“I didn’t expect you to find me here, either. So am I under arrest?”
“Not yet, but I will want to talk with you.”
Aurora looked at Conner and Johnson. “Where are Sam and Little Guy?”
“I have no idea,” Conner answered, puzzled.
“But I thought he was with you.”
“Aurora, why did you think Sam and Little Guy were with these fellows?” asked the judge.
“Well, the tape was missing from the VCR, and Sam and Little Guy are gone, and I figured that Sam had found a clue on the tape and….” She sank into a chair. King whined and put his head on her knee.
“Sam and Little Guy left for a walk over two hours ago. I drove to the police station to identify a body, then went to Carole’s to pick up King. After that, I made a quick stop at the store for milk and a few other things, stopped off at the Reeves house for only a minute, and when I returned home Sam and Little Guy still weren’t back from their walk. And when I discovered the tape was missing….” She thought for a moment. “Where could he be? Do you think he’s in trouble, Uncle Charlie?”
Her uncle scowled. “Probably not.”
“Don’t look at me, Judge Anderson,” said Luke. “I’m innocent.”
“Yeah, right,” said Sergeant Johnson.
“The cleaning service was still here when I left,” Aurora said. “Maybe they know something.” She rushed to the desk, looked up the number for the cleaning service, and dialed.
Sheila finally answered. “Hello.”
“Is this Sheila?” asked Aurora.
“Yes, this is Sheila.”
“This is Aurora Harris. You cleaned my house today?”
“Yes, ma’am. I remember.” She paused, then asked, “Is something wrong with our work?”
“Oh, no. You and your crew did an excellent job. I just wanted to know if my husband returned to the house before you left.”
“No, ma’am, Mr. Harris didn’t come back while we were still there. Sorry I cain’t help you.”
“Did you see him walking on the road anywhere when you drove out?”
“No, ma’am.”
Aurora thanked Sheila and hung up. This isn’t like Sam.
“Has she seen him?” asked Uncle Charlie.
Aurora looked at her uncle. “No.”
“We need to talk with you privately, Mrs. Harris,” said Lieutenant Conner as he eyed Luke.
“Luke,” Aurora said.
“I can take a hint, Aurora, although that was more like an ultimatum from your illustrious law enforcement officer here.”
“There’s no need to talk like that, Luke,” Aurora said. “Don’t make things worse.”
“Sorry, you’re right.” Clicking his heels together, he saluted Conner, Johnson, and Anderson before he left.
“Is he always like that?” Uncle Charlie asked. Aurora shrugged.
“Thought he’d never leave. I didn’t want him to hear it, but I don’t believe he’s guilty of anything except bad judgment. Lieutenant Conner, however, is almost ready to make an arrest,” said Uncle Charlie.
“For what? Who is he planning to arrest?”
“Your neighbor Robert Reeves is not as squeaky clean as you think,” said Uncle Charlie. “Seems the accountant at Lampwerth International was ready to spill the beans to Lampwerth. The accountant warned him the day before he disappeared that someone in the company was embezzling funds. At the time, the accountant didn’t know for sure who it was, but when he mentioned this, Lampwerth became furious—and disappeared. The accountant, a Mr. Louis Beale, told Lieutenant Conner less than an hour ago on the phone that he believes Robert Reeves is the embezzler.”
“I don’t buy that. Robert’s too nice a guy.”
“And why wouldn’t he be a nice guy? He’s rolling in money. And you must admit that house of his is very expensive, probably worth at least a couple million. And it’s only his weekend retreat. The Babe Ruth bat that clobbered Sam belonged to Reeves. And in the foyer of Reeves’ house the police found bloodstains that match Lampwerth’s. Just haven’t found the correct body yet.” Uncle Charlie paused to light his pipe. “But they will. You can count on that.”
“We’ve gotta go, judge,” said Conner.
“I do, too,” said the judge. “I’ll call you later, Aurora.” He kissed her cheek.
Aurora walked them to the door and waved goodbye. “Drive carefully,” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
His hands jammed in the pockets of his brown gabardine pants, Robert Reeves stood in the Florida room of his house and stared out at the lake. A few minutes ago the water’s surface was calm with reflections of clouds and trees so clear that if he’d taken a picture and turned it upside down, he’d be hard pressed to say which were the actual trees and sky. And up until a few days ago, his life had been that calm, too. Now a soft breeze stirred the water, spoiling the perfect surface. And Reeves knew that before it was finished the lake would get rough and choppy. And so would his life.
He looked over at Jill asleep on the white wicker sofa and spread a lightweight red and white quilt over her legs. He longed to touch her, caress her, kiss her, hold her so close she could never leave him. Part of him wished she’d never come back into his life with such a force; the other part treasured each moment he had with her.
That first day in Lampwerth’s office, when Jill’s innocent brown eyes looked into his searching gray ones, he knew he was in love, not lust, for the first time in his life. Both of them understood Lampwerth International’s no-dating policy among employees, but they couldn’t help themselves. Destined to be together, they ignored the policy. And fell deeper and deeper in love.
The day their world crashed started out like any other normal day. Robert phoned Jill with his customary wake-up call to her apartment, they met at the Morning Glory Diner for breakfast, ate sweet rolls, talked sweet talk, and left—separately—for the office and a routine pretend-you-don’t-mean-anything-to-me day.
That day a jealous secretary, one who had her eye on Robert during his pre-Jill days, decided to enlighten J. Melton Lampwerth IV. Lampwerth had known about the affair between his two valuable employees and pretended not to notice. But when the woman came running to him with the information, he had no choice but to adhere to his own rules. And Lampwerth had issued an ultimatum to Robert and Jill.
That day five years ago, when Jill Hathaway refused his marriage proposal and picked her career at Lampwerth International over a lifetime career as Mrs. Robert Reeves, nearly destroyed him.
“Jill, I love you. With all my heart and soul I love you. Marry me; give up your job. We don’t need the money,” he’d pleaded. He didn’t tell her he had inherited millions of old Delaware money, owned half a dozen steeplechasers that raced in France and England. He donated most of his Lampwerth salary to charitable causes. He never told Jill about his fortune. Old-money folks didn’t flaunt their wealth; only the social climbers and nouveaux-riches paraded their assets for all to see.
But she had refused his proposal. “I love you, too, Robert. But I’m the Executive Secretary / Assistant to the President,” she’d said, pride apparent in her voice. “I’ve worked too many years, endured too many hardships. I can’t give it up for a life of cooking, cleaning, socializing at the country club, and playing bridge every day. Robert,” she said softly, “I’m not the type to spend my life waiting for you to come home.”
“I’ll hire a cook and a housekeeper if you want me to. And I’ll love you more than any woman on this earth has ever been loved.”
“No, Robert.”
He watched her change from a warm, life-loving person to a cold, driven woman. She had pushed her chair away from the table, walked out of the restaurant and, except when he saw her at Lampwerth International, out of his life.
Because of that, a part of him despised J. Melton Lampwerth IV.
He thinks I’m still asleep, thought Jill. Through half-closed eyes she watched Robert as he stood peering ou
t at the lake. She wished she could go back to that night when he’d asked her to marry him, had promised he’d love her forever. How could I have been so stupid? My life’s been empty without him. He can’t still love me. If he did, he’d wrap his arms around me, whisper in my ear, ask me again to be Mrs. Robert Reeves.
Instead of placing the blame on herself, Jill had blamed Lampwerth. After all, it was his policy that split the two lovers apart. But now reality hit her, and she knew that her ambition had destroyed the most perfect relationship any two people could experience. And silently she cried.
Jill hated herself. And she hated J. Melton Lampwerth IV.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Aurora looked down at her trembling hands. Get a grip on yourself, Aurora. She walked over to the large window and looked out at the lake. Sam should have been back hours ago. He’s in danger. I can feel it.
Think, Aurora. You can’t help Sam if you panic. Find something to do and wait for either Uncle Charlie or Sam to call you.
She wandered into the bedroom and looked around. “I need something to keep busy,” she said. Aurora dug in her tote bag for her cross-stitching, picked up the tape recorder from her bag, re-wound it, and settled back to cross-stitch and review what she’d dictated earlier in the day. King stretched out at her feet.
She stopped the tape occasionally to jot new ideas and changes onto a yellow legal pad. She heard a vaguely familiar voice on the tape just as she reached to shut off the recorder. Who was that? And how did it get on the recorder? Oh yeah, I accidentally left the recorder running this morning.
Aurora quickly pressed “rewind,” then “stop,” then “play.”
She heard a female voice exclaim, “I found it! The tape was right there in the VCR. I don’t know how we missed it when Jimmy Ray and Clyde searched the room earlier. But then we were looking for pictures and the necklace; we didn’t know nothing ‘bout a tape.” Pause. “Yeah, it’s the one you’re looking for.” The voice stopped for a few seconds, then continued. “How do I know it’s the right tape? Dammit, contrary to what you’ve always believed, I’m sure as hell not stupid. I watched it.”
Aurora picked up the recorder and kissed it. If she had purchased the cheap recorder she’d originally planned to buy, the tape would have run out before the voice could be recorded. At Sam’s insistence, she bought a more expensive model, a voice-activated one. Who are Jimmy Ray and Clyde? And the voice on the tape, she knew she’d heard it before. But where?
She played the tape again, but the identity of the voice continued to elude her. Over and over she listened to the tape, then dialed Uncle Charlie. Pictures. What pictures? She slammed down the receiver, just missing Uncle Charlie’s “Hello.”
The voice mentioned pictures. And the necklace. At first Aurora had been so intent on placing the voice that she hadn’t paid attention to the words.
She ran to the kitchen and pulled open the junk drawer. She saw the necklace still in the back of the drawer where she’d left it. Relieved, she quickly searched all the places in the house where pictures were stored, even flipped through photograph albums. There are no pictures here that would interest anyone except family and close friends. Besides, most of the albums were dumped on the floor the day Sam surprised the intruders.
Questions she couldn’t answer bombarded her. Were Sam’s attackers looking for pictures and the diamond and ruby necklace? If so, they didn’t find the necklace. But did they find the pictures? Or were his attackers random burglars who panicked when Sam surprised them? Whose voice is on the recorder, where have I heard it before, and how did the voice get in my house? Who was the voice talking to on the phone? Who are Jimmy Ray and Clyde? And most important, where are Sam and Little Guy?
Aurora nearly tripped over her mother’s needlepoint footstool in her haste to answer the telephone when it rang. Please let it be Sam.
“Hi, Aurora. This is Jill Hathaway.”
“Oh, hey.” She slumped down in the chair.
“Are you okay, Aurora? Your voice sounds funny, not like you.”
“I thought you might be Sam. I’m worried about him. He left the house with Little Guy around nine o’clock for a short walk and hasn’t returned. Hasn’t called, either. No one I’ve talked to knows where he is. I can’t shake the feeling something’s wrong. Have either you or Robert seen him today?”
“I haven’t. Hold on a sec and I’ll ask Robert.” Aurora held her breath as she waited.
“Sorry, Robert hasn’t seen him, either. Sam probably stopped at a neighbor’s house and forgot to call. You know how men are. Every male from age nine on believes he’s invincible and figures the woman in his life knows this. At least that’s what my grandmother always told me.”
Jill glanced at the clock beside the telephone, snapped her suitcase shut, and motioned to Robert that she was ready to leave.
“Aurora, I called to ask you a favor and to tell you I’m flying back to Washington, leaving in just a few minutes. Robert and I wondered if you would keep Russell a while longer. I won’t be here, and Robert’s too distraught right now to be a good caretaker, wouldn’t do as good a job taking care of Russell as you and Sam will do. Could you keep him for a few more days?”
“We’d be happy to keep Russell for as long as you wish, but right now I don’t even know where he is.”
“I’m sure Sam and Russell will come marching home any minute now. I must go, Aurora. Robert’s hired a private plane at the Smith Mountain Lake Airport to fly me back to D.C. Robert will drive me to the airport. He can’t go with me to Washington; the local police strongly advised him to stay here a while longer. Something about making himself available in case more questions surface. It was nice meeting you. I wouldn’t worry about your husband if I were you; I’m sure he will turn up soon. Goodbye.”
Aurora stared at the telephone receiver still in her hand. Was Jill’s voice the one on the tape? She wished she’d paid closer attention.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Clyde jammed the cell phone back in the case that hung from his black leather belt. He had dreaded calling Jimmy Ray. The guy was just plain nuts. He’d unleashed a stream of cuss words on Clyde before slamming the phone down. Why hadn’t Clyde told the boss to call Jimmy Ray himself? But Clyde knew the answer: he plain didn’t have the guts. If he bucked the boss, refused to do as instructed, the big money would stop rolling in, and his wife’s supply of drugs would cease. Clyde knew too much, and if he didn’t follow orders, his life wouldn’t be worth a damn. He’d seen it happen too often to poor suckers who crossed the boss. If the boss didn’t kill him, Clyde’s wife would destroy everything when he couldn’t supply her with the meth she craved. She said they were just diet pills, but he was no idiot. He knew she was addicted to them, as well as to crack.
The sound of squealing brakes startled him. Jimmy Ray, dressed in faded jeans and a black tee shirt printed with buxom topless women astride motorcycles, pulled himself out of the black four-wheel drive pickup truck, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it. He stuck his hand in through the open window and pulled out a beer, popped open the can, and took a long swig.
“Clyde, Clyde, Clyde. Why’d ya do it, man? Do you have the foggiest idea how good it wuz gonna git? That chick was hot. Real hot. Not a good time for a phone call, man.”
Jimmy Ray’s angry red face scared Clyde, but the look in those cold, squinty eyes frightened him the most. Moving a drowned man from the bottom of the lake didn’t appeal to Jimmy Ray, and Clyde knew he had to think smart and fast to prevent Jimmy Ray from blowing out of control.
“The boss needs you to help with this big-deal job for one reason only—he knows you’ll get it done right. He says to me, he says ‘Git Jimmy Ray. He won’t screw up. I can depend on the man. There ain’t a better team anywhere than Jimmy Ray Thompson and Clyde Perkins.’” Clyde hesitated, afraid to push his luck, but finally added, “So you ready to get to work?”
Jimmy Ray gnawed off a hangnail, pulled a cigarette from
his shirt pocket. He lit it, took three long drags, and tossed it to the ground. “Think I’ll just check in with the boss myself,” he said, yanking a cell phone identical to Clyde’s from its holder.
“What’d he say?” asked Clyde as Jimmy Ray finished talking to the boss. He wiped at the sweat trickling down his face. Jimmy Ray and the boss had talked for several minutes, although all Jimmy Ray had said was an occasional “Yep,” “Okay,” and “Will do.”
Jimmy Ray shrugged his shoulders and said only, “Let’s do it.”
Aurora lowered the binoculars. Hoping to glimpse Sam and Little Guy, she had scanned the shoreline on both sides of Spawning Run. Dejected, she walked away from the window just as King growled. Aurora whirled around to see a boat slowly motoring to the opposite side of the cove. “It’s Bad Boat, the boat that almost rammed Luke’s boat!” she said. She watched through the binoculars as the two men maneuvered the craft beyond her line of vision. Trying to spot the boat from a different angle, she stepped out on the deck. Good, I can see better now. The boat bobbed gently in the water. She panned the binoculars to the registration number on the side of the boat, but couldn’t read it. Her hands trembled too much.
She focused on the boat’s occupants. The larger man unbuttoned his shirt, folded it, and placed it neatly on the seat. He removed his shoes, then stuffed each with a brown sock. Aurora sucked in her breath when he unzipped his pants. Relieved when she saw a yellow and black bathing suit, she studied the man’s face through the binoculars.
Where have I seen him before? They’re up to something. She quickly ducked back inside the house and returned with the video camera and her digital camera. Whatever it is, I’m not going to miss it.
Aurora filmed as the man in the swimming trunks pulled on a diver’s wet suit. Next came the scuba unit—the buoyancy control device, scuba tank and regulator.
Aurora shivered as she remembered a long-ago dive. Several years back, Sam had treated both of them to scuba diving lessons in Augusta and, after becoming certified, the two had enjoyed numerous dives in the Savannah River, the Charleston Harbor, the Atlantic Ocean off Edisto Island, the Florida Keys, and even the Caribbean.
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