Ricki sucked in her bottom lip as she considered it. The boys would be finished with being grounded well before the science fair in the fall, so there wasn’t any reason they couldn’t attend that. And testing out the bot would give them time to work out any kinks over the summer. Of course, she’d have to find out how the other parents would feel about footing the bill for any potential disaster.
That would be tough for her to do all on her own right now since the bill for her mom’s nursing home was due in a few weeks, and she had to sock money away so they could all stay afloat over the winter. Still, she did have another pool of money to tap into, at least when it came to Eddie. Bear could more than afford to pick up this tab, and she knew he wouldn’t mind doing it. Not since it was all for their son.
“Okay,” she finally said. “Okay. I’ll talk to the other parents and see what they have to say.” She looked up at him. “Thanks for thinking of this. I owe you.”
Clay shook his head. “No, you don’t. Sooner or later you would have dropped in at the St. Armand and made the same arrangements.”
She laughed. “Give yourself some credit here, Thomas. I could have tried, but it would have been a lot easier for that manager to turn me down than the local chief of police.”
He smiled and swung their joined hands back and forth. “Okay. I’m happy to take the praise. Has this earned me another real date?”
Oh, what the hell, she thought. All the gossips could just wag their tongues. The fact was that she wanted to go out again with Clay.
“Sure. How does next weekend sound?”
The delight in his eyes had her blushing slightly. “Yeah. Next weekend sounds great.” He turned toward the diner and started pulling her along. “Now that we’ve solved all the immediate personal problems, how about we get something to eat while you tell me what you found out at the VFW? I’m starved.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ricki stared at the index cards laid out on the kitchen counter. Marcie had given her a ride back to the cabin since Dan hadn’t yet returned from Port Angeles, where he was looking up eviction notices and Clay had gotten a call about a minor fender bender north of Brewer. Staring at the cards, with a microwaved dinner sitting off to the side, rapidly cooling and still untouched, she had to admit she was disappointed Clay hadn’t been able to join her. They could have shared a pizza and beer while they talked over the case. Or maybe talked about his life BB—before the Bay.
She frowned. For some reason it was just dawning on her that he rarely talked about it. She’d known him for a year now, and all that time they’d been dancing around the edges of a relationship that was definitely now in its infancy.
Well, they’d gone on one date anyway, but that counted as a start. And it wasn’t until recently that he’d even mentioned he’d been married before. And that was all he’d said about it, promising they’d talk about it later. But so far? Nada. She definitely didn’t get the vibe that Clay had some sort of dark, secret past, but still . . . He sure wasn’t chatty about it either.
She shuffled the index cards around again and studied the new grouping. Each card contained one thing she knew for certain about the case. She’d pushed the card stating Last seen going south at about 8 p.m. next to the one with Car found in canal 25 years ago. Satisfied those two things were related, she moved two more cards around, forming the beginnings of a timeline. Graham was seen driving south at 8 p.m., then the car ended up in the canal. But then how did Graham’s body find its way to the lighthouse? She picked up another card and considered it. The ranger’s uniform, along with his badge, had been neatly folded next to what remained of him, a skeleton that looked as if it had been carefully laid out.
Tapping the edge of the card on the countertop, she considered different scenarios of what might have happened that night almost fifty years ago. Only one stood out. She set the card down, putting it in front of her timeline, before moving the rest of the cards into place in one continuous row, ending with the shooting of Maxwell Hardy. There were only two gaps, but they were the crucial ones, and in her mind related to each other and the central question: Why had Benjamin Graham been spending time in the Bay?
He’d been seen here by more than one person, or at least his car had been, and on more than one occasion. So he’d definitely been hanging around the area. But what was it that the PI had uncovered that had gotten him killed?
Missing something, she thought. She was sure it was there, but she wasn’t seeing it. Her phone beeped with an incoming text message from Dan. He was on his way back to the Bay and he’d sent her an email. Switching over, she opened his email and saw that it had two attachments, which she sent to the small printer on top of her desk. It began to spit out paper before she’d crossed the room. She picked up the three sheets and scanned their headings as she walked back to the counter. One sheet was an application as a renter, and the other was a rental agreement. She’d just settled back onto her stool when her phone rang again.
It was Josh.
She set the papers aside and picked up her phone, a tension already snaking its way up her back and into her arms. “Hey.” She winced at the sharp edge in her tone. “How are you?”
“Pissed,” Josh said without preamble. “You know that deputy marshal I was tracking down? The one who interviewed you in the hospital?”
“Chad Olyman. Yeah. Did you talk to him?”
“Can’t,” Josh spit out. “He’s conveniently dead. Car accident while he was on a very expensive vacation in the Cayman Islands.”
Ricki kept quiet, listening to Josh’s choppy, angry breathing through the speaker while she thought that one over. “How expensive?”
“A six-hundred-dollar-a-night-room-at-a-luxury-hotel expensive, and he’d run up additional charges in the thousands.”
She softly whistled. “Whoa. He’d either been saving up since he was a kid, or living way beyond the salary of a deputy marshal.”
“Oh yeah,” Josh confirmed. “And he was on his way to meet a hot date when he had the accident. No one can remember her name, or where she was staying, or even one damn thing about her, except she was a complete knockout with a body built for a wet dream.”
“But no name?” Ricki closed her eyes. What were the odds that a woman like that was walking around an island, and absolutely no one remembered her name? Unless she simply appeared out of nowhere, met the marshal, set up a time and place to meet, and then disappeared.
“She probably didn’t even show up for that date,” Josh said, mirroring Ricki’s thoughts.
“Not likely,” she slowly agreed. “Sounds like Olyman was enjoying a payoff when he was set up.”
“Roger that,” Josh said. “A loose end that needed tying up.” There was silence for a moment before he blew out a breath. “I wanted to let you know what I found out, and to tell you that I’m not going to let this go. I can’t.”
“Neither can I,” Ricki said.
“I have to go. Oh, before I forget, Jonathan is going to call you sometime soon.”
She frowned. The profiler? “Why?”
“He heard about the accident, and he’s worried,” Josh said.
It was a nice thought, but she wasn’t sure what to make of that. She’d only worked with the guy once, had a short conversation with him when he’d shown up at the St. Armand with Josh. Agents got hurt all the time, so it wasn’t all that unusual or unexpected, so why the interest? “Look. You can tell him it was minor, nothing more than a broken wrist. It isn’t worth a phone call. I’m fine.”
“I’ll tell him, but knowing Jonathan, he’ll call anyway. Hang on a minute, okay?” Before Ricki could respond one way or the other to that request, Josh came back on the phone. “Look, I really do have to go.” His voice dropped lower. “I have a feeling that this whole thing with Marie is going to get a lot messier. You watch your back, okay?”
When the phone went dead, Ricki set it aside. “Messier” was an understatement. First she and her partner were ambushed,
then the investigating agent doctored the report, after which that same agent just happened to be in a fatal accident? Ticking time bomb would be more accurate.
Her thoughts about that night on the pier were interrupted by a quick series of knocks on the door.
“Ricki? Are you in there? Do you want me to leave this envelope from Clay here on the porch?”
Recognizing the voice, Ricki smiled and slid off the stool. “Coming,” she called out, and opened the door to Ray, who was standing several feet away, holding out an envelope.
“Clay asked me to drop this off since you’re on my way home.”
Ricki took the envelope, then frowned at the pained look on Ray’s face. “What’s the matter?”
He rubbed a heavily veined hand across his forehead. “Headache. That’s why I left a little early.” His watery eyes crinkled at the corners. “You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of aspirin I could have, would you? It would save me a stop at the grocery store.”
“Sure. I can manage that. Come on in and I’ll even throw in a glass of water.”
He removed his battered baseball cap and followed her over the threshold, stopping next to the counter, still holding his hat in front of his chest. “I surely do appreciate it, Ricki. This thing’s been pestering me all afternoon. Probably should have eaten more of my lunch, but I just didn’t feel like it.”
She reached into her cupboard where she always kept a huge bottle of aspirin on the lower shelf and then grabbed a clean glass. Walking to the sink, she glanced over her shoulder. “Didn’t anyone at headquarters have any aspirin?”
He carefully shook his head. “Clay didn’t, and there wasn’t anyone else around today to ask. I think the rangers are all at Hurricane Ridge doing some kind of training up there.”
She walked over and held out the water and the bottle of aspirin. Setting his hat down, Ray smiled his thanks before shaking out two white pills, popping them both into his mouth at the same time. He followed that up with a huge swig of water.
“That’s perfect. Thanks.” Ray picked up his hat and backed up a step toward the door. “Well, you got the envelope and I don’t want to interrupt you anymore.” He gave her a rueful smile. “And I’d like to get home and lie down for a bit. I’m not so young anymore.”
Seeing the droop in his shoulders, Ricki walked with him to the door. “Are you going to be okay? You don’t live far away. Corby and I can drive over with you and walk back.” At the sound of his name, the big dog sprawled out on the couch immediately jumped to the floor, his tail wagging.
Ray chuckled. “I’ll be fine on my own, Corby. You didn’t have to move.”
Corby plopped his butt on the floor and stared at Ricki, who shook her head at him. “Not now. We’ll go for a walk later.” She looked back over at Ray. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
He walked to the door and opened it up, letting a rush of cooler air inside. “The pain’s already easing off. You go back to whatever it was you were doing, and I’ll get out of your way.” He gave her one last wave before stepping outside, closing the door behind him.
When Corby’s tail stopped wagging, Ricki shrugged. “He didn’t want our company, so you might as well finish your nap.” She grinned when the dog turned and leaped back onto the couch, kneading the cushions with his paws before settling back down again.
Thinking she’d probably need to invest in a new couch in the near future, Ricki picked up the envelope and drew out the contents. Inside were the enlarged photos Charlie had promised her, along with the originals and a short note the mechanic had written, apologizing for the poor quality.
He was right about that. The smaller grainy picture had been blown up into a larger grainy picture that still didn’t show a lot of detail in the faces of the assembled rangers. But it was better than what she’d had. Every bit of information helped. Thinking she’d give them a closer study later on, Ricki set the photos aside and picked up the papers Dan had sent her.
The rental lease was for the property at the address Barbara Metler had given them, but the name on the lease wasn’t Benjamin Graham. The renter’s name was Chris Toner. A single male. She scanned the rest of the paper, her gaze drawn to the filled-in line for tenant’s occupation. Park ranger. Feeling that tingle in her gut, she reached over the line of index cards and plucked up the staff roster that listed the rangers assigned to the park in 1971. Running her finger down the page, she stopped at the halfway point.
C. Toner. There you are. She smiled in satisfaction. So it had been Ranger Toner who’d rented that house in Port Angeles where Benjamin Graham had also lived, according to his sister. Wondering if the two men had been sharing the house, or if Toner had turned around and subleased it to a fellow ranger, Ricki picked up the eviction notice. She wasn’t surprised that it was Toner who’d been evicted, since it had been his name on the lease. But a moment later her eyes widened. The official paper filed with the county had listed Chris Toner as the renter being evicted, all right, but it had identified him by his full name: Christopher Anthony Toner.
Ricki stared at it, repeating the name to herself several times before she finally nodded in satisfaction. Well, well. Christopher Anthony Toner. The mysterious roommate.
“Looks like we found Benjamin Graham’s friend,” Ricki said softly. “You’re probably the same guy who came to the Bay and asked around about him.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Catman.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“C-A-T.” Clay kept his eyes on the road as he repeated the initials. “Interesting nicknaming system your vic had.”
“Uh-huh.” Ricki watched the scenery whisk by as the SUV ground out the miles toward Vancouver, on the border between Washington and Oregon. “Makes me wonder what OG stood for.”
“Another guy in his unit?” Clay guessed. “Or maybe someone else he met in Port Angeles? He could be our killer.”
“Could be.” She knew those were the most likely possibilities, but she’d already checked the staff list for a ranger with the initials of O. G. and had come up blank. And she couldn’t recall anyone in the Bay with those initials either, but then her knowledge of the area’s residents didn’t go back fifty years.
Thinking she might have to pay another visit to the VFW and corner a few of the older vets with a few more questions, she stretched her legs out and crossed them at the ankles. “Want to hear my theory of what went down that night Benjamin Graham was killed?”
Clay grinned. “Yep. That’s why I agreed to take this three-hour jaunt to talk to Christopher Toner.” He shot her a sideways glance. “By the way, you never told me how you tracked him down so fast.”
“I didn’t,” Ricki said. “Mr. Former-CIA-Spook-and-Master-Researcher-Turned-Ranger, Dan Wilkes, pulled that off. It turns out Toner has what Dan calls ‘a reliable presence’ on Facebook. If he’s the killer, then I’d stake my badge on it being the only unusual thing he’s done.”
The chief let out a loud groan. “Facebook. Great. What does ‘reliable presence’ mean anyway?”
“According to Dan, Toner posts on a regular basis,” Ricki said. “He’s part of a group for retired park rangers.”
“There’s a group for that?” Clay asked.
She shrugged. “There’s a group for everything—trust me, I know. I have a teenager. Not that he frequents Facebook. It’s not the social media choice for kids.”
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. Now back to how your assistant partner found Toner?”
Ricki laughed. “I did tell you. Toner posts on Facebook. Dan read his posts, and he mentioned he’d retired to Vancouver. According to Dan, Toner even put up a picture of his house. Dan did a quick search, got his address and phone number, then matched a picture of the house with the one he found by putting Toner’s address into Google Earth, and got a perfect match.”
“Will the wonders of the internet never cease,” Clay said dryly. “So, let’s hear your theory that you worked out with your little
index cards about Graham’s murder.”
She didn’t take issue with the amusement in his voice, since her investigative methods had gone from efficiently searching the internet to using lowly index cards. But hey. Whatever worked. “I don’t have a big board in my cabin, so you use what you’ve got.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And it worked out pretty well.”
“All right, I’m listening,” Clay said. “Shoot.”
“I think someone Graham knew lured him to someplace off the 101, south of town. Back then, that whole stretch was remote and didn’t have a lot of traffic, especially in April, before the season got started.”
“Why would Graham meet someone in the middle of nowhere?”
“Unknown,” Ricki stated. “But he went and ended up being killed there. Then the killer removed Graham’s uniform and stuffed the body into the backseat of the Aston Martin.”
Clay’s lips pursed as he followed her train of thought. “The killer drives up to the lighthouse, dumps Graham’s body there, figuring no one is going to find it, puts on the uniform, then drives back through town, heading south.”
Ricki nodded. “Exactly. He’s hoping someone will see him in the uniform and assume he’s Graham, leaving town. Which is exactly what Carl Evans did, and as the killer’s good luck would have it, Carl conveniently told Christopher Toner when he came looking for Graham, tying everything up very nicely.” Ricki stared out the window as she painted the scene from fifty years ago in her mind. “He ditched the car in the canal—plenty of places deep enough to do that—and then walked back to his own car.”
“So why did he go back later and leave the uniform next to Graham’s body?” Clay asked. “Why didn’t he just burn it?”
“Remorse,” Ricki replied. “I don’t think we’re looking for a hardened killer. It’s shaping up to be a spur-of-the-moment kind of crime. You know, a disagreement heating up and tempers getting out of hand. The killer did the only respectful thing he could, short of making a confession. He laid the body out and left the uniform neatly folded.”
One Last Scream (Special Agent Ricki James Book 2) Page 23
