Shift Burn (Imogene Museum Mystery #6) (24 page)

Actually, we both stank. You know those mud facials and dermal clay cleansing potions touted by posh day spas? Don’t believe their claims for a minute. From the way we smelled, I’d say riverbank mud has to go through some kind of caustic chemical sanitation process in order to be safe for topical application. I guess it’s good for frogs, though.

How long does it take for a mile-long train to pass? I have no idea, but that’s how long it took me to crawl to Rhonda’s side. I wasn’t exactly my usual, spry self.

I knelt over her. She wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Why’d you do it?” I shouted over the retreating rumble of the train.

Her eyelids slid shut.

This time I did shake her. “Why?” I screamed.

Her face contorted in pain, but she gave me the answer. “
Costa Rica,” she muttered.

I sat back on my haunches and stared at my beloved river rippling along calmly, completely undisturbed by the series of near fatalities on her shore. Rhonda hated this place as much as I loved it. I’d hated a place once, because of the betrayal that happened there, and I’d fled too. But no place would harbor Rhonda the way she wanted it to.

“Your fantasy’s over,” I whispered. “You were spared twice today. You gonna tell the truth?”

She just looked at me blankly.

CHAPTER 24

Apparently, the ambulance had arrived, as well as the fire department and Sheriff Marge’s on-duty deputies and the FBI. But they all had to wait for the train to pass before they could climb to our rescue.

And then they did — swarms of them down the embankment with stretchers and medic duffel bags and worried looks.

I walked out with Pete’s strong arm around me. Rhonda was strapped onto a stretcher. She’d already fooled us once with her injuries, and nobody was going to take that chance again.

I assured the EMT dispatched to triple-check me that all I really needed was a long, cool shower with lots of soap and maybe a bacon cheeseburger. Pete had me wrapped tightly, and he just chuckled through the interview.

“I got it.” He nodded to the EMT. “You’re off the hook. I’ll take responsibility for her.”

The EMT backed away, clearly dubious but also relieved.

“I thought marrying you would keep you from getting into these kinds of scrapes,” Pete said softly into my absolutely disgusting hair.

I scowled up at him. “Who started this?” I wriggled inside his hug. “With the bump and crunch driving and ‘I’m sorry about your truck, Babe’?”

He wiped dirt off my cheek with his thumb. He touched his forehead to mine, and his crinkle-cornered eyes set my knees to wobbling. “I’m kidnapping you,” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

oOo

I awoke to faint dripping sounds in the gray dawn light. And the cool scent — the palpable freshness as though the pores of all green things had opened up — of rain flooded over me. I stretched, winced at my stiff muscles and sore spots, and rolled over — smack into Pete who emitted a low, snoozy groan and pulled me closer.

The
Surely
rocked gently. Pete had anchored her off some island I didn’t know the name of in the dark last night, and we sheltered in the island’s lee. Quiet, slappy noises rippled along the
Surely
’s hull and lulled me back into a comfortable dreamy, dozy state.

It turned out my pickup worked fine. She just had a few more character lines and no left headlight. I guess they don’t build them like they used to. If that’s the case, most of Sockeye County would come out of vehicle collisions the way we did — with cosmetic damage but no broken bones — because we all drove old battleships.

Sheriff Marge had spotted us sneaking toward the pickup, and she’d just waved us on with a curt, “Get out of here.”

Pete had made only one stop on our escape — to pick up Tuppence from Frankie’s apartment above the Junction General Store. Then he’d skipped the entrance to the Riverview RV Ranch and continued on to the port where the readiness of the
Surely
’s appointments revealed just how long he’d been planning this. I also suspected quite a few of our friends had assisted with the preparations for my getaway surprise.

My clothes were packed; the pantry in the
Surely
’s galley brimmed with food; Pete’s motorcycle, covered with a tarp, was lashed on the stern deck. And I had Pete all to myself.

I snuggled in under his chin, and he chuckled without opening his eyes.

“We are officially incommunicado. But you can have one phone call today, because I know how you are when you’re curious. That’s the extent of my generosity in sharing you with others.” He hands moved into tickle territory.

I squirmed. “Two.”

His eyes popped open. “One,” he said, his voice stern.

I kissed his earlobe. “Two.”

A devilish grin spread across his face. “One.”

I kissed the tip of his nose and grinned back. “Two.”

“I can be very stubborn when I want to be,” Pete murmured.

“I know. Me too,” I whispered and kissed him on the mouth.

I eventually persuaded him, and doing so was certainly not a hardship.

While Pete was cooking breakfast, I padded out onto the deck and sat on the edge, swinging my bare feet over the side, my arms propped on a rail. I didn’t care how wet I got, the rain was delicious. It was more of a pervasive mist than actual drops. I got the feeling that we were swirling inside the low cloud even though it was the cloud that was doing the moving, dampening the gentle river sounds into a small capsule that was ours alone.

Tuppence seemed to be enjoying it too. She flopped down beside me with her head on my lap. We both watched a seagull skimming over the river’s chop while I listened to the ringing on the other end of my first phone call.

“Where are you?” Frankie’s tone was light and teasing.

“I have no idea,” I said, “and it’s wonderful.”

Frankie passed the phone to Rupert, then to Greg, who had both just arrived at the Imogene for a long day of work, then came on the line again. In a round-robin style conversation, they filled me in on the machinations in the basement.

The FBI had removed all the weapons, both from the Imogene and Mac’s pole barn. They were certain the two men who’d stolen Jack Roscoe’s semi worked for a Mexican drug cartel which was looking to expand its influence across North America. Most likely, they planned to import its execution-style intimidation and terror as well. The guns probably would have stayed in the United States, but in the very wrong hands, if they’d been successful in loading them into the semi-trailer.

Greg was going to document the Near East artifacts for me. But after that, we would have to wait to know how to proceed until I heard from someone authorized to speak for the ministry of culture of either
Jordan or Turkey.

Rupert reported that Scott and Will had started digging the loading dock ramp, and that he had another acquisition trip planned — to
Italy this time.

“I wonder if Barbara would like to go to
Italy,” I murmured.

“Barbara?” Rupert sounded hesitant.

“Her last name’s not Segreti for nothing,” I replied. “You should ask her. Maybe she’d enjoy a vacation. You could show her around. I don’t think she gets away very often, if ever. Autumn, after school starts, would be a good time for her to close the Golden Shears for a couple weeks.”

Rupert was silent, but I could tell he was pondering the idea. He’d need some time to cogitate, and pressuring him was never effective, so I rang off. Just a little niggle here and there. I held out hope.

Tuppence stood to sniff the air — presumably because such a task on such a glorious day required her full attention — then she ambled around to my other side and assumed a mirror image of her previous position. I stroked her silky ears.

The next phone call was going to take some concentration. I ran over my mental list of questions and dialed.

Sheriff Marge chortled when she answered. “Just can’t leave things alone, can you?”

“Look who’s talking,” I muttered.

“Happens to be my job,” she replied. Her voice registered the satisfaction I was accustomed to, though, and a renewed vigor.

I grinned. “How are Rhonda and Blaine?”

“Eager to blame each other. I guess at some point they were carrying on an illicit affair. The love’s not flowing so much right now.”

“Why’d they kill
Quincy?”

“Money. Seems Rhonda thought a warmer climate and sandy beaches would make her happier with her life.” Papers shuffled in the background, and Sheriff Marge wheezed as she leaned over to reach something. I’d caught her at her desk — a rare occasion. Then a loud bang as though she’d just pounded a stapler. She was probably filling out forms in triplicate. “She and Blaine hatched the plan to use an arson gone bad as a way to cover up
Quincy’s murder and collect his life insurance,” she huffed.

“It’s possible to collect on a policy if the insured was involved in criminal activity?” I asked, incredulous.

Tuppence staggered to her feet, stretched into a gigantic, tongue-curling yawn and finished with a full-body shake. She swiped a line of raindrops off the underside of the railing with her nose.

“Generally, yes, if the policy’s more than two years old. The insurance companies don’t want to look bad by not paying out. Crazy, huh? Maybe I should get myself some life insurance.” Sheriff Marge chuckled.

“You’re in a high-risk occupation.” I pointed out the obvious. “So what made Lily go nuts over Blaine’s boots and the trunk of their car?”

Tuppence and I both jerked to attention as a dark hump sliced through the water a few yards from us, then flippers. Tuppence growled at the intruder.

“Blaine admitted he fiddled with the Escort’s engine to fake an alibi the night of the murder, but they used that car to transport a couple cases of lighter fluid and catch up with Quincy at the Imogene. Rhonda planted the idea with Quincy that he use the Imogene as his big finale arson of the season, so that’s how they knew where to stage the accident.” Sheriff Marge’s tone shifted to admiration. “Gotta love Lily. I bought her the biggest rawhide treat I could find even though she won’t shut up when she rides in my SUV.”

The
California sea lion popped its head out of the water, inquisitive, whiskers on high alert, a gnawed hunk of salmon held against its chest. Tuppence let out a volley of barks to prevent the sleek monster from getting any ideas about beaching itself on the
Surely
’s nice deck.

“You tell him, old girl,” I muttered. The sea lions were notorious pests, lolling in the river and gorging themselves on salmon. Occasionally one was smart enough and lithe enough to squeak through the fish ladder at Bonneville Dam. Conniving predators — just like some people.

“I don’t understand how Quincy’s Mercedes ended up at the wildlife refuge,” I said.

“That’s the best part. Those two goons the FBI was after — well, they were also at the Imogene the night of the arson. In interviews, they inadvertently implicated Blaine and Rhonda by placing the blue Escort at the scene, but the Merc was the one with the keys in the ignition, so that’s the car they stole. Must have left just before the fire blazed up. They knew the Taurus had been made, so they were desperate for different transportation. When they found out later they’d stolen a dead man’s car, well, they panicked — dumped it and torched it. Went back to using the Taurus until they drove off with two of Jack Roscoe’s semis. We found the other one, undamaged, parked out behind an abandoned dairy barn, probably taken as a decoy.”

I bit my lip. “I hope Jack had insurance on his new semis, considering Pete and Archie contributed to the jackknifing of one of them.”

“He’s covered,” Sheriff Marge grunted. “But that’s the thing I don’t understand. We all — the deputies and I — have had driving training, defensive maneuvers, controlled spins, what have you, but we didn’t practice with semis. Too rare of an occurrence to train for. And Archie’s been uncharacteristically taciturn about the incident. What happened exactly?”

“You ever been skidding?” I asked.

“Skidding?” Sheriff Marge repeated.

“On purpose, for fun, in wheat fields. Ask your sons — I bet they have. It was news to me too. Seems to be a male rite of passage.”

“Huh. Does Pete have something he needs to confess?”

“Nope.”

“Well, tell him if he ever wants to give up driving that tug, he can have a job as one of my deputies.”

“I might veto that,” I replied. “I like my husband in one piece.”

“Thought you would. Now go spoil that man.” Sheriff Marge hung up.

The sea lion submerged, leaving behind a few short-lived bubbles on the surface. Tuppence paced along the edge of the deck, peering into the water, on patrol should it decide to return.