“And Wesley.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mac said, grabbing a green bean off his plate. “I doubt he’ll come anywhere near me tomorrow. You scared him senseless.”
I scowled. “But he’s unpredictable. Angry and unhinged. He could be our killer.”
“But he wouldn’t have killed Sherman,” Mac reasoned. “Not that he cared one wit about him, but he was his biggest acolyte.”
“That’s the only reason Wesley isn’t on the top of my suspect list.”
He gazed at me. “Who’s on the top?”
I took another bite of meat with some rice mixed in.
“I do have a list, but I wonder if it could be someone who’s slipped off our radar.”
“Like Hallie?”
My eyes widened. “Precisely. Hallie.”
“She was awfully helpful this afternoon,” he pointed out, using his fork for emphasis.
“That’s because Rafe asked her to help us. She’s probably in love with him.”
Mac nodded. “If that’s true, it gives her a motive to take a shot at Marigold.”
I winced. “I hope she’s not that crazy. But she clearly had a reason to kill Dillon. He was so rude to her, you have to believe that was just the tip of the iceberg.” I played back my own words. “Not that there’s ever a good reason to kill someone. But we’re talking hypotheticals.”
He smiled. “Understood.”
“So let’s focus on Hallie,” I said. “She had a motive to kill Dillon because he treated her so badly. Ooh, maybe she was in love with Rafe, and after he left the company, Dillon started harassing her. Because he knew how she felt about Rafe. Maybe he was jealous. Or just mean.”
“He’s pretty mean, all right.”
“I know, right?” I sipped my wine. “And if we assume her target was Marigold the other night, she’s got a motive there, too. A totally twisted motive, but somewhat logical from her standpoint.”
He lifted his wineglass. “But then again, there’s Sherman.”
“I know.” Frowning, I grabbed a green bean and popped it into my mouth. “Sherman screws up everything.”
Mac shrugged. “Collateral damage.”
“That’s such a horrible term.”
“I agree.” He set down his wineglass and took another bite of the meat. “Sadly, in Sherman’s case, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he was.”
Despite the grim subject matter, I had to smile. I recalled one of our first evenings together when we were trying to figure out who had killed someone very close to me. Mac had suggested that we make a list of suspects and motives and a timeline to figure out who the killer might be.
Mac called it the Scooby-Doo game, because in that old cartoon, all the kids—and the big dog—would sit around doing the same thing. They would try to figure out who the bad guy was. And even though Mac and I were trying to flesh out a vicious killer, the game had actually brought us closer together. And that could never be a bad thing.
* * *
* * *
The next morning I rode with Mac to the conference site. I thought about Wesley. Remembering the way he had attacked Mac, it was hard for me to think about anything else.
“He’s a nut job,” Mac said, dismissing my fears. “Don’t worry about him.”
“I’m worried precisely because he’s a nut job,” I said. “The first time I spoke to him, he insisted that the government had stolen his invention for a device that could clean up the ocean in record time. You know, the one Sketch—or Marv, or whatever his name was—talked about putting in his next book. That was Wesley’s idea. He also claimed that the government had stolen some kind of encryption thingie he’d invented. And now he claims that you stole his idea for your book. I think he might be a paranoid psycho-something-or-other.”
“In other words, a nut job,” Mac said.
“Yeah. Remember how freaked out he got when he said that he could be the next one to die?”
Mac thought about it. “Well, people do seem to be dying.”
“So he’s not as nutty as we thought?” I rolled my eyes.
Mac smiled, reached over, and rubbed my shoulder. “He’s plenty nutty, but he’s also a really bad guy.”
“You’re right. You heard what he said about poor Sherman.” I shook my head in disgust. “His ‘biggest acolyte.’ Ugh.”
“He wouldn’t make a good friend, that’s for sure,” Mac admitted. “Still, he did seem to have a relationship with Sherman. I mean, I can picture him killing Dillon for stealing his inventions, but I can’t see him strangling his faithful manservant Sherman. He would no longer have someone catering to his every whim.”
“Right. Sherman brought him cocktails and groveled incessantly.” I was fuming all over again as Mac turned onto Olive Street and then drove another block to Sunset Hill Road. “I would so love to see him go to jail.”
“Maybe we could ask Eric to do one small favor for us.”
I chuckled. “I’m not sure he could put Wesley away for no reason, even for us.”
Mac pulled into the conference parking lot and shut off the engine, then turned to me. “What’s on your agenda this morning?”
“I get to go check out my tiny houses this morning.”
“Cool,” Mac said, grabbing his conference satchel and slinging it over his shoulder. “I want to take a look at them, too. I’ll walk with you.”
“I’d like that.”
Mac opened the trunk to check that Dillon’s binder was still there and locked the car and pressed the alarm button. “That should keep it safe for now. We can take it to Rafe after we check out your tiny houses.”
“Good,” I said. “The sooner it’s back in his hands, the easier I’ll breathe.”
“I’ll call him and let him know we want to meet up with him in maybe an hour or so.”
“We’ll need to give him a full report of our findings yesterday. Tell him how we saw Midge coming out of Dillon’s hotel room.”
“Yeah,” Mac said, nodding. “And he needs to hear the whole story about Dillon cheating those people out of their patents.”
“Don’t you think he knows?”
Mac thought for a moment. “No, I don’t. If he knew, he would’ve remedied the situation immediately.”
I nodded, knowing in my heart that he was right. Rafe was a good guy. He never would’ve gone along with Dillon to cheat people out of what was rightly theirs.
We walked along the edge of the gully where the creek ran. Rafe had set aside a full acre of space to park the ten houses I’d agreed to show. It was a short walk from the main conference area over to the tiny house park, but Rafe had wanted them to be placed closer to the woods so people could get a real feeling for the freedom of parking one’s house anywhere they wanted. Preferably they would want to be surrounded by nature.
“Why weren’t they here all week?” Mac asked.
“I asked him about that. Rafe said he didn’t think the conference attendees would appreciate them enough if they were here all week. You know, they’d visit for a day or two and then stop coming.”
“Makes sense.”
“I think so, too. This way, they only have two days to take advantage of this golden opportunity.”
“That’s the way to sell it,” he said with a grin.
“I think Rafe’s got a bit of salesman mentality in him, too.”
“It’s funny, isn’t it? In reality, he’s the farthest thing from a salesman I know, but he played this one like he was standing on the showroom floor.”
I smiled at the image.
We reached the edge of the tiny house park. “I can’t tell if they’re all here yet.” I jogged around the perimeter of the temporary hedge border the landscapers had erected, then returned to Mac. “Yeah, looks like all ten houses are here.”
“And so is the crowd
,” Mac remarked.
That’s when I took a closer look between the houses and realized there were lines of people waiting to go inside each of the structures to check out the features.
“This is kind of exciting,” I said. “Looks like our exhibit is a hit.”
“Sure does. I hope you’ll sell a few more.”
“Me, too.” I gave Mac a grateful smile, then quickly added, “Not that it matters, you understand. The idea wasn’t to sell anything, but just to show people how they can live with a much smaller carbon footprint and still maintain a comfortable lifestyle. And most of the houses are pretty green, too.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said, swallowing a laugh. “I know your heart is in the right place.”
“Okay, fine.” He knew me too well. So I shrugged and admitted, “I hope we sell a few dozen.”
“That’s more like it,” he said, and laughed for real.
I moved toward the opening in the hedges. “I want to just walk through the crowd and listen to the comments.”
“I’m with you,” he said, and took my hand.
The ten houses varied in size from three hundred to five hundred square feet. Most of them contained a loft of some sort that was used for sleeping. This gave the owner some extra space on the ground floor to expand the living area.
Each house also came with some sort of outdoor element. On the bigger houses that usually consisted of a full-sized deck with patio furniture and space for a small grill. For the smaller homes, a front or back porch was all that would fit, but these could usually accommodate one or two small chairs, suitable for sitting and watching the world go by. Those smaller houses also had the option of a wraparound porch if they wanted to add to their square footage.
I had to marvel that I had managed to stumble onto such a ridiculously popular trend—and I didn’t see an end in sight. Which was a very good thing. And according to the random comments I was hearing from the admiring crowd, it looked as though we’d be selling several more soon.
The best part of this project was that my crew and I could work on all different types of homes. Since I had lived in Lighthouse Cove all my life, I had always been focused on Victorian style. But with the tiny houses, I was able to expand my scope to include contemporary modern and mid-century modern styles; an adorable clapboard cottage with French doors and a cupola that was accessible through the loft inside the house; several log cabins; and a charming California bungalow. The most popular design so far was the California Craftsman style with porches supported by thick square columns and low-pitched roofs. The interiors featured exposed oak beams and the kitchen cabinets featured clean, simple lines. I had built six of them so far and three were on display today at the conference.
I remembered taking the day off from the whirlwind job of refurbishing Rafe’s house to go and finish the clapboard cottage. It had been relaxing to take up a paintbrush and add that second coat of pure white paint to the French doors, all the windows, the stair rail, and the cupola. The white was a wonderful contrast to the pretty dark blue of the rest of the house.
Mac and I strolled past a sleek mid-century modern home whose clever owner had parked their vintage pink Thunderbird next to the bright turquoise front door.
“It’s fun to see the owners getting into the act,” I said, pointing to one of the log cabins where the owner was sitting on a window ledge holding a fishing pole.
“They’re all fascinating, aren’t they?” Mac said.
“I think so.”
“I picture myself living in one of them,” Mac said. “And then I think . . . no.”
I laughed. We walked past a pretty wood deck filled with pots of cheery flowers and a comfy chaise longue. “So you don’t think you could live in a four-hundred-square-foot space?”
“No way,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I hate to admit it, but my personal carbon footprint is a great big clodhopper.”
I grinned and patted his arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Rafe.”
“Thanks. Wouldn’t want to get drummed out of the survival conference.”
* * *
* * *
An hour later, we walked into Rafe’s house and handed him the binder.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “but I’m really glad to be getting rid of this.”
“I don’t blame you.” Rafe set it down on the dining room table and opened it to a random section.
“Look familiar?” Mac asked.
“Frankly, no,” he admitted, turning pages. “I’ve never seen this. But I appreciate you bringing it to me.”
“We weren’t about to leave it in Dillon’s hotel room.”
“No way,” I said. “I’m afraid that a number of people have already seen it and have probably taken documents out of it.”
Rafe frowned. “But you only saw Midge, right?”
“Yes,” I said, “but someone else had to have told her it was in there.”
“I’d suggest you call Eric about this,” Mac said. “Those documents could provide a strong motive for Dillon’s murder.”
Rafe blew out a heavy breath. “This is bad. These are confidential personnel documents that nobody outside the company should see.” He thumbed through a few pages, then looked up. “You said you had something specific to show me.”
“Yeah, let me get to that.” I stepped closer and pulled the tab labeled PATENT APPLICATIONS, and flipped to that section. “There are more than just confidential company documents in here. You’ll see in this section that there are dozens, or maybe as many as one hundred, of these patent application forms. They’ve got all the information on the specific idea or invention or project or design. And they’ve got Dillon’s name on the line for Owner.”
“Wait.” He stared at the top page. “But that’s not necessarily deceptive. He might’ve meant that he was the administrator. You know, the one who applies for the patent on behalf of the applicant.”
“I wish that were true,” I said, grimacing. “But we’ve heard from several people that Dillon basically ripped off their ideas. That he applied for the patents in his name and planned to take any and all royalties coming in for those ideas.”
“Sorry, Rafe.” Mac shook his head. “Like I said, we’re pretty sure this is the reason why Dillon was killed.”
Rafe turned the page and stared at the information listed, then turned to another page. “Why would he do this?”
Because he was a crook, I thought, but kept my mouth shut. I was pretty sure Rafe didn’t actually want to hear the answer to his question. I felt so sorry for him right now. Of course he could remedy the situation. It would just take time and money, and he had plenty of both. But he had been cruelly betrayed by one of his oldest friends, someone he had trusted for years, and his business reputation would surely take a hit.
“What can we do?” I asked.
Rafe jolted, as if he had awakened from a dream. Turning, he put his big arms around me and just held on for a long moment. Then he stepped back and gave Mac a quick hug, too.
“Just be a friend,” he said softly. “That’s the best thing you can do.”
Mac patted him on the back. “We’re already there, bud.”
* * *
* * *
A half hour later, we left Rafe’s house and returned to the conference. We had spent the last few minutes brainstorming with him, trying to figure out the best steps to take to fix this problem. Rafe decided that he couldn’t go to the inventors yet. He would have to go to his company offices and investigate exactly what Dillon had done and why, and how much damage he had caused. Then Rafe would contact each of the inventors, including Midge and Wesley and Julian and all the others, and let them know that he was taking care of everything. After a quick check of the patent applications in the binder, Rafe had discovered that some of them had been applied f
or five years ago. So Dillon had been keeping this binder up to date even while Rafe was working at the company.
“This is ridiculous,” Rafe said, shaking his head in disgust. “Dillon was committing fraud and theft under my very nose.”
“You’ll make it up to everyone,” I said.
“You bet I will. I’ll let everyone know that I intend to pay back any money owed in royalties and I’ll reapply for the patents in their names.”
* * *
* * *
“I hope that will be enough,” I said to Mac as we crossed through the catering area.
“Yeah, me, too.” Mac stopped and at the edge of the air dome. “I’m afraid some of these crazies will still want blood.”
“Clearly, someone has already proven that to be true.” I grabbed Mac’s hand. “I’m glad Rafe called Eric. The two of them will be able to figure out the people who have the strongest motive to kill.”
“I just hope they can pin down the killer in time.” Mac shook his head. “I don’t want any more rifles aimed at any of my friends.” He glanced around the field. “I’m supposed to meet Brett Barlow to talk over some more worst-case scenarios. He was the guy on the panel with me.”
I smiled up at him. “Are you two planning to take your show on the road? You were both pretty funny.”
He grinned. “Not a bad idea. But no. Brett asked if I would sit down and help him plot out his new book.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said. “I’m on my way to the barn. I’ll probably spend an hour or two helping the guys with the finishing touches.”
“I’ll try to get over there later.” He looked past me then, at the milling crowd, as if trying to decide if there was danger close by. Seriously? I really did love him.
“Okay.” I squeezed his arm. “I’ll text you if anything changes.”
“Good.” He leaned down and kissed me, then touched my cheek with the back of his hand. “Beautiful.”
I stared into his eyes. “I love you a lot.”
Shot Through the Hearth Page 21
