Linda Lovely - Marley Clark 02 - No Wake Zone (9 page)

Once the sheriff closed his notebook, Duncan suggested the
cabin search. He described how we’d tramped through the place and gave a
neutral account of our encounter with Eric.

Delaney’s jaw clenched. No tealeaves needed to read his
mind. If the cabin was a crime scene, we’d botched any evidence of value.

“Where’s Eric?” Darlene asked.

“He took ill—shock I imagine,” Delaney said. “A deputy
delivered him to his uncle’s house. His aunt said she’d call a doctor.”

I hadn’t met Kyle’s wife, Olivia, but sympathized with her
sight unseen. Nursing Eric wouldn’t be a barrel of laughs, but I’d prefer it to
sitting down to dinner with her beady-eyed hubby.

“One more thing.” The sheriff held Darlene’s gaze. “We don’t
know what killed the Glastons. Not a mark on either of ’em. We’re guessing they
ingested some killer chemical, just like Jake. They didn’t use eye drops, but
there’s more than one way to poison a victim. Be careful what you eat and
drink. Hell, if I were you, I’d clear out of this house.”

Delaney arched an eyebrow. “We can escort you to a hotel if
you decide. Meanwhile, I’m gonna remind everyone—this is a real, live murder
investigation. You will not tell anyone outside this room about our
conversations or share details about this case.”

As the sheriff added this last pronouncement, his eyes bored
into mine. Was I being paranoid? Nope. Sheriff Delaney was acquainted with Aunt
May. Maybe he’d even experienced her devious and effective interrogation
methods.

Or did he suspect I had a pal with the FBI?

Duncan walked me to my car. “Hope I didn’t scare you by
rushing things last night.”

I grinned. “I’m a charge-ahead type myself. Guess it’s my
Taurus birthright.” My attempt at a seductive smile short-circuited when I
realized my breath must smell like stale coffee.

He tucked a wayward curl behind my ear. “I realize we’re on
call for Darlene, but maybe we can steal a few hours for ourselves. How about
dinner at my place? Say, six? I can pick you up at May’s.”

“Sounds wonderful. I don’t know May’s plans so it’s probably
better if I just drive myself. Can I bring anything?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m a big fan of dessert.”

A blush sauntered up my neck. Duncan’s eyes said he wasn’t
talking strawberry shortcake. “I’ll bring dessert—the chocolate variety.”

A Cadillac fishtailed to a stop beside us, putting an end to
our teasing banter. Hamilton jumped out and slammed his car door. Great.
Darlene was in for more laughs.

“Where’s the sheriff?” Hamilton barked. “I need to speak
with him.”

“He just left,” Duncan answered.

“Dammit. Why wasn’t I informed? Are Darlene and Julie
inside?”

I felt my Irish rising. “The sheriff just finished talking
with them. Let them be.”

“Stay out of my way.” Hamilton enunciated carefully. Ice
frosting every syllable. “I warned you. My company’s in charge of security, and
I don’t have to put up with your idiocy. Maybe I should instruct the guards to
do a full-body search each time you visit.”

“Peachy,” I answered. “Nice to know your guards are good for
something. They’re pretty lame at stopping killers.”

Hamilton’s hands tightened into fists, and Duncan shouldered
between us. “Let’s stay calm. Remember Darlene is one of your clients, and
Marley’s her friend.”

Before Hamilton could fire a rejoinder, Duncan turned to me.
“Marley, don’t you have an appointment this morning? Go. I’ll handle this.”

His gaze flicked from me to my car. The visual cue urged a
rapid departure. I nodded. He’d protect Darlene and Julie from the arrogant
bully.

“Right, see you later.”

I pulled away, keeping one eye glued to my rearview mirror.
Both men stood a tetch over six feet. Nose-to-nose, Hamilton yammered at
Duncan, who’d adopted the classic arms crossed over chest stance. A
self-imposed straight jacket arguing restraint?

Even absent the soundtrack, I could guess the source of Hamilton’s ire. His own Thrasos employees had failed to call him the minute two new
corpses popped up. Multiple heads would roll for that oversight.

My mind seesawed between murder and romance. I repeatedly
punched the replay button on Duncan’s warm lips. That memory cushioned the
shocks that seemed to come with every visit to the Olsen estate.

It was not quite nine a.m. when I yoo-hooed loudly and used
May’s spare key. An irritable pout greeted me. Good thing I’d kept my promise
of an early return.

“Well, well.” May closed the ‘A’ section of her fat Sunday
Des Moines Register. “I didn’t expect you to finish counting body bags so
quickly.”

Before she could launch into Q&A mode, I let her know
that Sheriff Delaney had sworn everyone to secrecy. “I can’t talk about the
murders with anyone.”

My aunt rolled her eyes. “I’m quite certain Sheriff Delaney
didn’t mean me. The old buzzard knows I’ve never blabbed about police
business—not child abuse cases or rapes or suicides. Saw them all in my
twenty-five years at the hospital. Always kept my mouth shut.”

I sighed. “May, forget it. I’ll give you one tidbit, no
juicy details. Here it is—what the authorities know doesn’t amount to a hill of
beans.”

Collapsing on the sofa, I tried a conversational feint. “In
my humble opinion, the investigation’s headed up a blind alley. Because Jake
had so damn much money, everyone’s fixated on his will. But money’s a
far-fetched motive for the Glaston murders.” I toyed with a throw cushion.
“Somebody ought to be noodling around with other possibilities. Does anyone
have a grudge against the entire Olsen clan?”

May sat straighter, and her eyes brightened. “Plenty of
folks hate all of them, including that son-in-law Glaston. Jolbiogen sucked the
blood out of one local business like some giant mosquito. Then there’s that
botched drug trial. Six people died from liver failure—one a teenager—before
Dr. Glaston pulled the plug. A civil negligent homicide suit is still lingering
in the courts.”

“Wow. I vaguely remember. About three years back?”

“Yes. Jolbiogen got a regulatory slap on the wrist. Stock
prices dipped a few bucks. Didn’t hurt the Olsens one whit. When you’re rolling
in it, you can afford a long-term view.”

“You mentioned a local business. What happened?”

“Jolbiogen bought a local start-up that employed fifty
people—a big deal in our tiny burg. Folks were thrilled. Figured big brother
would pump in capital, create more jobs. A few locals borrowed money to buy
land near the lab. Thought they’d strike gold when the expansion started.
Jolbiogen closed the lab, kept four employees. Boom. It only wanted the
patents.”

My fingers fiddled with the fringe on the throw pillow.
“Think the sheriff will check out links between the murders and Jolbiogen?”

May harrumphed. “Delaney looks like a hayseed, but he’s no
dummy. He’ll turn the Jolbiogen mess over to the state police or Feds. He’d
better with three dead bodies.”

My aunt eyed my casual attire and frowned. “Stop talking and
start scrubbing. We leave for church in fifteen minutes.”

As we stood for the opening hymn, I wondered when May became
a regular churchgoer. In my childhood, Sunday was the day Uncle John cooked
mounds of fried eggs, bacon and toast, while May sipped coffee, kibitzed and
planned everyone’s day. Her agendas seldom included church.

I smiled recalling the Sunday May whisked me to a rickety
clapboard church after I stubbornly insisted I had to attend Sunday School to
earn a white Bible. That reward for two years’ perfect attendance still claims
a place of honor on my bookshelves.

Unwilling to risk holy wrath, May checked newspaper listings
and deposited me at the earliest option. When she picked me up, she was eager
for details. “Do those holy rollers really shout and roll in the aisles?”

The pastor’s voice rose. “It is easier for a camel to go
through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”

The well-heeled parishioners around us squirmed as the
minister meandered through parables about people tested by wealth. The
fidgeting lessened slightly when he noted that being too poor presented its own
spiritual hazards.

Had Jake’s death prompted the themes?

As we stood in line to greet the preacher, a large hand
settled on my shoulder. “Good to see you, Colonel.”

I looked up into General Irvine’s lined face. “General
Irvine. What a surprise.”

Aunt May nudged me in the ribs. No way to get around an
introduction. The general bowed slightly, held her hand, smiled. He claimed he
had business in Omaha. Since he had some free time, he’d driven over to see
first-hand the lakes region I’d raved about.

The old boy laid it on thick, but I had to give the wily old
coot his due. Though his Mississippi accent no longer dripped molasses, he
could still ooze Southern charm. The general could abduct me at gunpoint, and
Aunt May would wave bye-bye, murmuring what a nice gentleman.

“I won’t keep you,” General Irvine closed. “I’m meeting a
colleague. Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee later, Marley. Give me a call.” He
slipped a card into my palm and disappeared. I glanced at the note before
tucking it into my purse.

Today. 1400 hours. Spine Trail, Mile 4. Come alone.

Why was General Irvine here? Weaver said he was focused on
trying to figure out which terrorist group had taken possession of Jolbiogen’s
stolen bioweapon recipe. I’d assumed his involvement in the murder
investigation was tangential.

I drove May to Walmart where we bought silk flowers for our
visit to Lakeview Cemetery and Uncle John. Once a rural graveyard, the cemetery
now sat a stone’s throw from the buzz of Highway 9 traffic. My uncle—an inveterate
Jaycee booster—probably cheered.

With May’s arm linked through mine, we shuffled over uneven
ground to the hilltop grave. May’s name and birth date already etched the joint
headstone. Only the “Died” date waited to be carved. Years of nursing gave my aunt
a matter-of-fact acceptance of death. “There are things a lot worse than
dying,” she reminded whenever someone passed peacefully.

But, oh how I’d miss the crusty curmudgeon, my last family
link with her generation.

May turned up the bronze vase attached to the headstone.
“Wonder how many times I’ve come here to talk to John?” She fiddled with her
arrangement of lavender lilacs, red tulips and lily-of-the-valley sprigs. “I
know it’s silly. I can speak to John from my heart anywhere. But it’s a comfort
to visit. We’ve held some long conversations, I’ll tell you—though I imagine he
still complains he can’t get a word in edgewise.”

She chuckled. “I’ve told John everything that’s happened
with my boys, you and Kay. But, oh kid, it saddens me to think of all the
pleasures he missed—the wonders life offers to compensate for cranky joints and
cataracts. He’d have popped his buttons bragging on you.”

My throat tightened. “I’m sure he’s enjoyed your stories.
Remember how Uncle John answered that neighbor who asked if he tired of hearing
you tell the same tale? ‘Why not at all, I’m always anxious to hear how things
turn out—May’s stories never end the same way twice.’”

The oft-repeated anecdote coaxed the expected smile from
May.

Walking toward the car, I spotted a vehicle parked on a
gravel loop off the main service road. Motor running. It wasn’t there when we
arrived.

I scanned the graveyard. No sign of people paying respects
at family plots. The tan car’s darkened windows precluded a look inside. I felt
the hairs rise on the back of my neck, then chastised myself. For heavens sake,
who’d bother to tail me to a graveyard? Or was it General Irvine?

“So what shall we do for lunch?” I asked.

“Oh, dear. I plain forgot my open house at Pillsbury Point,
a stone and log beauty near where Vern & Coila’s Restaurant used to stand.
The house wasn’t built when you waitressed there.”

She rummaged in her purse for her date book. “Have to park
my fanny there from two until five. Shouldn’t complain though. If they get
anywhere near the asking price, I’ll be flush. Come first snowflake, I’ll jaunt
down to South Carolina to visit you.”

I smiled. “I’d love that. But, May, you still haven’t told
me where to head—home or a fast-food dive?”

“Hy-Vee.” Her answer came an instant before the turn. “You
order us sandwiches from the deli, while I buy nibbles for the open house.”

“Sounds like a plan. I needed to pick up a few groceries,
too. This will save me a trip.”

“We out of something?” May asked.

Okay, time to evict the bagged cat. “Duncan invited me for
dinner. I’m bringing dessert.”

“Well, well, his invite includes me, right?” She elbowed me.
“You should see your face. I’m kidding. You could do worse, Marley Clark.
Nevertheless, be careful. I’ve heard tales about these sex-crazed divorcés.”

She hoisted her eyebrows. “By the by, what time did Duncan leave last night?”

“Look for a parking place,” I suggested.

Not that busywork would derail May’s curiosity for long.

***

After helping Aunt May organize her open house, I threw
together a Death by Chocolate trifle. While relying on store-bought brownies,
chocolate mousse, Cool Whip and Heath bars, I took time to soak the brownies in
Kahlua. I have a few culinary scruples.

Employing Hy-Vee as my prep chef halved my kitchen time,
leaving ample leeway to keep my date with General Irvine. If our visit was
short, I also planned to drop in on Cousin Ross and pay my respects to Spirit
Resort’s skeletal remains. My reunion with Darlene had triggered an itch to
check out our old haunt. If the grounds were as deserted as advertised, my
reminiscing could include a little Tae Bo and a few weapon tests.

At two o’clock sharp, I entered the Spine Trail at the Mile
4 signpost. General Irvine scanned the trail in both directions to make certain
we were alone. He’d stowed his church smile. “This is bad business, Marley.
Guess you figured I didn’t come to Spirit Lake to pay my respects. According to
the CDC, a dozen seasonal workers have dropped dead on farms just south of
here. They all caught colds, then died within twenty-four hours. Their symptoms
suggest they’re victims of a bioterrorism cocktail.”

“Oh, my God. Why would a terrorist target farm workers? It
makes no sense.”

“Probably a field test. They wanted to see how quickly the
cocktail worked and if deaths would be limited to people with a targeted DNA sequence. All the victims are Hispanic. If they consider their little trial a success, they
could decide to launch in earnest anytime. But we still don’t know who ‘they’
are, what population group they’re targeting, or where they’ll strike.”

“How can I help?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe your contact with the Olsen woman and
her daughter will provide a lead.”

General Irvine grabbed my forearm and squeezed. “Marley, I
recognize that quiver in your jaw. You’re upset. If the stakes weren’t so high,
I wouldn’t involve you. But I’m hoping you can ask Julie a few questions
without tipping her—or anyone else—off. I don’t think the girl’s involved, but
if she is, we can’t afford for her to warn her buyers we’re on their tail. If
Julie’s not involved, she may still give you some information that would point
us in the right direction.”

***

Wanting to scrub my mind of the potential horror a terrorist
could wreak, I ran flat out. Sweat coated me head-to-toe by the time I unlocked
Aunt May’s condo. After a quick shower and a snack, I headed to the Maritime Museum.

No need to phone Ross before dropping by. He’d be up to his
elbows in chores designed to reassure skittish boat owners that their vintage
watercraft would be treated like royalty.

I turned into Arnolds Park, and nostalgia overwhelmed me.
Despite inevitable changes, the amusement park remained comfortingly familiar.
The grand dame held onto her majesty through her periodic facelifts.

How many hours had I spent riding the tilt-a-whirl and
trying to ram and slam my sister and cousins before they could wedge my bumper
car into a dark, embarrassing corner? May had chauffeured me to dozens of
dances at the Roof Garden, including the night Gary Lewis and the Playboys
rocked the place. Gary Lewis called me out of the audience to sing with them
and kissed my cheek when the song ended. Would I be as thrilled today at
winning the lottery?

Ross spotted me as I pulled May’s Buick into the lot and
motioned me over. Ross and Nels Jacobs, a carpenter who volunteers at the
museum, were engaged in an animated discussion.

“We need something dramatic.” My cousin’s hands danced as he
drew imaginary entrances for the boat show. “I’d love to put a few boats on
pedestals. But how in tarnation could we hoist them?”

Nels cocked his head to the side. “The road crew has a
pretty big forklift.”

My cousin’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, yeah.”

Ross turned to me. “You remember Nels, right?”

I shook the carpenter’s leathered hand. “Don’t let me
interrupt. If you’re busy, I’ll drive over to your house and chat with Eunice.”

“She’ll be here any minute.” Ross consulted his watch. “Nels
and I are about to take a late lunch. He’s made me happy as a clam. Says he can
build exactly what I want. Let’s get some pop and sit by the lake a spell. Too
nice to be cooped up inside.”

We sauntered down to the boardwalk, and Ross bought a round
of soft drinks while Nels staked out a table under a giant umbrella.

Last night’s passing storm had scrubbed the sky a crystal
blue. A rainbow of spinnakers curved across the lake as sailboats played the
zephyrs on West Okoboji.

Ross slid a large to-go glass in front of me. “Mom filled me
in on your dawn romp. The Glaston murders are topic numero uno. When TV crews
couldn’t get inside the Olsen estate, they used the Queen as a backdrop for
live updates.”

I shrugged. “Surprised they didn’t opt for a waterfront
stakeout. The lakeshore bordering the estate is public property.”

“Took ’em a while to manage logistics. The last Queen cruise
ran into an armada anchored off the Olsen cove—mostly numbnuts who don’t know
how to drive a boat. Gus over at Parks Marina is flat out of rental boats.
Asked if I’d rent my Hafer. Said media types were offering hundreds for any
boat.”

Nels jumped in. “Guess that safe room didn’t do them folks
any good.”

My cousin and I shared a look. Huh?

Nels picked up on our bafflement. “Dad helped build it. Made
his living framing houses in Sioux City. They used his South Dakota
construction crew to build the safe room. Didn’t want locals who might blab.”
He stopped and grinned. “Guess Old Jake should have asked if the workers had
relatives in these parts.”

“What are you blatherskiting about?” Ross asked. “What safe
room?”

“In the Glaston house. A year after Jake bought that
property someone tried to kidnap his grandson. So he retrofitted his daughter’s
house with a hidey-hole. Wanted his kin to have an ace up their sleeves if some
no-goodnik got past the private cops. Carted everything in from out of town so
no one ’round Spirit Lake would know. ’Course back then Jake had cause to keep
things hush-hush. Locals were real riled at Jolbiogen for shafting that local
lab.”

Ross tugged on his moustache. “I’m impressed. Jake was
mighty good at keeping secrets. I never heard any gossip about the construction.
In our little burg, that’s saying something.”

Was Sheriff Delaney equally clueless? I wondered if my
newfound FBI friend or General Irvine would consider this a valuable inside
scoop. Surely some member of the Olsen clan had already disclosed the hideaway’s
existence.

I frowned. Jake’s penchant for secrecy made his choice of a
local attorney seem out of character. “If Jake was uptight about locals knowing
his business, I wonder why he asked Duncan James to prepare his will?”

“That was his wife’s idea,” Ross answered. “Jake was set to
use some hotshot estate planner in Des Moines when Darlene championed Duncan. Once Jake thought it over, he agreed.”

“That’s funny,”—actually I didn’t find it at all amusing—“I
had the impression Duncan was Jake’s friend not Darlene’s.”

“So?” Ross shrugged. “Jake needed someone versed in Iowa probate law. Darlene had to know Duncan was Dickinson County’s only estate planner. No
need to be buddy-buddy with the guy to suggest he’d be more convenient.”

Eunice squeezed my shoulder, then leaned down and kissed
Ross’s cheek. “Hi, guys. Did I hear Duncan’s name? Am I missing out on juicy
gossip?”

My cousin gave his wife a mock salute. “The admiral has
arrived. I’m officially outranked.”

Eunice slipped into the chair beside me. “Have fun with Duncan after we parted?”

“He’s got a great sense of humor.” I didn’t mention his
lip-lock skills. “We’re having dinner tonight.”

“Oh boy, romance is in the air.” Eunice grinned. “Captain
Ross always wanted to officiate at a wedding aboard the Queen. ’Course you’ve
got to give him time to get certified.”