Hidden Agenda

by Kara Lennox

  “We’ll find out. Why are you hiding in here? Beatrice Payne has run amok. She’s hollering at the bounce-house guys to move faster, and then she stepped in pony poop and almost blew a gasket.”

  “Who cares about Beatrice? Close the door.”

  He followed her orders, smiling mischievously. “I hadn’t realized you wanted to be alone with me.”

  “Cut the crap, Conner, this is serious. I received a packet of information from Mark Bowen in the mail. He actually found something—sent it to me as a safeguard, I think, for all the good it did.”

  “What are you talking about? What sort of information?”

  “Pictures. Documents. Do we have clients in China?”

  “No. China has its own vibrant forestry industry. They would rather sell to the U.S. than buy from us. Why?”

  “Because Mark sent me documents indicating Mayall Lumber clear-cut a parcel of land in Brazil and sold the lumber to China.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Unless it’s some kind of black market deal.”

  “Instigated by who?”

  “You, apparently. Someone made it look like you’re behind it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think it was Hamilton Payne.”

  Conner’s expression of shock was almost comical. “Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?”

  “Well…no, I don’t think so.” His reaction hurt. She’d stuck up for him, professed his innocence to anyone who would listen, got Daniel involved, and this is how he repays her?

  Just then the door opened and a young woman whom Jillian presumed was Gina stepped in, looking harried and out of breath. “Excuse me— Oh, Mr. Blake, it’s you.”

  Jillian edged toward the door. “I borrowed your computer for a moment, Gina, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The young, curvaceous brunette gave Conner what could only be described as a predatory smile. “Come back anytime.”

  On top of everything else, a wave of irrational jealousy swamped Jillian. Did he know this woman? Had they dated, maybe shared a quickie on a slow afternoon, maybe right in this office?

  No. There was no room for emotion now. For all she cared, Conner was sleeping with every single Houston Texans cheerleader. She had to get this mess sorted out. Maybe he would have a rational explanation for why Hamilton’s handwriting was on those documents.

  As they stepped out into the parking lot, Jillian squinted against the glaring sun. Where were her damn sunglasses? The only ones she could find were the video glasses from The Spy Store. Oh, well, they would have to do. She slipped them on.

  “Jillian. I thought you were going to supervise the porta-potty placement.” It was Beatrice, flapping around like a wounded bird. “That just falls waaay beyond my job description. As does stepping in horse manure. I could be home packing right now, you know.”

  Just then a spotted Shetland pony thundered past, chased by a man in chaps and a clown nose.

  “Are you just going to let those beasts run wild around the party befouling everything?” Beatrice continued. “It’s not sanitary!”

  “I’ll take care of it. I have another job for you. Inside the drying shed you’ll find stacks of party supplies in the corner just to the right of the door. I need you to unwrap the plastic tablecloths and put them on the tables those guys are setting up. There’s also a bag of clamps you can use to secure them—”

  “The drying shed! I can’t go in there. That’s where the body was found. It’s unsanitary to store supplies where someone was decomposing—”

  Conner deftly took Beatrice’s arm. “I’ll fetch what you need, Beatrice. You can wait outside.”

  “Wait, Conner,” Jillian said, “we need to talk.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Oh, he was so aggravating. She’d just told him who might be behind the murders, and he’d blown her off.

  Beatrice looked up at Conner and batted her eyelashes. “I still don’t think that shed is sanitary.” She allowed him to lead her away.

  What woman wouldn’t?

  The escaped pony, clearly having a great time, continued to lead the clown-cowboy on a merry chase across the lush green lawn. The beast was headed straight for Jillian.

  “Get him!” the cowboy yelled at her.

  A lead line attached to a halter was trailing behind the spotted pony as he galloped past. Jillian grabbed for the line, and five hundred pounds of equine force yanked her right off her feet while the rope gave her a nice rope burn as it pulled free of her grasp.

  Although it could have kept running, the yank apparently got the pony’s attention. It slowed, then turned to look at her, then came over to investigate as Jillian just lay there on the grass, wondering where she’d left her brain today.

  “You okay, miss?” The cowboy offered her a hand up, which she accepted.

  “Peachy.”

  The cowboy reached down and calmly picked up the rope, and the pony followed along, docile as a puppy, having had his fun for the day.

  There were 101 problems to solve. Jillian put the lumber mystery out of her head temporarily while she dealt with faulty propane tanks, misplaced baseball gear and a shortage of duct tape. But things were shaping up as the first bus rolled into the parking lot. The band was getting set up on the temporary stage, the grill-masters—Joyce’s husband and the guy who ran the cafeteria—were putting the first pieces of meat on the barbecue. Balloons were flying, the face painter stood by ready to turn the kids into lions and dragons.

  Parties used to give Jillian a great deal of satisfaction, but now that it was here, she couldn’t get too excited about this one. She just wanted to get through it, so she could get on with the important task of catching a murderer.

  Conner sidled up beside her. “This is fantastic. How did you put all this together so quickly?”

  She shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment. If he thought he could distract her from exploring her theory about Mr. Payne, he was mistaken. “I can do this in my sleep. Listen, Conner, about those files—”

  “You do realize, of course, that Hamilton Payne can’t be a suspect. He’s the one who brought the case to Project Justice in the first place.”

  “I know. But I need for you to review the documents Bowen sent. Maybe you can figure out what was going on.”

  “I will.”

  “Sooner, rather than later.” She didn’t want to belabor the point, but the Paynes were leaving the country this evening.

  “The first bus is here,” Conner announced. “I’m going to greet people as they leave the bus. See if I take anyone by surprise.”

  “I wish you’d told me this was your plan,” she groused, following him to the parking lot. “I could have arranged for Claudia Ellison to be here. She’s an expert face reader and she could spot if someone is surprised, even if they successfully hide it from you and me.”

  “Really? You could do that?”

  “Project Justice is one of the most powerful organizations of its kind. We have access to any kind of expert you could want. I wish you would confide in me instead of going maverick.”

  As the first employees stepped down onto the blacktop, Jillian greeted them and instructed them to place their potluck dish on a large rolling cart that waited nearby. The food would be categorized into appetizers, salads, side dishes and desserts, then placed on tables set up as the buffet line. In the memo that went out about the picnic she’d instructed everyone to put their names on their dishes, but she also had some pens and labels ready for anyone who’d forgotten.

  “You think of everything,” Conner commented. “Hi, Jerry, Mindy, nice to see you.”

  “Hey, Conner.” The two males partook in a handshake thump-on-the-back male-bonding ritual. Jerry Bewick was the communications director. Mindy pointedly walked away, avoiding any sort of small talk with Jillian. She was a friend of Ariel’s and one of the volunteers who’d backed out.

  Other than stinging her feelings a bit to have so mu
ch animosity aimed her way, the wives’ defection hadn’t bothered Jillian much. She’d easily recruited more volunteers.

  Once the first bus was emptied, Jillian and Conner had a breather. The rolling cart was filled to capacity with covered dishes, and she motioned for a couple of her volunteers to take it to the buffet tables, set up under the shade of some ancient live oak trees, and start organizing the dishes.

  “Anybody suspicious in that group?” she asked Conner.

  “No,” he said glumly. “How many buses are there?”

  “Three. Here comes the second one now.”

  “So tell me again about these files you received in the mail.”

  Finally. “A thumb drive. From a dead man. He said it contained evidence of illegal activity, and it pointed to the responsible party. The murderer must have realized Mark was getting too close.”

  “And what kind of files? Photos?”

  “I only looked quickly. But someone representing themselves as Mayall Lumber has been clear-cutting forests. They made it appear as if you authorized the deal. Greg was the timber buyer involved.”

  “Greg couldn’t have done that on his own,” Conner said. “Someone would have had to front some money, hire crews and equipment, arrange for the milling, all without me finding out.”

  “How many people do you know with that ability?”

  He sighed. “I know what you’re getting at. It’s not Hamilton Payne.”

  The second bus pulled to a stop, and passengers began unloading. A second empty cart had appeared to take the place of the first, and Jillian went into her song and dance, welcoming the guests, instructing them where to put their covered dishes and where the various festivities were taking place. Children shrieked as they spied the now fully inflated bounce house and caught sight of the ponies and a few small horses housed in a temporary corral.

  “Well, well, isn’t this a fine sight.”

  Jillian held her breath. It was Hamilton Payne, climbing down from the bus with his cane, waving off the bus driver who attempted to help.

  “I can make it.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Payne,” Jillian said with a smile she hoped didn’t look too pasted on. “I’m so glad you could make it today. Mrs. Payne has been a tremendous help to me, I just couldn’t have coped without her.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad to hear— Conner. I didn’t expect to see you here. I understand you had a late night last night.”

  “I couldn’t miss the company picnic,” he said brightly. “We have to stand together, show our employees that we’re weathering the crisis.”

  “Exactly. You see there, Jillian? It’s like I told you yesterday. In a time of misfortune, we have to carry on.”

  “Hamilton, there you are.” Beatrice had appeared, looking not quite as polished as she had two hours ago. “Come with me, I have a chair all picked out for you. And you can see what I did with the tablecloths, it was really quite challenging.” She led Mr. Payne away.

  “He seemed surprised to see you,” Jillian commented.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t count. He knew about the arrest and he knew about the release. He sent a lawyer and everything.”

  “Why would he do that?” she thought aloud. Why would he frame someone for murder, then do his level best to get him freed from jail?

  “Because he’s a stand-up guy, that’s why. Come on, what motive does he have for ruining the company, and possibly destroying his pension? He was about to retire.”

  “Money is a good motive. His pension was a pittance compared with what he could get for black-market teak.”

  “And how do you know—never mind. You snooped. Look, I don’t care if someone used his name,” Conner said sharply. “You said my name was on one of the documents, too, but I didn’t authorize any clear-cutting.”

  “That’s true…if your signature was forged, his could be, too. Oh, I don’t know what to think.”

  “You’re not supposed to think. Just observe.”

  “Right.” She nodded. “’Cause that’s all you can expect from a piece of fluff.”

  “Aw, come on, Jilly. I didn’t mean you’re not smart. But you don’t have to do this all yourself. We’ll talk to Daniel. We’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

  She softened. “Okay.” But she wished he would have just a little faith in her. Maybe Payne wasn’t guilty of anything, but did Conner have to dismiss her opinions out of hand?

  After the last bus had unloaded, Conner admitted he hadn’t seen any overtly suspicious expressions of surprise from those who arrived for the picnic. “But Jerry Bewick’s wife was looking at me funny. I’m gonna go chat her up, see if she gets nervous.”

  She watched him walk away, wishing so hard that things could be different.

  While overseeing the last of the covered dishes labeled and loaded on the cart, she called Daniel. “Daniel. Did you get the files I sent you?”

  “I did. But I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet. What are they?”

  “They were sent to me by Mark Bowen.”

  Pause. “The dead reporter?”

  “Yes. Please look at them. It’s important.” She took a few steps away so she couldn’t be overheard. “Someone has been clear-cutting forests and using the Mayall name to do it.”

  “And that’s significant because…”

  “Clear-cutting. It goes against everything that Mayall stands for—responsible forestry, sustainability, and it probably violates international laws and treaties. Whoever is doing this is probably selling on the black market. Maybe fulfilling orders for legitimate clients, then selling the excess and pocketing the money. I don’t really know.”

  “You think this is what got those two men killed?”

  “Yes. And I know this won’t make any sense to you, but I suspect the guilty party is Hamilton Payne.”

  “That’s impossible,” he said flatly.

  Why did no one believe her? “Look at the files. Look at the handwriting. Compare it to Payne’s. It’s worth checking out. You always said to keep an open mind.”

  “You’re right. I’ll check it out.”

  Was he merely placating her? “There’s not much time. His wife said they’re leaving on a cruise—flying out tonight. If we let him leave the country we might not ever see him—”

  “Jillian. I’ll look into it. But why would the murderer hire us in the first place? It makes—”

  “I know, it makes no sense. I get it. I have to go, work to do.” She hung up. She’d never in her life hung up on Daniel. But she was so frustrated. He always assumed he knew what was best. And usually he did, but maybe, just maybe, this time he didn’t? Maybe Jillian had a brain.

  “Miss? Oh, Miss?” One of the women who’d just arrived was waving frantically at her.

  Jillian’s pasted-on smile was getting a bit shopworn. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  “Bathrooms?”

  Jillian’s phone rang. “Bathrooms in that building,” she said hastily, pointing to the drying shed. “There are some porta-potties, too, behind the building. Soft drinks in the coolers in the right, beer and wine in the coolers on the left.” She was getting really tired of saying that. She answered the phone, hoping it was Daniel.

  “It’s Celeste.”

  Jillian gasped; she’d all but forgotten about Celeste’s dastardly duties. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay. But I found your blood.”

  Jillian’s head spun. She hadn’t really expected this ploy to work; it had been a desperate measure, an intense desire to take some kind of action that might get the investigation moving in the right direction.

  “Where?” Jillian asked.

  “In the trunk of a new-looking Lincoln Town Car, chocolate-brown with cream interior. License plate LKY 743.”

  “Excellent. I owe you.”

  Celeste chuckled. “That trunk lit up like Times Square when I luminoled it. Somebody didn’t just bleed in there, they bled out. There are bloody handprints on the
inside of the trunk lid, shoe impressions, the whole shebang. No room for misinterpretation. I took pictures.”

  Jillian tried not to picture poor Mark, breathing his last in a dark car trunk. Jeez, this was huge. “Any trouble?”

  “None at all. I saw no one, left no trace. I’m a ghost.”

  All right. She had a car. Now she needed to find out who it belonged to. She could contact Mitch at Project Justice and see if he could run the plate for her. It wasn’t exactly legal, but he apparently had back doors into several police computers.

  But simply asking Conner might be easier.

  The band was getting tuned up, the smell of charbroiled meat and popcorn filled the air, children shrieked, adults laughed.

  The party was a success, but she couldn’t enjoy it.

  Several party guests waylaid her with questions. She provided information about glucose intolerance and pony allergies, casting her gaze around for Conner. She finally spotted him—talking to Hamilton Payne.

  She came up behind Mr. Payne and caught Conner’s eye, jerking her head to indicate she needed to talk to him.

  He nodded. “Be back in a minute.” He got up and joined her, and she led him out of earshot. “What?”

  “Can you tell me who owns a brown Lincoln Town Car?”

  His expression hardened. “You already know. Right?”

  “What? No. I wouldn’t ask if I knew.”

  He pressed his lips together, as if debating whether to answer her or not. Finally he did. “Ham drives a car like that.”

  She’d been both anxious and terrified to hear the answer. What was she going to do now? “Conner, he’s the one. You have to trust me. The trunk of his car is filled with human bloodstains.”

  “What? Are the police involved in this? What have you done?” Conner wasn’t just dubious—he was angry. She took a step back. What had happened to the man who had held her so tenderly? The one who’d moved mountains to save an owl tree?

  She couldn’t tell him now how she knew about the blood. “The police aren’t involved. You just have to trust me.”

  “Jillian…I simply can’t accept what you’re telling me.”

  She folded her arms and stared him down, unwilling to back down one inch. “So you think I’m lying?”