Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) (21 page)

Braden checked us into a different hotel. The room was
spacious. Good thing. Otherwise Braden’s pacing would have worn a rut in the
carpet. He never sat, cruising the room in looping circles as we talked. The
room featured two queen beds. Janie and I each staked out a personal headboard
backrest.

“Are you nuts?” Braden growled.

I had to admit the verdict was out. “Okay, I screwed up. I
shouldn’t have let Kain know we have leads on a land flip. But how can it hurt?
His reaction confirms my hunch. He boiled over because he’s vulnerable. That
food chain he created is way too long. He realizes one of his cronies might
squeal.”

“Possibly, and your heads-up gives him time to cover his
tracks. Maybe he’ll ‘disappear’ more loose ends. If he hired Underling to kill
Bea and Stew—and lest we forget,
you
—what’s to stop him from ordering
more hits? Maybe he’ll wipe out everyone he considers a potential liability.
Hell, Hollis County’s population may take a nosedive.”

Dammit, had I put more lives in jeopardy? Even if they were
crooks, I didn’t want their grisly deaths on my conscience.

Braden paused, rubbed his temples. “Then again the man may
just vanish. Hightail it out of the country and back to East Kingdom Come
before we can nail him.”

Crap. The idea of Kain skeedaddling hadn’t crossed my mind.
Adrenaline and hatred had jammed the gears in my mental machinery.

“God, I’m sorry. I was wrong. But maybe it’s not a disaster.
The man is smart and greedy. He knows we have no proof, and I’m sure he put up
firewalls. It’s entirely possible he’s never come face-to-face with most of his
co-conspirators. The ones who do know him must realize he’s a stone-cold
killer. He’ll count on their willingness to take his secrets to jail—or the
grave—rather than risk his wrath.”

A recall of his whispered threats made me shiver. “Numbing
fear, that’s his specialty. So, no, I don’t think I’ve triggered a bloodbath. I
doubt Kain kills on whim. Stew and Bea were loose cannons, peripheral to his
scheme. Their deaths served a purpose. They scared Gator and Sally into
compliance. Now that his crazy-killer cover’s blown, he’d be stupid to
commission more bizarre hits.”

Braden nodded. “Maybe. But the man
enjoys
his little
games. If he’s arrogant enough, he may want to rub our noses in his mess,
thinking he can still walk away.”

The deputy looped the room again, then plopped onto the
room’s sole chair. “So where are we? Nowhere. Kain’s been questioned twice, the
last time by Sheriff Conroy, and he didn’t break a sweat. He has no record. On
paper, he’s a solid, very rich citizen. We don’t have a shred of evidence to
tie him to any murders, Sharlana’s disappearance, foreign worker exploitation,
or any real estate scam. Everything’s hearsay and innuendo.”

Jamie bolted upright. “What about that two-million-dollar
down payment for Hogsback Island? It had to come from somewhere. And I’ve been
writing checks to Help-Lease for months. Can’t some expert track the money?”

“Yeah, maybe SLED’s forensic accountants can penetrate the
corporate smoke,” Braden agreed. “That might prove he’s a principal in Help-Lease
and Emerald Cay, LLC. But we also need evidence these companies are engaged in
illegal activities.”

The deputy slumped in his chair. “Financial skullduggery’s
out of my league. Despite the clever capers you see on TV, most perps are
dumber than dirt. I’ve never needed to analyze corporate balance sheets to
prove a murder motive. Usually the husband or boyfriend’s still holding the
gun.”

He stared at his hands, cracked his knuckles. “If we could
only catch this Underling. Flip him and we could prove Kain’s connection.
Unfortunately I doubt an assassin who learned his trade in some Eastern Europe
mob is willing to sing.”

Janie cleared her throat. “Forget your cop accountants,
Braden. If there are any checks or papers tying Kain to the purchase of Hogsback
Island or that labor outfit, I’ll find them. And I don’t need a stupid
warrant. I’m alone in Gator’s office for hours every day. I know his computer
password. I understand how he thinks, where he squirrels things away.

“My master key opens every door in the building,” she added.
“I’ll ransack the office of that twerp, Woody, too. He must be in the thick of
this, right? I can’t help you with Sally though. She has a custom lock on her
office. A very secretive lady.”

My mouth hung open in astonishment. Janie was the most loyal
person I’d ever met. If I murdered someone, she’d bring a shovel and bury the
body, no questions asked. Yet she was volunteering to play Nancy Drew in
palazzo pants to send her boss to prison. It seemed totally out of character.

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” Janie snapped. “Gator
decided it was okay to leave me twisting in the wind, either because he’s
scared or greedy. Take your pick. My snooping’s justified.”

Braden gave Janie a hard stare. “This isn’t a game. If our
theories are right, Kain has killed two, possibly three people. He sicced one
of his mad dogs on Marley twice. She’s got the luck of the Irish to be alive.
Janie, I’m ordering you to stay out of this. If there’s a paper trail, SLED
will find it. I’ll start interrogating the folks on Marley’s short list as land
flip conspirators.”

My neighbor rolled her eyes. “Okay. Unpucker your sphincter.
I just wanted to help. But if you expect me to crawl in a hole and pretend I’m
not screwed, stop talking and go to bed.”

Braden phoned the front desk for a six a.m. wake-up call. For form’s sake, I pulled back the covers on Janie’s bed. She deftly
positioned her foot against my posterior and gave a firm shove.

“Forget it. I’ve watched you sleeping. You churn the covers
like a Cuisinart. Climb in with Romeo. He’s got incentive to put up with you.”

I used the bathroom to undress, then Janie took her turn.
While my friend was in the john, the deputy crawled between the sheets in his
tighty whities. To the best of my knowledge, the man didn’t own pajamas.

He pulled me against his body and whispered. “Sorry I jumped
on you. If we’re going to work together, you can’t keep secrets.”

“I know. It won’t happen again,” I whispered back. “And I’ll
keep my temper. Kain got to me. No excuse for diarrhea of the mouth. Not with
lives on the line.”

“You’re frustrated,” he said. “It gets to all of us.”

His incipient hard-on pressed firmly against my bottom. “You
know we could get rid of some of our frustrations,” he whispered. “I can be
very quiet.”

“Not a chance,” I replied, though the heat radiating from
his body already had x-rated visions dancing in my brain.
Like sugarplums
.
Then I smiled and mentally amended the image,
like a sweet Popsicle.

Sleep doesn’t come easily if you’re horny, overtired, or
stressed. I was all three. Wide awake, I asked myself the same questions over
and over.

Did I believe Janie would butt out and leave the
investigating to authorities? Nope. Could I change her mind? No way. What could
I do to protect her?

Get her to move in with Braden and me?

Maybe.

***

The wake-up call startled me. Janie’s loud groan expressed
her opinion.

“It’s Saturday,” she griped as she padded toward the
bathroom. “Tell me again why we had to get up at six a.m.”

“Some of us don’t work banker’s hours,” Braden called after
her. His cheerfulness seemed to ratchet upwards in inverse ratio to Janie’s
irritation. There was friction between them, and Braden relished sticking it to
my neighbor, angling for a rise.

We dressed quickly and barely said boo until we zoomed over
the bridge and stopped at a McDonald’s drive-thru for big coffees, no food. I
waited for everyone to ingest a mood-leveling dose of caffeine before broaching
the idea of Janie moving in with Braden and me.

My friend yelped like she’d been scalded, then hooted with
laughter. The deputy silently brooded, but I caught him doing an eye roll.

“You think I’ll be safer living with someone who’s been shot
at and basted like a ready-to-roast duck?” Janie chuckled. “No thank you. Pussy
Galore and I will take our chances on the south side of Blue Heron. Besides
you’re allergic to Pussy.”

Janie’d named her twenty-pound white Persian after one of
James Bond’s stronger-willed females, the pilot in
Goldfinger
. Braden
hadn’t even been born when that movie debuted.

Quit harping on his age. He’s not asking you to marry and
bear children.

I swiveled in the front passenger seat to focus on Janie.
She grabbed the arm I draped over the seat and squeezed it like she was making
lemonade. “Look, I’ll be good—and careful,” she said. “I’ll play clueless Suzy
Secretary at work, and I’ll keep my doors locked at night. Don’t worry about
me, Marley. Worry about yourself.

“Have
you
thought about leaving the island?” she
demanded. “Going back to Ohio or Idaho or wherever it is they grow corn. Now
that
would be smart. Deadeye Dick ordered both of us to leave the investigating to
the authorities. He doesn’t need civilian volunteers.”

Braden pounced on the suggestion. “I hate to admit it, but
your friend has a point. Given Kain’s threats, it might be prudent for you to
vacate Dodge.”

“No way. I won’t turn tail and give him the satisfaction.
Besides Chief Dixon needs me—even if the sheriff’s department doesn’t.”

My husband always claimed my jaw jutted out an extra inch
when I entered mule mode. If so, my chin now staked out territory well beyond
my face. I felt exceedingly stubborn.

We rode in silence. The deputy seemed to be vying for a new
land speed record between Hilton Head and Dear Island. No fear about speeding
tickets. We arrived at the makeshift dock before the seven a.m. ferry started boarding passengers. Once on the island, Braden dropped Janie and me at
our homes then left to call on the chief. Before Janie said goodbye, we made
plans to attend the afternoon’s joint memorial service for Stew and Bea.

Inside my house, I wandered aimlessly, trying to decide what
to do. With little sleep, my mind wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Maybe that’s
why I puttered for two hours—surfing the Internet, doing laundry, and making a
grocery list—before I checked my answering machine.

Though the caller didn’t identify himself, I knew Henry
Cuthbert’s whiny voice. The twin appeared to have dibs on speaking first. The
background noise featured twittering birds and croaking frogs. Not the type for
New Age soundtracks, the boys must be outdoors, calling on a cell phone. Their
high voices vibrated with excitement. I rewound and listened again.

“We caught fat-ass dead to rights,” Henry gloated. “Followed
Hugh when he snuck off in Mom’s skiff. He beached on the backside of Sunrise Island,
waddled above the high-tide mark and stuck a note in a seashell.”

“Hey, it’s my turn, give me the phone,” Jared wheedled. “We
can lead you right to the killer. Meet us where you crashed our party. Bring
the
man
, Deputy Dog. Let’s say high noon.”

The teens started banging on metal—a car hood?—to hammer out
a rhythm for some freebased rap lyrics:
“Meet at high noon, fat-ass Hugh
will sing a new tune…”
Laughter erupted and the kids hung up.

The call practically made my knees knock. The twins were
obnoxious and loathsome, but that was their job; they were teenagers. They had
the right to grow up and out of it. No one should die at fourteen. With no
notion of their present whereabouts, I had no way to protect them for the next
two hours. A call to their home or a drop-in could make Hugh antsy. Maybe he
already suspected the twins of spying. I would have to wait. Meet the boys at noon.

Figuring Braden’s consult with the chief would be brief, I
didn’t call. He’d arrive in plenty of time to join me. However, when
eleven-thirty rolled around, I started to worry. Minutes later, Braden’s car
breached the driveway, and I flew out the door. No time for lollygagging.

He poked his head out the car window. “I know you’re glad to
see me, but we really should wait until we’re inside. The neighbors, you know.”

Braden waved toward Janie’s house, then frowned when he
realized I’d turned to lock the door. “Ye gods, what now?”

“We have business to take care of—two little boys who love
to play with matches.”

***

“Take your next right.”

“Where?” Braden complained. “There’s no road.”

“Semantics, my dear. It’s a logging road. See, the
underbrush is only thigh-high. Besides we’re stopping in about two hundred
feet. We walk the rest of the way.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” he grumbled.

It was unusually warm for early spring, mid-eighties.
Nonetheless, I wore jeans, high-topped hiking boots, and a long-sleeved shirt.
Haunted by the sight of Bea’s bloated face, I was determined to keep a little
extra between my flesh and any fire ants. Giant spiders and poisonous snakes
weren’t on my get-acquainted list either.

We heard the boys before we saw them. I hoped resident
reptiles found the racket as offensive as I did. Were they rapping? Whatever,
they’d cranked the noise full volume. As we weaved between prickly bushes, I
caught glimpses of the teens practicing a dippy slide-shuffle.

A dance? Who knew? Maybe Braden
.
God, he looks
young today.

When we reached the clearing, my youthful-looking deputy
proclaimed himself the grown-up in charge. Henry and Jared let loose with a few
“oh, man” complaints as Braden ordered them to park their fannies on a rotting
log, and talk only when—and if—asked.

The twins complied with astonishing meekness—none of the
usual lip. Then it dawned on me: Braden was the missing ingredient in their
lives, a take-charge male who didn’t stoop to bribery or verbal or physical
abuse. His command presence hypnotized them.