She backed up and crossed her arms. “Where do you expect me to go? The Eastward Inn? Like I could afford that on a teacher’s salary.” She rolled her eyes.
She’d gone exactly where he wanted her. “Then get new locks. Talk to Mike Spear at the marina tomorrow. I’ll install the suckers.” He could see the brain cells sizzling as she considered that one. She couldn’t be so stubborn she didn’t see the need for safety.
“Mike’s on my list of people to interview,” she said. “Gail used to babysit for his son. Two birds with one lock.”
“Three locks. Front, kitchen, and garage entrance.” And he’d nail the windows shut if necessary.
“You’re a royal pain in the ass, Wescott.”
“My mission in life, honey. And stay locked up or soon you may find more than some guy you can scare off with a shotgun. This killer probably has plenty more C-4.”
Chapter 10
Brushing mist droplets from her nose, Lani entered the Tidewater Marina store the next morning. The tang of salt and a hint of ozone hung in the damp air. The old salts in the Cuppa-’n-Suppa had called yesterday’s brilliant day a weather breeder. Looked like they were right.
She still reeled from Jake’s revelations. Everything was turned upside down, herself included. Who in D Harbor would know how to buy explosives from a Mexican cartel? If a professional set the Tyson fire, he might not be local. But who would hire—? Oh, wait, someone who would murder and set a fire to cover it up but who wanted no connection to a second arson-murder. Maybe his tangled web would be his undoing.
When they’d returned to the dock, Jake suggested a cookout on the deck, but she demurred. Hard enough to resist her attraction to the man without candlelight and wine. Not that having him come to the house to install locks this evening was much better. But it gave her more time to shore up her defenses.
She meandered along the aisles until she spotted Mike Spear. He was waiting on a lobsterman who needed rope but who seemed more inclined to complain about careless yachters “from away.” He claimed propellers had cut his trap lines.
Mike was a big man with a thick crew cut and a square jaw. He looked to be in his late thirties. Twelve years ago he’d have been only a few years older than Gail and her, almost a peer. Gail might’ve confided in him or his wife.
While she waited, she wandered down another aisle in the Tidewater Marina. Roofing nails, light bulbs, and wood stain filled shelves across from depth gauges, boat hooks, and life jackets. In a peninsula village without a hardware store, a marina had to fill the gap to stay afloat.
Plucking a deadbolt assembly from the wall display of doorknobs and locks, she sagged. Replacing the locks on the farmhouse doors meant replacing history. Modernizing the place somehow desecrated its memories, its integrity. But Jake was right. She needed solid, secure locks. Whoever bought the place would change more than the locks.
“Can I help you find something?”
At the deep, mellow voice, thick with Down-East intonation, she looked up to see the man she’d come to talk to. She explained what she needed.
Mike’s gaze skimmed her scar before meeting hers. A wide grin crinkled his brown eyes at the corners and transformed his rugged features from harsh to handsome and charming.
She smiled back as she explained.
“You’re in the right place,” he said. “Got the best locks on the market.” He cocked his head and winked. “Unless you want to go high tech. You’d need a locksmith in that case.”
“What you have is fine.”
“Finest kind is what I have.” He chuckled at his application of the old Maine expression and picked up a brass-finish deadbolt. “This LokMan’s a jimmy-proof vertical bolt, double cylinder.”
Lani didn’t know what all that meant but accepted it. The price wasn’t too bad. “Is this your best?”
“One of ‘em. Miss Ida Hallowell bought this one. She told me she wanted a jimmy-proof lock because it’d keep out her no-good nephew Jimmy. Although she’s ninety plus, she’s still sharp. I think she was puttin’ me on.”
A laugh bubbled up in spite of her serious purpose. He showed her more locks, interspersing anecdotes with their descriptions. His ebullience relaxed her taut nerves.
After she chose new door handles and deadbolts, she introduced herself. “You probably don’t remember me, but my sister Gail used to babysit your son in the summers.”
Mike Spear’s smile fell as if she’d slugged him between the eyes with one of the locks. “I remember Gail.”
She waited for the inevitable sympathetic clucking but it never came. “My memory the night of the fire is really spotty. I want to understand what happened.”
“Terrible tragedy.” He turned, no more the jovial salesman. All business, he carried her choices to a counter.
Thanks for the compassion and sympathy, you insensitive toad. Okay. Lani could be all business too, her business. “Mike, did Gail ever mention to you or your wife anything about troubles with a guy she was seeing?”
He padlocked his gaze to her purchases as he entered them in the cash register. “Don’t think so. Mostly we talked about Josh, what time me and Patty’d be back, stuff like that. No time to jaw about anything else.”
“Maybe your wife would know?”
“Doubt she’d remember anything. They didn’t talk much.”
“Maybe I’ll go talk to Patty. She works at the hair salon, right?”
“She’s pretty busy. Be better if I ask her later,” he said, his jaw tight enough to crack walnuts. “You want me to?”
Do I want? We’re only talking murder here, jerko. The retort was on the tip of her tongue but he didn’t know it was murder. She hoped. She manufactured a smile. “Sure. That’d be great. I’ll check back with you in a couple days.”
After bagging her purchases, he vanished down an aisle so fast the New England Patriots ought to sign him up as a running back.
Outside in her rental car, she stared through the misted windshield at the glass double-doors. Maybe Mike was uncomfortable with emotional stuff. The strong silent type unless he was selling you something.
But psychology courses and years of working with evasive kids told her no. When she mentioned Gail, he went from Chatty Carl to Silent Sam like a door slamming. He wouldn’t meet her gaze and hustled her out of the store.
Mike Spear said he knew nothing. She didn’t buy it. He was lying. She started the engine and backed out. No better time to find Patty at the Color and Curl.
*****
“Appreciate your time, Otis. I’ve enjoyed our chat.” Jake shook the man’s gnarled hand.
“Glad to help,” the old man said. “Shame about your ma. Too young to have that Old Timer’s disease.” He shook his head in sorrow.
“Absolutely.” Jake thanked him and picked up the bill for their pie and coffee. He left a tip on the yellow laminate counter. After paying at the cash register, he left the Cuppa-’n-Suppa.
Outside he zipped his windbreaker against the chilling fog that had crept in during the night. Mist hung in the air, clinging to anything and anyone. Droplets beaded his face and hair before he took the three steps to his Cherokee.
He didn’t care. He’d finally hit on a way other than the Wheelhouse to dig up local dirt.
Otis, an old pal of his granddad’s, and a bunch of cronies met every Tuesday and Friday at the diner for coffee and reminiscing. Afterward in good weather they hung around the harbor. They knew local routines better than he did and might spot someone or something he hadn’t. If there was anyone suspicious in town or in the harbor, Otis would let him know.
Background checks on the harbormaster and some of the lobstermen turned up zip. Too soon to have anything on Brandon. He was heading up the peninsula, heater on against the damp, when his phone trilled.
“Hey, you all right?” Hank said. “What’s this I saw in the Telegram about you and Lani Cameron? Another damsel in distress?”
Jake shrugged to convey nonchalance even t
hough he knew his brother couldn’t see him. “Seems our interests intersect. No big deal.”
“Ri-ight. Bet she’s filled out some since her teens. Still...um, spirited? Or did that fire change her?”
Change her? The fire had changed them both. That night had turned him in directions he’d never have taken otherwise. But Lani? The fire had tempered her like steel. He grinned, picturing her hands propped on the sweet curve of her hips and the sparks shooting from her eyes. “Still holds her own.”
Thomas chuckled. “How’s Ma?”
“Saw her yesterday afternoon. Took her some of the tea she favors. Seemed to perk her up some.” The brothers talked a few minutes about Hank’s son and his wife’s return.
As soon as Jake disconnected, his cell rang again.
This time it was his task-force contact. “Status report, Wescott? Or are you still partying on that yacht of yours?”
“You should do stand-up, Donovan.” Jake pictured the club audience snoring in their martinis. “Briefed Lani Cameron. She’s scared but on board. Going to her house tonight to plan strategy. I want to keep her out of it as much as possible.”
“Won’t work. She’s the key to drawing out Vargas and his local partner.”
“Afraid you’d say that.” Lani would never agree to fade into the wallpaper anyway. He was stuck watching over her. His gut clenched at the thought. For more than one reason. “What’ve you got on your end?”
“Dick. We might as well have our UC guy carry a neon sign announcing he’s a Fed after Vargas killed Ruiz. They’re not biting. But some of the weapons have been moved into Maine. You might see some action on your end.”
Not likely. But Jake made hopeful murmurs. He thought better of telling Donovan about his dad’s old buddies keeping watch. Unorthodox didn’t fly with the Feds. “I should have something here in a few days. Progress on the old arson case might lead somewhere for us. I need you to do another background check.”
“Shoot.”
Jake gave him what he knew on Kevin Meagher before ending the conversation.
When he reached Route One, he turned right toward the county seat. Originally a limestone and fishing town, Bayport had morphed in recent years to an arts and tourist destination. Good in some ways, bad in others. Dismay pursed his mouth as he passed the chain restaurants and big-box stores that had displaced local, unique ones.
He pulled into the paved parking lot of Meagher Enterprises. Now here was one business that continued to thrive. Beyond the new brick office building spread an array of outbuildings. Not too shabby, as old Otis would say. Earth moving, foundations, industrial developments—Meagher did it all.
Kevin had invited him to stop by this morning. Jake intended to find out more about his old buddy’s interest in Gail. If he’d followed up on that interest, Jake wanted to know.
Inside the office building, Tammy Meagher, a younger and slimmer version of her brother, greeted him from her desk. “Kevin’s about finished with a meeting. Have a seat.”
“Place looks great,” he said, taking a leather-padded wooden chair beside a blue loveseat.
Tammy wrinkled her nose and beamed a smile. “Except for this ugly gray carpet. Gotta have one that can withstand muddy boots.” She returned to her computer.
He perused an Architectural Digest while he waited. But he couldn’t concentrate on the beautiful houses for beautiful people. Houses he’d once dreamed of building. In spite of the reason he’d gone into law enforcement, the work suited him.
His thoughts drifted to earlier that morning. Down at the far end of the docks, he’d spotted the red speedboat, silver lightning bolts on the side. When he described the reckless attack to the harbormaster, Ed Pascal said the boat belonged to a Boston family who came only weekends. No one should’ve been out in it midweek. Sometimes people were careless and left the keys under the seat. He promised to check into the matter, saying it was probably kids goofing around.
Too coincidental. Little fucking chance of finding out who actually drove that racy boat.
After that he spotted Lani’s VW at Tidewater Marina. Safe enough if she took her new locks home and stayed there afterward. Not likely. Fear for what might happen if he couldn’t protect her dumped more sharp implements in his gut.
“Hey, Jake. Glad you could make it.”
Jake looked up to see Kevin marching toward him, grinning his campaign-trail toothiest.
“Wouldn’t have missed it, buddy.” He swept his arm in a broad gesture. “Damned impressive. I remember that little house the company used to be in.”
“Tore that old eyesore down when we built this.” He ushered Jake down a hall. “Let me give you the tour.”
Jake made appreciative noises as Kevin showed him the conference room and other offices. He introduced him to draftsmen using computers to draw plans. A completed plan cranked out of a blueprint-sized printer. When they left the bookkeeper’s office, J.T. was striding down the hall.
What had been salt-and-pepper hair was now silver to match his gray eyes. Unlike his son, he’d maintained his trim waistline and angular features. J.T. pumped his hand as if he was running for office instead of his son and Jake had a hundred votes in his pocket. “Good to see you. Kevin said you might drop by.”
“Thanks. Good to see you too, sir. Been a long time.” Jake jerked a nod at Kevin. “You must be proud of your son. I hear he’s doing well in the polls. After November, we’ll be addressing him as Mr. Congressman.”
Kevin’s wide countenance lit up. “Mr. Congressman. Has a nice ring.”
J.T.’s brows lowered, nearly hiding his deep-set eyes. “Won’t happen if the boy doesn’t hustle more.” He turned to his son. “You have a speech scheduled tonight?”
Color bloomed on Kevin’s cheeks. He shifted his feet. “Not tonight. Got one tomorrow night in Brunswick though.”
J.T. wagged his head in obvious disappointment. “When I ran for Congress, I was out every night on the stump.”
Some things never changed. Jake felt his friend’s discomfiture in his own heated face. He saw Kevin’s compressed mouth and wondered if he was biting back the rejoinder that J.T. had lost that election.
Whatever Kevin accomplished would never be good enough for J.T. His older brother by two years, John Thayne Meagher, Junior, had died in a car accident a few years after college. He’d been the golden boy, the son J.T. set his hopes on to succeed him in the business and in politics. Not Kevin.
“You have to chase those votes,” the older man continued. “Mainers don’t care so much about the TV ads. The personal touch. That’s the ticket.” He elbowed Jake and laughed. “The ticket. Get it?”
Jake nodded but couldn’t laugh even when Kevin did.
When J.T. strode off to meet his client, Kevin said, “Don’t mind Dad. He’s raised so much money for me, he gets all worked up.”
Jake had nothing diplomatic to say to that but he wondered which one this campaign was more important to, father or son. He followed Kevin outside for a look at the new excavator in the one of the outbuildings. Outside he zipped his windbreaker. Spider webs of mist hung in the air, dampening his face and hair.
After the tour, Kevin accompanied him to the parking lot.
“Something I need to know about Gail Cameron,” Jake said.
Kevin’s mouth twisted as if he’d bitten into a sour apple. “Heard you and Lani were asking around. Hope it doesn’t bring more trouble.”
“Me too.” Jake didn’t intend this to be an interrogation. He kept his expression mild, non-threatening. “You said the other day Gail was the hot sister. What did you mean by that?”
Kevin barked a laugh that held no mirth. He waved at the air. “Oh, man, you ought to know. You were going with her.”
Jake didn’t comment. Merely waited. People felt the need to fill the silence.
Kevin heaved a sigh. Color crept up his cheeks again. “What’s that saying? Don’t speak ill of the dead? But if you insist, here it is. Gail got around th
at summer, if you get my meaning.”
Kevin’s revelation drove a battering ram square in Jake’s solar plexus. Got around? Gail was having sex with other guys? Not just one?
Beeps sounded at Kevin’s waist. He glanced down at the number displayed on his cell phone. He let it go to voice mail. “I’m due at a job site now. Thanks for coming.”
Jake swallowed the churning mix of emotions that burned his chest and clamped a hand on Kevin’s arm before he could hurry off. “Sex with other guys. You mean while we were going together that summer?”
Kevin’s gaze dropped but he nodded.
“I need to know who Gail was with. It’s important.”
“I’m not sure. Talk to some of the guys.” Kevin stared pointedly at his arm. “I gotta go.”
Jake lifted his hand. “No offense meant.”
“No problemo.” Kevin swiped mist from his nose and trotted away.
Muttering every expletive he knew, Jake stayed put by the Cherokee’s open door. Was he the only one who didn’t know Gail was sleeping around? Did Lani know? Man, it’d be a long time before he could see the whole picture in this jigsaw of the past.
He watched Kevin drive away in a company SUV. Next time he saw his old buddy, old pal, he had another question for him. Like why when Kevin suggested asking “the guys” about Gail, he didn’t deny his own involvement with her.
Chapter 11
Lani applied mascara and a light blush. The only makeup she ever wore. Lipstick occasionally. Should she? Forget it. He’d get the wrong idea.
She smoothed her hands down her grass-green V-neck tee and, in true neurotic fashion, hoped her jeans didn’t make her butt look big. Tough. That was as good as it got. Why was she bothering? Jake was coming over tonight, yes, but only to replace her door locks and so they could share their lists of people to interview. She’d make coffee, just to be hospitable.
No date. Just work. She looked at her watch. Seven. He’d be here any minute. Her heart gave an extra hard thump against her sternum in case she wasn’t paying attention.
Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) Page 9