Secret Sisters (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ramona Owens was waiting for them in the driveway behind Tom Lomax's cottage. She was sitting in the driver's seat of a small gray compact. She had the door open and one foot on the ground.

Jack brought the SUV to a halt. When she spotted the big vehicle in the rearview mirror, Ramona got out. She hovered near the door of her car as if ready to jump back inside at a moment's notice.

Her phone call had come that morning just as Madeline had been enjoying some of the best scrambled eggs she had ever eaten. Jack had made the eggs in an ancient cast-iron skillet that he had discovered in a cupboard at Harbor House. It had clearly been love at first sight for Jack. She had been about to comment on his instant and possibly unnatural attraction to the piece of cookware when her phone interrupted.

The woman on the other end of the connection had sounded breathy, nervous; downright scared.
My name is Ramona Owens. I really need to talk to you. It's about my grandfather, Tom Lomax.

Madeline studied Ramona through the windshield. “It's the woman in the photo we found in Tom's cottage.”

“Get the license number of her car,” Jack said.

She took a pen out of her purse and jotted down the number. “She really is gorgeous. No wonder Tom started shaving. He must have been very proud of her. He would have wanted his long-lost granddaughter to be proud of him.”

Ramona's long blond hair was caught back in a ponytail today. Her jeans fit like a glove and accentuated her long legs. Her snug-fitting pullover was cashmere. Her leather jacket looked butter-soft. Her sunglasses were high-end designer gear.

Jack studied her as he unclipped his seat belt. “She's trying to be cool, but she's nervous as hell.”

Madeline noticed that he did not seem nearly as impressed with Ramona's looks as most men would have been in that situation. She allowed herself a small burst of satisfaction and then immediately suppressed it.

“Scared to death, probably,” she said. “She thinks her grandfather may have been murdered because of something that happened here a long time ago and she feels she can't go to the police. This is the break we've been hoping for, Jack.”

“Maybe.”

“I detect a lack of enthusiasm.”

“You know what they say about something that seems a little too good to be true. Got the plates?”

“Yes.” She dropped her notebook into her tote.

“Let's go see what this is about,” Jack said.

He cracked open his door and climbed out from behind the wheel. Madeline opened her own door and jumped down to the ground.

The morning rain had moved on, but another front was gathering. The winds were picking up again. There would be more rain, and soon.

“Ramona Owens?” Jack asked without inflection.

Ramona flinched a little at the sound of his voice. “Yes.” She switched her attention to Madeline. “Madeline Chase?”

“Yes,” Madeline said. “This is Jack Rayner. I'm so very sorry about your grandfather.”

“You're the one who found him, aren't you?”

“Yes,” Madeline said.

Ramona ducked her head, looking down at the ground for a few seconds. Composing herself.

“They're saying he was probably killed because he surprised a burglar or transient,” she whispered. There was a faint shiver in her voice.

“That's what the police are saying,” Jack agreed. “I assume you've talked to them.”

“No.” Ramona took a breath. “I want to but I'm . . . afraid. Tom—my grandfather—said that if anything ever happened to him, I should pretend I never knew him. He said that under no circumstances should I contact the Cooper Island police.”

“Any idea why?” Jack asked.

“No. He was a very private person. We were still getting to know each other. He didn't want to talk about the past.”

“What made you go looking for him?” Madeline asked.

“I never even knew he existed until a few months ago. It wasn't until after my father died last year that I found some photos of his mother—my grandmother—and Tom. Evidently they had an affair. She got pregnant with my father but she married someone else. She never told her husband the truth. It's one of those complicated family secrets. Anyhow, my parents are both gone so I decided to go looking for the grandfather I never knew. It wasn't easy finding him, let me tell you.”

“Why do you say that?” Madeline said.

“He'd changed his name. He never told me why. Just said that some
bad things had happened in the past. I was so excited to find him, and he seemed just as thrilled. He said he'd never known I existed.”

“I can't say that I knew your grandfather well,” Madeline said. “I don't think anyone did. He was a bit of a loner and I was just a kid when I left Cooper Island. But I remember Tom as a good man and I know that my grandmother respected him and liked him.”

“Thank you. That's good to know.”

“What makes you think that his murder wasn't the result of surprising an intruder?” Jack asked.

Ramona made a visible effort to collect herself. Her chin came up and her shoulders straightened. “Shortly after we met he showed me a small lockbox filled with some old newspaper clippings and photos. He said if anything happened to him I should contact Edith Chase, the owner of Sanctuary Creek Inns. When I found out that he had been killed I tried to locate Mrs. Chase. That's when I discovered that she was gone and that her granddaughter was in charge of the business. I didn't know what else to do, so I thought I'd better talk to you, Madeline. I was shocked to find out you were here on the island getting ready to sell the hotel.”

“Where is this lockbox you want to show us?” Jack asked.

Ramona eyed him warily and then looked at Madeline for direction.

“It's all right,” Madeline said. “Jack is a good friend. My grandmother trusted him and so do I.”

Ramona looked uncertain for a few more beats. Then she shrugged. “It's your call. All I know is that Granddad didn't want the box to go to anyone else except your grandmother. I'm winging it here by showing you where it is mostly because I don't want to be the only person who does know the location. Does that make sense? Guess some of Granddad's paranoia rubbed off on me.”

“Where is this box?” Madeline asked.

“Granddad kept it in the maintenance building. There's not much
to see. It's just an old metal filing box full of papers and photos. He obviously thought they were very important and dangerous, but I can't imagine why and I'm not sure I want to know.”

She started walking toward the maintenance building. Madeline and Jack fell into step beside her.

Jack moved a little closer to Madeline. “I can handle this.”

“No.” She steeled herself. “This involves me. I need to go in there with you.”

He seemed to understand.

“Okay,” he said.

“I'm trying to decide whether to renovate the hotel or put the property on the market,” Madeline said to Ramona. “But either way, I'm going to have to clear out Tom's cottage. I was planning to have most of his belongings hauled away for disposal. I didn't know he had a granddaughter, of course. That changes everything. His possessions belong to you now. You'll want to go through them and make decisions about what to keep and what to discard.”

Ramona shook her head, sadly amused. “Thanks. One of the things that I did learn about my grandfather in the short time I knew him was that he was a hoarder. I'm sure most of his stuff can be tossed out. But there may be a few things that have meaning—the framed photos that he signed, for sure. He was proud of those.”

“Yes, of course,” Madeline said.

Ramona glanced at her. “I forgot to offer my condolences on the loss of your grandmother. Please forgive me. It's just that I've been utterly focused on my own situation.”

“Naturally.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Madeline was aware of an edgy tension in the atmosphere around Jack. She resisted the urge to keep looking at him. There was no point in trying to read his expression. It would be unreadable.

When they reached the maintenance building, Madeline handed him the key to the side door. He inserted it into the heavy padlock.

The door swung open with a rusty groan.

Madeline hesitated at the entrance, fighting the memories. Nothing had changed, she thought. The smell of gasoline and lubricants seemed even stronger now than it had been that night. The odor intensified the memories. Her pulse began to pound in her veins. Her breath got tighter in her chest. The old, all-too-familiar rage, despair, and helplessness threatened to choke her.

Ramona walked into the gloom-drenched interior and swept out a hand. “Can you believe all this junk? There must be fifty or sixty years' worth of stuff stashed in here.”

Madeline gazed into the darkness as if it were a real-life version of an abyss. She did not realize that she hadn't taken more than one step into the space until Jack spoke.

“Wait here,” he said. He took off his dark glasses. “I'll get the box.”

Ramona glanced back at her, frowning a little. “Are you okay?”

The combination of Jack's protectiveness and Ramona's sudden concern acted like a dash of cold water.
I can do this,
she thought.
I'm not a twelve-year-old kid anymore. And the bastard is dead.

“Yes, I'm fine.” She took off her sunglasses and forced herself to walk into the shadows. “Just waiting to let my eyes get adjusted. It's really dark in here, isn't it?”

“I've got a flashlight,” Jack said. He took a penlight out from inside his jacket and looked at Ramona. “Where's the lockbox?”

“I'll show you.”

Ramona made her way deeper into the garage, weaving a path through mountains of scrap metal, antique commercial-sized washers and dryers, gardening equipment, and discarded furniture.

Jack gave Madeline another close look. She knew he was assessing
her state of unease. She glared at him and pulled herself together with a physical effort.

He got the message. Without a word he followed Ramona into the darkness. Madeline trailed after them, trying not to look at the heap of ancient sacks of garden loam piled in one corner. The ones soaked in Porter's blood were long gone, she reminded herself. Tom had buried them with the body.

Ramona came to a halt amid mountains of battered hotel room furniture. Chairs were stacked to the ceiling on one side. Discarded desks and end tables lined the opposite side, forming a narrow pathway through the clutter.

“The box is on that shelf,” Ramona said.

Jack aimed the beam of the flashlight toward the far end of the aisle. Madeline saw an old-fashioned metal filing box sitting on top of some wooden shelving.

“I'll get it,” Jack said.

Ramona edged backward, giving him room to go past her to the far end of the aisle.

Jack went toward the box. Ramona wrinkled her nose.

“I'll wait outside,” she said. “The smell in here is making me a little ill.”

Madeline turned sideways in the narrow space to give her room to retrace the path to the door. Ramona retreated quickly.

Madeline ignored her. Everything inside her was focused on the small metal cabinet.

Jack set the flashlight on a nearby box and reached up to grip the box with both hands.

Madeline heard a sharp click followed by a snapping sound. A spark of light flashed in the shadows just behind the filing cabinet. Running footsteps sounded on the concrete floor.

Ramona was heading for the door.

Jack dropped the box, grabbed the flashlight, whirled, and came toward Madeline. He was moving very fast.

“Run,” he said, his voice low and fierce with command. “It's a trap.”

She didn't argue. But even as she turned and rushed back through the piles of furniture, she knew it was too late.

The door slammed shut. Instantly the space was plunged into even deeper shadows.

Madeline heard the muffled clink of steel on steel and knew that Ramona had locked the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

He had miscalculated badly and now Madeline might pay the price.
Hell of a time to screw up,
Jack thought.

“There are plenty of tools around here,” Madeline said. “We can break down the door.”

“We don't have time,” Jack said. “Into the lube pit. This place is going to blow in a few seconds.”

“What?”

“Go.”

He pushed her toward the garage side of the maintenance building. It was their best hope—their only hope—of surviving the blast and fire he knew was coming.

The spark that had flashed in the shadows when he moved the filing box had told him just how badly he had screwed up. Even now fire was racing along the gas-soaked cord draped over the top of the stacked boxes. He'd had one glimpse of the large metal pan and the heap of old propane tanks piled inside, but that was enough. He knew a homemade bomb when he saw one.

At least Madeline was no longer asking questions. She reached the edge of the lube pit and hurried down the steps.

He followed her, tossed the flashlight aside, and went to the mattresses stacked end on end at the far side of the pit.

“Give me a hand with these,” he said. “We need a couple on top of us. When those tanks blow there will be shrapnel.”

Madeline didn't ask questions. She seized one side of the first mattress in line. He took the other side. The mattresses were old and not nearly as heavy as more modern versions.

They hauled one down.

“Get under it,” he said.

Madeline crawled awkwardly beneath the first mattress. He managed to get one more partially down and then calculated that he couldn't push his luck any further.

He got under the unwieldy stack of mattresses and wrapped Madeline as close as possible, trying to give her more cover with his body.

“Ramona,” Madeline gasped.

“Yeah.”

“Bitch.”

“Oh, yeah. Ears.”

Madeline clamped her hands over her ears. He shielded his own.

The explosion tore through the garage. The force of the energy blew out and up, obeying the laws of physics. The deep cavity of the concrete lube pit was largely protected, but the ground shuddered and the roar was deafening.

Then the thudding started as debris rained down on the mattresses.

The deadly shower seemed to go on forever, but in reality it was all over in a moment or two.

He knew the fire was just getting started.

He shoved aside the mattresses and hauled Madeline to her feet.

“You okay?” he said.

“Yes.” She shook her head. “My ears are ringing, though.” She stopped short when she saw the result of the blast. “My God.”

They were standing in the rain because the blast had blown the roof off the maintenance building and flattened three of the four walls.

The first thing he noticed was that Ramona's car was gone.

Heavy, dark smoke rolled across the scene.

“We have to move,” he said. “Lot of combustible material in the vicinity. Cover your nose and mouth. We sure as hell don't want to breathe any more of the fallout than we already have.”

Madeline covered the lower portion of her face with her sleeve and staggered up the steps.

“The car,” he said.

“What about Ramona?”

“It's an island. Where can she go?” He glanced at his watch. “Next ferry doesn't leave for a couple of hours. We've got a license number and a damn good description. If the local cops can't find her, they'll have to come up with a really good explanation.”

By the time they reached the SUV the fire was feeding on the leftovers of the blast. Jack got Madeline into the passenger seat. He could feel the shivers coursing through her.

“Adrenaline,” he said. “And shock.”

“No kidding.”

He went around the SUV, climbed behind the wheel, unclipped his phone, and cranked up 911. When the emergency operator answered, he gave the details of the situation and then ended the call before she could ask more questions.

Together he and Madeline watched the rising flames.

“I don't think it will spread to the main hotel building,” he said after a while. “Too much greenery and concrete in the way.”

“I can't believe she tried to murder us with a homemade bomb,” Madeline whispered.

“Funny. I have no trouble believing it at all.”

“What do we tell the police?” Madeline asked.

“The truth.”

“But it sounds so far-fetched. A woman claiming to be Tom Lomax's granddaughter asks to meet us because she has something she wants to show us in the maintenance building. We go inside to retrieve the mystery item and trigger an explosion. We survive, barely, thanks to your quick thinking, but when we emerge from the ruins, the woman has vanished.”

“Doesn't make me and my so-called quick-thinking skills look good, does it?”

“You saved both of us, Jack.” Madeline watched the fire burn. “But who in the world is going to believe our story?”

“The Cooper Island police, I hope.”

“There won't be a lot of hard evidence left after that explosion and fire.”

“No,” Jack said. “No good evidence at all.”

“Well, now at least we have a plausible motive to explain why Tom took the briefcase out of the wall in room two-oh-nine. His long-lost granddaughter, Ramona, convinced him that it was necessary.”

He surprised himself with a rough crack of laughter.

Madeline frowned. “What?”

“You.” He shook his head. “You're amazing. You barely survive an explosion and a fire and the first thing you do is cut to the chase. Yes, you're probably right. The long-lost granddaughter was deeply involved in this thing.”

“Think she really is his long-lost granddaughter?”

“What I think,” Jack said, “is that someone figured out that a long-lost granddaughter is the one person who might have been able to
convince Lomax to talk about what happened the night Porter-Purvis disappeared. Which leaves us with a few more questions.”

Madeline glanced at him. “Someone tracked Porter to the island and all the way to the Aurora Point Hotel. Someone concluded that he got this far and no farther eighteen years ago.”

Sirens wailed in the distance.