“That sounds like a great idea, Mandy.” I couldn’t help smiling. I wanted to spend more time with Hannah—make that Dove. In fact, I didn’t want her to go with Mandy; I wanted her to stay with me. Maybe I could simply run away with her. It wouldn’t be kidnapping. I couldn’t abduct my own daughter.
As long as I could prove she was my daughter.
* * *
If necessary, Tucker could call the police and complain about the van. He could sneak out of the house while the police were talking to the occupants.
He still felt trapped.
In the dining room was a well-stocked wet bar. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since he’d been taken in by Clan Firinn, but that didn’t mean the desire wasn’t in the back of his mind every minute of every day. He stuck his hand in his pocket and squeezed the rocks until it hurt, then closed his eyes.
The Night had been stormy. Monsoon rains sent sheets of water over the windshield of the car. His wipers couldn’t keep up. The headlights of the car barely split the darkness. He’d injured his arm somehow and was driving with one hand on the wheel. The deer appeared in the middle of the road, frozen motionless. He’d swerved . . .
Who am I kidding?
The Night was clear, lit by a full moon. They’d been to a party and he was drunk. Again. And driving.
“Darling, please pull over and let me drive.” His wife had her hand on his arm, clutching it. Tears streamed down her face. No injury. No rain. Just her frightened grip on his arm and her tears.
She glanced ahead and screamed.
He returned his attention to the road.
A truck barreled down on them, horn blaring.
Adrenaline shot through his veins. He was in the wrong lane. He spun the wheel.
Too late.
A screeching of tortured metal, the sting of flying glass, the world spinning out of control, a flash of black river, freezing wet, cold.
He woke up in the hospital.
A man was sitting beside the bed, reading a book. He looked up. “Ah, you’re awake. I’m Scott Thomas of Clan Firinn.”
The enormity of his situation landed on his chest like an anvil. They were gone. His wife. His child. He killed them. Tears burned his cheeks.
The man seemed not to notice. “I’m here to talk to you about your future.”
Tucker blinked. Future?
Scott leaned forward. “Have you ever read anything by Corrie ten Boom?” Tucker barely heard the words. Only blackness lay before him.
“She wrote, ‘Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.’” He closed the book. “I figure it’s time you got to know us, that unknown future, and Him.”
Tucker opened his eyes and turned his back on the wet bar. He resolutely sat in front of his computer and pulled up the link analysis chart he’d started. He added in all he’d learned from Boone Industries’ financial records. He wanted to follow the funds transferred from the company’s coffers, then hack into the police department’s records on Montgomery, Sparrow, and Dove. What he didn’t want to do was think about Piper’s delusion about her daughter. Or the booze in the other room. That would be a known future.
* * *
It didn’t take us long to reach Mount Pleasant. Now that the island was behind us, or maybe because being at Joyce’s house alone had made her lonely, Hannah was on a roll.
“Did you know I can speak German? Ich werde Murstard auf meinem Bratworst haben. That means ‘I’ll have mustard on my bratwurst.’ A lot of people speak German in Wisconsin. And eat cheese curds. I like curds when they’re deep fried or really fresh and they squeak. How about you, Piper?”
“Do I speak German, or do I like cheese curds?”
“Right.”
“Um—”
“I miss Wisconsin, but I like it here. Well, sort of, because I was afraid last night, but when I get really scared, I sing. I know a lot of songs. I thought I’d try out for The Voice someday. They judge your singing without seeing you, at least not at first. It’s not like America’s Got Talent. There you’re judged on how you look before you even open your mouth. Right now I sing in the church choir. Did you ever sing in a choir?”
“No—”
“That’s too bad, ’cause singing makes you happy. So do dogs. And puppies. I’m going to have a whole bunch of dogs when I have my own place. I get an apartment when I go off to college. That’s what Grandma said . . .”
At the mention of her grandmother, she frowned, then pulled out her phone and began scrolling. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. I wanted to hug her. And hear her voice. “Maybe you could sing for me.”
“Okay, but not right now.”
Once in town, I directed Mandy to the condos. We pulled around and parked in front of Raven’s old unit.
“Tell me again. Why are we here?” Mandy asked.
I turned to face her. “I’ve gone through everyone in my family or connected to the family to see if anything was reasonable to explain the . . .” I couldn’t think of a word to cover the accidents, deaths, missing people, and events that had been going on.
“Curse?” Mandy offered.
“I guess. I tried to picture different people with their motives and possible alibis. The only person who was a blank spot was Raven. The police wouldn’t say who they interviewed or what was said—just that everyone was in the suspect pool. This is Raven’s last known address, and her neighbor mentioned a man, a husband. I wanted to follow up on that and maybe, um, go inside the condo.” I indicated with my eyes that Hannah was listening.
Mandy took the hint. “If ya decide to look around, maybe Hannah and I could go get some ice cream or somethin’. I am a sworn officer and all.”
“That’s a plan. If you want to stay in the car, I’ll see if I can find the lady.” They agreed. Leaving my purse, I got out and moved toward the building. I had no idea which unit belonged to the woman, but maybe she’d see me and come out. If not, I was willing to knock on a few doors.
A dog barked frantically somewhere nearby. That was promising. I followed the sound. It came from Raven’s empty apartment.
My stomach tightened. I glanced over at Mandy, sitting in the car. In an instant she’d shot from the driver’s seat and was beside me. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Your face is all wanky.”
I put my face to one of the windows but couldn’t see the barking canine. “There’s a dog in there.”
“So?”
“This is an empty condo.”
“Did ya try openin’ the door? Maybe the dog just got locked in somehow.” She turned the knob and the door opened a crack. The dog was silent for a moment, then renewed its agitated yapping.
Mandy nudged the door with her foot, took a step forward, then a quick step back. “Pew. Okay, that’s not a good smell.”
I caught a whiff, turned, and immediately threw up on the steps.
“I can’t say that helped with the stench much,” Mandy said dryly. “Maybe ya should wait in the car.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“We should call the police.”
“Not to split hairs or anything, but aren’t you the police? I’d say we’re almost legal.” I took a deep breath, pinched my nose, and entered.
“Wait! Piper, this could be a crime scene.”
I ignored her and reached a short hallway with a door on my left. The barking came from that direction. I opened the door and the strange-looking three-legged dog bounded out, then leaped into my arms.
I almost dropped him. His hairless skin felt warm under my hands, and he shook with anxiety. I started to leave, but the dog gave a sharp bark at something on my right. I turned.
I caught a glimpse of a bare foot streaked in rusty-brown blood and covered with flies.
Chapter 20
Tucker rubbed his eyes, burning from staring at the computer screen.
Sparrow had been an interesting read. Two years younger than Tern, she had been five years older than Piper. As a young child she’d app
eared in a number of photographs with her family, usually sitting slightly apart from them. Tucker hadn’t found any photographs of her after she’d become a teen. Her obituary offered little information about her life, but a bit of digging produced the news that she’d been diagnosed with autism. He also found a reference to her in the local police records. She’d been arrested for making a public disturbance. No charges were filed.
Then she was dead.
The police report on her death stated that she was found lying next to an overturned golf cart on the island. Her head had struck a rock. No autopsy was performed.
If her death was more than an accident, what motive would there be? The most common reasons for murder were robbery, jealousy, and vengeance. None seemed to fit. Money? She wasn’t rich, but she held shares in Boone Industries. Maybe someone wanted a bigger slice of the pie by removing her as a shareholder.
So much for having the perfect home for the perfect family on the perfect island as Piper had mentioned.
* * *
Stumbling from the condo, I didn’t stop racing until I’d reached the car. The dog struggled in my shaking arms. My stomach threatened to upchuck again.
“Let me have him.” Hannah was standing beside me, reaching for the canine. I hadn’t even heard her get out of the car. As soon as I relaxed my grip, the dog bounded into her arms.
Mandy had apparently gone inside. She emerged, closed the door, wiped the knob, and joined us by the car. “Get in.”
“What happened?” Hannah asked.
“A dog got locked in the bathroom,” Mandy said smoothly. “I need to stop and run into the store for a moment. Hannah, could ya stay in the car with the dog?”
“Sure. What’s his name?”
“Fluffer,” I said.
“Gunn,” Mandy said.
“FlufferGunn? Okay.”
Mandy pulled into the first convenience store we came to. The rain had started again with gusty winds. A few people were outside. She parked close to an old pay phone. We both got out, went inside, and walked to the refrigerated drinks section. “Well? What did you see?” I grabbed two waters.
“A lot of blood. It was an older woman. Someone murdered her. I’m thinkin’ she’s been dead for a day or less.” She picked up a Coke.
“It has to be the woman I spoke to when Tucker and I came here yesterday. That’s her dog. Why’d you hustle out of there? Aren’t you going to call the police?”
“I am. But I’m going to call in an anonymous tip. I found this in the corner of the kitchen.” She held out her cell phone. She’d taken a photograph of a piece of paper on the cream-colored tile floor. It was a preliminary sketch of the men who’d died in the Hunley. Signed by Tucker.
* * *
Tucker searched for Joyce Mueller in Wisconsin. No luck. There were 2,321 Joyce Muellers in the state and surrounding states. He didn’t even know what kind of doctor she was. Medical? Veterinarian? PhD? Psychologist? Dentist? Even that didn’t help. No Dr. Joyce Muellers in Wisconsin, period.
Returning to the financial records of Boone Industries, he focused on the time period when the company started having cash-flow problems. Montgomery Boone, according to Silva, used the expensive yacht to entertain clients and transport guests. He pulled up the list of entertainment expenses. Montgomery had used the yacht on average eight times a year for entertainment that ranged from one to seven days. The list showed dates, clients, and expenses. The clients, primarily for the plumbing side of the business, were cross-referenced with their revenue statistics. It appeared that the strategy was successful, as sales jumped after each wine-dine cruise. The longer trips, however, didn’t include as much information. The clients were listed by initials. H.D. Home Depot? L.J.? If the L was for Lowe’s, what was the J for?
Tucker went back to the photos of the Boone family. Montgomery had been a strikingly handsome man. In most of the images, Caroline rested an arm or a hand on him. Tucker leaned backward in his chair and stared at the computer screen. “Tell me, Caroline Boone, what were your organic, conservation-minded thoughts on taking a huge yacht out to entertain clients? Isn’t that a rather large carbon footprint?”
Did she ever go with him?
It took some searching, but he finally located a few expenses that had her name connected to them. Cash draws for birding tours. The first one was Brazil, the Atlantic Forest. Five days. At the same time, Montgomery had gone on a four-day cruise with H.D.
Each of Caroline’s birding trips corresponded to Montgomery’s longer cruises.
“Montgomery, you dirty dog. No wonder you named your love boat Faire Taire. ‘Be silent.’” He hobbled into the kitchen and found a can of soda in the refrigerator. What he really wanted to do was take a shower.
A quick search of emails showed little activity, but a deeper probe indicated a lot of deleted material. Interesting for a house used primarily by guests. He’d come back to that.
He turned to the case file on Dove’s disappearance. He was searching for the report on the recovery of Dove’s body. He found it along with her autopsy report. Under the date it read,
I, Stan Gragg, at 0828 hours received a call to Curlew Island in reference to a body. My investigation revealed the following information.
At 0730 hours, JOEL CHRISTIANSON, an employee of the BOONE FAMILY, was repairing the road near the home of JOYCE MUELLER, located at the north end of the island. Joel Christianson stated he heard a dog barking and identified it as the black Newfoundland dog owned by the Boones. He said Dr. Mueller wasn’t home and he believed she had returned to Wisconsin sometime earlier in the week.
He left the road and walked to the leeward (west) side of the island to investigate.
He found the dog standing over the remains of a body.
The dog was weak and appeared in distress. He picked up the dog and carried it to the cart he used to hold his tools.
He drove the dog to the Boone residence and called the police.
He requested the responding personnel to use the dock at the north end.
His wife, MILDRED CHRISTIANSON, was present in the Boone home and took possession of the dog.
He informed CAROLINE BOONE, TERN BOONE, and ASHLEE YATES, all present in the family home, of the discovery of the body. Ashlee said he’d inform his wife, SANDPIPER BOONE YATES, as she wasn’t feeling well.
Along with Tern Boone, Ashlee Yates returned to the Mueller dock to wait for police.
At approximately 0850, I arrived on the island with EMS personnel JAY ROSE, CARA BERGER, and JACK HOLLOWAY.
We met with Tern Boone and Joel Christianson, who took us to the body, which had washed up on a narrow piece of land extending into the ocean. The body, obviously a child, was in an advanced stage of decomposition.
Supplemental reports attached:
Evidence collected
Pictures
Witness statements
Officer Stan Gragg had also been the first on the scene when the call came in on Ashlee’s attack and the missing boat. Marion Inlet was a small department, so Gragg’s frequent involvement wasn’t that significant.
Tucker looked at the photos, then wished he hadn’t.
* * *
“Obviously planted and obviously false.” I handed Mandy back her phone. “Tucker has a clear alibi. And you and I both know Tucker didn’t kill that woman.”
“The problem is the police don’t know it, at least not yet, and Tucker will be blamed.” Mandy and I headed for the counter to pay for the drinks. “Someone is tryin’ to frame him to get him out of the picture.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to be able to get at you.”
We stopped talking until I’d paid and we were back outside. The rain had started up again. We stood for a moment under the overhang of the building, waiting for a slight break.
Mandy’s statement sent my thoughts churning. “If the murderer’s goal was to separate Tucker and me, or get him off Curlew, or get him in trouble, all they n
eeded to do was wait. Tucker’s snooping and Tern’s discovering him effectively did all that. That poor woman died for no reason.”
“Maybe. Didn’t ya say she saw a man she called Raven’s husband hangin’ around? She was a witness. Killin’ her was silencin’ her, and tossin’ the blame on Tucker was just whipped cream on their plan.” Mandy checked around her, then ran to the pay phone. Using some napkins she’d grabbed from the counter, she picked up the receiver and dialed. She spoke for a moment, then hung up and nodded toward the car.
I ran and jumped in. “Aren’t you afraid the surveillance cameras will record you making that call?” I whispered.
“Nope,” she whispered back. “I know the owner. He’s too cheap to fix his cameras. Last one broke two weeks ago.” She grinned and pulled out into traffic.
“I hate to be a bother, but I need to use a restroom,” Hannah said. “And I think FlufferGunn does too.”
I crossed my eyes at Mandy. “Um, Hannah, you don’t have to call her FlufferGunn. You can call her any name you want.”
“Good. I’ll call her Piggy.”
* * *
A blast of rain hit the window, and the small red light on the television went out. Tucker’s computer screen dimmed, and the house became silent as the air conditioner stopped. The power outage was brief, but the rain intensified. Tucker returned to his hacking, this time investigating the hidden deleted emails. They originated here, signed by “Raven,” and were addressed to Caroline’s or Tern’s addresses.
The emails themselves were vague and generally contained excuses for why she wouldn’t be in touch. They mentioned her traveling to remote places. Someone in Piper’s family, maybe Raven herself, wanted everyone to believe Raven was out of the country—a perfect alibi.
Tucker found the local weather website. A hurricane watch had been issued. “What does that mean?” he muttered.
He found a site that explained a hurricane watch meant hurricane conditions were a possibility within the next forty-eight hours. It went on to describe preparations, including bringing in outdoor furniture, making sure there was an emergency kit, and reviewing evacuation routes. Finally, homeowners were advised to board up windows and doors.
Relative Silence Page 17