by Ann Yost
“Jake, did you get a look inside that trophy room?”
“I’ve been all over that house.”
She looked out the window as if his answer troubled her. Why? What had he said?
“What about the trophy room?”
“I don’t know. It bothered me. All those dead eyes. All that blood. What kind of a guy kills all those creatures for fun?”
“A guy with something to prove. The same kind of guy who wants to start a dynasty.”
“Maybe. It’s just that everybody who knew Nate Packer seemed to like him so much—even my brother. I can’t imagine being charmed by a cold-blooded killer.”
“Most con men are charming. It’s what makes them effective.”
“I guess.”
“Lucy.”
She looked directly at him and he felt a familiar tightening in his gut.
“I found out that the contract between the Eden County Community Bank and Packer, Inc., had a death clause. If either dies before the project is finished, the other gets full control. It was put in there to make sure the Blackbird Reservation gets its casino and resort.”
The color drained out of her face and the blue eyes looked huge in her small face.
“Cam didn’t do it, you know, Jake,” she spoke quietly. “I know he didn’t do it the same way I know you didn’t do it.”
He was unexpectedly touched by her faith in him but he didn’t admit it. And he couldn’t relieve her mind about her brother. The guy had means, motive and opportunity and an alibi as full of holes as Swiss cheese.
Forty minutes later they pulled up in front of the Excelsior. She unbuckled her seatbelt and looked at him.
“You texted me earlier. What was that about?”
Christ. He’d almost forgotten. He told her about Mrs. Peach’s sister.
“I’ve got a kid coming in for the afternoons but she can’t sleep there. And, besides, I’ve got to have an adult in the house to satisfy my mother-in-law.”
“Jake, why don’t you just make peace with her?”
“Out of the question. I tried the friend route. She tricked me into bringing the twins to the ranch and then she seduced them. I had a helluva time getting them to leave.”
“They were younger then. They would never choose a ranch over you now.”
He shook his head. “Give Maxine an inch and she’ll take away your children. Trust me on this.”
“I can’t be your nanny again.”
He clamped his jaw shut. He’d asked, she’d answered. Same as with marriage. She didn’t want to be an instant mom any more than Ariel had and, in Lucy’s case, these weren’t her children. He had to respect her wishes.
“I’ve got the job at the Excelsior. I couldn’t be there for them after school.”
“Like I said, I don’t need you after school. I’ve got Moonbeam for that.”
“Moonbeam?”
“It’s her name du jour. A small teenage rebellion. Mary Ellen’s actually a good kid.” If you ignore the dyed black hair, the pierced nose and the eyeliner that made her look like a raccoon.
“What about the tuna surprise? I haven’t learned to cook in the last week. I’ve been kinda busy.”
He flashed on the memory of her eager little cries, the soft but resilient feel of her small breasts, the sense of homecoming he’d felt embedded in her sweet depths. Yeah. She’d been busy. She didn’t have time to be his nanny anymore, either, but she was considering it. Soft-hearted Lucy.
“I could have Moonbeam pick up a coupla cans of Chicken of the Sea before she comes over this afternoon.”
He felt like Nate Packer. All he wanted was for his kids to be safe from Maxine. He wasn’t thinking about inconveniencing Lucy. He wasn’t thinking about putting her in the much-too-vulnerable position of sleeping just down the hall from him.
Or maybe he was. He wanted her. He wouldn’t lie to himself about that.
“I’ll do it,” she said, quietly. “But only until you can get someone permanent.”
Gratitude swept through him along with a sudden realization that Lucy wasn’t like Ariel at all. His wife had been a taker while Lucy was not. He didn’t share his conviction that she belonged to him, that when there was someone permanent in his household it would be Lucy herself.
“Great,” he said. “Thanks.”
Chapter Eight
Lucy stared at the ceiling. It felt right to be back in the double bed in the Langley’s guestroom. It had felt right to share another tuna meal with Jake, Sam, Lillie, Wiggles, and Lucy, Junior. It felt wonderful to hear all about school and the upcoming first grade play, Parade of Presidents. It felt fantastic to read a bedtime story to Lillie while Jake read one to Sam.
It also felt surreal. And dangerous. She’d agreed to come here again knowing the price she’d have to pay. She was facing more heartache. This wouldn’t end well. Not even if, in a moment of weakness, she agreed to marry the studly sheriff.
If you hang onto a man who doesn’t really want you, you’ll lose your self-respect in the end.
That he didn’t really want her was evidenced by the fact that she was here and he was in his own room down the hall. She flipped over onto her stomach and told herself it was for the best. More sex would just mean more complications and neither of them needed that.
She flipped onto her back.
If they maintained a professional distance, Jake could continue to search for the perfect second wife and she, Lucy, could continue to work on her long-term career plans.
She was here for the children, whom she loved.
And for Jake, whom she loved even more.
Lucy grabbed the pillow and hauled it over her head.
The next morning was so warm that there were only small islands of snow in the grassy earth of the construction site. By late morning the sun had pushed the temperature above sixty degrees and the breeze was practically balmy.
Lucy and Flynn tramped around the mud while he shot photos of the cordoned-off area where the body had been found, the construction trailer and the fringe of trees behind it.
This area had been home to balsam, maples, elm, and wild apple trees, as well as assorted evergreens. Every Maine fourth-grader learned that the state was ninety percent forested, more than any other state in the Union and Lucy had been no exception. The woodland Indians of a century ago, including the Penobscots, the Abenaki, the Passamaquoddy, the Mi’kmaq, and the Maliseet would have been shocked to discover that a chunk of the forest that had nurtured them was being ripped out by the roots to make way for hot tubs, craps tables, and slot machines.
On the other hand, the Penobscots could no longer live off the land. They needed jobs and they needed a clinic.
It still seemed sad.
Lucy inhaled the fresh scent of the earth. It was May first and spring was finally on its way. Around the edges of the cleared land she could see tender green shoots on the deciduous trees and she could hear a few of the birds that had returned early from their southern retreat. Lucy had been so busy fighting her reputation and her feelings for Jake that she’d forgotten how much she loved springtime in western Maine. She said a quick silent prayer that the season would bring peace and happiness to everyone on the rez and in town, too. Especially to Jake and his kids.
While she waited for Flynn to finish snapping photos she walked back to the site outlined in yellow tape. The morning sun reflected off of something on the ground. Was it dew? Or was there something embedded in the mud? A shiver ran up her spine as she knelt for a closer look. Not dew. A shiny object. She scooped it up in her hand and gasped. It was an earring, a tiny silver feather and she’d seen it before, last February, the day Hallie had brought her out to the rez to meet Molly Whitecloud.
Had Molly been here the night of the murder? Lucy’s heart beat fast. Surely not. It was entirely possible the earring didn’t even belong to Molly. There had to be dozens if not hundreds of pairs of silver feather pierced earrings in western Maine.
Lucy thought
back to the weather of the past week. The area had suffered a series of cloudbursts up through the night of Miss Violet’s recital which was also the night of the murder and the night of The Kiss. Warmth flooded Lucy and she momentarily lost her train of thought. The nor’easter had struck the very next day so that if the earring had been dropped that night it would have been buried under the snow and only surfaced now because of the melt.
It seemed likely the earring had been dropped here recently. Lucy shivered. Surely Molly hadn’t had anything to do with Packer’s murder. She was a woman of peace, a healer. And, in any case, she’d been with Cam.
Unless they’d both been out at the casino site.
Lucy’s heart thumped harder. The earring was clearly evidence. She should turn it into Jake but she knew she wouldn’t. This was one lead she would follow up on alone.
“I’m done unless there’re more shots you want.”
Flynn’s voice, much closer than she’d imagined, startled Lucy. She bounced up to her feet in a nervous movement.
“You okay there, Ace?”
“Fine. Great. I was just thinking.”
The photographer grinned at her. “It’s too nice a day to think.”
“You’re right. You ready for the picnic?”
“Hell, yeah. Ground’s kinda wet though. Let’s sit in the van.”
Lucy agreed. Minutes later she was unpacking the basket prepared by Asia in the Outlaw kitchen.
“Oh my God!” Flynn stared at the drumstick in his hand. “Fried chicken, homemade potato salad and brownies. Sweet tea. I’m in heaven.”
“I know. Asia’s a fantastic cook. I’m pretty much a one-dish girl.”
“What’s the dish?”
“Tuna surprise.”
The photographer laughed. “These days I’d be happy with any version of tuna but it makes my girlfriend sick. She feels too lousy to cook and all she ever wants to eat is Ben & Jerry’s Red Velvet Cake ice cream. In a cup, not a cone. She can’t even stand to have me cook anything.”
“Sounds like she’s pregnant.”
“She is.” He sounded self-conscious and proud at the same time. His eyes twinkled.
“Oh, wow! Congratulations!”
“Thanks. The timing wasn’t perfect. I was about to take a gig with National Geographic and Marcia planned on spending a year doing Teach for America but, hey, what’re you gonna do?”
“It must have been hard for both of you to give up your dreams.”
The photographer shrugged. “Life’s all about choices until you make a kid. Luckily, impending parenthood is exciting, too. We’ve already got a name. Helen Caroline for our mothers. I can’t wait to see her.”
Lucy felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. “It’s a beautiful name. She’s a lucky little girl.”
“I guess she will be if her parents ever learn to cook.”
They ate in companionable silence until Lucy spoke.
“What did you think of those trophy heads?”
“Weird, man. I spent a summer interning for National Geographic in Kenya. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to kill some of those critters.”
“I wondered about that. Was there anything else that struck you as strange?”
Flynn closed his eyes as if trying to reconstruct the scene. “The lawyer told us he and Packer’s first wife just went along on safari as extras. That role made sense for him, I guess, but Mrs. Packer struck me as the type who’d go off on her own adventure rather than tagging along behind her husband.”
“I think she was pretty devoted to him at one time.”
“Maybe people change but there was something weird about that three-amigos-on-a-camel scenario.”
“We don’t know when the safaris ended. I got the impression Shirley came to see him more as a son than a husband so when he wanted to take off and marry someone else, it must have seemed almost natural. Although I wonder what she really thinks of Paula?”
“Whew. Paula.” He waved his hand across his forehead, pretending to wipe away sweat. “She’s one hot number.”
“Is it possible she married him for anything but his money?”
“Who knows? Maybe she was looking for a father figure. I’ll tell you something about women like Paula. They use their own attractiveness as a tool to get what they want.”
“Well, duh.”
“No, what I mean is, she uses her sexuality but she may not enjoy it.”
“Would that bother you if you were the man?”
Flynn appeared to think.
“Probably not. It’s kinda hard to think around her.”
“Do you think she really is pregnant?”
“I wondered about that, too,” he said. “I guess time will tell. Speaking of that, don’t let me forget to stop at the Stop and Shop on the way home.”
“You out of ice cream?”
“Always.”
Lucy poured him more tea then lifted her paper cup in a toast. “To your little family.”
He clinked cups with her just as the hairs rose on the back of her neck again and a harsh growl made her jerk enough to slosh the tea out of her paper cup.
“This is a murder scene, Lucy. Not Jellystone Park.”
Flynn held up a brownie. “Dessert, Sheriff? We’ve got plenty.”
Jake’s eyes never left Lucy. “I gave you permission for a photo shoot, not an orgy.”
“I gotta brush up on my definitions,” Flynn said. He appeared blissfully undaunted by the snarling lawman. “I thought an orgy was something else entirely.”
“Don’t mind him,” Lucy told Flynn. “He’s just a little sleep deprived.”
“As you’re in a position to know.”
The provocative tone shocked her and she searched the scowling face at her elbow. Was Jake jealous?
“We were toasting Flynn’s family,” she said, mildly. “He and his girlfriend are about to become the parents of a little girl.”
The harsh lines in the sheriff’s face eased. “Welcome to the wars,” Jake told the photographer.
“Thanks. I think.”
“It’s the hardest job you’ll ever do but, trust me, there’s nothing better.”
Lucy felt a sudden lump in her throat. All three children were lucky to have such caring dads. Flynn’s baby would be lucky enough to have a mother, too. Suddenly Lucy understood why it was so important for Jake to marry the right person and soon.
Jake slapped his hand on the windowsill of her door.
“See you at home,” he said. As the Blazer disappeared down the dirt road Flynn turned to Lucy.
“You want to explain that?”
She hesitated, briefly, considering the complicated relationship that existed between the sheriff and herself.
“I’m his temporary nanny.”
“Uh-huh.”
Later that afternoon Lucy met Moonbeam for the first time. Her goth looks were a little startling but she turned out to be responsible and good company. Over the next few days they developed a workable routine to make sure the kids were cared for, the meals cooked and the laundry completed. It was easy to begin thinking of the little group on Cypress Street as a family.
Jake always came home for supper despite the added work of the murder investigation but most nights he went back to the office afterwards to catch up on his routine paperwork. Lucy got into the habit of sitting cross-legged on the living room sofa and working on her laptop, reviewing her notes and shaping her stories. One evening a few days after she’d returned to the sheriff’s home, the phone rang. No one in Eden called after eight p.m. Not unless it was an emergency. Fear shot through her. Had Jake interrupted a robbery? Had he been shot? She picked up the phone.
“Sheriff Langley’s residence.”
“Who is this?” The caller was female, peremptory and irate. Lucy suppressed her natural desire to withhold information. It was, after all, Jake’s house.
“This is Lucy Outlaw. May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Maxine Slocu
m,” the woman snapped. “And I wish to speak with Sheriff Langley. Immediately.”
Maxine Slocum. The troublemaking grandma. Lucy’s heart kicked. She shouldn’t meddle in Jake’s life but her interception of this phone call seemed like fate. And somebody had to fix this family’s problem.
“Hello, Mrs. Slocum. Jake isn’t here at the moment.”
“Who are you? The girlfriend?”
“No. I’m the temporary nanny but I’m also a friend. Do you have a minute? I’ve been hoping to talk with you.”
****
Jake stopped at the light on the corner of Main and First Streets and watched, with growing impatience, as Miss Clara Atwater, Eden’s eldest resident and sole member of the D.A.R., supported by her walker, inched across the two-laned thoroughfare. At one point she stopped to rest, looked over at him and beamed. He waved, ashamed of his impatience. He had no call to take out his frustration on her.
The fact was, he’d stalled out on the Packer investigation. All the leads had fizzled out.
The young turks out on the rez who opposed the casino had been playing pool at the community center at the time of Packer’s death and there were no Packer employees who would benefit from their boss’s demise. Packer had definitely cut corners in his purchases and he’d signed contracts with mob-linked vendors but Jake hadn’t been able to find anyone but Cam Outlaw who’d been outraged about that. There was no reason for the mob to rub him out.
Jake’s gut told him the wives were at the heart of the matter but both they and Moore had solid alibis, backed by a neighbor in Shirley’s case and by servants for the other two.
Moore had been in the right spot at the right time, since he’d joined Packer at the Tribal Council meeting, but testimony from Davey Tall Tree and Cam Outlaw had him leaving directly after the gathering and his arrival back in Bangor substantiated that fact.
There was only one suspect with no alibi at all.
Cam Outlaw.
Miss Clara finally reached the opposite curb. Jake waited until she’d lifted the walker and then herself to the sidewalk.
Damnation, he didn’t want it to be Outlaw.
He liked the guy. And sympathized with him, raising a child alone. Outlaw was also a member of the town’s leading family and he’d done more for the local economy in the past year than anyone else had for the past decade.