Azure Secrets

by Patricia Rice

  Whatever worked. . . Monty saluted and returned to his office to wait for Walker.

  When Walker finally arrived, he pointed at the exit, turned around, and left again. Monty followed, refraining from rolling his eyes at the taciturn act his police chief did so well.

  “We need to visit Roper,” Walker said, climbing into the driver’s seat of his official SUV.

  “You want to do that in an official capacity or go up with me and make it unofficial?” Monty asked warily. “You’re not arresting him, are you?”

  Walker thought about it and climbed out again. “Nothing to arrest him on except suspicion of shooting Francois. I’d probably shoot Francois too, if I were him.”

  Monty aimed for his car. “Francois is my mother’s sycophant. Is he tattling again?”

  Walker took the passenger side of the BMW and stretched his long legs. “He’s whining that Roper won’t buy him a new uniform and wants him to drive the limo for anyone Roper deems worthy. Not exactly his words.”

  “Roper runs a tight ship, I’ll give him that. I don’t like the man, but I don’t like running the lodge even more. I’m gonna really hate it if you arrest him for shooting a toad like Francois.” Monty steered the car into his reserved spot at the lodge, glancing around the parking lot out of habit. Business was still booming. The wedding party had lingered for dinner, at least.

  How the damnation would he persuade Fee to return with him tonight?

  As if he were thinking along the same lines, Walker asked, “Where’s Fee?” as he climbed out.

  “Currently not speaking to me, for reasons unknown. She’s with Sam at the café. They’re cooking up something without me.” Which irked, he admitted. He’d really thought they could work together.

  “I’ll find out from Sam,” Walker said confidently. “That’s Roper’s car, isn’t it? Is he living up here now?”

  Monty glanced at the high-end, sporty Cadillac. “Yup. He moved into Kurt’s old cabin, said he could use it as his office at night. But he’s usually in the bar at this hour.”

  They found the lodge manager talking to a pair of Asian businessmen. At Monty’s approach, the businessmen left for the dining room. Odd that. Usually, Roper liked to show his connections by introducing the Mayor of Hillvale, Stanford’s highest-scoring quarterback, yadda yadda. Maybe Roper spoke Japanese or Mandarin or whatever and figured Monty was too stupid to figure out how to greet them. Well, he probably was. That had been Kurt’s job.

  Pushing forty, Roper was a slightly balding, portly man who liked to dress well.

  “Fred, you know Chen Ling Walker, don’t you?” Monty hailed the bartender and held up two fingers. The bartender knew what they liked.

  Roper held out his hand and shook Walker’s. “Of course, although we’ve not had much chance to talk. Crime here is low.”

  “You’ve missed the good parts,” Walker said laconically. “But we’re doing our best to keep things quiet these days. Shooting Francois probably doesn’t count as a crime, but I do need to file a report.”

  Roper looked concerned. “He knows who shot him? I hope it wasn’t personal, although he has a. . . trying. . . personality.”

  Monty sipped his beer and once again tried not to roll his eyes. Maybe he ought to develop Fee’s head-down pose. He had to learn to keep his mouth shut, too. This was Walker’s baby.

  “The bullet in Francois matches the gun registered to you, and witnesses say you and Portelli were the only ones on the street at that point.” Walker didn’t pick up his beer yet. “Francois isn’t pressing any charges, but I want to know what happened.”

  Monty had a notion that Walker was bending several laws, but that happened up here with Lucys around. Walker’s ability to accept the surreal was the main reason the town had agreed to pay for their own police chief.

  Roper sipped the last of his martini as if they discussed nothing more than the position of the chandelier. Monty assumed he was looking for wiggle room. So did Walker, who still didn’t drink his beer—until he was off duty.

  “I had loaned my Glock to Portelli the night before. You’ll understand that a wealthy man makes enemies, and he had a few in the crowd.” Roper seemed satisfied with their non-reactions to that and continued. “He’d imbibed rather freely at the reception. When he saw someone attempting to kidnap the cook’s dog, he behaved recklessly.”

  “Which is why Portelli is suddenly unavailable?” Walker asked.

  Monty began to understand why his chief practiced his heavy-lidded impassive expression. Roper started to squirm, ever so subtly.

  “He’s often out of town,” the lodge manager said, shrugging. “I’ll email him to call you when he’s in port.”

  “Do you still have the gun? I’d like to run ballistics and lift Portelli’s fingerprints so I can cover my ass if the state makes inquiries. Hospitals have to report gunshot wounds. Monty vouches for you, so it’s all just formality.”

  “I think Portelli kept it. I was too shocked to ask for it back. Do I need to report that?”

  Monty’s BS monitor binged at Walker’s declaration, then clamored wildly at Roper’s reply. He realized he’d rather be at the café with the blunt Lucys then dancing with deceit. Hillvale might be crazy, but his folk were honest. He’d have to tell Kurt they needed to start looking for another manager.

  Or maybe the lodge attracted evil as the Lucys claimed.

  “Yeah, you should file a lost or stolen report so if it turns up at a crime scene, you’re covered.” Walker picked up his beer. Before he drank, he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know Harold Haas, would you? County attorney?”

  Roper’s jaw tightened, Monty noted with interest.

  “I’ve met him. Why?”

  “He’s asked if he could meet with you about some case he’s working.” Walker finally took a pull on his beer.

  “I’d rather not have anything to do with that lying bastard,” Roper said vehemently.

  Walker merely lifted his eyebrows.

  “He may be county attorney, but he rubs shoulders with filth. You ought to ask him about the social worker’s death. They knew each other well.”

  Roper walked away.

  Monty discreetly high-fived his police chief.

  Twenty-nine

  Sunday, late evening

  With the dinner crowd tapering off, Fiona was cleaning the kitchen when Mariah entered, flashing her tablet computer.

  “It took a lot of digging, but I finally found Maria Gonzalez. She works hard to stay off the grid.” She dropped the tablet on the table Fee was scrubbing.

  “Gonzalez? Stacy’s granny?” Tugging at her rubber gloves and unable to touch the device, Fee studied the image.

  “The granny on the dad’s side of the family, the ones not offering a reward. Maybe because they already know where she is?” Mariah helped herself to a leftover bruschetta.

  “Why would Granny Maria not want her picture taken? Gonzalez is a pretty big man around Waterville.” Gloves off, Fee picked up the small tablet. The image was old, if that was Eduardo beside her wearing a wide-lapel jacket and tie. He’d been fairly handsome when younger. His wife was stout and frumpy, wearing gloves and hat as if they’d just come from church.

  “Most of his recent photos show him with young women on his arm at various charity or political functions. But he and his wife had six kids together. I’m guessing she preferred staying home with the kids, and he prefers flashing eye candy.” Mariah took the computer back, scrolled up another image, and handed it over. “I ran a facial-aging program on her.”

  Fee studied the older version of Maria Gonzalez. “I’m not great with faces, and I only caught a glimpse—”

  “This program only ages her young, prim image. You described the woman chasing Sukey as blowzy, right? Big-bosomed, big-haired, that sort of thing? Nothing like the starchy churchgoer, but if we modernize her. . .”

  While Mariah played with the image, Fee applied lotion to her hands and tried to recall what she’
d seen. “Black hair—inky, from one of those cheap package dyes. Today’s low-cut dress style but not tight-fitting. So, yes, big bosoms and cheap taste. Looked like she had a bad permanent or an electrical shock.”

  Marian snickered. “You’ve played this game before. I’m not great at graphics, but how does this look?” She held up the tablet again.

  Mariah had employed the software kids used for making comic characters out of photos. The image in no way duplicated the real blowzy dognapper, but Fee could see the resemblance.

  “Yeah, that’s close. Stacy’s grandmother tried to steal Sukey? Does that mean she put the key in the collar? And hired Psycho Snake-bite Guy to kill me or Peggy?” Fee was too tired to be shocked.

  “Too many leaps,” Mariah warned. “She may just be looking for Stacy and saw Sukey. According to police interviews—don’t tell Walker I read them—she’s the one who gave Stacy the puppy.”

  Dinah came back to shoo them out. “I’m closing up here. You two scat.”

  Which was when Fee remembered she wasn’t supposed to go home alone. Oh well.

  “I think we need to talk with Mrs. G more than Haas,” Fee said, picking up her purse. “She’s not exactly a fool or a hornet, but she might lead us to one.”

  Mariah’s brown eyes lit with an unholy gleam. “Exactly. We’ll compare notes in the morning on how we’ll do that.”

  “I need to meet her before I can cook anything,” Fee warned on her way out the door.

  “Ectoplasm, my dear Watson, it’s all in the ectoplasm.” Mariah darted around Dinah’s swat and headed back to the front of the house.

  Fee wasn’t in the least surprised when she walked down the alley and spotted a familiar sturdy figure leaning against Aaron’s back door.

  “I’m tired,” she told him. “I’m going straight to bed. No one is looking for me anymore. Go away.”

  “You learned to speak up. I can learn to shut up.” Monty wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her.

  And she couldn’t resist. The spirit was sort of resistant, but the flesh was very weak. She’d trusted this impossible man. Even though he meant to steal her dream, she couldn’t untrust him, especially when he smelled so sexy exciting. His tongue teased hers, feeding her starving hormones. Juice bars and cafés flew out the window once he melted her brain.

  He opened the door. Apparently already having turned off the alarm, Monty hauled her inside without releasing her mouth. Her feet didn’t touch the floor as he punched in the alarm again. She ran her hands up his broad chest and dug her fingers into the expensive linen of his shirt.

  “No,” she said, pulling away from his mouth but kissing his face everywhere she could reach. “We can’t do this. Just no.”

  “All right. We won’t. But I’m not leaving you alone.” He dropped her back to the floor and worked his way through the storeroom.

  Fee felt as if she’d been abandoned in a cold tundra. She hurried to catch up. “My bed is small.” That wasn’t the argument here, but it sufficed.

  “I’ll use the couch again.” He stopped in the dark front room to look for it.

  She’d told him no and he’d listened. In her world, that was downright spooky. He didn’t even question. How could she explain if he didn’t even ask?

  “You’ll hurt your back sleeping on that thing. I can sleep in my bedroll. You take the bed.” She started up stairs, frustration seething. “I don’t see why you’ve appointed yourself personal bodyguard. Aren’t you supposed to be looking after the lodge?”

  “I left Aaron’s phone number with the reception desk. I’m two minutes away. And I’ve decided you’ve bewitched me. So like Sukey, I’m following you home.” He pushed ahead to check inside her room before he let her enter.

  “When can I have Sukey back?” she asked in irritation.

  “If you find Stacy, you’ll have to give her back to the kid. You need to find your own dog.” He found the lamp beside the bed and turned it on, then peeled off his coat.

  Not getting Sukey back made her sad, but not finding Stacy would be even worse. Fee sat down on the bed and rubbed her weary eyes. “If we find Stacy. What if they’ve done something awful to her?” Because that was the way Fee’s world worked—everyone left, disappeared, never to be seen again. Even dogs, apparently.

  “Wouldn’t Cass’s spirit know that? Stacy is good,” the ever-confident mayor said with the insouciance that always made the world look rosier. “We just need to knock heads. We can start on that tomorrow. Roper swears Portelli shot Francois while trying to stop the woman from stealing the dog. That doesn’t make any more sense than the county attorney smelling of anise and being a bad guy. I’m going with the flow here.” Not looking at her, he unbuttoned his shirt.

  “Mariah found a photo of Mrs. Gonzalez. We think the woman after Sukey might be her. Other than that, all we have is the collar and Sukey. We’ll have to send a photo of the dog, the collar, and a fake key to all parties involved and name a time and place and see who shows up. Do you have a spare army anywhere?” Fee had no resistance to all that primitive male muscle emerging from the civilized shirt. She went in the bathroom to wash.

  “Do spook armies count?” he asked through the door. “I don’t want a battle anywhere in town or at the lodge. We can use the Weldon place, surround it with Lucys and whoever Walker has up here.”

  Fee pulled on her nightshirt and carried her dirty clothes back to the bedroom. The mayor had stripped to his knit boxer briefs and was studying her as if she were a banquet. There was no way either of them was sleeping on the floor.

  She’d never had much self-respect anyway.

  “If you mean that cruddy cabin, I can’t cook at the Weldon place.” She set Big Bear on the floor, crawled into bed, and pulled her lavender sheet around her.

  “The stove is gas and functional, I checked.” Monty closed the bathroom door and Fee could hear water running.

  “No refrigerator, no food, rusty water, and no utensils,” she countered when he emerged. Here went the self-respect. She threw back the sheet so he could climb in.

  The damned man had known she’d give in. The mattress sank as he sprawled on his side without questioning her decision.

  “I own the town, remember? I can provide everything but the water. That’s still a work in progress. What if we filter the well?” He leaned on one arm and studied her with caution.

  “You’re not arguing about my right to poison suspects?” she asked in suspicion, knowing she couldn’t resist much longer.

  “I may be occasionally confused, but I’m not dumb. We can argue in the morning, after we do this.” He leaned over, kissed her, and captured her unfettered breast in one swift move.

  “Okay.” Fee slipped her arms around his neck, stuck her tongue in his mouth, and let him ravish her aching breasts.

  The reassuring aroma of hot sands, ocean breezes, and citrus filled her senses. She stretched to embrace the wonder of being swept away to an island of just the two of them.

  She needed this, she told herself. She needed this more than air and food. And self-respect. She helped him pull off his briefs and pull on the condom. She cried out her need when he suckled her breast. And she was so ready once he entered her, that she quaked and wept and brought him to shattering explosion long before the tall clock downstairs tolled midnight.

  Monday, morning

  Monty woke to the distant ringing of a phone. He was accustomed to slamming his hand against the bedside table and groping for the land line. This morning, he had an armful of warm curves, and peace and harmony replaced his need to pound phones.

  As his groggy mind registered the sound more clearly, he realized the noise wasn’t coming from beside the bed.

  Fiona stirred, and stabbed his ribs with her pointy elbow as she lifted her head. “Wrong number or the lodge is burning,” she concluded with a yawn.

  “Reassuring.” Morning horniness diluted, Monty rolled out of bed and almost fell into the teddy bear. He didn’t ha
ve any chance of getting downstairs before the caller gave up. He didn’t know why he was getting up. Oh yeah, the lodge might be burning.

  And Fee was out of bed and heading for the bathroom without looking at him again. A little appreciation for how hard he worked to retain his physique would be nice, but then, they’d both expressed lots of mutual admiration last night. It would hold him for a while. Fee was a quick student. Once she learned how good admiration felt, she’d figure out how to return it. Right now, she was just living up to her crab nature.

  Monty yanked on his pants. If the lodge was burning, he hoped it left his wardrobe alone. He couldn’t afford to replace the designer stuff these days.

  He was doing his best not to think about how right Fee had felt in his arms last night. She’d snuggled against him as if he were her teddy bear. He liked that. Women with agendas yapped. And then they got up, dressed, and left.

  He glared at the closed door. Well, Fee was in the process of doing that last part, except she probably had rolls to bake at this hour. She wasn’t expecting him to do anything for her.

  He took the stairs barefoot, found Aaron’s landline, and checked the last known caller—Mariah’s name came up.

  She was probably plotting with Fee. He’d stir her up a little. He called back—and Keegan answered. Figured. Mariah had that number originally, but Keegan lived there now.

  “Mariah dug into Haas’s bank accounts last night. And maybe a little more,” Keegan said without preamble.

  “How did you know I was here or were you planning on telling Aaron that?” Monty yawned and looked around in the dark for pen and paper. Remembering the little notebook Mariah had given him, he fished it out of his back pocket. “What did she find?”

  “This is Hillvale. Everyone knows where you spent the night. And she found irregular deposits into an online bank account in Haas’s name. She’s reminding me that doesn’t necessarily mean Haas owned the account or made the deposits—anyone can be hacked and had their ID stolen. She’s not a forensics accountant, and I wouldn’t let her stay up any later tracing the money.”