Conard County--Traces of Murder

by Rachel Lee

  As the cider simmered, she added a cinnamon stick. “We like cider in Norway. Many different kinds with different infused flavors.”

  “Maybe someday I’ll come visit and find out.”

  But his thoughts were elsewhere, she could tell. Nor did she expect his full attention. She suspected his mind was running in a direction similar to hers. The man knew he had been spotted. Now the question was just how much he was hurrying his plan. Or how dangerous that had made him.

  She passed Trace a handled glass mug of cider, then ladled some for herself. “We need to be truly alert now.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. This is not a good sign.”

  They returned to the living room but didn’t cuddle. Instead they both stared in silence at the fire. It was burning low, so Hillary added a log, then sat again.

  Trace eventually spoke. “I don’t like being in the middle of a mission without a plan. Not one bit.”

  She understood. “But what plan can we make? We don’t know enough. Put booby traps around the house?”

  He snorted. “And catch some kid out throwing snowballs. Right.”

  “You know I wasn’t being serious.”

  She got his attention then. “I believe, Hills, that you have too much sense to even consider doing such a thing. My sarcasm failed.”

  She lifted one corner of her mouth in a half smile. “Not really.”

  “Okay, we’ve got to do more than read letters and emails. We may or may not find a decent clue there, but this man has become a looming threat. He could well be more dangerous than anything we might learn.”

  Hillary sipped her cider, grateful for the tangy warmth. “So come up with a plan, Herre Airborne. I agree with you, but we need to find a way to do it.”

  * * *

  TRACE HAD TO LAUGH. In the midst of a serious discussion, she still managed to make him laugh.

  Or maybe he was walking on air. Or in free fall.

  Just then he didn’t care. He figured he was going to care a whole lot before long, but right now he was determined to enjoy this time with her.

  He sat back with his cider, liking every moment they shared, especially the lighter ones. There was another side to the Valkyrie. One who was steadily creeping into his heart.

  Man, he’d never expected this. There had been women in his life before, but none who stuck around and some he wouldn’t stick around for. Nothing long-term.

  This wouldn’t be long-term, either. He thought of asking her how long she intended to stay, then backed away. The separation would come soon enough. Too soon.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Nothing beyond putting a man in jail. I suppose if he’s watching us this closely, that we ought to be able to catch him.”

  “But how?” There was the crux.

  “I wish I knew. Maybe your sheriff will find him.”

  “I’m not holding my breath. We’re on our own, Hillary. I’ve been there before, and I’m sure you have, too.”

  She nodded. “Too often. When I’m interfacing with women, trying to learn something, I’m almost always alone. I don’t want to seem like a threat.”

  “You certainly wouldn’t learn much if you did.”

  She agreed with a slight nod of her head. “I suggest that after this cider, we go back to work. Maybe out of that will come some plan.”

  Trace doubted it. They’d already reviewed most of the stuff they had and had come up nearly empty-handed. Still, there was little else to do on a cold, dark night.

  Well, there was something else to do, but he didn’t want to push it. He also didn’t want to start feeling guilty about his desires replacing their true mission.

  “Want to break it up?” he asked. “I’ll take a couple of hours while you nap, and then we can switch.”

  Now she gave a clear shake of her head. “I trust you about many things, Trace. But not about waking me up.”

  “Caught,” he admitted. “Then let’s get to it.”

  * * *

  HILLARY WAS STILL past knowing how late or early it was. Between her initial time change and the hours they had been working, unless they went out for a run, she had no instinctive sense of the time of day.

  No running tonight, that was for certain. Maybe when the morning came, whenever that might be, the roads wouldn’t look so bad. Well, except for that ATV trail they’d been running along. She doubted anyone would clear that except someone with Ski-Doos or the like.

  In the meantime, there was the desk until they both fell asleep in their chairs.

  * * *

  IT WAS 4:00 A.M. by the clock on Trace’s computer when he exclaimed, “Will you look at that!”

  Hillary rolled her chair over immediately to peer over his shoulder. “Trace?” she breathed.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Indeed she was.

  They looked at a photo of a smiling Brigid in full combat gear, her assault rifle held in both gloved hands across her body. A typical pose for a soldier to send home. Hillary’s throat and heart ached.

  But what caught Hillary’s attention and apparently Trace’s was the big sign behind her. It appeared to have been painted on plywood, supported by posts. It had faded and peeled a bit because of the harsh elements. Regardless, while Brigid’s body blocked the logo behind her, the words above her were readable.

  BRIGGS AND HOLMES

  And just below that:

  Defending Our Troops

  Trace snorted. “Who does the defending?” he asked.

  “My thought, too.” Hillary rolled her chair back a foot or so. “Quite an unusual background for such a photo.”

  “Quite a loud message if you have any idea what’s going on.”

  Hillary abruptly jumped up and hurried to the living room. The grief she had felt upon learning of Brigid’s death crashed over her with renewed force. For days now she’d buttoned it down, shoving it beneath a heavy boulder in her heart, focusing on finding any information that would explain the loss of her friend.

  But she could no longer bury it. Brigid. Oh my God, Brigid. Dutiful until the end. Fighting for right at great risk. Bearing a soldier’s burden. Unwilling to look away even when her husband warned her. Trying to protect her fellow warriors unto her final breath.

  Hot, heavy tears rolled down Hillary’s cheeks as reality once again struck home like a punch in her midsection. This hunt for truth, as important as it was, had partly been a distraction from anguish.

  Now, as that torment filled her, she felt her knees weaken. There weren’t enough tears for Brigid. Not enough of them in this entire universe. Each salty drop mirrored a drop of Brigid’s blood.

  She didn’t hear Trace approach. Only knew that he was there when his arms wrapped around her from behind and she felt his warm breath on her neck.

  “Hills,” he murmured, then turned her around, urging her to lean into him. His powerful arms held her, caring for her, and she took advantage of his strength, letting him hold her as sorrow ripped through her in successive, agonizing tidal waves.

  “Hills,” he murmured again, pressing his large hand to the back of her head, holding her even closer.

  He let the pain rack her, didn’t offer soothing words that wouldn’t have helped at all. It seemed forever before she began to calm.

  “I don’t weep,” she said hoarsely, her voice breaking. A few shudders still passed through her. “I don’t.”

  “Of course not. This is all rain. I need to check the roof.”

  That pulled a watery half laugh from her. “I apologize.”

  “For what? For human feelings? Crap, even Valkyries can be human. You’re not a goddess. Well, except when I look at you.”

  It was the right tone to take, and she rubbed her cheek lightly against his shoulder. “Do you know what the
original Valkyries are? They choose who lives and dies in battle.”

  “Sounds like a description of a soldier.”

  She sighed, then pulled gently back. “Brigid,” she said. “That photo. Brave.”

  “Brigid was always a damn-the-torpedoes kind of woman when she believed in something. That was the thing. She might tell us to leave it, to decide if it was important enough to waste our time on, but when it came to a cause, nothing could stop her.”

  “Not even Allan, it seems.”

  “Not even Allan,” he agreed.

  Hillary wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater, then gave in to a need for comfort. She leaned against Trace once again, leaning as she hadn’t in her entire adult life. She had sought comfort from her father in her earlier life, but never since joining the Army. She had friendships, but no more.

  Except Brigid. With her, Hillary had found a relationship that extended beyond friendship. She might never understand why she and Brigid had been drawn together, or why they had become so tightly knit so fast. It just was.

  It had been such a good friendship, too. Probably what Trace had felt for Allan. Maybe for Brigid, too. And of their losses, Trace had suffered the greatest: two friends he had known his entire life. She couldn’t imagine the gaping hole their absence had left in him. It was too much to conceive.

  Yet here in the midst of his own suffering, he was offering her comfort. A remarkable man.

  “Coffee or sleep?” he asked. “Or maybe a drink?”

  “Drink,” she decided, reluctantly moving back from his warmth and strength.

  She chose a beer, not wanting anything stronger. He joined her, popping the tops on two bottles.

  Though she was hardly ready to think about it, she asked, “What should we do about that sign?”

  “It’s not enough to build a case, but it sure gives us a direction.”

  Hillary closed her eyes briefly, summoning the photo to mind. “A huge clue,” she said presently.

  “But only a guide. I would say, however, that we have the right idea about what was going on.”

  “What’s still going on.” Hillary felt more anger burn in the pit of her stomach. “Brigid started this. We’ve got to finish it.”

  * * *

  “MAYBE WE SHOULD check out Briggs and Holmes,” Trace suggested. It was the only thing he could think of with what little they knew.

  “We’ll only find their public face,” Hillary pointed out.

  “Probably. But we might also find job listings that would tell us the kind of people they want to hire. We might even find some news stories that will tell us more.”

  Hillary raised her brows. “I think this company would want to stay very much below the surface.”

  “Or maybe they issue public statements. They must have stockholders. We ought to be able to discover what they were supposed to be doing over there.”

  She nodded slowly. “We might find some discrepancies. But we still don’t know how to tie them to all this.”

  “Then let’s damn well look for a way.” He regretted the sharpness of his tone as soon as the words escaped him, but Hillary didn’t appear troubled by it.

  “We have to,” she agreed finally. “It’s all we have.”

  * * *

  TWO BLOCKS AWAY in a nearly empty apartment building built for better times, Stan Witherspoon prepared for another day of stalking without being noticed. He suspected it would be harder than ever now that the sheriff had been called. Maybe there was a hunt for him even now.

  He sort of doubted it. Those two couldn’t possibly prove that the man they had followed had anything dubious in mind.

  Besides, another fear had begun to grow in him. What if Brigid had said something that his boss feared enough to tell him to take care of it? What if it could all somehow be traced back to the contracting company he worked for?

  Just because trouble hadn’t fallen down the line to reach Stan didn’t mean there was no trouble brewing.

  Worse, what if Brigid had said something that would point directly to the contractor? Just a few words in passing that someone else had thought needed to be reported up the chain?

  The thought made Stan shudder, and not from the cold. There could be an internal investigation right now, right as he sat on his butt trying to stay warm.

  Stan didn’t doubt in the least that his boss would have a cover story that would point directly at Stan. Who, after all, had access to those crates? Who, after all, was capable of fudging the books?

  He remembered all those times he’d sat around with other guys in uniform complaining about how much more contractor employees made than the stiffs in the service. Well, they had, and that had set Stan’s sights on getting a job with one.

  He’d never imagined that it would eventually extend to helping sell arms to insurgents. Not in his wildest dreams. But the money had been so great, he couldn’t turn it down.

  What if he’d stayed here too long? Yeah, he was required to return stateside for six months at a time, but that didn’t mean nobody would notice the timing of his trip. Earlier than he’d been scheduled to take it. A claim of family problems.

  That could be checked out readily enough if someone wanted to.

  Stan swore every curse word he could think of and made up a few of his own.

  He was a bean counter, for Pete’s sake. Not a strategist. Not a planner. Not an assassin.

  Sitting there in his darkened apartment, he wondered just how many potentially fatal mistakes he’d made.

  The only way to save his skin was to get rid of those two people staying at the Mannerly house.

  Except when he’d made his foray in the dark, he hadn’t been able to see anything inside. How was he supposed to know where in the house they were, and whether they were sleeping?

  He had no idea.

  Nor was he a marksman who could kill them at a distance.

  He had to separate them somehow. Get them one at a time.

  He could do it. He just had to figure out how.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After a few hours of sleep curled up together on the queen-size bed, Hillary and Trace went back to work. Both of them were only slightly refreshed, but it was enough.

  They ate the last of the leftovers in the fridge, which hardly qualified as a breakfast, then carried their inevitable coffee back into the office.

  The first thing they reviewed was the photo of Brigid in front of the sign. Maybe there was another clue in it.

  Trace enlarged it, and two pairs of eyes scoured it. Maybe that sign was the only clue Brigid had intended to send.

  “If she’d sent more,” Trace argued, “Allan would have figured it out. He wasn’t stupid.”

  “What if he couldn’t find out anything more to link this company to the arms?”

  “I don’t want to even think that. I want an answer to this mess.”

  Hillary sighed, rubbing her eyes. “So do I. I am just trying not to get my hopes too high.”

  “Hope? I’m beginning to wonder if I even know what that is. I’m just determined.”

  Hillary was, too, but she insisted on looking at the photo longer. She stared until she thought her eyes would turn into flaming coals from the intensity, but then she spied it.

  “Trace.”

  He turned his head. “Yo.”

  “Look at the photo again.”

  “I’ve been staring at it for the last half hour.”

  “Just look.” She pointed with a finger. “Shadows.”

  “Shadows?” But clued in now, he studied them closely. “There’s something wrong.”

  “The light. The photo of her was taken at a different time of day than the photo of the sign. Look at the difference in the shadows. The time was far apart.”

  He leaned in, then murmured, “My God.
My God.”

  “Tell me if you think I’m wrong, but the photo of the sign was taken under artificial light. As if some light source is shining on it.”

  “And Brigid appears to be photographed in the morning or the afternoon. You’re right! She must have worked hard to layer the two pictures.”

  “And include the shadows,” Hillary agreed.

  “Damn, I wonder if I can take the layers apart.”

  “I don’t know how. When she sent it, it was one photo.” She picked up their cups. “I’m getting more coffee. And there must be something left in the cupboard.”

  “More brownie mix.” But he sounded far away, as if lost in thought. Hillary’s own brain was turning around, seeking some way to use this information.

  Brownies? She could have laughed, then decided the chocolate and sugar might be helpful. She only wished she’d thought to buy a box of instant oatmeal, but at the time she’d believed she’d only be staying a few days.

  She pulled the curtain back a bit to see the morning was clear and sunny. Maybe she should walk to Maude’s and get them a meal.

  Almost as soon as she had the thought, she discarded it. If Trace was going to be diving into that photo, she wanted to be here for it.

  But just as she was about to put the wet ingredients into a mixing bowl, Trace appeared.

  “I locked up the photo under a new password. Now we’re going to get out of here to buy some decent food. We can’t live on brownies and leftovers, and neither of us really feels like cooking. Even if you do have cod in the freezer.”

  “I agree.” Getting out would feel so good. Sunlight. Chilly fresh air. Snow crunching under her boots. She was not built to stay inside for so long.

  “Maybe it’ll drive out the fog in our heads.”

  “I could use that.”

  The walk to Maude’s was wonderful. Hillary felt her head clearing, the staleness that filled her lungs and brain blowing away. It was cold, but people were about, apparently glad to escape from the winter storm. Rosy faces smiled. Cheerful greetings rang out. Trace answered them all with a smile and a wave.