Solomon's Compass

by Carol Kilgore

  “You can’t imagine how much stuff is inside.”

  “I’m in the antique biz, remember?”

  She waved her arm to include the lawn and porch. “All of this came from just the kitchen. The entire house is packed, and I hear the salvage shop is worse.”

  “Randy was my friend. He spent his life building this business, and just because his brain decided to take a trip using a different travel agent doesn’t mean I stopped being his friend.” He smiled. “Actually, this is my chance to repay him in a small way for being my friend when I needed one.”

  Dan’s expression said he’d been dismayed by Randy’s death. It brought her own feelings to the surface. These two weeks were going to be harder than she’d anticipated. “I’m sure Randy would thank you. I do, too. But I want to take time to see if there’s anything I want to keep. I found some of my grandparents’ belongings in his bedroom. Besides, you have your shop and gallery to look after.”

  “I have people who do that. I’m out and about every day.”

  “We don’t have time to go through everything. I’m flying back to Charleston a week from Thursday.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you really do need me.” He grabbed her hands. “We’ll get through all of it, and you can keep what you want. We’ll toss the trash, and I’ll put you in contact with dealers who’ll buy the rest in bulk. You’ll get much more with a touch of effort up front. I’ll give you a fair price on the items that make my heart flutter, and you can check with another dealer or online to confirm my prices.”

  Concern filled Dan’s deep brown eyes. Knowing he was Randy’s friend made getting a grip on her emotions easier to say than do. “You’re welcome to see what’s here, but I really want my own eyes-on.”

  “Do you want to spend the rest of your life going through nuts and bolts, bent propellers, and tangled fishing line? Together we can sort the diamonds from the rhinestones in no time flat. I promise.”

  “It is a fair offer.”

  “Well?” He was intent as a cat watching a bird. But she wasn’t a sparrow.

  If she agreed, she would still search for the belt and photos. “I need some time to think about it.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “I’m going to clear the house and clean it first. A trash bin is on the way, and I’m having the trash guys haul off the fridge and whatever’s inside. I’m not even opening the door—the power’s been off for over a year.”

  “If I missed a prize—if I let you miss a prize—I’d just be sick. I know Randy was your uncle, but I once watched him freeze his favorite lure in a margarine container filled with water so no one would find it. This happened before he rounded the bend, so there’s no telling what’s inside that refrigerator. But I’ll wait until after they bring it out before I venture in. It’s the least I can do for you. Especially if you decide not to let me help.”

  “I’d hate to deny you such a privilege.” But she wasn’t cleaning up the mess if he tossed his cookies all over his shoes.

  He shuffled his feet and pumped a raised fist in the air. “Yes! I keep gloves and masks in my car. In the antique business, priceless jewels often show up in the damndest places.”

  Will returned to the porch. “Your bin is rolling up the road. The rain is supposed to hold off for a few days, so things will be all right sitting out until you can move them back. This time of year, it’s probably safer weather-wise to do one room at a time if you decide not to take Dan up on his offer.”

  “Two bits of good news. I’ll take what I can get.” She wanted to know more about Randy’s decline, but no time had seemed right to ask those who’d known him.

  “I have a wagon and a couple of dollies across the street. They’ll make this job a lot easier. I’ll be back.”

  Dan watched him walk away. “He’s got the cutest ass, don’t you think?”

  His comment didn’t come as a surprise. She followed the progress of Will’s ass down the driveway. It was all right, but it didn’t do anything for her. Not like Mr. Brooklyn. “Not bad. You have a good eye.”

  Jake hadn’t eaten a burger like Lulu’s in years. She told him the cook ground fresh beef every morning and mixed in her own blend of seasonings. Since it was morning, he opted for coffee instead of beer. After he finished eating, he and Lulu talked for a long time—mostly about the Vietnam Era. Again, he was thankful for his dad’s memories.

  Lulu sprinkled her recollections with stories about Rankin. People missed him. He’d been a cut-up and a devoted volunteer. Each summer he’d funded day camp for two at-risk kids. Information Jake already knew.

  During his meal and the conversation with Lulu, Jake took periodic breaks, getting up to check the front window every ten minutes. Lulu presumed his actions were part of an old habit, and he said nothing to dispute her belief. People who had been through war had quirks; they believed those eccentricities had kept them alive.

  Taylor had moved odds and ends out of the house for an hour before Will Knox showed up. Not long after, a small SUV pulled into her driveway and a man who looked dressed for golf got out.

  Jake had stayed at Lulu’s long enough. Any longer, and he might raise suspicion. He paid and told Lulu she hadn’t seen the last of him. He walked out with her laughter ringing in his ears. From his car, he snapped images of the man and his license plate, and sent them to Kelly.

  He drove to Church Street and parked in the same place Kelly had parked the day before. This time, he pulled more powerful binoculars from the duffel on the floor. Several minutes passed with no significant activity.

  A rumbling grew behind him. A truck passed so close Jake could have reached out and lost an arm. It carried a large waste bin and backed into Rankin’s drive, accompanied by loud beeps.

  His phone rang.

  “Mr. Solomon, this is the general manager at The Waterford. I’m sorry to bother you, but this morning someone broke into three of our rooms—three that we know of. We’re asking guests who are out of their rooms to check as soon as possible to make sure nothing is missing.”

  Jake’s camera alert hadn’t sounded. Neither had the alert for Taylor’s room.

  “Were the break-ins on my floor?”

  “Yes, sir. An alert housekeeper saw the man come out of the room next to yours and move to the room directly across the hall.”

  Taylor’s room. His antenna stood straight up.

  “The housekeeper sent security a 911 beep, and the thief was apprehended before entering that room.”

  If the hotel knew Taylor’s room was secure, she wouldn’t receive a call. Jake would draw attention to himself by not returning within a reasonable time. “I’m just sitting down to an early lunch. I’ll be there as soon as I finish.”

  “Thank you, sir. That will be fine. Again, I’m sorry to interrupt your plans, and I apologize for the inconvenience.”

  Jake’s dad had a suspect in mind for the murders, but no proof, only a feeling—a master of disguise who could change his identity at will—Oliver Fallon. His dad had shown him two old photos of Fallon, and the images hadn’t looked like the same man. He focused his binoculars and zoomed in on Will Knox, then moved to the new man. Knox and the other man were both younger than Fallon. But if Jake could pose as his dad, it was entirely possible his dad’s nemesis employed plastic surgery to pose as a younger man.

  Neither man wore the black stainless bracelet his dad said Fallon never removed. Nor did either possess the burn scar that ran from Fallon’s lower left jaw to his left elbow. The scar caused when the vial of acid was the only weapon his dad possessed.

  Kelly said Knox was local, and his parents before him, so he posed little worry. Jake wasn’t as convinced the other man was safe, but Knox knew him and appeared at ease.

  This looked like a first meeting, with Knox introducing the man to Taylor. Odds were that if this was the case—and if the man was the killer—the other man would have either gone into action almost immediately or not at all, there only to gain Taylor’s confide
nce. Jake watched for a good twenty minutes before he felt comfortable enough to leave. He would entrust Taylor to Knox’s care for the short amount of time he would be gone.

  The screen door banged against the side of the house, and the refrigerator came through the door. Dan followed two seconds later, mask and gloves in place.

  Will came up the driveway pulling the dollies with one hand and the wagon with the other. People were so willing to help. Somewhat like the Coast Guard, where everyone aboard a unit worked together as a team to accomplish a task. “These are great, Will. Thanks for the loan.”

  Dan jogged toward them, the mask flapping around his neck. “Randy cleaned out the fridge. Musty, but it’s empty.”

  A chill ran up Taylor’s spine. Had Randy known he was going to die? He’d cleaned his refrigerator, and if she made the assumption he buried his Solomon’s Compass treasures, it certainly looked that way. Had her uncle committed suicide?

  Will scratched his head and frowned. “Crazy.”

  “Some people have death premonitions.” Dan pulled off his gloves.

  “I’m going to tackle the cabinets.” She climbed the steps. Randy became more of an enigma by the moment.

  Taylor worked hard for a half hour before taking a break, drinking a bottle of water in two long swallows. The cabinets were emptied and wiped down, the contents tossed in the trash. Will brought over a set of wooden steps he used for climbing into boats to make it easier for her to lift bags into the bin when she worked alone.

  Soon she’d be back to the world she knew on the Susquehanna. She couldn’t wait. Being among people Randy had known was difficult. Everyone here seemed to place her under a microscope, and she didn’t like having her wings spread and a pin stuck through her heart.

  She finished her water on the porch. Several yards away, Dan walked among the junk holding a clipboard.

  Will came around the corner of the house pocketing his phone. “A Stiletto catamaran was coming in for repair tonight, but it’s been bumped up to late afternoon. I’ll need to head back across the road sooner than I thought. More like three instead of five, so I’ll have enough time to read through the most recent repair and prepare myself to deal with the owner.”

  “They want their babies fixed yesterday. I know the drill. Stiletto’s a good product.”

  “Beautiful thirty-footer, and Nate Brady treats her like she’s a piece of shit.” He puffed his cheeks and blew out air. “Tears her up on a regular basis.”

  “People are like that. On the water and off. I meet them every day, one way or another.” She pointed toward the yard. “What is Dan doing?”

  “Taking inventory, I guess. He didn’t say.”

  She shook her head. What could she say so he understood she meant to do this herself? “I’m going back inside to finish in the kitchen and start in the bathroom. If you could move the items in the hall between the kitchen and bath, and those in the bathroom, I can get to the cabinets.”

  “Sure. I’ll grab a dolly and be right in.” His phone rang. “As soon as I finish here.”

  He answered on his way down the steps.

  She stood in the center of the kitchen and turned in a circle. Before she arrived, her mind was filled with grand visions. In person, they evaporated into pipe dreams. Next summer she could add two coats of white paint to the walls and cabinets and have the floors tiled. The space the fridge had occupied was nasty. Behind the stove would be the same or worse. She would need to move the stove forward to clean behind it.

  At times like this, she hated being short. Her arms weren’t long enough for good leverage. She grabbed the back of the stove, and searing pain shot through her hands.

  She yanked her arms away. Blood dripped from both hands across the tile counter and into the sink. She turned on the faucet with her right wrist. Cool water washed the blood away and her panic ebbed. Deep cuts sliced midway between the last knuckle and tip of the first three fingers of her left hand. The cuts didn’t reach the bone, but they needed stitches. On her right, a shallow cut crossed her palm beneath her first and second fingers. It would be sore, but her right fingers were unharmed.

  “I’m ready to—what the hell happened?” Dan ran the last few feet to her side.

  “Something on the back of the stove. It’s so old. Probably no one gave a thought to sharp edges back then. I should’ve had Bixby haul it away along with the fridge. Hand me some paper towels from one of the bags by the door so I can apply pressure.”

  Dan threw items from one bag after another until he found the roll and ripped off a strip. He ran back, thrusting them at her, and zoomed to the door again. “Will! Get in here! Hurry!”

  She held her arms above her head and pushed her left fingers against her right palm. “Dan, my purse is with the bags by the door. Will you drive me to the ER? I need a few stitches.”

  He scooped her purse under his arm and held the door for her.

  Will came bounding up the steps. “What’s going on?”

  “I cut myself. Dan’s going to drive me to the ER for stitches.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “No. You have a catamaran coming in. Take care of your customer. I’ll be fine.”

  “But—”

  “Dan will take me. Go.”

  Dan placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her down the steps. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

  “Of course.” They reached the ground. “Hey . . . my purse matches your shirt.”

  Dan stepped back, eyes round and mouth open. “How can you make jokes? You’re bleeding.”

  Taylor kept walking.

  “Don’t walk too fast, or your hands will bleed more.”

  “No they won’t. They’re above my heart. I’ll be fine.”

  “Shock. You must be in shock.” He opened the passenger door, his face pale. “You’re entirely too calm.”

  “I command a cutter. I deal with things like this and more every day. I know what to do. Now, snap my seatbelt and shut the door.”

  The physician’s assistant in the emergency medical clinic deadened her fingers and hand, cleaned the cuts, and glued them back together after putting two tiny stitches inside one finger. One tetanus shot later she was free to go.

  Dan’s color had returned. He fastened her seatbelt. “You gave me such a scare. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Told you.” A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she fought to stop it from spreading. She liked Dan, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  “I should’ve listened instead of working myself up. I do that, but it comes without thinking. I called Will and told him you were all right.”

  “Thanks.” She reclined her head against the seat. Dan was more emotional than a teenage girl. She had been the same, once upon a time. Before Mark Vitulli. Before Mark died.

  For her own peace of mind, and because she always needed to see the whole picture to feel in control, she needed to look at the back of the stove to see what had cut her. She’d ask Will to move it out.

  Two cars waited in her driveway—Zia’s SUV and a plain black Charger. Dan parked on the street and freed her from the seatbelt.

  On the back porch, Zia leaned against the wall reading a joke from her phone to Glen. She wore a pair of jean shorts and a yellow and white striped knit top with skinny straps.

  Zia rushed down the steps and hugged her. “Oh my God, Taylor. Are you all right? Dan called me. Then he called Trinh to watch your place, and she called me, too.”

  “No need for flowers. They said I’ll live. If I wasn’t on leave, I wouldn’t even get light duty. The PA at the emergency clinic glued the cuts together.”

  “I’m going to finish cleaning for you.” Zia patted Taylor’s shoulders.

  Taylor opened her mouth.

  “Don’t say no. Dan said someone needed to clean and paint in here and you wouldn’t be able to do it. I have people.”

  Glen squeezed Taylor’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’
re good. Tell me what happened.”

  She retold the story.

  “You don’t know what you cut them on?”

  “Jagged metal. The backing of the stove must be rusted or pried loose.” Maybe Randy had stashed something inside. “Did Dan call you, too?”

  He chuckled. “Trinh. Let’s go look at your stove.”

  All four of them trooped inside.

  Dan and Upchurch held the front of the stove and walked it out of its space inch by inch. Her blood stained the razor blades duct taped to the edges of the rear panel. The cuts hadn’t been an accident. Someone didn’t want her here. Or maybe not just her. Maybe the blades were meant to deter anyone from moving the stove.

  The sight of her own blood made her head light and her stomach woozy, but she met the detective’s questioning look. “Is there a way to tell if these are newly placed or if they’ve been here for a while?”

  “We don’t have funds for the testing needed to confirm that.” He pulled on a pair of clear PVC gloves. “Before elaborate forensic evidence was required, we did it ourselves. See the dust back here?”

  He loosened an edge and pulled off a piece of duct tape. The razor blades and dust from the back of the range stayed attached to the tape. Where the blade had been, dust remained on the metal. “They’re new.”

  A knot tightened in her stomach. Yesterday’s phone call had niggled, but not enough to raise her level of concern. Had the call been directed at her after all? It looked that way. Razor blades attached to the back of the stove wouldn’t kill her, and they might scare off some people. Whoever was responsible didn’t know her. USCG CDR Taylor A. Campbell kept a healthy respect for danger, but she didn’t frighten easily. In fact, like most Coast Guard members she was trained to meet problems head on and deal with them.

  Upchurch ripped off the other blade and ran his light over the rest of the rear plate. “I’ll take these. We might get a partial off of them, but I doubt it.”

  Someone wanted something inside the house. Anyone could have a key; but they hadn’t found what they were looking for. She shook her head. Maybe Randy had treasure beyond the Solomon’s Compass keepsakes.