A Rendezvous to Die For (21 page)

“
They’re thinking there could
be a connection between the Rendezvous murder and those of Randy and
Jim.” He tipped his Stetson to the back of his head and grinned.
“You gonna buy me coffee for that? And something to go with it?”

“
Not sure,” I said. “It
didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. The cops made
that connection as soon as I turned up at the scene of all three
murders.” I paused. “Did my name come up?”

He nodded. “I heard your name a
few times. But more interesting is the other name came up.”

I set my cup down, giving him my
full attention. “Whose would that be?”

“
Buy me coffee and I’ll tell
you.”

“
Go get it and be quick! And
get me a glazed donut . . . two of them. I’m still famished.”

After Jack placed his mug on the
table and shoved a plate of several donuts toward me, he ruffled the
hair on the top of my head. “Seems that your landlord, Marty
Madigan, knew all three of the victims. Quite well, in fact.” He
reached for one of the donuts.

“
We already know that Marty
knew Eric and Randy. Colton Mills is a small town. It’s no surprise
that he’d know Jim, too. After all, Marty works closely with the
Indians and Jim is Frank’s nephew.”

“
You’re right, it’s not a
surprise he’d know them.” Jack removed his hat and scratched his
head. “What
is
a surprise is that Marty has had run-ins with all of them.” He
shoved the rest of the donut into his mouth.

“
Was the incident Randy told me
about one of them?”

“
Yep.” Jack gulped down a
swig of the hot coffee. “I think Randy downplayed to you what
happened that day. He told the deputies about it over a beer
afterward. They told me Randy could have filed harassment charges.”

I used a napkin to wipe the donut
sugar from my chin. “Randy thought Marty had a weird reaction to
the injured woman from the accident, but I don’t think he felt
assaulted. If he did, it would have made more sense for Randy to kill
Marty than the other way around.”

Jack gazed at me intently. “Maybe
you’re right. I’m just reporting what I heard from the guys. They
pretty much forgot about Randy’s connection to Marty, until one of
them remembered the bad feelings between Marty and Jim Tuttle.”

“
Bad feelings with Jim Tuttle?”
I bolted up straight. “Tell me about that!”

“
Marty has some conflicting
ideas about the accepted way of life around here.” Jack held up his
hand. “On the one hand, he takes part in these old-time Rendezvous,
where they use animal skins and roast the meat over open fires.” He
lifted his other hand. “Yet he’s almost violently opposed to
trapping.”

“
And Jim was a trapper.”

“
Not only a trapper, Cass. He
was an outspoken trapper. Marty’s been trying for years to outlaw
trapping in the county, but every time he thought he was getting
somewhere, Jim rallied enough support to ensure no bill ever got
passed.”

I spun my spoon in a circle on
the table and glanced fleetingly at a couple passing our table. “How
did somebody like Jim manage that?”

Jack shrugged. “Here’s
another interesting tidbit.” He lowered his voice. “Jim got help
from his uncle, Frank Kyopa—your friend and president of the
Prairie River Band. The Indians don’t want to see trapping go the
way of hunting, so whenever it comes up, Frank sends his legal team
to fight the fight.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Hmm.
Either of those issues could make someone like Marty mad and
frustrated enough to resort to murder.”

“
Maybe, maybe not, on the face
of it, Cass, but there may be more to it than we know.”

I pushed back my chair and
reached for my purse. “I’ll keep nosing around.”

Jack
took my elbow and guided me outside. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep in
touch with the deputies and see if I can pry anything more out of
them.” He walked me to my car. “Is everything else okay?”

I nodded “Fine today, so far,
but I think someone followed me while I was jogging yesterday.” I
told him about the incident in the park.

“
Are you out of your mind? What
were you doing in that park by yourself? You’re leaving yourself
wide open.”

“
I suppose I could just stay in
my house and drive myself mad, like my landlord.”

“
Cass, you’ve got to watch
out for yourself.” He took hold of my shoulder and gave it a little
shake. “Is there anyone you could stay with until this blows over?
You’re isolated out there in the carriage house.”

I nodded again. “Don’t tell
me I haven’t thought of that. Marty’s out of town right now. So
is Anna. And, no, I don’t have anyone I can stay with.”

“
I’ve got an extra—”

“
Don’t even think about it.”
I wasn’t desperate enough to avail myself of Jack’s hospitality.

“
Suit yourself, Cass. Thought
I’d make the offer anyway.” I climbed into my Jeep while Jack
held the door open. “A lot of manpower in both the sheriff and
police departments has been diverted to the Colton Mills murders,
because they’re afraid whoever committed them may strike again. Do
you have any kind of weapon? Just in case you should need one?”

I squinted up at him. “If by
weapon, you mean gun, then no, I have no weapon. I’ve never been
into guns.”

“
Think about it,” he said.
“I’ll loan you one of my firearms.”

I laughed. “The only thing I’ve
ever aimed and shot is a camera,” I said. “And isn’t there
something illegal about borrowing somebody’s firearm?”

“
I’ll take you to a range
where you can get up to speed in no time. As for any legalities, we
can worry about that later.”

“
I’ll think about it.” I
glanced at the dashboard clock. “I have to go, Jack. I have an
appointment at 11:00 and I’m late already.”

Even
though it was a Sunday, I had made a call to Heather, back from her
honeymoon, and arranged to show her the black and white proofs of her
wedding. While we poured over them, she served me a sandwich for
lunch and by the time I returned home, it was pushing 2:00. I had
three hours of work to do in the darkroom to print the pictures she
wanted. I still had plenty of time to put the project to bed.

It was closer to 6:30 before I
tucked the final folder into my briefcase for the next morning’s
meeting. I made myself a boring scrambled egg sandwich and washed it
down with root beer. After staring at the television for a couple
hours, I decided to head for bed and read a novel. Just as I put my
foot on the first stair step leading to the upstairs bedroom, a
muffled blast came from directly outside the carriage house. I ran up
the rest of stairs and opened the door at the top. Light flickered
just outside my bedroom window. Fire.
It was fire.

I froze.
Fire.
Slumping
onto the top step, I held my head and rocked back and forth as my
mind played tapes of the fire that had plagued my dreams every night
of my life. God only knew how long I’d have sat there, paralyzed
with fear, if the piercing sound of sirens hadn’t snapped me out of
it. I wobbled my way down to the garage, opened the overhead door,
and stumbled outside.

“
Were you the one who called
us?” a suited-up firefighter asked. “Someone called us on the
cell phone, saying they had passed a fire.”

“
No. No . . . it wasn’t me.
I-I live here, but . . . .” I could feel my bottom lip tremble.

“
Don’t worry, ma’am. I can
see you’re a little shaken. The fire is almost out and it didn’t
do much damage. It did wipe out the deck, but it’d take more than a
fire to get through those stone walls.” He tapped the wall for
emphasis.

I wrapped my arms around myself
to stop the incessant trembling. “I . . . I heard a loud sound . .
. like a . . . like a bomb or firecracker or something. Do you know
what c-caused it?”

“
I’ll leave that to the
police to explain, ma’am.” He motioned toward a police officer
who materialized out of the dark. “Glad you’re all right.”

“
The fire captain called me
after they responded to the fire,” the uniformed officer said,
whipping out a notebook and a pen. “Know anyone who might want to
do you harm?”

I pressed a hand to my forehead.
What was he saying? “Why . . . why did you ask me that?” I said.

“
It looks like someone lobbed
an explosive at your house, ma’am.”

“
To . . . to blow it up?” My
voice sounded small and frightened. I bit my lip.

“
To start a fire,” the
officer said matter-of-factly, making notes on his pad. “But they
didn’t count on the fortress you live in.” He peered down at me,
pen poised. “Any idea who might be behind it?”

“
I-I don’t,” I lied. He’d
think I was a nut case if I gave him my list of possibilities.

He finished writing up his
report. “We’ll be in touch,” he said. “There’s nothing much
we can do tonight, except scout the area for cars or people who
shouldn’t be anywhere near this property. We’ve taped the area
off and one of our techs will be out in the morning to gather
evidence. Meanwhile, if you think of anything more that will help,
call me at this number.” He handed me a business card with his name
on it.

I stumbled up the stairs and
called Jack regarding his offer to help me arm myself.

Sleep was elusive. As the fire in
my dream threatened to envelop me, it intersected with the image of
flames climbing the walls of my carriage house. I thrashed about,
kicking the sheets away. I awoke coughing, in response to the real
smoke still permeating my apartment. I pushed into my slippers and
padded outside to see how much damage had been done from the
firebombing. Within the crime-scene tape, scorch marks climbed up the
stone wall nearly to my second-story window. The fire had burned away
the cedar deck and fried my deck furniture. But the firefighters were
right about one thing: it would take a much more serious explosive to
dent the two-foot-thick carriage house walls. I did, indeed, live in
a fortress.

Chapter
20

Monday—Week
Three

Finally showered and dressed, I
paced my living room, ending up at the window facing the driveway.
Who would go to the lengths of firebombing my house? Was it someone
who knew that fire terrified me?
I’m dealing with a maniac
,
I thought, shivering with the notion.
When is this nightmare going
to end?

Once
more, I checked my watch. It was only 8:30 a.m. I had agreed to meet
Jack at eleven. That gave me plenty of time to deliver the finished
wedding photos to Heather. As brides go, she had been easy to work
with and I didn’t anticipate any problems. There weren’t any. By
10:45, I was on my way to Jerry’s, Colton Mills’ only sporting
goods store, on the edge of town. Jack was leaning against the
counter, arms folded over his chest. He arched his eyebrows when I
strode resolutely up to the counter and eyeballed the selection of
pistols and revolvers in the display case.

“
Here’s one I sell to a lot
of women looking for a self-defense handgun,” Jerry said, holding
out a palm-sized revolver to me. “It’s a compact .38 caliber,
only five and a half inches long and weighing twenty-four ounces.
It’s highly concealable and easy to carry.”

“
Carrying it is one thing,” I
said, as I turned the gun over in my hands. “Pointing it at someone
and pulling the trigger is the hard part.”

“
Looks like a good one,” Jack
said, taking the gun from me. He asked for a couple of boxes of
ammunition and we headed out to the range. The area was enclosed by a
cyclone fence. Some beaten-up metal targets rose out of the ground at
what looked to be a long distance away. We stopped next to a table
and Jack explained the fine points of shooting to me. “You grip it
like so,” he said, demonstrating how to wrap my right hand around
the handle, “and place your index finger lightly on the trigger.”

The gun, although a lightweight
model, was heavier than it looked. I grasped it and put my thumbs in
position to hold it steady, as Jack had instructed. Then I held it
straight out in front of me and pointed the barrel toward a target.

“
I’ll bet you’re a natural
Annie Oakley,” Jack said, reaching around me to fine-tune my grip.
“You’re already strong from toting cameras and you know how to
point and shoot.”

“
Yeah, but my tool of choice is
held close to my eye, not at the full extension of my arm.”

We moved to within about thirty
yards of one of the targets and stuffed plugs into our ears. Jack
loaded the cylinder, assumed a shooting stance, took aim, and pulled
the trigger. The resulting blast wasn’t as loud as Marty’s
booming black-powder pistol, but I jumped anyhow. By the time Jack
had fired off all five rounds, I could handle the report without
flinching. Pulling the trigger myself was another matter altogether.
Jack stood behind me holding my shoulders as I gripped the revolver,
extended my arms, and pointed the barrel.

“
Now, cock the hammer with your
left thumb,” he said into my left ear.