Lonesome Lake

by Lesley Appleton-Jones

  Holly folded her arms across her chest. She sure as hell hoped not. If the cases were connected, she was going to be in for it. “It’s a house fire. That’s all we know.”

  “So, it could be related to the break-ins then?” Gabby pushed.

  “What makes you think there’s a connection?” Raines asked.

  Gabby looked at him with a fake, doe-eyed innocence. “Oh. Just simple curiosity. That’s all. Houses don’t burn to the ground for no good reason, especially not one that has been so carefully renovated.”

  Holly didn’t need to be a detective to know Gabby was hiding something. “If you have information about either this fire or the break-ins, I need to know right now.”

  Gabby stared off into the distance, considering her options before responding. “What I have is bigger than a few burglaries, and it will boost newspaper sales if I can get some proof. Until I do, my lips are sealed. The last thing I need right now is a lawsuit.”

  Over the years, Holly had become an expert at assessing whether the threat of punishment or the promise of a reward would work on manipulating a suspect. It was one of the skills that made her a successful interviewer. Holly knew Gabby well enough to know the stick would never work. She was all about the fat, juicy carrot. Tempting Gabby with the tidbit now wouldn’t harm the investigation. By noon tomorrow, the whole town would know it was arson. “Look, Gabby, what we’re dealing with at the Milbourne place is serious. We need all the leads we can get.”

  Gabby’s eyes widened in eagerness, and Holly continued to reel her in. “Something did happen here tonight. Something that will sell all the papers you can print.”

  “Was someone hurt?”

  Holly shrugged. “I could give you the story before anyone else.”

  Gabby’s look of interest turned into one of calculation. “If I share, I need you to promise two things.”

  “Let’s hear them.”

  “First. I get the story. You talk to no one else.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Second. You don’t say this came from me.”

  Holly nodded her acquiescence. “So, what do you have?”

  Gabby bit her lip as she took a moment to put the story together. “I can’t prove it yet, but I suspect Robert Beaupré is dealing drugs out of some of the vacation homes he manages.”

  Chapter Five

  Drug dealing was the last thing Holly expected to hear. “You’re serious?”

  Gabby nodded. “When the properties are not rented, I suspect he uses them to hand off drugs.”

  “How did you come up with that?” Raines asked.

  “One of my friends suspected someone had been in their vacation home. She didn’t go to the police because all she found missing was a bottle of scotch, and someone had rearranged the kitchen armchairs. I offered to speak with Robert Beaupré, who managed the property for her. When I questioned him about it, he became defensive, and I could tell that he was up to something.”

  This interested Holly, but Beaupré didn’t manage any of the break-in properties she was investigating. “Who is the owner?”

  “Carla Rivera. We go way back. College friends. I’ll email her contact information to you.”

  Holly nodded.

  Gabby continued. “I wondered if Beaupré was renting out the properties on the side and pocketing the money, so I followed him. At first, he didn’t appear to do anything out of the ordinary, just the usual realtor activities. He eats out a lot. He prefers Frannie’s place but also eats at the new Chinese restaurant in town a couple of times a month. He did nothing suspicious until I followed him all the way to the Canadian border. Even then, it wasn’t so much that he did anything wrong, it was more of a feeling I got that he was up to something.

  “I talked it over with Scotty Pepper, who offered to check it out. He’s working as a PI these days. Right off the bat, he noticed there was something fishy about how Beaupré managed the rental houses. Renters usually picked up the keys at his office, but he met this one guy at several different properties. At first, we thought he could be a buyer, but none of the buildings were for sale. The man was always alone, only stayed for a couple of hours, never overnight.

  “It wasn’t until I was watching Beaupré plow through a huge pu-pu platter at the Chinese restaurant that I recognized the man sitting with him. He was the person who met Beaupré at the properties. Scotty traced the tags on the man’s car, which turned out to belong to a Jin Chueng. We checked him out and discovered he had several drug convictions. That’s when Scotty put it together. He’d heard about an Asian drug ring smuggling narcotics from Canada to Boston.” Excitement had crept into Gabby’s voice. “We continued to watch Beaupré, trying to get proof, but he’s careful. He selected properties where we would be easily spotted if we parked near the house. Plus, he pulls the drapes, so a telephoto lens or binoculars doesn’t help. All we see are them coming and going with gym bags.”

  Raines placed a hand on her shoulder in a protective way. “If you’re right, following him was dangerous.”

  Holly added, “You should have reported it.”

  Gabby didn’t look impressed. “And say what? I can’t accuse someone without concrete evidence.”

  “Spying on drug dealers is so risky,” Raines said, his voice full of concern.

  “The risk is what makes it a good story, but I’m careful, and Scotty insisted on keeping me company, even when I couldn’t afford to pay him. He knows how to take care of himself.”

  “I want you to let us take it from here,” Raines told her. “That means no more following Beaupré.”

  She frowned. “I’ve invested money and time, and now you expect me to kiss my investigation goodbye? Can I at least ride along with you?”

  “No!” Holly blurted before Raines could agree.

  “But you don’t understand how much this could mean for the paper. Things aren’t going so well.”

  “They could be a whole lot worse if you’re caught snooping,” Raines warned. “You need to leave the investigating to us.”

  “Fine,” she said, but didn’t sound convincing. “Now what can you tell me about the Milbournes’ place?”

  “We suspect—and I emphasize “suspect”—that we’re dealing with an arson,” Holly told her.

  “Really? That’s great,” Gabby said in that eager way unique to reporters on learning about someone’s misfortune. “What makes you think it’s arson?”

  “There was a strong odor of gasoline.”

  “And the Milbournes?” she asked still sounding much too eager. “Were they in there?”

  “I don’t know. That’s all I have.”

  “When you get more, you better not hold out on me.” She stared hard at them for a moment before turning and walking toward her Dodge Grand Caravan.

  Holly watched as she tossed her bag into the passenger seat and climbed in.

  Raines took the time to make a call.

  She heard him say that the fire was under control, and he’d be home later that morning. She realized his nieces must have been worried about him. When he’d disconnected, she asked, “Do you think Gabby will leave it up to us?”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought.”

  Chapter Six

  Abbey Raines pretended to doze. At the other end of the couch, her sister had finally succumbed to a fitful sleep. Her ragged breathing and occasional soft moaning told Abbey the fire and the sirens had rekindled Melody’s nightmares. Abbey hoped that didn’t mean her sister would start screaming in her sleep again. That had been way beyond creepy. And it made everyone feel sorry for her. Abbey wanted to nudge her awake and tell her to go upstairs to bed, but if she did, she’d have to go, too.

  Through slitted eyes, she watched Monroe Podell. The muscular, tattooed biker stood in front of the window staring in the direction of the fire. Although the fire blazed more than a mile away, all that separated them from its path was the forest. The flames no longer shot above
the trees, but the night sky glowed an ominous, red-orange.

  Abbey stared at the giant of a man they affectionately called Po. Unlike her Uncle Cal, who had raised the alarm and run off to save the day, Po had stayed with them. Memphis, her uncle’s chocolate Labrador, lay at Po’s feet—both of them loyal companions awaiting her uncle’s safe return.

  The phone shrilled, and Po hurried to answer it. For a beefy man with a limp, he was nimble. Most people believed Po limped because of a motorcycle accident, but Abbey knew the real reason was way more sinister than that. He’d been tortured during a drug bust when he’d worked for the DEA. At the time, he’d been protecting her uncle, who was on an undercover assignment.

  When her uncle had returned to North Caxton to care for her and her sister, he’d brought Po with him, and he now lived above their garage and spent his days either looking after them or restoring classic motorcycles and pickups.

  His meaty hand swallowed the receiver. Even though Abbey could tell he was trying to keep quiet so he didn’t wake them, his deep voice rumbled into the mouthpiece.

  Abbey jumped up and questioned Po with her eyes.

  Melody stirred but didn’t wake.

  He mouthed the words, “It’s your uncle,” and listened for a while before saying they were all good and hung up. “Everything is okay, kiddo. Everything’s under control. Now let’s get you guys back to bed.”

  “But the fire still seems huge,” she said. “And a spark could fly up in the air and set the trees on fire.”

  “If that had been a risk, Cal would have said something. He’s not going to let anything happen to you guys.”

  Abbey bit her lip. “I can’t sleep. It’ll be morning soon. I’m going down to the stables to check on the horses one more time to make sure they aren’t spooked.”

  “How about we get the munchkin up to bed, and we both head over?”

  “Okay.”

  Po bent over the couch and scooped up Melody as if she were a baby instead of a fourteen-year-old. She murmured something unintelligible, but Po shushed her back to sleep. Abbey watched him limp, stiff-legged, up the stairs.

  A few minutes later, they crossed the driveway, heading for the stables. Memphis trailed behind them. The smell of smoke was thicker than it had been, and the horses whinnied as they approached. Abbey owned two horses, a Thoroughbred gelding and a gentle Quarter Horse.

  Entering the barn, Granite, the Thoroughbred, broadcast his anxiety by rearing up and striking the stall door. Under the lights, his black coat gleamed. Abbey headed straight for him, crooning to him as if he were a baby. His ears twitched, and he dropped back down on all fours, but he continued to snort. Granite wasn’t easily mollified.

  Po eyed the immense horse with apprehension. “Do you think you should go in there? The Brute seems a tad huffy.”

  Po had nicknamed him “The Brute” the first time he’d seen him. Abbey smiled. For a man who loved horsepower, Po was awful skittish around the real deal.

  Her voice singsonged, “He’s a little sweetheart.”

  Po guffawed, which made Granite stomp and snort some more. Po stepped back.

  Abbey laughed. “He can’t get you from behind the door.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  Abbey opened the stable door and walked in. “Go check on Truffle. I think you can handle her.” Truffle was as soft as Granite was hard.

  The chestnut mare stared at them with huge, concerned brown eyes. Po made his way over to her stall and mimicked Abbey’s style of crooning. She smiled as he whispered sweet nothings. It didn’t take long for the gentle mare to calm down and begin to nudge him for food. Po pulled out a quartered apple and held a wedge in the palm of his hand, careful to keep his thumb out of the way as Abbey had taught him to do.

  After the horses stopped fretting, Po dragged a couple of bales of hay over to the stall wall. They sat, and the dog settled beside Po. The six-foot-four biker leaned back and stretched out his tree-trunk thick legs in front of him. “I’m impressed you managed to calm that damn horse down.”

  She smiled. “He can be a touch stubborn at times.”

  Po scratched Memphis behind the ears. “I guess if you name a horse Granite, you have to expect he’s going to be ornery. Truffle is a perfect example. The name fits. She’s both sweet and soft. Maybe you ought to consider renaming him Pushover or Marshmallow.”

  She laughed. “That’s never going to happen.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Abbey plucked at the hay bale. “I’m glad you’re here.” She knew there was a whine of accusation in her voice but didn’t care.

  “You know your uncle needed to go. A person doesn’t have long to get out of a burning house. By the time the fire trucks arrived, it could have been too late.”

  She opened her fist and blew the straw across the barn. “Why did he have to pull his Marvel act?”

  “Marvel?”

  “Yeah. The comic-book hero stuff he loves doing. I bet he ran into that burning building to save some kid’s teddy bear. He does dumb stuff like that. Calvin Marvelous Raines.” She almost added, the man who would help anyone except his brother, but stopped herself in time. Po was too loyal to hear any criticism about her uncle.

  “Cal’s going to be okay. He left his Superman cape in the closet.”

  She gave him one of those condescending looks hardwired into every teen’s DNA—the silent duh. “Superman is a character in DC Comics, not Marvel.”

  He smiled. “He wouldn’t do anything crazy. You and Melody are his number one priority.”

  She supposed this was true. Uncle Cal had dropped everything and returned home to help them, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Not in a million years. “He can be such a pain, so…” She chewed her lip as she searched for the right word. “Stubborn.”

  “That reminds me of someone else I know,” Po said.

  Abbey plucked more straw from the bale of hay. “Granite’s a pushover compared to Uncle Cal.”

  “I’m not talking about the horse.”

  “I’m nothing like him,” she grumbled.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  “I’m not stubborn.”

  Po quirked an eyebrow.

  “Hey! No fair,” she objected. “What’s more, I listen. But not Uncle Cal. I swear he has hearing loss from one too many concerts. He never listens to a thing I say. It’s infuriating.”

  Po rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “Are you sure you’re not mad because you can’t get him to do what you want him to do?”

  “No.”

  “Come on. Be honest. It’s you, me and the horses. I’m not about to tell anyone, and the way you treat those damn brutes, they’d never rat you out.” He grinned a goofy grin.

  From the moment she’d first met Po backstage at one of Uncle Cal’s concerts, she’d liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her. “It’s not just that,” she said.

  “It’s mostly that, though. You want him to change his mind about your dad.”

  She clenched another fistful of straw. “Is that so bad? All I want him to do is visit Dad to hear his side of the story now the lawyer has given the okay, but he won’t go.”

  Po glanced down at the dog as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “It’s complicated, kiddo.” His voice was gruff.

  “It’s not that complicated. Someone in this town got away with murder, and my Dad is paying for it.”

  “You know it’s not that simple.”

  She pressed a fist to her chest. “Uncle Cal doesn’t even get how it hurts me.”

  “You know he gets it. It keeps him up at night. He loves you kids and would do anything to protect you.”

  She raised her voice. “He should feel the same way about his brother.”

  Po said nothing.

  She sighed. “Why does everything have to be so difficult?”

  “I wish I knew.” He stood up, pulled a horse blanket off the peg and draped it around her shoulders. “
You look cold. Why don’t you head on in? I’ll stay here with the horses until the fire dies down some more,” he offered.

  “No. I want to stay.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. “I wish everything could go back to how it was before. We were all so happy.”

  “That would be great, kiddo.”

  He didn’t need to add that there was no going back. Her mother was dead. Nothing she did could change that. But she knew who had done it. She just had to prove it, so she could free her dad.

  Chapter Seven

  Holly and Raines watched Gabby Swinford drive off toward town. Jamie followed her, glaring at them as he passed.

  Raines asked, “How many break-ins are you working?”

  “Four. The first call was from someone who’d found several expensive bottles of whiskey missing. The owners didn’t have a housecleaner, and their kids were too young to have been up here on their own. Another owner said she knew someone had been in her house because two of the toilet seats were up.”

  “You’re kidding? Toilet seats?”

  “It’s her pet peeve. The men in her life all put the lid down. At the third house, video games, junk food, and a few cans of beer were missing. At the fourth, it was vodka, tequila, a DVD player and action-movie DVDs. There wasn’t any damage to any of the properties—not even trash left behind. No forced entry, either. No broken windows. All the sliders had either wooden dowels or sliding bolts in place to secure them. They either had keys or picked the locks. I couldn’t find anyone who had access to all four properties, and none of them used property managers.”

  The air was cold and damp from the massive volume of water used on the fire. Holly could see Raines’ breath as he spoke. “I doubt many kids know how to pick a lock or have access to the keys for all the properties.”

  This idea cheered Holly. She didn’t want this arson connected to her break-ins. She nodded. “It’s feasible Beaupré is using properties he doesn’t manage. As a realtor, he’s probably familiar with a lot of vacation homes in the area, and it wouldn’t take much monitoring to learn which ones are vacant. No doubt he’s adept at getting into buildings without forcing entry. He could even have a skeleton key.” She started to warm up to this idea. “Perhaps Beaupré was here for a drug deal, and something went wrong. It would explain why the garage door was open, and there wasn’t a vehicle inside. He wouldn’t hang around here for us to show up. Nor would he take the time to close the garage door. On the other hand, if the owners were home and trapped inside, their vehicle would be in the garage. Or if they escaped the fire and managed to get the car out, they’d be here waiting for us.”