Tangled Threat ; Suspicious

by Heather Graham

“I beg your pardon?” she demanded, a sudden fury taking over.

  “You need to get the hell out—out of this part of the state and sure as hell off the Frampton Ranch and Resort.”

  Why did it hurt so badly, the way he spoke to her, the way he wanted to be rid of her?

  “I’m sorry. I have every right to be here. It’s a public facility and a free country, last I heard.”

  “No, you don’t—”

  She stood, aware she badly needed to leave the room.

  “Excuse me, Special Agent—or whatever your title may be. You don’t control me. I have a life—and things to do. Things that need to be done—here. Right here. Have a nice day.”

  She stood—with quiet dignity, she hoped—and headed quickly for the door.

  How the hell could he still have such an effect upon her?

  And why the hell did he have to be here now?

  Another body. Another life cut tragically short. His job.

  Brock was right; she was the one who shouldn’t be here.

  Chapter Three

  To say that he’d handled his conversation with Maura badly would be a gross understatement.

  But he couldn’t start over. She was angry and not about to listen to him—certainly not now. Maybe later.

  The library seemed oddly cold without her, empty of human life.

  Brock needed to get going, but he found himself standing up, studying some of the posters and framed newspaper pages on the walls.

  There was a rendering of the beautiful Gyselle, running through the woods, hair flowing, gown caught in a cascade.

  Donald Glass didn’t shirk off the truth or try to hide it; there were multiple newspaper articles and reports on the murders that had taken place in the 1970s.

  And there was information on Francine Renault to be found, including a picture of her that was something of a memorial, commemorating her birth, acknowledging the tragedy of her death—and revealing that, while it was assumed she had been murdered by a disgruntled employee, the case remained unsolved.

  Going through the library, Brock couldn’t help but remember how shocked he had been to find himself under arrest. He’d been young—and nothing in his life had prepared him for the concept that he could be unjustly accused of a crime. He’d known where he wanted to go in life—but his very idealism had made it impossible for him to believe that such a thing as his being wrongly arrested could happen.

  The world just wasn’t as clean and cut-and-dried as he had once believed.

  Of course, he had been quickly released—and that had been another lesson.

  Truth was sometimes a fight.

  And now, years later, he could understand Flannery’s actions. There had been an urgency about the night; people had been tense. The police had been under terrible pressure.

  Brock had usually controlled his temper—despite the fact that Francine had been very difficult to work with. But the day she had been killed, his anger had gotten the best of him. He hadn’t gotten physical in the least—unless walking toward her and standing about five feet away with his fists clenched counted as physical. Perhaps that had appeared to be the suggestion of underlying malice. Many of his coworkers had known that he was always frustrated with Francine—she demanded so much and never accepted solid explanations as to why her way wouldn’t work, or why something had to be as it was.

  Like almost everyone else, he had considered Francine Renault to be a fire-breathing dragon. Quite simply, a total bitch.

  She had been a thorn in all their sides. He had just happened to pick that day to explode.

  After his blowup, he’d feared being fired—not arrested for murder.

  He didn’t tend to have problems with those he worked with or for—but he had disliked Francine. In retrospect, he felt bad about it. But she had enjoyed flaunting her authority and used it unfairly. Brock had complained about her to Fred Bentley many times, disgusted with the way she treated the summer help. Her own lack of punctuality—or when she simply didn’t show up—was always forgiven, of course, because she was above them all. That night, Brock had been quick to put Maura Antrim on the schedule—as if he had known that Francine wouldn’t be there.

  Until she was—dangling from the tree.

  As the police might see it, after they’d been pointed straight at Brock by the mysterious anonymous tipster, he’d been certain to be on the tour when Francine’s body had been discovered, a ready way to explain any type of physical evidence that might have been found at the History Tree or around it.

  At the time, Brock had wanted nothing to do with Detective Flannery. He’d been hurt and bitter. He was sure that only his size had kept him from being beaten to a pulp during his night in the county jail, and once he’d been freed, he found that his friends had gone.

  Including, he now thought dryly, the woman he had assumed to be the love of his life.

  Maura had vanished. Gone back home, into the arms of her loving parents, the same people who had once claimed to care about Brock, to be impressed with his maturity, admiring of his determination to do a stint in the service first and then spend his time in college.

  Calls, emails, texts, snail mail—all had gone unanswered. It hurt too much that Maura never replied, never reached out, and so he stopped trying. He had joined the navy, done his stint and gone on to college in New York.

  And yet, oddly, through the years, he’d kept up with Michael Flannery. Now and then, Flannery would write him with a new theory on the case and apologize again for arresting Brock so quickly. Flannery wasn’t satisfied; he needed an explanation he believed in. He explored all kinds of possibilities—from the familiar to the absurd.

  Francine had been killed by an interstate killer, a trucker—a man caught crossing the Georgia state line with a teenage victim in his cab.

  She had been killed by Donald Glass himself.

  By college students out of Gainesville or Tallahassee, a group that had taken hazing to a new level.

  She had even been killed, a beyond-frustrated Flannery had once written, by the devils or the evil that lived in the forest by the History Tree.

  Frustration. Something that continued to plague them. But then, Brock had been told that every cop, marshal and agent out there had a case that haunted them, that they couldn’t solve—or had been considered closed, but the closure just didn’t seem right, and it stuck in his or her gut.

  Standing in the library wasn’t helping any; Francine Renault had been a dead a long time, and regardless of her personality, she hadn’t deserved her fate.

  The truth still needed to be discovered.

  More than ever now, as it was possible that her murderer had returned to kill again.

  Brock left the library.

  Before he left for his interviews in St. Augustine that day, he had to try one more time with Maura. He had to find her. He hadn’t explained himself very well.

  In fact, he had made matters worse.

  He had known Maura so well at one time. And if anything, his faltering way of trying to get her far, far from this place, where someone was killing people had probably made her stubbornly more determined to stay.

  He’d admit he was afraid.

  Beautiful young women were disappearing, and with or without his feelings, Maura was certainly an incredibly beautiful woman.

  And there was more working against her.

  She was familiar with the Frampton ranch and many of the players in this very strange game of life and death.

  * * *

  “MAYBE WE SHOULD move on,” Maura said. She and Angie were sitting in the restaurant—Angie had actually wakened early enough for them to catch the tail end of the breakfast buffet, a spread that contained just about every imaginable morning delight.

  The place was renowned for cheese grits; savoring a bite, Maura decided that they did re
main among the best tasting she’d ever had. There were eggs cooked in many ways as well, plus pancakes, fruit, yogurt, nuts and grains and everything to cater to tastes from around the country.

  Angie, too, it seemed, especially enjoyed the grits. Her eyes were closed as she took a forkful and then smiled.

  “Delicious.”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “What?”

  “I was thinking we should move on.”

  Angie appeared to be completely shocked. “I... Yes, I mean, I know now about you—I mean, when you were a kid—but I thought we were fine. This is the perfect place to be home base for this trip. We can reach St. Augustine easily, areas on the coast—some of those amazing cemeteries up in Gainesville. I...”

  She quit speaking. Nils Hartford, handsome in a pin-striped suit, was coming their way, smiling.

  They were at a table for four and he glanced at them, brows arched and a hesitant smile on his face, silently asking if he could join them.

  Angie leaped right to it.

  “Nils! Hey, you’re joining us?”

  “Just for a minute. My people here are great—we have the best and nicest waitstaff, but I still like to oversee the change from breakfast to lunch,” he said, sliding into the chair next to Maura. “You’re enjoying yourself?” he asked Angie.

  “I love it!” she said enthusiastically. “And last night—your brother was amazing. I mean, of course, I know that Maura had his job at one time, and I know Maura, and I know she was fantastic, but I just adored your brother. Keep him on!”

  Nils laughed. “Oddly enough, that would have nothing to do with me. My brother reports directly to Fred Bentley, as do I. Couldn’t get him hired or fired. But he’s loved that kind of thing since we were kids. I was more into the cranking of the gears, the way things run and so forth.” He turned toward Maura and asked anxiously, “And you—you okay being back here?”

  “I’m fine,” Maura said.

  “Well, thank you both for what you’re doing.” He lowered his voice, even though there was no one near. “Even Donald is shaken up by the way we keep hearing that young women have been heading here or leaving here—and disappearing. Seriously, I mean, a tree can’t make people do things, but... I guess people do see things as symbols, but—we’re keeping a good eye on it these days. We never had arranged for any video surveillance because it’s so far out in the woods—and nothing recent has had anything to do with the tree, but...anyway, we’re going to get some security out there.

  “Donald has a company coming out to make suggestions tomorrow. We have cameras now in the lobby, elevators, public areas...that kind of thing. But dealing with security and privacy laws—it’s complicated. I mean, the tree is on Donald’s property and it’s perfectly legal to have cameras at the tree. And with today’s tech—improving all the time, but way above what we had twelve years ago—the tree can easily be watched. Anyway, it’s great that you’re helping to keep us famous.”

  “A true pleasure,” Angie told him.

  He smiled at Angie and then turned back to Maura, appearing a little anxious again. “I just—well, I know you thought I was a jerk—and I was, back then. I did feel superior to the kids who had to work.” He laughed softly and only a little bitterly. “Then the stock market crashed and I received a really good comeuppance. Odd, though. It’s like ‘hail, hail, the gang’s all here.’ Me, Mark, Donald, of course, Fred Bentley, other staff...and now you and Brock and Rachel.”

  “Rachel?” Maura echoed, surprised.

  “Oh, you didn’t know? Rachel is with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement now—she’s working with Detective Mike Flannery. They’ve stationed themselves here—good central spot—for investigating this rash of disappearances. I think it’s a rash. Well, everyone is worried because of the remains of the poor girl that were found at the laundry.”

  “Oh! Are you and Rachel still...a twosome?” she asked.

  “No, no, no—friends, though. I have a lot of love for Rach, though I was a jerk to her when we were teens. I’m grateful to have her as a friend. And can you imagine—she’s like a down and dirty cop. Not that cops can’t be feminine. But she made a bit of a change. Well, I mean, she has nice nails still—she just keeps them clipped and short. Short hair, too. Good cut. She’s still cute. But I hear she’s hell on wheels, having taken all kinds of martial arts—and a crack shot. Great kid, still. Well, adult. We’re all adults—I forget that sometimes. And hey, what about you and Brock? I was jealous as hell of you guys back then, you know.”

  She certainly hadn’t known.

  “Of the two of us?” she asked. “And no—I hadn’t seen him since that summer. I’m afraid that we aren’t even social media friends.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But I guess that... Well, it was bad time, what happened back then.” He brightened. “But you’re here now. And that’s great! I believe you recorded a tour? And more, so far? I’d like to think that you could spend days here—”

  “We are spending days here,” Angie assured him. “I guess we’re like the cops—or agents or officers or whatever. We’re in a central location. We’ll head to St. Augustine and come back here, maybe over Gainesville’s way. It’s just such a great location.”

  “Well, I’m glad. That’s wonderful. If I can do anything for either of you...”

  His voice trailed oddly. He was looking toward the restaurant entrance. Maura saw that Marie Glass had arrived and seemed to be looking for someone.

  “Excuse me,” he said, making a slight grimace. “Our queen has arrived. Oh, I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Marie never meddles with the staff and she’s always charming. I mean queen in the best way possible, always so engaging and cordial with the guests and all of us.” He made a face. “She’s even nice when she knows an employee is in trouble, never falters. Just as sweet as she can be—while still aloof and elegant. Regal, you know?”

  “Yes, very regal,” Maura agreed.

  Marie was looking for Nils, Maura thought, and as she noted their table and graced them with one of her smiles, Nils stood politely, awaiting whatever word she might have for him.

  But she wasn’t coming to speak with Nils. As she approached them, she headed for the one chair that wasn’t occupied and asked politely, “May I join you? I’ll just take a few seconds of your time, I promise.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Glass, please.” Maura said.

  Marie Glass sat delicately. “My dear Maura, you are hardly a child anymore, and though I do appreciate the respect, please, call me Marie.”

  Maura inclined her head. It was true. She was hardly a child. Marie simply had an interesting way of putting her thoughts.

  “I know my husband and the staff here have tried to let you know how we appreciate the publicity your work here will bring us—and free publicity these days is certainly wonderful,” Marie Glass began. “But we’d also be willing to compensate you if you want to show more of the resort—if you had time and if you didn’t mind.” She paused, flashing a smile Maura’s way. “We love your reputations—and would love to make use of you in all possible ways. I am, of course, at your disposal, should you need help.”

  “Oh, that’s a lovely idea,” Angie said. “I’d have to switch up the format a little—as you know, I bring to light the unusual and frankly, the creepy, so—”

  “Oh, bring on the creepy,” Marie Glass said. She grinned again, broadly. “We do embrace the creepy, and honestly, so many people visit because of the History Tree. But we thought that allowing people to see how lovely the rest of the resort is... Well, it would make them think they should stay here and perhaps not just sign up for the campfire histories and the ghost walk into the forest. If it’s a bit more comprehensive, we could use your videos on our website and in other promotional materials.”

  “I’m happy to get on it right away. Well, almost r
ight away,” Angie said cheerfully. “We did have plans to wander out a bit today, but we’ll start on a script tonight. Maura’s a genius at these things.”

  Maura glanced over at Angie, not about to show her surprise. So far, she hadn’t known they were wandering out that day, and she wasn’t sure that she was going to come up with anything “genius” after they got back.

  From wherever it was that they were apparently going.

  “Thank you ever so much,” Marie said, standing. Her fingers rested lightly on the table as she turned to Maura. “We always knew our Maura was clever—we’d hoped to have her on through college and beyond, but, well...very sad circumstances do happen in life. Ladies, I will leave you to your day.” She inclined her head to Nils. “Mr. Hartford, would you come to the office with me?”

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Maura leaned forward. “Where is it that we’re wandering off to today?”

  “Well, it was your idea—originally, I’m certain,” Angie said.

  “Where?”

  “St. Augustine, of course. You said it wasn’t much of a drive and that we could easily get there and back in a day. I want to head to the Castillo de San Marcos—did you know that it’s the oldest masonry fort in the continental United States? And I’m not sure how to say this, but St. Augustine is the oldest city in the country continually inhabited by European settlers. Think that’s right. I mean, the Spanish started with missions and then stayed and... I have it all in my notes. Though I know you—you may know more than my notes!”

  Maura glanced at her watch. It wasn’t late—just about ten. If they left soon, they could certainly spend the afternoon in the old city, have dinner at one of the many great restaurants to be found—perhaps even hear a bit of music somewhere—and be back for the night.

  “Okay,” she said. “I had thought you wanted to finish up around here today—maybe even leave here and stay in St. Augustine or perhaps head out to the old Rivero-Marin Cemetery just north of Orlando. I just had no idea—”

  “I thought you loved St. Augustine.”