castle and the dinner guests. It was hard for her to imagine that one of them had been lurking around in Denver and had broken into her apartment. “How could my stalker be someone who is staying at the Castle?”
“Who else would it be?” He sat up on the rock and slapped his cowboy hat onto his head. “Who else would know which was your bedroom? Or that you could see the Hag Stone? Having a murderer and a stalker operating on the same small patch of real estate is mighty coincidental.”
“But he didn’t attack me. He killed Bethany.”
“Your cousin. That’s a connection. And a threat. Damn it, Vanessa, how many enemies do you have?”
“None!” She’d given thought to this question and was emphatic in her denial. “I’m a former English teacher and a ghostwriter. I lead a quiet life.”
He stood and paced, shining the beam from his Maglite on the flat surface of the ledge and up the rock wall that led to a higher ledge. “The way I understand it, stalkers are usually motivated by sex or money or maybe revenge. Do you have any angry ex-boyfriends?”
She forced herself to sit up and rubbed at her forehead trying to think. “For the past few years of Dad’s illness, I barely had time for any friends at all, much less a relationship.”
“Could there be a guy who doesn’t understand that you weren’t interested in him? Or maybe he feels rejected. It doesn’t take much to give some guys encouragement. A wink or a hug or a kiss on the cheek.”
“Men are strange.” She got to her feet.
He took her hand and led her across the rock to the vertical wall that was ten or twelve feet high. “Sit here. The rocks jut around this space, protecting it from view. We can’t be seen unless the watcher is directly across from us, perched on the roof of the Castle.”
She glanced over his shoulder to the top of the tower in the old section of the Castle. In an attempt to mimic the jagged parapets atop the ramparts of a real castle, a decorative row of stones marched along the upper wall. The stonework wasn’t what caught her attention.
A light shone from the highest window in the tower—Dorothy’s sewing room. The door to that room hadn’t been unlocked for twelve years. “Oh, my God.”
Ty followed her gaze. “I see it.”
He went into immediate action. Rather than climbing down from the Hag, sprinting to the house and dashing up the staircase to the tower—a sequence of events that would take a significant chunk of time—he called his deputies on his cell phone. His instructions were swift and precise as he sent them to the tower. If they needed help accessing the room, they should talk to Mona, the housekeeper.
“Nicely done,” she said.
“I was going to say that this isn’t my first rodeo, but this actually is the first time I’ve been in pursuit of a stalker in a castle.”
“How long do you think it’ll take for Randall to get into the room?”
“A matter of minutes. He’s already in the old section of the Castle.”
Together, they stepped back, leaned against the rock wall and sat with their backs pressed against it. A matter of minutes. She hoped that was true. Knowing the identity of the stalker might solve everything.
The light in Aunt Dorothy’s window went dark. The minutes had passed too quickly. The stalker was gone. He’d escaped.
She groaned. “Oh, no.”
“We missed our chance,” Ty said.
While he contacted his deputies by phone and tried to organize a long-distance search of the Castle, she turned her thoughts back to the conversation they’d had about her stalker’s motives. In her perception, it seemed obvious that the stalker wasn’t obsessed with her as a girlfriend. What was the second motivation Ty had mentioned? Money, the root of all evil, was a motive for just about everything...except an attack on her. She was flat broke.
Not sex. Not money. What about revenge or a grudge against her family? Maybe she was being stalked as part of a more complicated scheme—something to do with Aunt Dorothy’s death. Had the stalker gone to her sewing room? Was he looking for something?
She remembered the locket with the heart and arrow design that Bethany had clutched in her hand. Aunt Dorothy was connected to many parts of this puzzle. When Vanessa initially contacted Ty, she hoped to go through the old records from the investigation into Dorothy’s disappearance.
Ty finished his phone calls and stood. He stepped out onto the ledge, stared at the Castle and into the surrounding forest. His posture showed his change in attitude from hunted to hunter. Ty was going to get this guy. He reached toward her. “Give me your hand.”
When he pulled her to her feet, she realized that she’d had more physical contact with Ty in the past few hours than she’d had with any other man in months. She wasn’t avoiding men, far from it. But dating hadn’t been possible when she was a full-time caretaker. “I wish Dad were still alive.”
“Where did that thought come from?”
“Dad is never far from my memories,” He died only four months ago. Sometimes, it felt like he had just left the room for a moment and would come right back. “He would have been a help in figuring out the connection to Dorothy, and he would have loved the challenge.”
“Wish I could have met him.”
“It’s strange. I spent so much time and effort being angry with him and wishing he could have been more practical. What I miss the most are his spontaneous decisions. If I could live my life all over, I’d be more like my father.”
“It’s not hard to be impulsive,” he said. “You pick a direction and you jump.”
“Like this?” She held Ty’s face in her hands. The stubble on his chin tickled her palms. Before she could consider the implications, she planted a firm kiss directly on his mouth. His lips were firm, and he tasted like...cinnamon. In shock, her brain froze while her heart raced.
She gazed up at him. What happens after you jump?
Chapter Eight
The next morning, Ty wakened outside beside the swimming pool on the second floor in the newer part of the Castle. Last night after searching with his deputies, he’d gone out the sliding glass doors to the flagstone terrace surrounding the pool. He’d taken off his boots and rolled up his jeans so he could dangle his feet in the water, then he’d stretched out on a lounge chair. Now, it was morning.
He lifted his hat off his face, and the sun blessed his cheeks. The Rocky Mountain vista was so beautiful that it made him wince. The pink skies of dawn outlined faraway snow-covered peaks that melted into thick pine forests with patches of aspen turning gold. Looking beyond his bare toes, Ty gazed into the rippling blue water of the pool.
He got to his feet, stretched and yawned. Behind his back, he heard the glass doors slide open. There was Vanessa wearing a long yellow bathrobe and holding a mug of coffee that was so aromatic he could smell it from twelve feet away.
“Perfect,” he said. Waking up didn’t get much better than this. He hoped for another kiss but doubted that would happen.
She handed him the mug and stepped back. “What are you doing out here?”
“Protecting you and your family and friends.”
“From the morning sun? Do you think we’re all vampires?”
“That might explain a few things.” He sipped the coffee, which was just the way he liked it. No sugar. No milk. Very stro
ng. “We spent the night patrolling and searching the Castle—Randall, Chuck and me.”
“I know. I ran into Chuck in the downstairs breakfast room. He’s already devoured a giant plate of waffles and Kobe beef sausage.”
“Whoa! Kobe beef?”
“One of the best things about working for a celebrity chef is that we get really good quality food.”
“I’m in.” After setting his mug on a glass-topped table, he sat on the lounge chair to put on his socks and boots. “Our searching last night didn’t turn up much. The only important thing was confirmation that you’re being stalked.”
“How so?”
“There was a remote-activated recorder making spooky noises and whispering your name.”
“Creepy,” she muttered. “That sounds like I’m being stalked by Scooby-Dum.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure this guy isn’t a pro. But that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.” He stuck his foot into the boot. “The rest of the house was quiet. Everybody was snuggled in their beds with the doors locked. Mona opened Dorothy’s sewing room so we could peek inside. It felt sad, like a life interrupted. Several half-finished projects, including a quilt with incredible pinks and greens, were lying around or stacked in wicker baskets. There were file cabinets and a desk.”
“That room hasn’t been opened in twelve years. There had to be a thick coating of dust.”
“Not at all,” he said. “Mona said she goes in there twice a month to wipe down the surfaces, sweep and polish the windows. Those are Simon’s orders. It’s almost like he’s expecting Dorothy to return and rev up her sewing machine.”
“He made her a shrine.” Vanessa shuddered. “A bit macabre but also sweet. Did you and the deputies search in there?”
“Not a chance.” He took another taste of the excellent coffee.
“Why not?”
“Same reason I didn’t search in Simon’s master suite. We’re waiting for Special Agent Morris of the CBI and his crew of forensic experts.” He was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake by handing over jurisdiction without a fight. Though he didn’t have the necessary training or instruction, Ty had formed a connection to the victim. He wanted to know more about these suspects, to protect the innocent—like Vanessa—and arrest the guilty. “They were supposed to leave Denver at 4:00 a.m., and it’s a three-to four-hour drive. They ought to be here soon.”
“Which means you should go downstairs and have some breakfast.” When she reached over and patted his cheek, he met her dark-eyed gaze, hoping for that second kiss. Her lips parted. She exhaled a little sigh and shook her head. “You could do with a shave, Sheriff.”
By the time he got himself cleaned up and settled in the breakfast room where there were three tables and an open buffet of perfectly ripened fruit, pastries, quiches, lox and Kobe beef sausage. Coffee flowed, tea was available and there was an assortment of juices. There were cooking stations for waffles and for omelets. He stared in amazement.
Mona popped up at his elbow. “Anything I can get for you, Sheriff?”
“I think I died and went to breakfast heaven.”
“I hear that a lot.” She guided him to a table and pointed to a chair. “I’ll bring coffee. And a waffle?”
“Okay.”
Seated across from him was the agent from Aspen who Vanessa called Jack Jenkins. He was a solidly built man, a guy who probably appreciated good food. He looked up from his omelet and grinned. “I’m thinking that Simon Markham could use a full-time on-site security expert. He wouldn’t even have to pay me. I’d take my wages in food.”
“Tempting,” Ty agreed. “What’s your deal with CBI? Do you work full time for them?”
“I’m a part-time field operative. Mostly I handle the grunt work like I did last night, calling the ambulance to move the body and taking samples for DNA.”
“You took fingerprints,” Ty reminded him. “Did you uncover anything useful? Like criminal records or outstanding warrants?”
“Among the house staff and cooks, the backgrounds are typical for this area with minor arrests for minor offenses, a couple of drug-related things. No master criminals.”
Which was to be expected. Ty was familiar with many of the locals. They were a decent bunch of people. He was more concerned with the hoity-toity visitors. “Anything I should know about the dinner guests?”
“Macy Kirov has a bunch of traffic tickets for speeding. There’s a lawyer in the group—the victim’s husband—so there are litigations and associated court filings. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Ty thought of the allegation that Bethany had been having an affair. “Any sign of deviant behavior, like a restraining order or a Peeping Tom complaint?”
Jenkins shrugged. “Nothing lewd or lascivious enough to register with the law. Several divorces. The only ones with kids are the Ingrams who have a grandson living with them.”
Ty dropped his questioning when Mona returned to the table with a plate of two perfectly browned waffles, each topped with a big glob of melting butter. She placed a tiny pitcher of syrup beside the plate and said something. He couldn’t hear her words. His entire consciousness was consumed with the sight and smell of breakfast. As he poured the golden syrup, his mouth filled with saliva.
His first bite was nearly as good as an orgasm. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he moaned in sensory delight. When he opened his eyes, he saw Vanessa walking toward them. Her honey-colored curls were pulled back in a high no-nonsense ponytail. She’d rolled up the sleeves on her white Oxford cloth shirt as though she were ready to work. Her jeans hugged her bottom. Nice.
He licked his lips. “You’ve got to try the waffles.”
“Already have.” She took a seat and gazed at him over the rim of her coffee mug. “Agent Morris and his crew are approaching the front entrance.”
Ty shot a glance toward Jenkins. “I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear what she just said. This waffle needs to be savored.”
“I’m with you,” Jenkins murmured.
“Fine,” Vanessa said. “I’ll get them settled in the corner conference room off the Grand Hall.”
She flounced off, and he refocused his attention on the waffle with maple syrup and creamy butter. After he polished off the first waffle, he set his fork down on the plate and looked over at Jenkins. “I guess we’d better go and meet your boss.”
“I’m in no hurry. I don’t have anything definitive to tell him. All the data I gathered from last night is in a written report.”
“Can I get a copy?”
“Already done.” He dipped into a wallet attached to his utility belt and extracted a computer flash drive, which he placed beside Ty’s breakfast plate. “It’s a duplicate of what I’ll be handing over to Morris. I knew you’d want to be kept informed.”
This cheerful cooperation surprised Ty. Jenkins’s boss had been demanding and hostile, but the Aspen operative was downright friendly. Vanessa might have thought he was a jerk, but Ty liked the guy. “Thanks.”
“I’ve heard good stuff about you. People trust you. They think you’re honest, smart and not afraid to work hard.” Jenkins settled his cowboy hat on his head, hitched up his belt and headed in the direction Vanessa had gone. “Good luck with Morris.”
After Ty finished his second waffle and downed his second mug of coffee, he thanked Mona for her hospitality and went toward the conference room where Agent Morris had established his headquarters. A whole lot of electronics and computer equipment were spread across two long tables. A female agent with her hair cut almost as short as his worked on a laptop with an attached extra-large screen that showed an array of driver’s license photos for the dinner guests. Apparently, Morris was thinking along the same line as Ty, suspecting that the killer was one of the people who had stayed at the Castle last night.
Vanessa waved him over to where she was
sitting with Morris. When she introduced the two men, Ty recognized the macho challenge in the agent’s aggressive handshake and confrontational squint through narrow eyes. His smile was a sneer. His greeting was a growl deep in his throat. Ty was taller, younger and probably stronger than Morris, but he wasn’t looking for a fight.
Though he hadn’t been in the armed services and had only been a deputy for a couple of months before the sheriff died, Ty understood the need for an appointed leader who took charge and gave orders. Chain of command was a smart way of handling a complicated investigation with a lot of moving parts. It was a tough job—one he didn’t want.
“How can I help, Agent Morris?”
“Vanessa filled me in on the basics of her interviews and gave me her record of the data she collected. They all claim to have alibis. No surprise there. I’m inclined to agree with the basic assumption that Bethany’s murder was a result of her own foolish infidelity.”
Ty hated the way Morris had framed his theory. As if Bethany taking a lover made her fair game for a murderer? Ty said, “Whether or not she had an affair, the murder wasn’t her fault. She didn’t cause her own death.”
Morris gave a derisive snort. “Vanessa, did I say that?”
“Not in so many words.” She was better at politics than Ty. “Do you have any information about who she was having an affair with?”
“That’s what forensics will show us. My team is already in the master suite, going over the murder scene. We’ll find something. We always do.” He was confident...maybe overconfident. “In the meantime, I need to interrogate the witnesses. I’ll use that nifty recording area you have already set up in the library.”
“Sorry.” Her tone chilled by several degrees. “I need that room for my work with Simon.”
“Ghostwriting for a celebrity chef? Do you really think that’s more important than a murder investigation?”
“I don’t, but Simon does.” Her voice was sheer ice. She whipped out her cell phone. “Why don’t I just call him and see what he thinks? Like most important men who regularly appear on TV, he’s not known for his patience, but I’m sure he won’t mind the inconvenience.”
