by Wendy Tyson
“Damn.”
“Call Bobby’s cell.” Clover gave her the number.
Reluctant to call his personal cell when he was out dealing with true emergencies, Megan tried the station. She left a detailed message with the dispatcher and waited. King would call her back eventually.
When King rang, he sounded tired and irritable, but Megan forced herself to calmly lay out her theory about the Dorfmans.
King mumbled, “Dave had an alibi for Simon’s murder and for the time of Lenora’s attack.”
“Was his alibi Neil, by any chance?”
King was silent.
“Look, I can’t access Dave’s credit scores or bank records, but you can. I saw enough online to know that Dave has financial issues, which can be a powerful motive for murder.”
“Megan, you’re basing all of this on an unproven assumption that there is treasure buried on your property.”
“I know it sounds far-fetched at first, but if you really stop to consider it, it makes sense.” Megan recounted what she’d pieced together about Elizabeth Caldbeck and her husband, Paul. “If Simon had shared his suspicion with Dave Dorfman, the temptation may have been too much.”
“But murder—”
“Simon was killed with a shovel. I saw the crime scene, remember? It looked like an impulsive act, an act of passion. They argued first, and then Dave killed Simon.”
King sighed. Megan was expecting more protests, but instead he said, “Dave avoids eye contact. It’s always bothered me.” He paused, sighed again. “We have Porter in custody. He has just as much motive if the motive is, indeed, financial in nature.”
“But Porter didn’t have free access to my property. The Dorfmans did.”
“He had access to the Marshall house. The photographs, the footprints.”
“Not the same.”
Another pause. King said, “Do me a favor? Write down what you have and I’ll be by when I can to pick it up. I’ll do some searching of my own.”
“In the meantime?”
“Don’t drive anywhere. Local roads are flooded.”
Thirty-Four
At two fifteen, the power finally went out. Megan wasn’t surprised. A greenish glow lit up the sky. The lightning had hit a transformer, likely taking with it the electricity for most of Winsome.
My cue to go to bed, Megan thought. She stood, stretched, and after finding the small flashlight Bibi kept in the kitchen, turned off the laptop. She thought about checking on the goats and chickens, but the idea of being alone out there in this storm gave her a chill that went beyond the damp weather. On her way upstairs, she checked on her grandmother. Sound asleep. Gunther had relocated to the floor beside her. Ignoring a nagging sense of foreboding, Megan continued up the stairs.
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and traded her jeans for sweatpants and a t-shirt. No pajamas for her tonight. One never knew what misfortune a storm could bring.
She lay in bed for what felt like hours, unable to sleep. Outside, the storm had dulled to a steady downpour, but the wind still battered the old lead windows. Megan turned on her side toward the window. She thought about Mick. She thought about Denver. She thought about what she’d read, and about how desperation may have led to murder. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that the Dorfman brothers were the perpetrators. And the thought of them out there, working on the barn, sickened her.
A boom startled her from her thoughts. Megan sat up, listening. She heard it again. Heart racing, she walked to the window, keeping the flashlight off. She couldn’t see anything at first, but a flash of lightning lit up the sky, giving her a momentary glimpse of the farm. The noise was coming from the goats’ enclosure. It looked like the gate was loose and swinging in the storm. The goats must have gotten scared and kicked it open with help from the wind. Little hellions.
Megan pulled a raincoat and a baseball cap from her closet. She should have checked on them. They were still babies, not used to weather like this. Or she should have brought them into the front porch—with all the tempting things for them to chew, swallow and get sick on, she reminded herself. Not a workable solution.
But then, neither was leaving them alone in this storm.
Sadie followed her downstairs, but she left her with Bibi and called Gunther to join her outside. For one, his white fur would make him more visible in the pitch black night. And he was meant to guard. Tonight, Megan would trust him to do his job. He could guard the goats.
Outside, the wind howled. Rain pelted her face and whipped at her clothes. The light from the battery-powered lantern she carried barely impacted the night, illuminating only a few feet in front of her. Megan walked in the direction of the barn, praying that Heidi and Dimples had stayed inside their enclosure.
No such luck. Gunther found Heidi outside, huddled against a tree, cold and scared. Megan picked her up and carried her back toward her pen. She followed Gunther into the pen, relieved to see Dimples still inside, laying on a bed of hay. Megan placed Heidi beside her, reclosed the now-battered gate, leaving Gunther with the goats, and went toward the barn in search of some rope to secure the gate.
Despite the hat and jacket, her hair was dripping wet and her clothes were soaked through. She shivered, pulling her jacket closer, and opened the barn door.
She stopped cold. She heard noises—scraping noises—coming from the back of the barn, in the old section. In the murky light emitted from her lantern, she saw what looked like a sheet of white canvas strung between the old and newer sections of the barn. Someone was behind that canvas.
She firmed her grip on the lantern. Her mind danced with possibilities for her next move. Leave quietly and call the police. Barge through and announce herself. Find a weapon. She had decided the first was the most prudent when the wind pushed the barn door shut. It banged once, twice, and then settled back against the façade of the barn. Megan’s breath caught, her vision narrowed. She was about to run when she heard footsteps.
She looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon. Her eyes settled on a small ax Clay used for splitting boards. She stuffed the wooden handle into the back of her sweatpants, under the rain jacket, and hoped like hell she wouldn’t need it.
Someone pulled the edge of the canvas aside. A shadow fell across the threshold. One footfall, then another. Dave Dorfman emerged holding a flashlight. Their beams crossed. Megan could see the look of confusion pass on Dave’s face. It wasn’t Megan he was expecting.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked Megan.
“Don’t you ever knock?”
They stared at each other for a few heartbeats before Megan’s fight or flight response opted for flight. She sidled toward the door. Dave sprang toward her. She was halfway outside when she felt his hand on her wrist, hard flashlight metal grinding into her back.
“I’m sorry, Megan,” Dave said. He sounded like he meant it.
Thirty-Five
“I’m not a monster.”
Megan stared at Dave, wide-eyed. He was sitting on an overturned paint-mixing bucket in the oldest section of the barn, his dark, curly hair matching the black circles under his deep-set eyes, a gun pointed toward her. Two lanterns had been strung up by wire attached to nails in the old support beams. The canvas was meant to keep the light from reaching the house. It had worked.
“No?” she asked. “Then what do you call this?” Megan motioned toward the deep holes in the barn floor. A flash of silver could be seen through the dirt.
“A solution-oriented approach.”
Megan searched for irony in his voice but heard none.
“You actually killed a man over buried treasure?”
Dave rubbed his face with his left hand, keeping the right hand on the gun. “Simon’s death was an accident. He was being impossible and he pushed my buttons one too many times.” He glanced at t
he holes in the ground. “Do you have any idea what you have here? What your family has had here all along? All those years your dad struggled, all those years your grandfather and uncle struggled before him? Needless suffering.”
Megan glanced at the holes, at the hint of silver buried deep beneath the dirt. A box? Something else? The wind whipped through the trees outside, howling like a wounded animal. Inside, there were only shadows.
“What do you care? You were going to steal whatever it is.”
Dave stayed silent for a moment, studying Megan’s face. Finally, he said, “Neil and I had known for a long time that there may be a cache of stuff buried around here somewhere. We thought it was at the old place,” he shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the abandoned Marshall house, “but Lenora’s work convinced us otherwise.”
“George Washington’s visit.”
Dave nodded. “Caldbeck’s wife’s family had connections. Washington visited here, and Caldbeck fed him false information. Only Washington knew he was a traitor and used it to his advantage. That’s the focus of Lenora’s paper.”
“I heard enough bits and pieces to string this all together. I wasn’t sure about the last piece, the false information, but it makes sense. Washington knew Caldbeck was loyal to the English. Otherwise, why would Caldbeck have run?”
“Leaving his Patriot wife behind.”
“And his silver and gold.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t leave the silver and gold. She did.”
Surprised, Megan said, “Elizabeth?”
“She buried her most treasured belongings and took off shortly after Caldbeck did. She and her parents had been Patriots, so she would have been safe here, despite her husband’s actions. But maybe she felt ostracized, married to a Tory and all.” Dave shrugged. “Who cares? In the end, she left the loot behind.”
“Says Lenora.”
“And others.”
“Simon?”
“I’m getting tired of chatter, Megan.” Indeed, he looked ready to fall over with exhaustion. But she needed to keep him talking.
“Lenora and Simon were in on this together?”
“Not Lenora. She only figured it out later, or was starting to see the big picture. She and Simon didn’t see eye-to-eye, but she needed him for her research. The man was a genius when it came to historical records. He could find anything.” Dave shook his head, clearly admiring the man, even now.
“So why kill him?”
“He wanted the treasure for Winsome. First, he tried to buy the house. When Bonnie refused, he decided to go for preservation status. His plan was to locate the treasure and convince Bonnie to donate it.”
“How did he find out Bonnie was even selling the house?” Before the words were out of her mouth, Megan knew. The work at Sarah’s home. Neil had been the one to tell her about Bonnie’s discussions with Simon. Neil must have overheard something at Sarah’s and told Simon, giving him the ammunition he needed to go to Bibi.
Dave smiled. “Neil.”
Megan thought about the expression on Dave’s face when he saw her. He was expecting Neil to show up tonight. Which meant that Neil could be here, listening. Or he could be down at the house. Bibi was there, alone. Megan needed to do something. Fast.
But what? Dave was holding a gun.
She stood, hands on her hips, looking at the holes along the back side of the room. “Can I see what you found?”
Dave stood up, nervous. He waved the gun. “Sit back down.”
“Really, you’re going to shoot me?” Megan shook her head, making a tsk, tsk sound and forcing herself to sound way braver than she felt. “That’s way too obvious. I thought you were smarter than that.”
You could drown me, she thought—hard to prove it wasn’t an accident in this weather, with the rising stream waters. Drown me and a goat and everyone will think I died trying to save her. But Megan kept those thoughts to herself. No use giving Dave ideas.
“Don’t make this harder than it is.”
“Oh, right,” she said sarcastically. “Stealing from us should be easy. Killing me should be easy too.”
“No one needs to kill anybody.”
“You’re simply going to leave here, go back to Amelia, pretend you’re an upstanding Winsome citizen with me still around to say otherwise?”
A shadow passed over his face at the mention of Amelia. “In return for your life—”
“I don’t want to live that way, Dave. Always looking over my shoulder in case I become too much of a liability? Nah.” Megan stared at him, hard, forcing him to make eye contact and see her as a person. “So is this all because of Amelia? Tastes getting too expensive for you? Maybe there’s another man lurking in the shadows?” The specter of doubt deepened. Megan took advantage of his distraction and inched her hand toward her back. “Maybe she’s tired of Winsome? Of the same old, same old. And that same old is you?”
Mean words, but Megan needed to get out of here, back to the house.
“Stop.”
“I hit a nerve.” Her hand was almost there…
“My wife has nothing to do with this.”
“And what does? You’re not paying your mortgage, Dave. Your business isn’t able to meet its obligations. Where is the money going?”
“I made some bad investments. Lent money to my sister, who couldn’t pay it back. Amelia hates Susan. I couldn’t let her know.”
“And you’ve been juggling funds around ever since, stealing from the home to pay the business, and vice versa.”
He nodded. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
His eyes narrowed to slits, his lips compressed into a slash. “Enough.”
Her hand reached the ax in her pocket and tightened around the handle.
He pointed the gun at her head. “Outside.”
Outside anything could happen. She could slip in the muddy yard. He could catch her, gun her down, hide her body in the sodden woods, throw her body downstream. No, she’d take her chances here.
Dave yelled, “Outside, Megan. Now!”
She pulled the ax out of her back pocket and flung it at him, aiming for his chest, the biggest target. It hit his head instead, leaving a gash. Surprised, he stumbled, then fell, dropping the gun. Megan dove for it.
Forcing her hand to stop shaking, she held the gun on him. She pulled her phone from her pocket and called 911, keeping her voice as steady as possible and her eyes on Dave. There was rope in the front room, the rope she’d been fetching when this started.
“Come on,” she said to Dave, keeping the gun pointed at him.
“You don’t know how to shoot.”
“Oh, Dave,” she said. “I was married to a soldier.”
She didn’t know how to shoot, but her words were enough to convince him otherwise. He walked in front of her, arms up. In the newer portion of the barn, Megan tied him to the workbench, careful to secure arms, feet, and midsection. She thought he’d fight, but he didn’t. Maybe he’s relieved this is over, she thought. Or maybe he knows help is on its way in the form of Neil.
Either way, she needed to hurry. Outside, she held the lantern up, half jogging toward the house. The police would take forever in the weather, if they could even get to her on the flooded roads. She was climbing the small hill by the house when she slipped, falling into muddy grass and back down the hill. Her ankle twisted painfully under her.
“Damn,” she muttered.
She tried to stand, wobbled, and then put another foot on the grassy, muddy slope, digging in with her heel. One foot after another. She ignored the pain.
She was focused on getting up the embankment and didn’t hear someone come up behind her. A knife point jabbed her back, digging in between her shoulder blades. She screamed. A hand clamped over her mouth.
“I’m afraid I won’t be quite as easy to
fool,” Jeremy said behind her. “Drop the gun.”
Megan froze at the sound of his voice—so cold, so calm. Of course—Jeremy was the missing link. His knowledge of this farm, his interest in the Marshall property. Megan’s pulse raced. She dropped the gun. He meant business.
“Shall we go for a swim?”
Megan bit his hand, then tried to elbow him in the ribs the way Mick had taught her to handle an attacker what felt like ages long ago. He moved his hand and she screamed again. And again. She could hear Sadie barking frantically in the house. She hoped Bibi would call the police.
He recovered, clamping his hand down on her mouth, harder this time. “I don’t know who you’re trying to call. Your eighty-year-old grandmother?” He laughed. “Let her sleep, and she gets out of this alive.”
He started up the slope, toward the tree line, dragging Megan with him. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that? Now my shoes are a muddy mess.”
Megan couldn’t talk. Her ankle hurt, and her head was pounding with adrenaline. She listened for the sound she hoped to hear. But the wind and rain, although calmer, made hearing next to impossible.
They were at the tree line when Jeremy moved the knife from her back to her throat. “Let’s make this easier, shall we? Don’t struggle and it’s quick. Give me a hard time and—”
Megan stomped on his foot. Jeremy let out an annoyed yelp and dropped the knife. He didn’t have a chance to go after her again before Gunther was on top of him, mouth wide and teeth bared. The dog went right for his throat, knocking him over into the mud. Gunther stood on his chest, growling deeply. Megan felt tears of gratitude well up in her eyes. Good dog.
She felt along the rain-soaked grass for the knife. Finally finding it, she tucked it into her pants. With Jeremy well-pinned by Gunther, she pulled Dave’s gun from his pocket. He must have been Lenora’s attacker. Clearly, he preferred the knife.
