Home for a Spell (29 page)

“Hi, Tom,” I said, waving away the rude faces Marcus was making. Cheeky devil. “Nothing’s wrong. I just . . . we came across something that I think you should know about.”

“Something with regards to the thumb and hard drive Quinn is cataloguing for me?”

“Exactly!” I said with some relief. “And . . . well . . . a little more than that, maybe.”

“Oh, yeah? How’d this happen?”

“I’ll explain it when you get here. Can you come?”

I waited a full five seconds while he considered whatever it was that he needed to consider. “Um . . . yeah. Give me a few minutes.”

It was a little more than a few, but who was counting? Marcus went to answer the door so that I wouldn’t have to get up. Minnie was as grateful for his helpfulness as I was. She had circled her way onto my shoulders shortly after I had sat down, and there she stayed draped there like a live, rumbling, black fur stole.

Marcus showed him back to the computer room and waited. Tom stood in the doorway, looking around at the organized library of electronic equipment. “This is the bat cave, huh?”

It might as well be, tonight.

He came in and leaned against the worktable behind me, crossing his arms as I turned to half face him. Marcus came and leaned against the desk beside me. Presenting a united front, as it were.

“So, what do you have for me?” he prompted.

I cleared my throat. “You know the pictures that were on the thumb drive found in the wreckage of Locke’s office?”

He raised one brow rather than giving me the obvious answer.

“There was an issue at the middle school today.”

Tom waited, not a single muscle flexing.

“That involved pictures.”

Slightly more interest now. “What kind of pictures?”

“From what I understand, the same kind of pictures that Locke had been taking.”

He kept his expression neutral. “And you think this is related to the investigation . . . why?”

“Because the subject of the photos was a teacher. One who lived at the apartments. Annie Miller’s niece, Angela, in fact.”

He forgot all about poker faces as he considered this. “I think I’m going to need you to explain. In detail.”

“Marcus’s Uncle Lou was telling me about his day, and he happened to mention that a teacher had been suspended today,” I told him. “At the middle school. Evidently there were pictures of her in compromising situations that were making the student rounds, and someone found out about it and reported her. She was suspended for the pictures and for not conducting herself in a manner befitting a role model of young teens, pending an investigative hearing in front of the school board. Tom, it was Angela Miller, Annie Miller’s niece. Annie was adamant when she told Liss that her niece was the soul of propriety, and that this was all some terrible mistake. And,” I said, pausing for emphasis, “as you know, she lives at the apartments.” I turned to the computer and pulled up the first photo I wanted to show him. One of the worst. “I’m pretty sure this is her. She looks the spitting image of Annie, albeit half her age. But who’s counting. And”—I made a face—“I’m pretty sure neither Annie nor Angela know about these. My question is, how did kids at the middle school get ahold of Locke’s handiwork?”

Tom barely glanced at the photo. “I interviewed Angela Miller yesterday to take her statement. That picture is definitely her. And her boyfriend, Tyson Hollister.”

“School kids, Tom. How?”

“I don’t know.”

Marcus cleared his throat. “What about our theory that Locke had customers for his secret hobby? Do you think he would have been selling them to kids?”

“Would kids have had the money? Doubtful. I checked his bank account. He was receiving money transfers from several different accounts. Pretty little sums, too. Kids wouldn’t have access to money like that. In any case, I have a list of account numbers and an interview with the bank manager tomorrow morning. The people whose names appear on those accounts are going to have a bit of explaining to do. It’s not illegal to purchase pornographic materials where adults are involved. But where the subjects are unaware they are taking part? That’s another story entirely.”

“So you think we’re right?” I asked him. “That the photos responsible for Angela Miller’s suspension are likely to be sourced back to Locke?”

“I think that’s a fair assessment, yes. Timing is everything, and the timing of this is too specious to be considered coincidental.”

“And . . . do you have any particular suspect you’re focusing on yet for Locke’s murder?” I couldn’t help asking.

“You know better than to ask that.”

But I couldn’t let it go. “What about Tyson Hollister? Annie seems to think he’s trustworthy. Just misunderstood.”

“He told my investigating officer that he had taken Ms. Miller out for dinner and a movie the other night when Locke was attacked. I checked his story. He has the credit card receipt for both the meal and the cancelled ticket stubs for the movie.” Tom shrugged. “I believe him.”

“Any of the other tenants?”

“They all seem more victim than suspect at this point. I don’t know, Maggie. I just don’t have enough information to go on at this point.”

Hm. A thought occurred to me. “You know . . . one thing you might find out is whether any of the bank account people had middle school kids. That at least would explain Angela’s situation.”

“I’ll make a point of it.”

“Good. Because I’d hate to see her get fired over something that wasn’t even her fault.”

“I see your point. But I have to be careful. This is evidence in a murder investigation. Unfortunately, if it comes down to that, it trumps Ms. Miller’s wrongful persecution.” He looked us both in the eye. “And don’t make me remind you that you have both signed confidentiality agreements. I don’t expect any of this to get out in any way, shape, or form.”

“Neither of us have said anything to anyone. And we won’t. Right, Maggie?” Marcus prodded.

“I made my promise. I will stick to it.” Oh, but it would be hard, if Annie’s niece did end up losing her job because of a creepazoid like Locke. Angela was the victim. It completely offended my sense of universal justice that she could conceivably be victimized a second time by the school system, and none of it her fault.

Tom pushed himself away from his perch on the edge of the worktable as though to leave.

“One more thing, Tom. You remember the lodge that Locke was a member of?”

“Yeah, I remember you told me that you found the place through Lou’s dealings with him as a lodge brother.”

“Did you know that Harding was a member of that same lodge as well?”

A frown crossed his forehead. “How did you find this out?”

“Lou mentioned it when I was explaining to him that Harding was the owner of the apartment complex and that he had refused to offer me a lease. Not that I was about to sign it at that point anyway.” I just had to be sure I got that out there. Sheesh. A girl has her pride.

“Hm. Harding said he barely knew Locke, outside of an absentee employer-employee fringe relationship. Now, I suppose that could be true—that even as members of the same organization, they weren’t on each other’s radar. But you’re right. It is something that needs to be clarified.”

And that’s all that I asked. I knew there was no real reason to have latched on to that particular point . . . so, why did my inner senses all stand up and take notice at the repeated mention of “the lodge” over the last couple of days? That’s what I needed to understand.

The voice again, chiming in with Grandma C’s intonations inside my head. At least it was nice to know that, whatever “it” was, it agreed with me. This time.

After showing Tom out, Marcus came back to computer command central and leaned against the door frame, smiling at me. “Why is it that the more you mention this lodge thing being bandied about, the more the hairs start to lift on the back of my neck and the more sense it seems to make that there is something weird going on, somehow? I’m beginning to think that whatever you’re picking up on, it’s catching,” he said with a rueful shaking of his head that made his dark curls fall down around his eyes.

“Sorry?” I offered, smiling back at him. “Anyway, it’s not like you haven’t worked your magick on me, making me see things I never even thought to look for before.”

“Ha. Yeah, we’re mutually guilty of that, I guess.”

He came purposely forward and, putting his hands on the armrests on each side of me, he leaned in to engage me in one of his ultraspectacular lip-locks. Completely distracting me. At least until my cell phone rang. The call screen identified the caller as Tom.

“I should probably get this?”

Marcus nodded.

“Maggie,” Tom’s voice said in my ear the moment I flipped the phone open, “listen. Don’t freak out, but . . . I just thought I saw someone hanging around Quinn’s house.”

My eyebrows shot up, and I turned to face the window, where the blinds were down but not closed. All I could see was the soft light from the lamps and the colorful glare of the computer monitor, with dark shapes for me and Marcus, and an ominous wall of blackness beyond. “Here? Now?”

“Yeah. Dark, shadowy. Moved from the landscaping toward the backyard. I had pulled in to the driveway to turn around when I saw it. Got my spotlight out, but whatever it was, or whoever, was gone.”

I shivered. “All right. Thanks for letting me know.”

“You have Quinn keep an eye out, huh? And he needs to install some security lights. Jesus, it’s black as pitch back here.”

“What’s up?” Marcus asked as I hung up the phone.

Setting Minnie down on the desk with a grumble of protest, I rose on one foot from my chair and reached for the rod that twisted the blinds to a closed position, securing my need for safety before answering. “Tom said he thought he saw someone hanging around the house and yard while he was turning his car around. He checked it out with the spotlight, but whoever it was was gone by then.”

“Here? Now?”

I uttered a shaky laugh, rubbing my hands up and down my arms to dispel the goose bumps that had arisen there. “I think I hear an echo. Yes, to both questions.”

A fierce, determined expression arose on his face. “I’m going to get a flashlight and go out myself.”

“Do you have to? I mean, Tom did just check things out.”

“I know the place a hundred times better than he does.” He dropped a swift kiss on my brow. “I won’t be long. Promise.”

While he was out there, I distracted myself by going around and checking all windows to be sure the locks were secured, and all the curtains and blinds to be sure they were drawn. Passing through the living room, I saw the cameras that Marcus had never completely retired—the very ones he had employed a month or so earlier, when he had (correctly?) suspected Tom of being guilty of drive-by stalkery—when a sudden thought struck me. Why not? I switched the power on, wishing we had had the foresight to have them running all along. Oh well. Forewarned is forearmed. If anyone came around later tonight, while we were sleeping—assuming any sleep was to be had on my part—they would be caught. Candid Camera 2.0. A part of me all of a sudden wished that Marcus wasn’t opposed to gun ownership. Maybe he had a nice, old-fashioned baseball bat lying around.

“No one,” he said when he came back through the kitchen door. “I even checked the loft over the garage.”

“ ’ Kay,” I said, swallowing hard to keep my nervousness at bay.

But not concealed. “Hey, hey,” he said, taking me into his arms and holding me against him. I tucked my head beneath his chin and breathed him in. “You’re not worried, are you?”

“No . . .” I lied.

“It was probably just a dog or something, sweetness. I honestly didn’t see anything back there, and there was nothing to indicate anyone had been hanging around, either.”

I nodded, willing for the moment to let myself be lulled by the sense of security he offered. And yet, when the lights were out, I couldn’t help but wonder . . .

I did sleep that night, nestled in the warm crook of Marcus’s strong arms. I also spent quite a lot of time staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the living world around me and hoping none of the sounds were portents of a break-in. I wasn’t sure. A couple of times, I could have sworn I heard a slight tapping, so slight that it blended into the other noises that were common in older homes: creaking, groaning, the whishing of air through oversized ancient duct-work. I convinced myself that it was just my imagination run amok, that I was just making myself nervous . . . even though Minnie also lifted her fuzzy black head at that very moment to listen intently for several long minutes before finally lying back down to return to sleep.

I was being silly. It was just a coincidence.

Marcus, with his uncanny ability to sleep through anything, didn’t even flinch.

When morning finally came, I breathed a sigh of relief. And I felt pretty silly for worrying. It was so easy to feel foolish for my fear with dawn glowing on the horizon. I left Marcus sleeping and crutched myself into the kitchen to make him something special for breakfast. Special because he did so much for me and asked so little, and I wanted him to know how much I appreciated him. With bacon sputtering on the stove and a hot cup of tea cooling on the counter, I went out on the back porch to the birds singing their melodic chorus to the dawn. The porch swing was a little iffy for me to back into with crutches, so I stood there on the edge, watching the light growing and expanding all around me.

It was just as I was intending to go back inside to check on the bacon and start the eggs and toast that I made a final circuit of the back porch, checking out the mounds of mums whose buds were cresting out on the far end. That was when I saw it.

I stumbled back a step before I found my footing, then turned myself on my crutches with the kind of speed and agility that resisted crutch-assisted efforts. “Marcus?�� I called as I hit the threshold and kept on going. “Marcus! Are you awake?”