The Murder of a Queen Bee (28 page)

The chief leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “But you know as well as I do that because tires are so generic and are sold so widely, it would be difficult to tie a suspect to any one vehicle in that location. And that is true even if the print happened to be a good, usable impression. It's a little too circumstantial. Others could have easy access to that bike.”

Abby nodded. “True, but who would also have motive and means and access to that bike? You said the impression appeared similar to the tread on that bike's tire.”

“Wish it were a full print, but it's not. Fingerprints can get us a conviction, but a DNA match would tie up the evidence with a sweet little bow. We have it with the nicotine patch linking Premalatha to the burned car and her print on the teacup. But we all know she had help.”

The chief hadn't lobbed any cheap shots at her yet, and Abby wondered if he would. Maybe since she'd brought all that honey, he was making nice, treating her like a colleague rather than a cadet. “Somebody drove the body to the lake in Fiona's car, while the accomplice followed on or in some type of vehicle. Let's say it was a motorcycle. They would have staged Fiona's body behind the steering wheel and torched the car. Was an accelerant used?”

“Yes,” said the chief.

“So, where's the container? If the killer and an accomplice made their getaway on a motorcycle, they probably used lighter fluid. Easier to take the container with them than a gas can. If Dak Harmon didn't help with disposing of the body, then who did? Who else had the motive to take Fiona's life and also had access to that bike?”

Chief Bob Allen rubbed a bushy brow with four fingers of one hand while he stared at Abby, as though staring could elicit from her the answer he didn't have.

Abby thought for a moment. “Hayden Marks has a motive. Fiona threatened his hold over everyone.”

The chief leaned forward. “Well, we're not ready to hold the press conference yet, but there was a second print, a thumbprint, recovered from the trash. The bag that held the broken teacup contained a print that belongs to Marks. He's an ex-felon who served time for grand theft of firearms.”

“Wonder if he knows how to ride a Harley,” Jack mused.

The chief nodded. “Oh, he does. Marks had a previous affiliation with a gang of outlaw bikers.”

Abby smiled. “So that's it. Hayden Marks puts Fiona's body in the car. He drives it to the lake. They set the car on fire, and then Marks gives Premalatha a ride back to the commune on that motorcycle.”

“There's another piece of linkage in all this,” said the chief. “As part of the state's mandate to reduce prison populations, Hayden Marks was released early. He was sent to the same conservation camp, or ‘fire camp,' as Dak Harmon and a few other prisoners to help fight California wildfires.”

“So with Baxter and Harmon in jail, why haven't you arrested Marks?” Jack asked.

“Well, there's a problem. He's taken off,” the chief said. “We've alerted the local airports, bus terminals, and train stations. And we've put out a BOLO on him and that new car.”

Abby chimed in. “Driving a hot new BMW Alpina B-seven isn't too stealthy. It won't be difficult to spot it.”

“He probably didn't have a choice with his bike in the mountain shop, being repaired,” said the chief, rising to lift the case of honey from his desk and to set it on the floor by the window. “Two residents saw Marks drive away from the commune. But we'll find him. And now with a plausible scenario and incriminating evidence to support it against those three, we'll soon have them all behind bars. Premeditated murder, with poison as an aggravated factor, is a capital murder charge. That means the death penalty is on the table.”

Jack stood and extended his hand, his eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks for the update, Chief. Finally closure.”

“Good work, Chief,” Abby said, rising from her chair.

“How much do I owe you for the honey, Mackenzie? My missus is going to—” His words stopped with the knock at the door.

Nettie popped in. “Chief, we've got a hit on the BOLO. A sheriff in Santa Cruz County is calling. Someone thought they saw the car. Do you want to take it here? Line two.”

The chief pursed his lips. He nodded.

Against a desire to dally long enough to find out more about the BOLO, Abby said to the chief, “We'll settle up later with the money. Give you some privacy to take that call. Fingers crossed.” She and Nettie walked back to the lobby, with Jack following.

A few minutes later, Abby pulled out of the police parking lot and steered the Jeep on a course into the mountains.

“Getting those killers behind bars is one thing.... Do you think the police will have enough evidence for the court trial?” Jack asked, unpeeling the wrapper from a piece of gum. He offered the gum to her.

She waved off the gum and said, “You can be sure that Chief Bob Allen and his team will do everything they can to bring a solid case to the district attorney.”

“Good.” Jack slipped the gum package back into the pocket of his T-shirt and settled back into his seat. He stretched out his bare, muscular legs. “There was a gorgeous moon and a clear sky last night. What's up with all this fog today?”

“Microclimates. The mountains are different from the valley.” Abby tapped a button on the radio and turned to her favorite soft jazz station. As she entered the first big turn on the slick asphalt road, she gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “Here in the Bay Area, we can have sun in the valley and fog and drizzle in the mountains. The outside temperature can change thirty degrees from one microclimate to another, like in the summer, driving from San Jose to San Francisco.”

“Oh.” Jack leaned back and closed his eyes, apparently enjoying the ride. “I like your taste in music,” he said. “How far do we have to go now?”

“A few miles,” said Abby. Her tension lessened as they drove toward the summit for the delivery to the wedding customer. A late-season storm was expected to blow through. If they were lucky enough to get any rain in the valley, it would be spotty, but the winds buffeted her Jeep now and already the mountain mist had become heavy, so rain could hit at any moment.

“Where is this Kilbride Lake?” asked Jack.

“It's not too far from where you're staying in the cottage. I could take you to see it before we make the delivery, if you like. It's a really pretty area, although today the lake water is probably choppy and reflecting the gray sky.”

He spoke in a voice tinged with sadness. “It's where the killers took her and tried to burn . . . I want to see that spot.”

“You got it,” said Abby. She negotiated the curvy road for another half mile, cringing on the approach into the two most dangerous curves. She'd not soon forget that Timothy Kramer in his silver pickup had once forced her off the road, had taken a shot at her, and later had set that wilderness cabin on fire. For an instant, her thoughts turned to that harrowing experience. But then the Santa Cruz County Sheriff's Department had found him and arrested him. It was unlikely that local law enforcement would return to those wooded forty acres. Oh, but Hayden Marks could have.

“Oh, my gosh!” exclaimed Abby at the sudden realization. “Mind if we take a brief detour, Jack? I have a sudden urge to check that land behind Doc Danbury's estate. I think it's possible that Hayden Marks knows about that area. He could be hiding back there. And that could be why law enforcement hasn't found him.”

With the two curves behind her, the road again climbed. Abby remained vigilant on the road since the cliff side had no guardrail. The rocky, tree-studded cliffs plunged eighty feet below. On the mountain side, blind curves presented another hazard to drivers. On a clear day, Abby enjoyed the drive, but when there was fog and the road was wet, like today, she hit the brakes a lot . . . and now she needed to use the wipers.

The fog concealed the drop-offs from view but did little to lessen Abby's anxiety. Despite her defensive driving, the Jeep hydroplaned after reaching the red barn.
How ironic
, Abby thought.
Hydroplaning in an area where the fog bank has thinned and visibility has improved.
Still, she navigated the series of curves before the road straightened out again. Then she spotted the
NO TRESPASSING
sign in white paint on the big board nailed to a tree that indicated the turnoff to the cabin in the woods. She followed the rutted road to the high hill and the stand of oaks, remembering the shot Kramer had fired at her. Shaking off the memory, she peered down toward the clearing where the cabin once stood.

“I can't make out much of anything,” said Jack, leaning in to wipe the inside of the windshield with his hand.

“I was hoping the fog would be evaporating here, like it was at the barn,” said Abby. She stared at the wispy sheets wafting by in front of the Jeep's headlamps.

“Ah, Abby, 'tis like we're ghosts in a netherworld,” said Jack, slipping into his Irish brogue. “No one here to see. No one to bother us. It gives me ideas, it does.”

Abby smiled and drilled him with a playful gaze. “Yeah? What kind of ideas?”

Jack unfastened his seat belt. His eyes conveyed desire. “This, for one,” he said, leaning in.

Abby anticipated his kiss, but it never came. Instead, Jack's attention was diverted as he turned abruptly to face the source of the lights that had flicked on in the clearing. Abby stared, too. The lights appeared to be the high beams of a vehicle. Whatever kind of vehicle it was, the darn thing was headed straight for them. Abby didn't have time to debate whether or not to make a U-turn. The champagne-colored Alpina streaked past, swerving at the last minute.

“It's him . . . Hayden Marks. He almost killed us,” Abby cried out.

“I see him. Go . . . go. Go after him, Abby. He's getting away.”

“Too dangerous, Jack. The fog . . . can't see—”

“He's got to be stopped. Think of Fiona.”

Flipping into a U-turn, Abby hit the gas. “You're right. For Fiona . . .”
And my brother.
“Call it in, Jack. The phone is on the console. We need backup.”

Abby drove as fast as she dared in the deadly fog, following the Alpina's taillights. Jack alerted dispatch. At the
NO TRESPASSING
sign, the Alpina turned onto the asphalt road and picked up speed. Abby followed. Nearing the red barn, she saw the fog had receded over the edge of the mountain.

“Thank God. I can see.” Abby breathed. “There. There he is,” she said, pushing hard on the gas pedal.

“We're closing in, Abby. Closing in.”

Abby hardly heard Jack. Her thoughts raced ahead to the two most dangerous curves on the mountain. The Alpina had entered one of them. Then, in a millisecond, Abby heard the crash as the Alpina hit the granite wall. She watched the car flip into the air. Fly off the edge. Plunge down the cliff.

Abby's heart caught in her throat. Her fingers tightened into a death grip on the steering wheel. She tapped her brakes, knowing if she hit them hard, the Jeep would fishtail on the wet asphalt. She would lose control. End up just like Marks. When she got the car to a nearly full stop, she guided the Jeep into a slow roll onto the narrow turnout.

Jack jumped out. She followed. They raced to the cliff's edge to peer over. Flames from the Alpina leaped high into the air. Loud popping sounds followed, shattering the mountain's silence. Abby trembled, and Jack reached out to pull her close. He stroked her hair as they stood staring at the spectacle below.

“No one could have survived that,” said Abby. She sucked in a mouthful of air and blew it out between pursed lips. “How ironic. What he tried to do to Fiona's body, he ends up doing to his own.”

“It's divine justice,” Jack said, drawing her closer.

Within minutes, sirens screamed in tandem on approach. The arrival of the first emergency vehicle, with its lights and siren on, shattered the quiet peace of the mountains. Cal Fire followed closely behind the deputy sheriff's cruiser. Abby slipped out of Jack's embrace when the deputy pulled in behind her Jeep. He got out and approached them. Abby recognized him from police work back in the day.

“You all right?” asked the deputy.

“Uh-huh,” Abby said. “The driver is the murder suspect Hayden Marks. My friend here is Jack Sullivan. We saw Marks lose control of the Beemer, hit, flip, and fly over.” She let go a sigh. “Guess Chief Bob Allen can cancel that BOLO he put out on Marks.”

The deputy nodded. “We'll need your statements,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over more sirens approaching.

“No problem,” said Abby.

“Seeing as how it's you, Mackenzie, I don't see why we have to detain you.”

“Nor do I,” said Abby. “The chief knows how to reach me. So we'll let you get on with your work preserving the scene.”

The deputy nodded and walked over to the fire truck.

* * *

Abby's trembling subsided once she and Jack had returned to the Jeep and she was driving back to town. Hitting the brakes to let a cruiser pass, she made a mental note to call her wedding party customer to set up another delivery date.

“Listen, Jack, I'll keep my promise to show you Kilbride Lake, but it'll have to wait for another day. The mountain's going to be shut down to through traffic. I can't make my honey delivery, and you can't go home. So, lunch at my place?”

His eyes brightened, lighting his handsome face. “You'll not have to be twisting my arm for that,” he said, feigning the Irish accent.

“Lovely.” Abby turned the volume up on the soft jazz and was soon bobbing to the beat of the music. “So, what about egg salad sandwiches, sweet tea, sheet cake, and lemon ice cream with fresh berries? The sun should be out down on the farmette, so we'll dine on the patio, under the umbrella, and watch the birds and the bees.”