Midnight in Ruby Bayou (37 page)

“Getting better all the time,” Mel said, trying to smile. It wasn't a very successful effort. “How are your wife and grandchildren?”

“Susie's tolerable and the kids are hellions.” He grinned. “Everyone says the older boy is just like me. What did Dr. James say was wrong with the dog?”

“Sleeping pills,” Jeff said curtly. “But not enough to hurt him.”

“That's real good. A lot of these burglars don't care if they kill a good dog on the way to the money.”

Jeff flinched. “Have you had many burglaries lately?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Lots of new money on Hilton Head. Money attracts thieves. We keep busy. First time one of the old places has been hit, though. Sure do hope it's not a trend. Scare some of those old widow grannies near to death to find someone creeping around their prize silver.”

“I'll get the coffee,” Mel said.

“You stay with Boomer,” Faith said. “I know where the coffee is.” With a nod to the sheriff and his silent deputy, she headed for the coffeepot.

The sheriff looked closely at Walker. Jeans that were neither new nor old. A well-used dark cotton work shirt. A look of easy strength and an intensity that could be either good or bad. A wooden cane that suggested some weakness that wasn't readily apparent. “You're a Walker, aren't you? Owen and Betty's boy.”

“A long time ago.”

“Not so long when you're my age. You have the look of your father. Good man when he wasn't drinking. That brother of yours always took after his mother's side. How's Lot doing?”

“He's dead.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Can't say as I'm surprised. That boy was hell-bent on destruction from his first step. Sure a good-looking kid, though. His smile could put the sun to shame. Pity he had no more sense than a duck.”

Faith winced and set down the coffeepot. She knew it was painful for Walker to talk about his brother. “Cream or sugar?” she asked firmly, drawing the sheriff's attention away from the past.

“Both, ma'am,” the sheriff said. “Double them up, if you don't mind. I missed breakfast.”

“Black.” It was the first word the deputy had spoken, but even that single word tagged him as an outsider. Worse, a Yankee. “Thanks.”

The sheriff turned to Jeff and said, “Now, what's been going on around here? And why don't you start with yesterday. Any outsiders coming around, besides your guests?”

“The wedding coordinator was here,” Jeff said. “Something about measuring the library and shrinking the flowers.”

“Her little piano wouldn't fit and it's too late to tune the spinet that's here,” Mel said, “so we're going with taped music.” Nothing in her voice or expression suggested the disappointment she felt that their plans for a big Savannah wedding had fallen through. She was enough of a businesswoman to understand cash-flow problems.

“That would be Miss Edie Harrison who's doing the wedding?” the sheriff asked.

“That's right,” Jeff said almost impatiently. “We're getting married in two days. I thought I made that clear on the phone.”

“I understand that you're a bit upset by all this, but it would help if you answered a few more questions. What time did y'all go to bed?”

“Mel went to bed about ten. I went maybe half an hour later. She got up after dawn and went to the kitchen to find some crackers. She tripped over Boomer and screamed. I came running. So did Walker and Faith.”

Nodding, the sheriff listened while the deputy took notes. “Who found the open safe?”

“I did,” Walker said.

“What did you touch?” the sheriff asked.

“Nothing.”

“You sure? Most folks would be fishing around in the safe just to see if it's really empty.”

“I watch television,” Walker said easily, shifting to let the cane take more of his weight. Nothing reassured a cop like the appearance of weakness. “Didn't want to mess up the crime scene.”

“Thank you,” the sheriff said as Faith delivered mugs of coffee. Shartell took a long swallow and sighed. She made a good cup of coffee, even if she did dress like a man in jeans and blue cotton shirt. “Just right, ma'am.” He turned back to Jeff. “Who went into the library first?”

“I did,” Jeff said. “I wanted to use the phone to call the vet. Walker came with me. That's when he saw the open safe and the—what are they, earphones?—dangling from it. He took one look and said we'd been robbed.”

“Knew all about that safecracker stuff straight off, did you?” the sheriff asked Walker.

“I knew the safe was open.” Walker smiled obligingly and leaned harder on the cane. “I assumed the junk hanging off the dial had something to do with it.”

The sheriff made a sound that could have meant anything. “Where was the hound last night, out chasing coons?”

Jeff shrugged. “He started whining about midnight, so I let him out.”

“That happen often?”

“Every time he can con one of us into believing he just can't wait,” Mel said. “We've got it down to once a night, usually. I think Daddy Montegeau and Tiga just let him run at night, so he's not used to holding it.”

“Any sign of forced entry?” the sheriff asked.

“We haven't looked,” Mel said, startled. “I'll—”

“Sit down, darling,” Jeff said quickly. He went to her, tipped up her chin, and kissed her gently. “Let me take care of everything. I don't want you getting upset.” He turned back to the sheriff. “Walker and I checked. The lock on the French doors in the library was broken.”

“Anybody hear anything?” the sheriff asked.

“The library is a long way from the bedroom suites,” Jeff said. “We didn't hear a thing.”

“How about your father or Miss Antigua?”

“They're still asleep. Or Tiga might have gone out already to check her crab pots and fish traps.” Jeff made an abrupt gesture. “If they heard anything, they would have awakened us.”

The phone rang. Jeff turned away. “Excuse me. That will likely be our insurance agent.”

Looking concerned, Mel followed her future husband out of the kitchen. Her voice floated back to the kitchen. “Was there anything valuable in the safe, Jeff? I thought it just held old papers and things.”

“Nothing for you to worry about, darling.”

The sound of their voices faded when the library door closed.

“Mr. Montegeau told me on the phone that you left some jewelry in the safe,” the sheriff said, looking at Faith.

“Yes.” Her mouth flattened at the fresh reminder of her loss.

“Valuable, I expect.”

“Yes. I have photographs and written descriptions of each piece, as well as separate appraisals of the gemstones. I'll give them to you, if it would help.”

“That's real handy, ma'am,” the sheriff drawled. “Most people aren't that well prepared for a robbery. Should hurry up the insurance payment.”

Walker's eyes narrowed. He had had enough experience with small towns and local prejudice to know that outsiders were guilty until proven innocent. He might not like it, but he expected it.

Faith wasn't so understanding. She turned and looked Shartell right in the eye. “I'm a jewelry designer,” she said distinctly. “I always have photographs and descriptions for potential clients. I came to Savannah for a trade show, looking for new clients, so I brought multiple copies of all kinds of pertinent information.”

The sheriff grunted.

“She was the only designer west of the Rockies invited to strut her stuff,” Walker drawled. “Did real well for herself. Sold all but three of the pieces. Those are the ones she put in the safe,” he added, jerking his thumb toward the library.

“The most valuable jewelry of the lot, I suppose,” the sheriff said.

“Nope.” Walker shifted his weight on the cane and smiled like the country boy he once had been. “The high-ticket stuff went faster than ice cream in August. The small stuff was all that was left. It was a real moneymaking trip.”

The sheriff's gray eyebrows shifted as he absorbed the fact that Faith might not have needed the insurance money. “So what are we talking about in the way of losses? A couple hundred? A thousand or two?”

“More like sixty-eight thousand dollars,” Faith said. “Materials only. I'm still a relatively unknown artist. No insurance company is going to repay me for the months of work that went into the pieces. So when that burglar opened the safe, I lost three months' pay and three designs. They can't be replaced. They were unique.”

“You aren't an unknown artist, not after that show,” Walker said. “I'll have a talk with the insurance folks myself. They'll add a zero, maybe two, to get you fair market value.”

She gave him a smile that loosened the tight lines around her mouth. “It's not the money, it's just . . .” She shrugged.

“I know,” Walker said, taking her hand. He squeezed gently, reminding her that they had agreed not to mention the rash of burglaries and worse that had followed them through the South. He turned to the sheriff. “She's just a little upset,” he said. “Nothing pisses a body off so much as being robbed.”

“Sixty-eight thousand dollars. Hoo-
eee
.” The sheriff shook his head. “And that was just the smaller pieces?”

“Correct,” Faith said, her voice clipped. “As Walker said, the trip was profitable.”

“When did you put the jewelry in the safe?” the sheriff asked.

“Ten. Just before I went to bed.”

Frowning, the sheriff took another swallow of coffee. “Did Davis Montegeau handle it at any time?”

“No. I did.”

“Anyone see you?”

Faith's eyes narrowed to glittering silver-blue slits. “No.”

“Anyone check it after you did?” the sheriff asked.

“I don't know.”

“But you do know the combination.”

“No. Jeff was worried about the jewelry. He opened the safe for me, then left the room. I put the jewelry in, spun the dial, shoved the family ancestor back into place, and went to bed.”

The sheriff looked at Walker. “Where were you?”

“Taking a bath. Eases the ache in my leg.”

“And y'all heard nothing after that?” Shartell persisted, looking at both Walker and Faith.

Being reminded about last night defused Faith's anger. Remembering Walker and the delight of being thoroughly loved, she didn't know whether to blush or lick her lips in pure feminine triumph.

There had been sounds, all right, but not the kind that the sheriff was interested in.

“Not until dawn,” Walker said, but he was remembering the same things Faith was. “Then she heard a scream. She got me up and we went downstairs. You heard it all from there.”

“So no one heard anyone coming or going. Y'all just got up and the safe was open.”

Walker nodded.

The sheriff looked at Harold, who had been taking notes. Harold put away his clipboard and pen, swigged down the rest of his coffee, and waited for a signal.

“Well, we'll have a look at the safe and the door, but I gotta tell you, these cases are pretty tough to crack,” the sheriff said.

“My jewelry designs are quite distinctive,” Faith said. “When someone tries to hock the pieces, they'll be easy to find.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” The sheriff finished his coffee and set the cup on the counter. “If the burglar is smart enough to use fancy gear to get into the Montegeaus' safe, he's not some druggie looking for a quick score. He's clever enough to fence the unusual goods somewhere else.”

“Then the sooner you circulate a description, the better chance you'll have of solving the crime,” Faith said. “I'll get the photos for you.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” the sheriff said dryly, “but don't get your heart set on seeing anything again. This ain't TV. Out here, the bad guys yank out the stones, junk the settings, pass the stones on up the ladder, and set up the next break-in.”

“You're telling me that crime pays,” Faith said, her voice equally dry.

“For a while, ma'am, for a while. Then, sooner or later, one of those clever boys gets drunk or high and brags to the wrong person. That's when we nail 'em.”

Faith had the feeling that it would be later rather than sooner. A lot later.

If ever.

Walker eased through the scrub, heading for the agents' camp. As soon as he was out of sight of the house, he walked openly. He hadn't gone fifty feet when Peel emerged from the deep shadows beneath a pine tree whose needles were three times longer than her hair. She looked a little dustier in full light, and a lot more irritated.

“What the hell is going on at the Montegeaus'?” she demanded.

“Try talking to the local sheriff,” Walker said curtly. He had a gut full of badge-heavy cops.

“Pal, I don't talk to locals. They get a case of the ass every time a federal agent puts a foot on their turf.” She slapped at a mosquito. “Like anybody who had a choice would want a piece of this stinking swamp.”

Walker tried not to smile at the agent's discomfort. “I hear you. You interested in comparing notes?”

“You show me yours,” she suggested.

“Okay. Somebody cracked the Montegeau safe last night. Now it's your turn. Did you see anyone sneaking around?”

“Other than you?”

Walker just smiled.

“We didn't see anything or hear anything until maybe half an hour after you left. Then we heard a shout or a scream, activity in various parts of the house. Fifteen minutes later a panel van pulls up. A woman gets out with a bag in her hand. She's inside maybe ten minutes.”

“A vet,” Walker said. “Somebody slipped the dog a Mickey Finn.”

“While she's there, Antigua Montegeau gets in one of those skiffs—don't know why those tubs haven't sunk, they're half-full of water—and goes into the marsh. Twenty minutes after the panel truck leaves, the sheriff arrives. Nineteen minutes after he leaves, Antigua Montegeau comes back with enough crabs to feed an army. Forty minutes later, Davis Montegeau gets in his car and drives off.”