Solomon's Compass
Page 17
He tipped an imaginary hat in her direction for her let’s-do-it attitude. “If I’d made the connection with Kyle Easley, maybe I could’ve prevented the rest. But what’s the connection between a suicide and a murder hundreds of miles and ten years apart? The wheels turned with Ed Wharton.”
“What have the police said?”
Jake studied his feet before looking at her. “I talked to people I know. They put the word out about a possible connection. I understand someone at the FBI has the case information and possibilities. Everyone’s busy, no one has enough personnel.”
“Glen Upchurch is revisiting Randy’s file. I’m sure he’ll get the case re-opened. If you get with him—”
“Out of the question.”
“You have to tell local law enforcement what you know.”
“I can’t tell them without revealing what occurred in Bangkok, which will lead to more questions and put other lives at risk. I shouldn’t have told you. And I’m not about to talk to a local cop.”
“Your opting out doesn’t help Randy.”
“I called him as soon as I learned of Wharton’s murder.”
“You gave Randy a heads-up. That’s why he became so paranoid.” Taylor pinched her nose.
Jake could almost hear her mind working. “I’d imagine that’s the reason, yes.”
“How often did you talk? Did you share what you learned?”
Taylor wasn’t going to like what he had to say. He took a deep breath. “I was out of the country most of the time.”
“What?” Taylor’s hands moved to her hips, and she leaned forward from her waist, her feet planted firmly on the kitchen floor. “Are you insane? You left your friend to face death alone?”
He took her verbal assault in silence, waiting until she was spent. “Business, Taylor. It couldn’t be helped.”
“You own the company. Someone else could have gone. You could have been here for Randy.”
“Randy knew I would be gone and would be in touch when I could. I loved your uncle and the other Compass Points like brothers. As far as sending someone else, I honor my obligations. I went because I was the one with the right contacts and background and knowledge. I was the one who knew the territory and the hidden pitfalls. I wouldn’t place one of my people in a situation that would likely get them killed.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been accused of worse. Perhaps I could have saved Randy’s life had I remained stateside. Perhaps not. But because of the road I traveled, I know I saved a few hundred American lives—innocents like Randy. Does that make it fair? No. But I don’t doubt my actions.”
“Did you at least call him to say hi every once in a while?” Sarcasm dripped from every word.
“I stayed in touch when I could. In various ways. As the months and years went on, Randy became more vague and preoccupied. He often told me he was trying to root out the killer and everyone thought he was crazy.”
“You saw his shop. Maybe he was.”
“More than once he said, ‘I don’t know who I am anymore.’”
Taylor nodded. “I can believe that.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent Randy’s murder. I’m convinced it’s tied to Bangkok. Of everyone I know who could have a reason for killing the Compass Points, I’ve verified all but one were elsewhere on the dates and times of the murders. And on the date of Ham’s death, in the event it wasn’t suicide.”
“Who’s unaccounted for?”
“A man sometimes known as Oliver Fallon. Is the name familiar?”
“No.”
“He’s still active and can change identities at will. It’s possible he knows about Bangkok. He may be innocent, but I can’t verify his whereabouts on any of those three dates. Or on the date of Randy’s death.”
She dug the heels of her palms into her forehead. “I’m calling Detective Upchurch.”
He stopped her hand on its way to her pocket. “This goes beyond police, Taylor. If this man’s the killer, the only way to stop him is for him to locate me or me to find him first.”
“Are you here because he’s here?” She shivered.
“You have a keen sense of how these pieces fit together.” Her insight had come as an unexpected surprise. “My first priority is to keep my promise to Randy by protecting you. My second is to draw the killer out, confront him on my terms, not his. It could be the killer is not Fallon but someone else. Perhaps you can find something I missed.”
“I’m out of my element. And I don’t have much to offer except my perceptions.”
“Small and seemingly insignificant details often expose secrets. Something I’ve seen and dismissed because it was too common to me in my former life might shout to you.” If Kelly were here, she could get right on any new ideas from Taylor and check them out. But their dad came first.
“Why would the killer want me out of the way?”
“I can’t say. All I know for sure is each of the men still had their belts, but after their murders, the belts were gone. I told Randy that.”
“Now I know why Randy cut up the one thing he valued above everything else.”
“Any ideas where the rest of the belt or the buckle could be?”
Taylor shook her head. “It could turn up in the shop. You saw—there’s no telling what’s in there.”
Taylor told Jake Randy’s belt might be in the shop, but her gut feeling was stronger than ever. Randy had not only destroyed his favorite treasure, but he buried it someplace no one would think about. She fought the urge to tell Jake about the box—and let him do the digging. But Randy’s note had been clear—tell no one of his secret buried treasure. If he’d wanted Jake to know, he would have sent him coordinates, too. All the same, it wasn’t easy keeping quiet.
Jake picked up his empty water bottle. “I’m glad we finally had this chance to talk. Think about all I’ve said. Something new may come.”
“Right now I’m empty.”
“You have my cell number. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m going to town for ice cream. Maybe Dan will be around, and I can ask about Bravo and Echoes. Want to come along?”
Jake moved his hands to her shoulders. “Let’s make a deal.” His eyes sparkled with laughter.
She’d already fallen for him a little, despite her best intentions to remain uninvolved. If she wasn’t careful, she would fall hard enough to skin her soul. Sheer willpower kept her arms at her sides instead of around his waist. “What kind of deal?”
“Keep going to town to daylight hours, and I won’t tag along behind you. Promise to call me about anything. Any time.”
Warmth spread throughout her body. She had to get a grip on her emotions. To even consider becoming involved with him was madness. They were both married to their careers and too old to change. And they were targets of a killer who had already murdered three men. All the same, she wanted to taste him, relish his touch, indulge herself in his scent. Maybe she was going mad.
Taylor forced a smile and raised her hands. “I give up. Promise. But since the sun is shining, I’m going for ice cream. And maybe window shopping. You’re welcome to come along. I need some outdoor time to prepare myself for cooped-up salvage shop time next week.”
“I don’t think so.” He lowered his head until his lips were by her ear. “Be careful.” His words were a whisper, his breath barely a breeze.
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so nodded her acknowledgment.
He moved his lips across her cheek until they found hers. His kiss was gentle, but it ignited her passion. She stepped into his embrace, and his arms tightened around her. He tasted of peppermint, and she wished she’d grabbed a mint from Lulu’s, too, to dilute the remnants of her beer and burger lunch.
Whatever hints of flavor remained on her tongue didn’t seem to bother him. He held the back of her head in one hand while his tongue delved and probed. Her legs turned to pudding, but for some reason held her upright. She returned his kiss, her to
ngue dancing with his time and time again.
He nibbled her lips. “You taste good.” His voice sounded rough.
“I taste like lunch.”
He chuckled. “I liked lunch.”
She nuzzled his chest. “Good.”
His fingers tangled in her hair, and as she relaxed, a black spot appeared in the corner of her mind. She shooed the smudge away, but the blackness grew and wouldn’t let go.
“Jake?”
“Hmm?”
“Did Compass Points search for the killer?”
He didn’t move. She hadn’t been aware of any motion before, but now she couldn’t even detect his breathing.
“No.”
“Why not? Your people sound as if they’d be the perfect investigators.”
“The killings were personal, Taylor. Compass Points is business.”
She pushed away and walked to the end of the room before turning to face him. “So you let Randy die—be killed in cold blood—because it’s personal?”
Damn it to hell. Tears streamed down her face as she walked into the empty living room. She couldn’t even look at him. Who could do something so awful? He was as guilty as the bastard who killed his friends. Her shoulders shook, and she clamped her hands over her mouth to stay silent, thankful she hadn’t told Jake Solomon about Randy’s treasure.
Jake let himself out and slammed his sunglasses on against the bright afternoon light.
He’d hoped Taylor wouldn’t reach this conclusion; but she was sharp, and he’d known in his heart it was only a matter of time. As his dad had known with him.
It still hurt. He knew how betrayed Taylor felt because he’d felt the same way. He’d gone out for a drink and wound up being dumped in a taxi by an unknown angel for the ride home at the end of the night. The following morning he learned his toilet’s name was Clyde.
His dad pounded on the door just when he and Clyde were getting cozy. If Jake hadn’t let him in the doorman would have. While Jake showered, his dad whipped up some godawful concoction with the kick-ass flavor of bug spray and fish scales. Whatever was in it worked. Half an hour later, his stomach no longer rolled, his head no longer throbbed, and his sluggishness had vanished. His dad sat him down and told him the rest of the story.
Telling him the Compass Points resources weren’t used and waiting to tell him why gave Jake time to blow off steam and come to grips with the reality. When his dad filled him in on the reasons behind his decision, he was able to accept them. He hadn’t agreed, but he understood. If he’d been in his dad’s position, he would likely have reached the same outcome.
He didn’t think Taylor would end up in a ditch, but she might eat a quart of chocolate ice cream all by herself. He would lurk in the shadows and keep the bogeyman away. After she had time to calm down, he’d talk to her. Tell her the rest of the story, like his dad had done with him.
And sink into the earth for being the biggest, vilest son of a bitch in the world.
“A double scoop of chocolate fudge on a chocolate cone.”
Taylor paid and savored the first lick. How had she been so damn stupid? She’d kicked herself in the butt all the way to town. What a fool. Thinking Jake Solomon was like Mark was the worst.
She finished her ice cream cone in no time flat. At Mike’s Golf Shop, she purchased a Rock Harbor golf towel for her executive officer. She hoped Dan was in Bravo getting ready for tonight. She headed in that direction, but spotted him coming out of Echoes with two large gold bags dangling from each hand. “You’re not supposed to shop in your own place.”
“Hey, Taylor.” He raised the bags a few inches. “I’m renting pieces to a wedding reception at the country club. This is the last of the third load. The florist is the bitch from hell. I told her I’d be happy to help her, but she huffed all in my ear as if she’s the Rose Queen or something and I’m the Black Thumb Ogre. She can just wait two extra minutes.”
“I’ll let you arrange flowers at my wedding. If I ever get married. How’s that?”
“Perfect.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
He dropped the bags and hugged her. “You are entirely too hard on yourself, Taylor. You just need someone strong enough to let you shine. Which brings me to why I’m so glad to see you here. I meant to call you earlier, but I haven’t had one frigging minute of peace and quiet all day.”
“What’s up?”
“A.J. and I want you to come over for drinks and munchies tomorrow evening. He wants to give you the painting.”
“Should I dress up?”
“You can wear Happy if you want.” Dan waved at her shirt. “Zia will be there, too. She’s not thrilled about not getting a say in which painting we chose, so if she’s a little Oscar-y that’s why. Her pout isn’t about you.”
“Sounds like fun.”
He wrote the address and directions on the back of his card and handed it to her. “See you at seven. Now I need to run. Half the town will be at this wedding. Will’s cousin is the bride, so it’ll be a big blowout. Then I have to hustle back to the gallery for another night of fun.”
Will would be out for the night? She waved goodbye to Dan and started planning as soon as she took the first step to her car. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Will would be at the wedding and reception. She would be retrieving Randy Rankin’s buried treasure.
And Jake Solomon could take a good long hike to hell.
Taylor took a roundabout route to Will’s before her treasure hunt. In the thickening twilight, she wasn’t sure if anyone followed her, so several blocks from his house, she circled yet another block and cruised a parking lot.
She turned onto Amberjack and parked on the street between the house for sale and its next-door neighbor. Near the corner, a couple of teenagers shot hoops in a driveway. She decided to give them a few minutes to see if the mosquitoes would drive them inside.
While she waited, she stuffed toilet paper in the fingers of the left glove, wrapped toilet paper and gauze around her right hand over the bandages she’d taped in place, and pulled on latex gloves. Next came the thick yellow rubber gloves. This had to work.
The kids down the way showed no sign of going inside, but they appeared totally engrossed in one-upping each other. With a smidgen of good luck, they wouldn’t notice her.
She turned off the interior light, opened the door, and retrieved her tote. Chirping crickets were the only alarm she heard in the thick air as she walked to Will’s backyard. Good thing, too. Her story of returning his folding shovel wouldn’t have held up in a strong breeze.
With a determined tug, she strapped on a head lamp and focused the LED light on Randy’s last letter to see the coordinates. As if you don’t know them by heart, Taylor. Check and double check. A fraction of a degree off here in Will’s backyard wouldn’t make much difference, but Taylor had learned to navigate oceans before GPS systems were the norm. A fraction of a degree off could mean the land lights ahead were in Miami instead of Charleston. Or islands popping up where they weren’t supposed to be.
She keyed in the coordinates and stepped this way and that, careful to keep the GPS out of the direct path of her head lamp. With each footfall she sank into lush St. Augustine. The tough grass tickled her ankles. One more step to the right. The GPS beeped and a red X marked the spot—inches from the edge of a freeform bed outlined in black monkey grass. She punched the button and dropped the GPS into her large shoulder tote.
Finding the general coordinates on Google Maps had been easy, but standing on them made her lightheaded. She was about to dig a hole. Trespassing and destruction of property. Good, Taylor. Get your ass in a crack and lose your Coast Guard bennies to boot. What the hell had Randy been thinking?
Taylor wiped the sweat from her forehead with the tail of her shirt before the mosquito repellant rolled into her eyes. A mockingbird started singing. Randy had told her the only mockingbirds that sang at night were young males that hadn’t yet found a mate. Good luck, buddy.
“Okay, Randy. Let’s get this grass up and start digging.”
With the shovel, she scored a patch of sod about eighteen inches square and scooped it out, turning it upside down next to the trash bag. The square of sod would be noticeable enough without a telltale patch of dirt in the lawn.
She licked her lips and tasted the salt in the air, almost like standing on the deck of the Susquehanna. After taking a deep breath, she plunged the shovel into the ground. Sandy soil greeted her beneath the sod layer, and she dumped the first shovelful on the trash bag. After five shovels she stopped. The usual evening breeze blew off the bay, but the high humidity zapped her energy. She wiped her face with her shirttail.
The skin surrounding the cut on her palm burned and stretched. Tomorrow she’d probably have blisters, but she could live with them.
After five more shovels, she stopped again. The hole was barely a foot deep, and as she dug, grains of sand scurried down the sides. She got half a shovelful with each jab. Her hands were holding out, so she was pleased. She went back for five more.
Half an hour later, the hole had grown to eighteen inches deep. The sand on the trash bag mounded to a peak. If she didn’t find the box within the next thirty minutes, she needed to call it a night in order not to be up to her tush in Will’s backyard when he returned. Her fingers were all right, but her hand throbbed. Thirty more minutes, or until her hand couldn’t take any more.
One shovel load. Two. She wiped her forehead. The next time she drove the shovel in, the blade clinked.
“Yes!” She waved her right hand in a victory salute and danced in place, hoping the clink hadn’t announced a water or sewer pipe.
She dropped to her knees and cleared away loose sand with her hands. Her head lamp illuminated the flat gray top of an ammo box with a collapsible handle in the center. Now she knew what she had. A military ammunition box was twelve inches in length, six inches across, and seven inches deep.