Читать книгу Cold Case Connection - Dana Mentink - Страница 17

Sergio played “horsie” with the girls while Betty had some overdue time to herself. This meant he spent a good half hour on his knees crawling around making neighing noises with Laurel and Lucy perched on his back. He’d perfected the art of bucking just enough to make them squeal but not quite enough to throw them off.

At first when he’d taken over as their guardian, he’d longed for the day when they weren’t such delicate infants, but as they’d grown, he realized he had no idea how to play with small children. He’d eventually learned the secret. Do whatever you can to put a smile on their faces. That often meant leaving his dignity at the door, but he’d grown comfortable with that over the years. The only thing he stoutly refused to do was play with dolls. A grown man had to draw a line in the sand somewhere and pretending to make a plastic man doll with perfect hair chatter on was intolerable.

He’d tried hard to honor what he felt Fiona would have wanted, not to spoil them with toys and treats, but to lavish them with as much time as he could free up. There was never enough of that commodity, not with having to earn a living and the hours it took to track down the scant leads on his sister’s murder, leads that had taken him nowhere until recently.

After he colored with the fat crayons Helen had left and made Play-Doh doughnuts and pretended to eat them, he considered what had happened in the woods. He’d already placed a call to the police and left a message.

He made a mental note to thank his pseudo informer, an interior designer, whose parents were family friends with his folks when they’d lived in Driftwood. He’d seen her business ad on Facebook while searching about all things Driftwood related, and contacted her after she’d announced she’d been awarded the contract to redecorate the Driftwood Police Department headquarters. Connections, he’d learned, were how a private eye got things done.

When he’d asked her to keep her ears open around the police department, she’d been surprisingly eager to tell him about Helen’s arrival there the week before with Trish’s mysterious note. She had no qualms about divulging private information, it seemed, and he was happy to overlook that transgression if it got him closer to nailing Fiona’s killer. Amazing what a fly on the wall could take note of.

As soon as he got the girls settled in he would pay some important visits, the first to Chief Farraday and the second and third to Gavin Cutter and Justin Dover, the other two people who had been in the tunnels the night Trish O’Brian was murdered. None of the visits would involve Helen.

The doorbell rang, and he opened the door, surprised to find Helen standing there holding a tray, her face suffused with cotton-candy pink. She was dressed in an immaculate silk blouse and jeans that showed her long legs to advantage. There were no signs of their dangerous adventure in her outward appearance anymore. Gorgeous, he thought before he shut that unwanted observation down.

“You didn’t have to bring it yourself,” he finally said.

“I was out and about anyway.” She offered him the tray.

He admired her pluck since he’d made his feelings perfectly clear. Laurel peeked around his leg. He realized he should have introduced them before. “Laurel, this is Miss Helen.”

She smiled. “Hi, Laurel.”

“We’re gonna sit at the table for breakfast,” Laurel said, looking at Sergio. “Can she sit too?”

“Oh, I’ve got to get back to the lodge. I’m...”

“Too busy,” he said. He had not intended it to be a recrimination, but it might as well have been. Her flush deepened and he felt a prick of regret at paining her. She’d been kind and had gone out of her way, even if it was probably born of guilt. Stop being a jerk, Sergio.

“I...” Helen straightened and seemed to come to a decision. “I could stay for a minute,” she said.

More courage. Her gleam of determination kicked his pulse up a notch.

Without warning, a blur of motion across the grass startled them all. Helen sighed at the approach of a white dog with crooked ears and amber eyes, a floppy cone stuck around his neck.

“Jingles,” Helen said, “sit.”

The dog promptly dropped into an awkward sit, legs sprawled out to one side. “I’m sorry. This is my brother’s dog and he’s here at the lodge while Liam is on his honeymoon. He doesn’t know what to do with himself while Liam’s gone. They’re very bonded. Jingles is my guard dog at night. He bunks in my room in the main building.”

Both girls were now peeking around Sergio’s leg, staring at the strange sight.

“Owie?” Lucy said.

Helen smiled. “Oh, he got stuck in a barbed-wire fence and had to have stitches.” She realized that was too difficult an explanation and added. “He wears that until his owie is better. He’s supposed to get it off today.”

Lucy blinked gravely.

“I’ll keep him outside,” Helen started, but Lucy was already scrambling past, plopping down on her knees to stroke Jingles’s sides. The dog’s eyes rolled blissfully.

Sergio shook his head. “Well I guess they’re friends. He might as well come in too.” He stood aside, and Lucy and Jingles made their way to the kitchen. Sergio hastily gathered up the stack of mangled Ocean Life magazines. He caught her amusement.

“The girls like to cut out the fish pictures. Sometimes they get started on that before I have a chance to read them.” He added them to the pile of crumpled parenting magazines.

Helen smiled. “I remember cutting up my brother’s comic book one time, and boy did I hear about that.”

Laurel climbed up into the wooden chair, her sister beside her, and carefully tucked a paper napkin on her lap.

“What good manners,” Helen said, sitting in the farthest chair away from Sergio.

He scooped Lucy up and set her in the seat next to him, smoothing the napkin for her. “I used to tuck the napkins under their chins, but Nanny Betty said that was uncouth.”

Helen laughed. “Nanny was right.”

Laurel clasped her palms together. “Are you gonna say grace?”

Without missing a beat, Helen folded her hands and offered a simple prayer of thanksgiving. He folded his too, out of respect and because he was trying to raise them the way Fiona would have. He was trying to feel the surge of gratitude over the ever-present hum of stress and anger. “Thank you, Lord,” he echoed. “For bringing me here so I can find justice for my sister.”

He set to work cutting off a piece of the pancake, which was decorated with strawberry eyes and a banana slice mouth, and sticking it on the fork which he handed to Lucy. He was about to slide over and help Laurel, but Helen had gotten to it first. After slicing the pancake into neat bites, she poured a little puddle of syrup on the plate next to the pancake so Laurel could dip it in. He’d never thought of that. Instead he typically doused the goo over the whole pancake and cleaned up the sticky results later.

Helen poured coffee for the grown ups.

Sergio was pleased to note out of the corner of his eye that Lucy was eating with gusto.

“She’s got some developmental delays,” Sergio murmured quietly to Helen while the child remained absorbed in moving the pancake around her plate and Laurel chattered on. “I’m not exactly sure what all that means except things come more slowly to her and she isn’t growing as fast as her sister.”

Helen listened, sipping. They fell into an awkward silence.

“I called Chief Farraday,” she said while the children were piling in bites of pancake and giggling at Jingles.

“I did also. Left a message.”

“I told Mitch and Chad about it too.”

Sergio drummed fingers on the table. “I’ve been thinking about the investigation all those years ago, Gavin and Justin were suspects for good reason.”

Helen wiped her mouth. “I can’t make myself believe either could do that to Trish.”

“Maybe you can’t see the bad in anyone.”

Her look sharpened. “You sound like Liam. What you mean to say is I’m naive.”

He didn’t answer.

Helen cut another part of the pancake for Laurel and moved her glass of milk within reach. So smooth and natural. It had taken him dozens of spill cleanups to learn that toddlers couldn’t reach too far without disaster. He didn’t think she’d learned all these tricks from parenting magazines.

“I know you won’t believe me, but my brother and I grew up fast—we had to. I’m more savvy about the evil in the world than you think. How could I not be after what happened to us in high school and later on to...” She broke off.

“Fiona,” he finished quietly.

Helen pressed her lips in a firm line, but not until he’d seen the tremble there. For the first time, he imagined what it must have been like for her to be so close to two murders, and the initial one at such a tender age. Her phone buzzed, and she checked her text, her green eyes clouding. “Chief Farraday just arrived. He’s waiting in the lobby for me. My desk clerk says he looks furious.”

Sergio stood. “I’ll ask Betty to watch the girls, and I’ll come with you.”

“I can handle it, Sergio. One thing I’m good at is managing lodge business.”

“I’m sure you are, but I don’t think this is exactly routine.”

Her tone was chilly. “I’d rather you didn’t. Like you said, you don’t want me in your investigation, so I’ll take care of this part myself and tell Farraday to direct all his questions to you. And, there’s something you should probably know about a couple of the guests—”

He cut her off. “I won’t make a scene and disturb the sacred ambiance of your lodge.”

Her expression hardened, whatever she’d been about to tell him locked inside. “Yes, I love this lodge, Sergio. I won’t deny that, and I love Gus and Ginny for trusting me to run it. They could have hired anyone, people with way more experience but they had faith in me and I work every day to make them proud. I’m not ashamed of that, but believe me...” Earnest grief edged into her tone now. “If I could go back in time, I would choose your sister over my duties in a heartbeat. I let her down...” Her pained gaze shifted to the children. “And I let them down.” Anguish flashed as she dragged her eyes to his. “Does that make you feel better to hear me say it again?”

“No,” he said, surprised that it was true. “Actually, it doesn’t.”

They both stood now, emotion crackling between them, the girls talking on, oblivious. The awkwardness stretched until she turned away.

“I will talk to the chief. I’m sure he’ll want to have a word with you too, at some point,” she said.

Sergio gave her a head start before he called for Betty and kissed each little girl on the top of her head. “No time like the present,” he said. Besides, maybe it’s the perfect time to poke the bear. He hoped it wouldn’t make Helen’s life harder, but he couldn’t concern himself with that. Not now. It was his investigation, after all, if he could only convince her of that.

Helen strode into the lodge, where people were milling. Her clerks were doing their usual efficient jobs ushering the overnight guests and those visiting for the cattlemen’s presentations into the spacious back area reserved for conferences and large events. She plucked a fallen napkin off the gleaming hardwood floor and discarded it. The lobby was perfect down to the last detail—the only way she’d allow it to be.

Farraday wasted no time, coming at her like a rocket closing in on a target. She moved away to a quiet corner where he started in.

“What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed? I told you to stay out of those tunnels.”

“We weren’t in the tunnels,” she said firmly, “and we aren’t the lawbreakers here.”

“Your boy Kyle is,” Sergio said as he joined them. Helen did her best to hide her annoyance.

Farraday’s eyes slitted. “He’s not ‘my boy.’ His name’s Kyle Burnette. He’s called me a few times to tell me when blockheads were out getting into the tunnels, and I’ve thanked him for that.”

“Thanked him or paid him?” Sergio said.

“You’re out of line,” Farraday said. “He’ll be cited for shooting at you.”

“He should be arrested,” Helen said calmly.

“He meant no harm.”

Sergio was electric with irritation. “And what’s his interest in the tunnels?”

Farraday blinked. “Just a good citizen.”

“Uh-huh, and I’m the king of England,” Sergio said.

A stream of people meandered past on their way to the conference room. Two men lingered close, one tall and dark, with thinning close-cut hair, gelled into a sheen, the other blond and shorter with a compact build. Helen’s heart skidded.

Farraday eyed their approach as did Sergio who slid a look at Helen.

“These two are staying here at the lodge?” the chief asked.

She nodded. “They are both attending the cattlemen’s convention.” She took a deep breath. “Sergio, this is Gavin Cutter,” she said, gesturing to the taller one, “and Justin Dover.”

She saw the shock ripple over Sergio’s face. He stared at Helen and she read the incredulity in his expression. He rubbed a hand over his chin, probably searching for composure.

Two prime suspects in Trish O’Brian’s murder were indeed staying at the lodge. Part of her felt justified at his discomfort. She would have told him earlier if he’d been more cooperative.

Gavin extended a palm to Sergio; a gold band on his left ring finger caught the light. He still sported the same longish sideburns he’d been so proud of his senior year. “Name’s Gavin Cutter. My wife and I own a cattle ranch just outside of town.” He waved to a woman with a mane of curly hair, stepping into the elevator before the doors slid shut. “There she is. That’s Dee.”

The other man shook hands, as well. “Justin Dover.” His blond brows drew together. “I’m sorry. I’ve heard... I mean... I can’t actually believe it, but...”

“I can,” Gavin said. His dark eyes were shadowed with fatigue, she noticed. “The whole high school thing is rearing its ugly head again.”

Justin groaned. “Will it ever be over?”

“Not until Trish O’Brian’s killer is caught,” Sergio said.

Both men stiffened. Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what your interest is in all this, but we were both cleared of that crime.”

“My interest?” Sergio said. “Easy. It seems that whoever killed Trish O’Brian might have also murdered my sister, Fiona Ross. I’m here to find out the truth about that.”

“You’re Fiona’s brother?” Gavin’s mouth pinched into a tight line. “I saw you around in high school a few times, but I don’t think we ever formally met. You graduated a couple years ahead of us. I was so sorry to hear about Fiona’s death, we both were, but listen to me. I believe to this day that there was someone else in those tunnels that night who killed Trish.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?” Sergio’s question reeked of disbelief.

“My whole life stalled after what happened,” Gavin snarled, “but now I’m finally restarting it. I’ve got a wife and a baby on the way and my ranch is edging into the black. Remember that when you’re stirring the pot around here. People’s reputations are on the line.”

“Only the guilty will pay,” Sergio said. “I promise.”

Justin sighed. “The police found us innocent.”

Helen searched Farraday’s face but saw no reaction there.

“Not being charged with a crime doesn’t necessarily mean someone’s innocent,” Sergio said.

Gavin’s hands tightened into fists.

Justin shook his head and sighed. “There will always be people in this town who think we killed her.” He looked at Helen, his gray eyes troubled. “You remember what that felt like when the cops were looking at you?”

Helen gulped. She did. If she and Fiona hadn’t gotten lost and exited a tunnel completely on the other side of the forest, they would have been, and briefly were, suspects too.

“I’ll help in any way I can.” Justin shot a look at Gavin who nodded grudgingly. “We’ll both cooperate fully. Fiona was our friend too and if her murder is linked to Trish’s we want to help you sort that out, but just be careful, okay? We shouldn’t have to pay all over again for something we didn’t do.”

When Sergio didn’t answer, Helen nodded. “The next session is starting in the conference room.”

Gavin and Justin headed away.

Farraday rolled one shoulder as if he felt a pain there. “Good reminder. Don’t mess up people’s lives trying to play at being detectives.”

“Do I look like I’m playing?” Sergio spoke softly, but his words were knife edged.

Farraday turned abruptly and strode away. Helen watched him pass by a woman with a pixie cut of flame-colored hair. She was bundled in a leather coat, striding toward the conference room. Her cheeks were heavily freckled.

That red hair. Those freckles. They struck Helen in such a familiar way that she did a double take, but the woman had passed by without acknowledging her. A stranger. She must be.

“What?” Sergio said, noting her interest.

“Oh, nothing. Someone I thought I knew.”

Forget the past, Helen. You’ve got a job to do right now. With Liam’s wife Maggie, her new cook, away for her honeymoon, she needed to check in with Tiny, the man she’d borrowed from the local Chuckwagon Restaurant to fill in. There were ingredient spreadsheets to go over, employee schedules to finalize. Part of her longed for the steadying element of neat columns and tidy sums.

“I’ve got to go,” she told Sergio. Though she had the feeling he wanted to talk to her about Gavin and Justin, it would have to wait.

Put him off like you did to Fiona? Guilt stabbed through her but when she looked around to catch Sergio, he’d already left.

It wasn’t until well after eleven that evening that Helen trudged up the stairs to her room, her private oasis. It was the only place she could escape the demands of the lodge. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was temporarily satisfied.

Tiny had done a stellar job preparing vats of cowboy chili, his famous corn bread and pans of peach cobbler which satisfied the convention goers and the regular patrons alike. The combination of Tiny’s cooking talent and her behind-the-scenes planning had paid off. Each step sapped her energy further. Tired as she was, she could not stop the thoughts from flailing around in her head about Fiona’s and Trish’s untimely deaths. Not just deaths, murders. Farraday thought she and Sergio were playing detective games, but there was nothing trivial about the stakes.

The capture of Trish’s murderer.

Unmasking Fiona’s killer.

And the reputations of two men who had already had their lives ripped apart. Justin’s words echoed in her mind.

We shouldn’t have to pay all over again for something we didn’t do.

She used her key, pushing the heavy wood door ajar, waiting for the exuberant greeting from Jingles. Mitch had taken him to the vet to have his sutures checked and was to have secured the dog in her room while she completed her evening rounds.

The dog did not come.

“Jingles?” she called, reaching for the light switch. She flicked it twice with no results. A power outage? Not unheard of since the main building hadn’t been remodeled like the more modernized cabins. The biggest improvement had been installing key card readers on the lobby doors which gave her more comfort about lodge security. That modernization hadn’t been applied to her own room. The Best for the Guests, was her motto. Perhaps Mitch had kept Jingles on the ranch for some reason.

She was reaching for her phone to activate the flashlight when something moved in the darkness, something that was not canine, but human.