Ropes and Trees and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Nothing to be done about it. I had something I needed to check into before I went to talk to Crew and handed him what he needed to solve this case.

  Yes, yes. I should have blah blah blah. Could have yada yada. Surely you know me better than that by now?

  I called up the internet on my phone as I hurried into the woods, heading for the tree where the last zip line began. And squeaked to a halt at the sight of the creeping form of the young man I’d assumed left town already up ahead. He spotted me when I spotted him, his face twisting into a mask of anger. I saw Philip consider running, watching it cross his face, but I was still moving, catching up to him before he could make the choice, tearing the plastic bag from his hand.

  Stopping him from dumping the contents onto the ground at the base of the tree he’d chosen for his dirty work.

  “Blackstone finally decided to up the ante, I see?” I didn’t need to examine the poor little body of the woodpecker in the bag to know what he’d been about to do. Was Robert complicit or was my stupid cousin really as useless as I thought? There was zero doubt in my mind, regardless, that the tiny bird in the bag Philip was about to plant was a red cockaded.

  Philip didn’t try to take the bag back from me, shrugging, looking away, face pinched with fury. “Things got screwed up,” he said. “Left me no choice.”

  Confirmation of the dead activist’s dealings with Blackstone? “Lewis wouldn’t plant evidence for you, is that it?” I shook the bag at him. The bastards actually killed an endangered woodpecker to make their plan look legit? That was a new low, though hardly shocking.

  His eyes met mine, flicker of irritation there. “I had no contact with that idiot,” he said. “Aside from the expected. As far as he knew, I was an activist like him.”

  Right. Because I knew better now, didn’t I? “You had another contact.” One I’d seen clearly for the first time in a photo hanging behind Fleur in the Gazette dark room.

  He didn’t respond. “You can’t prove anything.” He gestured at the bag in my hands. “Your fingerprints are all over that now.”

  “And your part in Lewis’s murder?” I prodded him to see what he’d give me, but Philip instead flashed a horrible, cruel smile.

  “I had nothing to do with that,” he said. “Good luck trying to prove it. Now, get out of my way before I decide maybe you know too much and I need to do something about it.”

  He did not just threaten me. “The sheriff will be in touch,” I said, holding up the woodpecker.

  “Let him try,” Philip said, pushing past me. “Blackstone’s lawyers will have something to say about that.”

  I let him go, heart pounding, staring down at the plastic bag and the little bird, so still and quiet. I could have gone after Philip, but he wasn’t my target. And he’d only confirmed what I already suspected, what I’d seen in that photo.

  I continued on, the little creature tucked into the pocket of my hoody, renewing my internet search as I moved on. A quick scan of my prompt while I stumbled in the dimness under the foliage, blinking into occasional sunbeams, gave me the information I was looking for, though I stared at it a long moment in shock when it appeared. I clicked through, the image on my screen unexpected but telling as I came to a halt at the base of the tree I’d climbed only a few days ago. I read through the history of the subject in question, surprised to find exactly what I needed to point the finger. Now I just needed one last thing to prove it.

  I shivered as I contemplated what I was about to do and tucked my phone into my pocket before starting to climb.

  I took my time, scanning the tree’s bark, searching for the evidence I wasn’t even sure I’d find. It wasn’t until I was about halfway to the top I realized I’d come up here without a helmet or harness. Oh well, I just needed a quick peek and I was alone, after all. I’d be up and down in a flash and then back on the road to the sheriff’s office, hopefully with a scrap of evidence pointing to the murderer. The fact I needed to call Crew crossed my mind, but I was so intent on saving the day—and making him look like a hero—I shrugged off the call until I finished the job I’d started.

  Stubborn? Who, me?

  The platform awaited, the zip line down on the ground on the far side. I suffered a faint feeling of vertigo, clinging to the side of the tree, grasping the safety cable that held the platform in place with one hand while I searched the bark and branches of the surrounding area, not sure I was going to find what I was looking for but needing to look just in case. Not spotting anything near the platform, I leaned out and peered down, wobbling a bit as the ground seemed to rush toward me while my heart raced.

  And my eyes spotted what I’d been seeking. Not believing my luck, I grinned to myself and bent to retrieve it.

  At the exact moment someone pushed me from behind.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty Four

  I screamed, clutching for the safety cable, swinging out over the platform by one hand. I grasped for anything to hold onto with the other, finding and catching a narrow branch while the air left my lungs in a long shriek of terror, the toes of my sneakers scrabbling against the bark and barely catching a hold.

  I looked up, doing my best not to swing, fingers already on fire from the pressure of holding most of my body weight, to find Grace standing on the platform, a knife in her hand.

  “Please,” I whispered, barely able to get that out, the sound soft and pathetic compared to my previous protest. “Please, don’t.” Thirty feet below, the ground waited, beckoned and I had no idea if I could survive such a fall. Really didn’t want to find out.

  Grace inched forward, face grim, the knife descending toward the safety cable. I couldn’t help but whimper as she came closer, her bulky shoes sliding across the wooden surface, the ridged edges familiar. So familiar.

  How did I miss that she had such big feet?

  “You killed Lewis,” I gasped as she reached out to cut the line. My accusation startled her, stopped the descent of her blade. “Why?”

  “I saw it in you, the last time we spoke,” Grace said. “How close you were to the truth. And that chat you had with Philip.” She exhaled abruptly. “If you didn’t already know, you were close to the truth. I just needed enough time to think thinks through.” She was sweating, moisture beading on her face. “To turn his death to my advantage. But you’re far too smart for your own good, clever girl. That’s why I have to kill you.” She laughed, though there was no humor in it. “I know your type, Fiona Fleming. Do gooder who wants the glory for herself. I used to be you.” She stopped laughing, gestured at me with the knife. “Lewis wasn’t working for Blackstone.”

  “No,” I whispered. “You were.”

  “I didn’t lie to you,” Grace said. “You asked about him. Not me.”

  True enough. I was an idiot. “You sold out. When did he discover you betrayed him?”

  Grace’s face tightened. “You have no idea.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “What it’s like. Facing off with corporations like Blackstone and losing over and over again.”

  “So you joined them.” I couldn’t last much longer. If Grace didn’t back off, I’d fall even without her threatening knife to finish the job. Why, why didn’t I call Crew?

  Grace shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I need to know what you put together,” she said. “What I need to cover up.” She jabbed the knife at the line. “Since we’re being so open with each other, dear. I’ve planted enough information to mislead that journalist.” Fleur. “And even your handsome sheriff.” She’d used her Blackstone connection to seed false trails? That was why the confusion between stories. “Not all agents are loyal to that Bureau of his.” How deep did the corporation’s corruption run?

  I didn’t want to tell her what I knew, but I had to keep her talking. My life depended on it. I looked down at her shoes and her eyes followed mine, giving me the time to adjust my grip as my fingers slid, sweat making them slick. I sucked in air when my right hand slid over the branch but caught at
the end of it, lunging to take a new grip and pulling myself closer to the tree. My toes stayed hooked, my new position making it easier to hang on, to give more pressure over to my feet. Just enough to hold firm another few seconds while Grace looked up and met my gaze again.

  “You left a footprint behind,” I said. “Along with your protest sign. And the corner of your pocket.” The tiny piece of fabric dangled just below me, still hanging from the bark. Close enough in color to the tree itself Jill missed it. But I knew what to look for, didn’t I? Especially after seeing that photo of Grace from the gathered crowd, that specific sign in her hands, her intact apparel undamaged. “It wasn’t torn before Lewis died.” But it certainly was after. She’d worried at the hole in that same pocket while I’d served her tea at the annex, a fresh tear, a bit of dirt circling the hole. Finding the remains of that tear up here meant proof she’d climbed after all. The rest she seemed willing to tell me before she killed me.

  She shifted positions again, fingering the hole with her free hand. “Good eyes,” she said. “He fought me and I almost fell. Imagine, he saved me.” She laughed again, a barking sound. “Pulled me up after accusing me, after informing me that we were done. That he was leaving me. Told me he forgave me, that he loved me. He loved me.” She flinched. “I didn’t mean to kill him. It was never my intent.”

  “Not even when he was under investigation by the FBI?” I had to get to the platform somehow. And soon. But Grace wasn’t about to move out of the way. “They would have tracked the money back to you, wouldn’t they, Grace?” Didn’t take a big leap—or much research—to find out she was the treasurer of their little endeavor together.

  “He already had.” She seemed to collapse a bit in on herself, real sorrow appearing on her face. “That’s how he knew it was me. I thought I covered my tracks, but I didn’t expect him to go looking. Or for him to put things together, not after all our years as partners.” She faltered, hand holding the knife shaking. “I tried to explain.” Her face lit with the kind of fervent zeal I’d seen on the first day, her commitment to the cause running deep even now. “That we had to work from inside the system, to save the ones we could and let the others go. But he didn’t believe me. He said he loved me. But that he couldn’t be with a traitor.” She choked on a single sob. “He turned his back on me, was going to tell everyone. I couldn’t let him do that.”

  Never mind she’d set him up to take the fall and left him exposed to the FBI investigation. “You didn’t seem to mind putting his reputation at risk.” Not to mention his life, in the end. She didn’t answer, guilt and what had to be rage flaring in her face. “So you used the rope you stole from the entry and strangled him with it.” She flinched at that mention. Was she reliving what I relived? The bulging eyes, his dying stare? “Why take it in the first place if you didn’t intend to kill him, Grace?”

  She shrugged. “Always good to have a bit of rope when you climb.” That came out absently, like she wasn’t with me anymore. I hopped my hand up the safety line further, knowing I was on borrowed time.

  “You’d know about that,” I said. “You used to be a champion climber, once upon a time.” The last search of her name turned up her past, with a different surname but the same face, much younger and full of smiles where she hung from the side of a mountain.

  Her gaze snapped into focus. “You know about that?”

  I nodded. “The internet is deep and holds a lot of secrets.” Not sure how I managed to sound so calm while my own life dangled over the edge of a very long drop, fingers and toes going numb. Even if she did back off now I was pretty sure I couldn’t make it to the platform. Funny how the inevitable could wash fear away like nothing else. “I found the records of your awards. Impressive.” My fingers trembled, left hand slipping over the thin line. I pulled deep on my reserves and hung on. “You being up here with me now is more than enough proof you had it in you.”

  She grunted. “No one will believe it,” she said. “With you dead?” Whether the fall killed me or not, apparently she planned to finish the job. “I was careful to funnel the money through a fake charity shell company right to Lewis’s private account. With the FBI distracted by conflicting stories they can’t prove, our activist community will all believe it was Lewis after all, who betrayed them and I’ll carry on as before. The poor dear, poor Grace. They’ll follow me with more enthusiasm than they ever did him.”

  There wasn’t much I could say to that. “The corporation wins, then.” I swallowed hard as one of my toes slipped, caught. “Blackstone gets this land and the takeover of Reading begins.”

  Grace looked startled a moment. “I don’t think you get it yet,” she said. “Not quite yet. Too bad you won’t live to know the full story. But it’s not mine to tell and for now, Fiona Fleming, you’re out of time.”

  And then, like it had in the past when my life’s end loomed, the world slowed down to an agonizing pace as Grace leaned forward, knife extended, and cut the safety line to the platform.

  One shot, one instant, a single attempt to save my own life. That was all I had in that time between inhale and exhale. I watched her slice, gathered every ounce of strength I had left. And the moment the line parted, I threw myself forward, toes cramping, fingers clutching the branch twisting, my upper body arching as I heaved myself up and over the edge of the platform and caught the lip with my numb fingertips.

  My feet couldn’t find purchase on the tree, the branch twisting free from my other hand and for a long moment I swung on the tips of my clutching fingers, the sky and the leaves and the open air engulfing me as my pounding heart raged in my head, filling my senses with the thudding beat that was the final sound I would ever hear.

  Grace fell to her knees, lunging toward me with her knife outstretched while I swung back, free hand catching at the laces of her ugly man shoes. She cursed as I tugged, jerking her foot out from under her, forcing her to brace herself on the platform, holding up not only her own weight but part of mine as I clung to her foot for dear life.

  I was sure his voice calling my name was my mind playing tricks, my need for rescue so deep and terrible I imagined Crew telling me to hold on. Except a moment later he was on the platform, his hands grasping at Grace, Jill right behind him, pinning the woman to the wooden deck while Crew landed on the surface on his stomach, both big hands reaching down to lock around my forearms and jerk me upward in a single, mighty heave. I collapsed beside him, knowing I was sobbing as he rolled over and sat up, pulling me into his lap to cuddle me against his chest and breathe my name into my hair while Jill covered Grace with a scowl and her gun.

  “How?” I whispered that question into his ear.

  “You can thank Robert,” he choked. Never. “For abandoning his post.” Aw, hell. “I saw your car, came looking for you.”

  Damn it. Fine. My jerk of a cousin could have this one.

  Meanwhile, as I gathered myself and tried to stop hyperventilating, Crew looked up long enough to glare at the old woman who panted her frustration at the both of us.

  “Grace Perkins,” he growled, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Lewis Brown and the attempted murder of Fiona Fleming.”

  My hero. Mine. All mine.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty Five

  I stood at the back of the dining room, cheeks aching from the beaming smile I’d worn since the guests started arriving at the annex just this morning, now all seated and watching as one of the stunning brides swept her way to the front of the room, trailing her giant train behind her. Aundrea looked a vision in ivory satin, the ruffled hem of her gown embroidered with colorful flowers that climbed through the overlay of lace weighing down the full skirt. Pamela waited at the top of the makeshift aisle, her simple white suit glowing against her silky blonde bob, matching the sparkle in her eyes as she and her true love finally got their happily ever after.

  I dabbed at the tears in the corners of my eyes, sniffling softly to myself, doing my best to stay alert just in cas
e something needed attention without getting totally swept up in the moment. I should have been in the kitchen helping Mom, but even she sat in the front row on the far side with Dad holding her hand, taking a few minutes break from work to watch Pamela Shard marry Aundrea (Patterson) Wilkens at long last.

  The discussion about the procession ended abruptly the night before with Pamela putting her foot down and kissing her soon to be wife firmly.

  “I’m waiting for you,” she said. “I’ve been waiting a long time. I’m done messing around with who’s standing where and what we’re doing. Just come find me.”

  Aundrea had laughed, we’d all laughed, and, true to her word, Pamela was there to take her lover’s hands in hers while the wedding music swelled and finally came to a halt as the minister began the ceremony.

  I had to admit as I looked around the annex dining room looked stunning. The decorators Vivian had recommended did an incredible job, perfection in the guise of Aundrea’s favorite flowers, all spring mixes in dazzling hues, adorned the artfully placed giant vases perched almost casually around, piles of more blooms cascading over tables and onto the floor wound through mesh backings that made the room look as if a garden sprung up inside it overnight. The resulting waterfall of blooms filled the space with the heady scent of spring, the breeze washing in through the open doors to the backyard adding that extra, tantalizing promise of summer coming around the corner.

  Sunlight poured over the happy couple, cutting past the thin gauze of the curtains over the windows where they’d chosen to say their vows, the stained glass above the tall frames, washing them in as much color as the stunning flowers they’d chosen. Everyone’s phones and cameras were out, snapping endless photos, while the tiny, fast figure of the photographer Aundrea hired nipped in and around the gathering to catch the best images. I hadn’t been all that surprised to find Fleur departed Reading without saying goodbye, nor that she hadn’t stayed for the wedding. I still wondered about her past with Pamela, but it wasn’t any of my business. And it was clear from the warm and delighted smile on her face, the journalist had made her heart’s choice.