Secrets of Harmony Grove (23 page)

“Possibly.”

I took in a deep breath of air, trying to match what Mike was saying with what we already knew.

“If Troy was in debt to some sleazy loan shark or something…” I began, my voice trailing off as I thought for a moment, “at least that would help explain the treasure hunt. Troy found those old documents on Monday. Maybe he had tapped every other source, and finding those diamonds was his last hope for settling up his accounts.”

“Which in itself was another kind of gamble, I guess, given his chances of actually finding them.”

“Though maybe he did,” I said. “Maybe he found the diamonds, and he was killed not because he couldn’t pay the debt but because when he paid it, the debtor learned about the diamonds and wanted all of them for himself.”

“Troy owed a lot of money to a lot of nasty people. Ones who have killed for far less.”

I thought about that, my mind going back to our one evening in Atlantic City. That night it had seemed as though Troy had known a lot of people, including some very stereotypical mobster-types: The well-dressed Italian with the steely gaze and a moll on each arm; the pair of Russian toughs in Valentino suits who never took off their sunglasses, not even when we were introduced; the Asian businessman with a nasty scar across his throat and an obsequious entourage around him. Troy knew them all, and on the way home when I had teased him that they looked like the United Nations of mobsters, he had simply laughed.

A few minutes ago, when Mike told me about Troy’s nasty associates, I had been picturing some greasy little bookie or a wisecracking loan shark in ill-fitting clothes. But now my mind was suddenly full of images far more sinister.

“Mike, are you saying that you think Troy’s death was a mob hit of some kind?” I asked, not wanting to hear the answer. “The man who was killed in my pool yesterday, the man I once dated, was in the Mafia?”

Mike held up one hand, palm outward.

“We don’t know that he was one of them, just that most of his clients have ties to organized crime.”

I tried to understand the implications, wondering how this could possibly be true.

“You think Troy’s death was a mob hit,” I repeated, my stomach tightening from deep inside.

“Mob hits are usually a lot simpler than this. A gunshot or a stabbing, But not poison. At least not that I’ve heard of. So, again, we’ll have to wait and see. I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

The radio crackled at Mike’s hip, and he excused himself to answer it.

“Weissbaum.”

“Where are you, sir?” a woman asked, probably Georgia.

“Out on the side porch. Am I needed in there?”

“Nope, stay put. I’ll come to you. Big news.”

Mike stood and turned toward the door, but I stayed where I was, feeling a bit faint. On the phone yesterday, Troy had said that my investigation by the government was likely Floyd’s fault. Did Floyd have ties to the Mafia too? Could he have done something with my inn that had caught the government’s attention? If so, that could very well be why I was under investigation, because somehow Harmony Grove Bed & Breakfast was connected with the mob.

Georgia emerged from the house, her eyes sparkling. At the moment, I didn’t want to hear her “big news.”

I had enough big news of my own.

“We just found out that a black bear was caught and killed in Holtwood a couple of hours ago,” Georgia said, waving her radio toward us triumphantly.

“A big one?” Mike asked.

“’Bout two hundred and fifty pounds.”

“That’s big enough.”

“A homeowner let his dog out and spotted the bear digging in the trash can. He had to shoot the bear to save the dog.”

I stood and moved toward them, asking where Holtwood was.

“It’s a little town about ten miles west of here, near the Susquehanna River,” Mike replied.

They were both excited, certain that the bear was the big black creature Floyd had spoken of and what had cut Troy with its claw last night. Incredible. Listening to them talk, it sounded as though bear sightings in this area were rare but not unheard of. Attacks, on the other hand, were a different matter.

“I can’t remember the last bear attack on a human that I’ve heard of, not anywhere around here,” Georgia said, shaking her head in wonder. “That’s a real shame.”

“Let’s work with the game commission to run a few tests on the bear to see if we can establish a stronger link with the vic. Have them do a tox screen, look for a tissue match, and see if it has a prominent claw.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call the ME too. See if she can think of any other tests that could tell us if the gash on Troy Griffin’s leg really was made by that bear. I want to be completely sure before we relax our guard.”

“Will do.”

Georgia went back into the house, and Mike turned to me triumphantly, saying that perhaps one question had been answered.

“Sounds like Floyd didn’t imagine his black creature after all,” I agreed.

“Yeah, but I’d feel even better if this one could breathe fire.”

Mike excused himself, saying we could talk later, and then he went outside through the porch’s screen door.

After it had fallen shut behind him, I stood there for a moment trying to process what I had just learned. It would take a while to wrap my head around the Mafia connection, but I had a feeling that finally I was on the right track. Whatever Floyd had done to get me investigated by the government, it very likely involved organized crime.

I needed to tell Liz, but I didn’t feel like having a conversation that involved right now, so I sent her a quick text instead:
Just learned that Troy had been involved with the Mafia! Relevant?

She replied almost instantly:
Could be! Will explore further. I’ll be in touch
.

I was putting the phone away in my pocket when it rang. Pulling it back out, I looked at the screen expecting to see Liz’s number, but instead it was my father. This was another conversation I was not eager to have, but I knew it was inevitable. I answered, trying to keep my voice sounding light.

My father’s voice, on the other hand, sounded every bit as tired and worried today as it had yesterday. I hated having to burden him at all, but I knew he would find out what was going on out here eventually, and that it was best I tell him myself now. Of course, I left out most of the details, including my job suspension and the government investigation. Instead, I focused on the series of events he would most likely be reading about in the newspaper.

“Remember that phone call I got yesterday when I was at your house?” I asked.

“The one where you sounded kind of angry? The problem at work?”

“Um…it wasn’t about work. I just said that so you wouldn’t be worried. It was Troy. Troy Griffin.” He was quiet for a moment, so I continued. “He was calling from the bed-and-breakfast. He was lost out in the grove and saying some pretty strange things. Then he hung up on me. He wouldn’t answer when I tried him back, so when I left your house, I drove out to Lancaster County to talk to him face-to-face.”

“Oh, Sienna, I know Troy was important to you at one time, but I sincerely hope you’re not thinking about starting things up again with him. You’re not, are you? He doesn’t begin to compare with Heath. In your heart of hearts you have to know that.”

I walked toward the screen door, opened it, and stepped outside. I needed some fresh air, even more than I was getting on the porch.

“Of course I know that, Daddy, but that’s irrelevant now anyway. Troy is dead. When I arrived here last night, I-I was the one who found his body. He had drowned in the pool. Here at the B and B.”

My dad gasped. After a moment of being speechless, he found his voice and started asking questions, wanting to make sure I was okay and trying to figure out what had happened. Like Heath, he wanted to come right away to help handle things and make sure I was all right, but I wouldn’t let him. We went around a little bit on that one, but in the end I got him to agree that right now his place was with his wife, not out here with his daughter. Once he had voiced all of his concerns and sympathies, and I had given him back every reassurance that I could, I moved on to the next part of what I had to say.

“The thing is, Daddy, the circumstances around Troy’s death were very odd. The police are trying to figure it all out.” I told him about the horrible gash on Troy’s leg and the bear that had been caught ten miles away just this morning. Then I explained Mike’s theory about the poison and the convulsions and the drowning, saying that Troy had probably handled some sort of pesticide that had done him in. In response, my dad was appropriately horrified, but I was glad his mind never seemed to go toward the idea of foul play. With his only daughter out here, and him with his hands full back there, the last thing he needed to know was that a murderer might be on the loose, especially one sent by the mob.

Then I told him about Floyd and Nina, saying that they had been found near Troy, both unconscious. I had already explained that Troy had likely been poisoned by a pesticide, so while I didn’t say the same about Floyd and Nina, my father seemed to draw the conclusion that all three had shared the same fate, but that poor Troy was the only one who ended up losing his life from it.

“I hate to burden you with any of this at all,” I said, “but I had to tell you because of Emory. With Nina in the hospital, I wasn’t sure what we should do.” I went on to explain that Jonah and Liesl had looked in on Emory last night, but I couldn’t expect them to fill Nina’s shoes for very long.

Without missing a beat, my father said that he would contact a local home health agency and set something up. As he spoke, I could already hear him flipping through his trusty Rolodex.

“You remember. They sent some workers out when your grandpa broke his hip. What was the name of that one we liked so much? Heidi? Helga?”

“Hilda, I think.”

“Hilda! That’s it. I’ll ask for her. She was good with Emory, and from what I recall he seemed comfortable enough with her.”

I felt so bad that my father had to fool with any of this right now, but it had to be done, and as Emory’s guardian, he had to be the one to do it. He found the company’s contact information and said he would call as soon as we hung up. Before we did, he asked about insurance on the inn, saying that I needed to call my insurance broker right away, if I hadn’t already. I was too embarrassed to tell him that I had left all of those matters to Floyd, and not only did I not know who my insurance broker was, I wasn’t even sure if I
had
an insurance broker. I managed to evade the issue, but as we ended the call, I couldn’t help feeling just a little bit like a liar.

Slipping the phone in my pocket, I realized I was standing very near the gate to the pool area. I wasn’t sure what things would look like in there in broad daylight, but I wanted to see. Would there be a chalk outline where Troy’s body had lain? Any law enforcement officers still in there, working the scene? Hesitating for just a moment, I finally forced myself to step forward and take a peek through the bars of the gate.

As soon as I did, I regretted it. I could see no chalk outline or any
technicians, but what I could see was blood, dried blood, that had come from Troy’s leg and spilled on the cement patio and dried to a horrific rusty brown. Turning away immediately, I decided to find Mike.