At each lesson, the instructor had stressed to his students that conditions differed in every body of water, but Aurora had not been prepared for the hazards awaiting divers in Smith Mountain Lake. Before this lake began to fill, construction crews cleared numerous hillsides, but trees in some low-lying areas were left standing. Those too tall to be covered by water were simply topped instead of removed. Dilapidated farmhouses, abandoned automobiles, barbed wire fences, and even a bridge slowly disappeared from view as the water level in the lake gradually rose. Now these unseen secrets of days gone by waited on the lake bottom as silent sentinels, providing safe havens to fish and other aquatic creatures.
But these same sentinels could kill a diver.
Once, in her eagerness to explore Spawning Run, Aurora failed to adhere to strict diver’s rules. And it nearly killed her. Never dive alone. Always carry a cutting tool. Even as she entered the water, those words rang in her head. But she dismissed them. After all, she rationalized to herself, this was her cove; she’d swum in it for years, knew nearly every inch of shoreline. The instructor’s words of warning screamed out to her again, but by then she had become hopelessly entangled in fishing line caught in a tree on the bottom of the lake. Even if she’d had an underwater light, she couldn’t have seen more than eighteen inches in front of her. At first she struggled. Then she willed herself to calm down to prolong her air supply and to think through her predicament. Her air nearly exhausted, Sam miraculously found her. He’d seen Aurora enter the water and had hurried after her. With his cutting tool, he’d freed her from the fishing line. With the search line he’d attached to the boat’s anchor, he’d guided them both safely back to the surface.
Aurora had never dived again.
Jerked back to the activity on the lake, she watched the boat’s diver pull on diving gloves and a mask. He grabbed a light and stepped off the gunwale, the flash of a large knife in his hand briefly visible as he disappeared into the lake.
As soon as Clyde descended into the murky depths, Jimmy Ray pulled out his cell phone. He placed a bet with his bookie and hung up. He surely did like cell phones; that was a big perk in this job. Why, he could call chicks any time he wanted, could make obscene phone calls while being paid to work. No, he never again would be without a cell phone. He glanced at his watch, then dialed again. He would call that sweet young thing he’d been harassing for a couple of weeks. The fear in her voice always excited him. And he liked the change he’d noticed in her when she darted outside her trailer home to check the mail, the way she shot frightened glances up and down the street before hurrying to the presumed safety of her home. Little did she know he could get her any time he chose. She hadn’t the foggiest idea her caller lived right across the street. He finished dialing, then got a better idea. He hung up and grinned, and dialed a new victim. The chance that Clyde’s wife would recognize his voice or that Clyde would catch him talking to her only excited him more.
Intent on recording the man in the boat, Aurora almost didn’t hear the incessant ringing of her own phone inside the house. She considered letting it ring, then thought it could be Sam. She left the camera running and stepped into the house.
“No, I’m not interested in changing long distance telephone providers,” she said. “Why? Because my husband is a vice president of your biggest competitor.” When the caller stammered her apologies and hung up, Aurora smiled. Yes, she had lied, but this particular lie was the only one she ever told, and she told it almost every time she received a telemarketing call. It just felt so good, so right.
Before she could return to the deck, the phone rang again. Still smiling, she expected the same telemarketer.
But she was wrong.
“Lady, a man just paid me $100.00 to read this message to you. Please don’t interrupt me. Here goes.
Bring the diamond and ruby necklace, pictures, negatives, and any undeveloped film your father took before he drowned—and you know the ones I mean—to Cabin 171E in Smith Mountain Lake State Park. Enter the cabin, place the items inside the white Styrofoam cooler to the left of the entrance door, and leave. Do not look back. Do not bring anyone with you or tell anyone. Then drive to Hales Restaurant, take a seat by a window, and await further instructions. Do this by 4:00 p.m. today. If you fail to deliver as instructed, your husband will die the same way your father did. This is not a joke.
“This is a joke, right, lady?” the caller asked.
But Aurora had dropped the phone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The descent wasn’t nearly as treacherous as the actual underwater search would be. The only diving Clyde had done in the last four years was right here at the lake, but his diving experience that began three decades ago down in the Florida Keys kicked in now. Hand over hand, he followed the anchor rope to the lake bottom. From there he began searching for the body of J. Melton Lampwerth IV, confident that if he remained focused, he would find Lampwerth. But it wouldn’t be easy. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding, the feeling that Jimmy Ray had just about reached his breaking point. It wouldn’t take much to set him off.
Every night for three months Clyde had dreamed the same nightmare. In the dream, he, Snake and Jimmy Ray would drown the old man, ignoring his desperate pleas. “Why don’t you just shoot me? I don’t want to drown! Please, don’t do this!” the old man begged. Clyde would wake up in a sweat remembering that foggy morning in January when Snake wrapped the anchor rope around the old man’s leg. He couldn’t forget when he, Snake and Jimmy Ray hoisted the old man and the anchor over the boat’s gunwale into the cold water, then capsized the man’s red rowboat to make it look like an accident. Damn, he despised himself. How could he have done such a thing? The old man’s words “You won’t get away with this!” rang inside Clyde’s head.
Clyde wondered how his peaceful life had changed so drastically. Growing up in rural Georgia, he’d gone to church every Sunday, even sang in the choir. He played second base on the church softball team, was a lineman on the high school football team, ranked number two in the state in high school wrestling in his weight division. Sure, he’d only had a high school education, but he’d been ambitious, a hard worker, a moral person. He had moved to the Florida Keys, taken diving lessons, and soon was earning big bucks working on an underwater salvage team.
Sheila, that’s what happened. He’d fallen hard the first time he saw her, dressed in white shorts and sky-blue halter, drinking a gin and tonic on the sailboat’s deck. In those days, Clyde had been tan, tall, muscular, not like now, and Sheila had succumbed to his charms—and his hard-earned money. She was so sexy, so sweet, so adoring. They were positive fate had created a special place just for them. Even now, after all these years and everything that had happened in their lives, he quivered with desire when he thought of his Sheila.
Six months after the quickie wedding, she had a baby. A preemie, they told family and friends, but everyone knew babies three months early never weighed eight and a half pounds. But who cared? After all, Sheila and Clyde loved each other, and both were devoted parents. And from the day she was born, Red, nicknamed after her mass of flaming red hair, never lacked for material things. Big mistake.
Then came the boozing and partying, which took their toll on both Clyde and Sheila. Clyde lost his high-paying job managing the salvage company. For a year they lived off the profits from the sale of their house while renting a tiny apartment. Then, nearly destitute, the family moved from Florida to Virginia where Clyde went to work for Sheila’s brother at Smith Mountain Lake. Another mistake. Sheila’s wealthy, can-do-no-wrong brother introduced her to drugs, and Clyde found himself plunged into a life of crime to pay for Sheila’s habit. If not for Sheila, Clyde could be working somewhere else doing honest labor, but he couldn’t abandon her. And so he stayed. Then Red, more interested in having a good time with the fraternity boys than studying, flunked out of Florida State and moved in with her parents.
Clyde snapped back to the job at
hand, attached one end of the search line to the anchor rope, and held the free end in his hand. From this point on he began the tedious search pattern of fanning out in one direction, returning to the anchor, then out again, thus making the anchor the hub in an imaginary wheel. Groping his way with gloved hands, he knew that eventually he’d discover the body. He was positive it was here. After all, he and Jimmy Ray had tied Lampwerth to a couple of cinder blocks and dumped him in this spot only a little over a week ago. Time after time Clyde’s hands touched tree limbs, fence posts, and even a deflated inner tube. Never the corpse. Even with his underwater light flipped on, visibility was so bad he could see only inches in front of him.
On the water’s surface, Jimmy Ray’s phone call to Sheila reached her answering machine. Knowing Clyde could surface any minute only enhanced Jimmy Ray’s excitement. He grinned in anticipation, whispered a couple of perverted thoughts into the phone, and hung up. Leaving messages was good, but occasionally he’d need to hear the fear in her voice. He’d call again later.
When air bubbles signaled Clyde’s ascent, Jimmy Ray put aside all thoughts of Sheila. Later, baby.
“Got it, Jimmy Ray. Pass me the line,” Clyde said as he surfaced beside the boat and whipped off his mouthpiece and goggles. He tied the line to one end of the freshly sliced rope still attached to Lampwerth. He’d had no trouble cutting the cinder blocks loose. “Help me get him in the boat.”
“Hell no, I ain’t gonna help you drag that squishy body in this here boat. He looks worse than crap. Don’t smell none too good, neither. Let’s tow him behind the boat; it sure won’t hurt his looks none.” Jimmy Ray laughed.
Clyde, not eager to touch the dead man any more than necessary, agreed.
“Wait up a sec, Clyde. Gotta git his diamond ring. Don’t know how I missed it before. The chicks go for flashy rings, you know. And this is a big ‘un.” Clyde gagged and looked away as Jimmy Ray pulled out his knife, leaned over the side of the boat and chopped off Lampwerth’s swollen finger. He tugged at the two-carat diamond ring, but it wouldn’t budge. Jimmy Ray swished the finger around in the water, then grinning, dropped the finger with ring intact in his pants pocket.
Clyde hauled himself into the boat, pulled up the anchor, turned the ignition, pushed the throttle forward, and began motoring slowly out of the cove.
“Uh oh,” Jimmy Ray said, “look over there. We got company.” He pointed to a pontoon boat loaded with sightseers about a hundred yards away.
“Let’s hope they stay in the main channel,” Clyde said. He throttled back to an idle and waited for the other boat to pass by. He and Jimmy Ray both relaxed an instant too soon. A passenger on the other boat pointed to the cove, hollered, and the pontoon boat suddenly changed course and headed straight for them.
“What’ll we do, Clyde? If they git too close they’ll see our dead dude.”
“Ahoy there,” shouted the pontoon captain. “Do you have a phone we can use?”
“Sorry, no,” Clyde yelled back.
“I’ve got a pregnant woman here. She’s just gone into labor, needs a doctor. How ‘bout your marine radio?” The pontoon boat inched closer to the idling cruiser.
“It’s broke. Been meaning to get it fixed.”
“I could pick him off easy,” Jimmy Ray said under his breath as he bent over and fingered his rifle resting on the boat’s floor.
“Listen carefully, Jimmy Ray. Put the gun down. Move slowly to the stern and cut Lampwerth loose. Maybe they won’t see him floating, then we can come back later and pick ‘im up. We can’t take a chance on them identifying us.”
For once Jimmy Ray did as he was told without arguing. Clyde shoved the throttle forward full speed and the boat bounded out of the cove. Seconds later screams of horror from the sightseers echoed across the water.
They’d discovered J. Melton Lampwerth IV.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Field investigator Lieutenant Ian Conner slammed down the phone, twirled around in his desk chair, clapped his hands together, and said, “Got ‘im!”
Sergeant Johnson pushed the filing cabinet drawer shut, turned and faced Conner. “Got who?”
“Reeves, Robert Reeves, that’s who. At least I’m pretty sure we got ‘im.”
“What happened?”
“That call I just received? Seems a tour boat captain, a Bud Karnes, found a floater about two hours ago in Spawning Run. That’s Reeves’ cove. Captain said his marine radio was busted, had a pregnant woman on board go into hard labor, and he needed to get her to shore fast, so he didn’t haul the body back with him. Didn’t call us when he docked because he wasn’t sure where he saw the body, couldn’t remember the closest buoy marker number. After he dropped off his party, he went back to locate the body. This time he remembered to take his cell phone with him, and he used that to contact the game warden.
“Anyhow, it sounds like our missing Lampwerth has finally surfaced. This is our lucky day.”
“Don’t we need a positive I.D. before we jump the gun?”
“Yeah, but the coroner and the body are on the way in right now. And we already have a copy of Lampwerth’s dental records, which will speed up the identification process. The boat captain will arrive here any minute to give us a statement.
“And get this. A confirmation fax came in earlier. The blood in Reeves’ foyer and the blood on the baseball bat match Lampwerth’s. And the bat belongs to Reeves.”
Johnson said, “And the accountant at Lampwerth International says Reeves was embezzling money from the company. Lots of money. The way I figure it, when Lampwerth found out someone was dipping into the company cookie jar, Reeves lured him to the lake on some pretense or other, killed Lampwerth, disposed of the body, then took a quick trip to establish an alibi. Bet when we check, we’ll find that he flew out of the lake airport. I think you’re right, Ian. I think we’ve got our killer.”
Conner slapped his hand on his knee and said, “We’re gonna make an arrest today.” Johnson just grinned.
“I’m going to Sheriff Rogers with this. Will let Judge Anderson know, too. Buzz me when Karnes gets here.”
“Will do.”
When Captain Karnes arrived a little later, Sergeant Johnson ushered him into the office and motioned for him to sit in one of the folding wooden chairs near the desk. Turning another chair around, its legs scraping on the worn hardwood floor, Johnson sat spread-eagled in his seat, one arm resting on the back of his chair. He leaned over and buzzed Lieutenant Conner.
“Mr. Karnes has arrived.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Mind if I smoke?” asked Karnes.
“Help yourself, Mr. Karnes. In fact, I think I’ll join you.” Sergeant Johnson opened the box on his desk, pulled out a cigar, lit it, and puffed until he was sure it would stay lit. It didn’t, so he lit it again.
“So did the woman have the baby on your boat?”
“I was certain she would, but we made it back to the marina. Would you believe her luck? An obstetrician getting ready to go water skiing was just launching his ski boat when we docked. I was yelling at the top of my lungs for help, and he rushed over. Delivered twin boys right there on the dock.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope, it’s the truth. She’s gonna name one after me, and the other after the doctor.”
“Why was she in a boat in the first place if she was nine months pregnant?”
“Her husband said she was only eight months along, so they figured she’d be okay.”
At that moment, Lieutenant Conner hurried into the room, introduced himself, and started questioning Karnes.
Aurora searched through the house again as she looked for any pictures that could pertain to the menacing message she had received thirty minutes ago. Stymied, she flopped down on the couch and sat staring into space.
Maybe there aren’t any pictures. Maybe that call was just a silly, vicious prank. But he knew about the necklace. And where is Sam? He should have retur
ned hours ago. I can’t take the chance that he could be killed.
Fear for Sam gripped her, and Aurora stood up and walked the floor. In her mind she went over every place in the house where her parents had stored pictures in the past. No new ideas came to mind. I’ve never given up on anything; I won’t cave in now.
She again thought about where she had already searched and what she could have missed. She jumped up and rushed to her dad’s workshop in the basement. She wanted another look at the picture frame and the message she hadn’t understood on the frame her dad made. Picking up the finished frame, she turned it over and read again “Ask Wyeth.” Next she inspected the unfinished frame, realizing she’d not checked it earlier. There was a message all right, but also different from those on all the previous completed ones. The words “Phone lines cut” jumped out at her.
She leaned on the workbench and looked again at the two frames, reading “Phone lines cut,” then “Ask Wyeth” aloud several times. She was sure the inscriptions were clues left by her dad.
Aurora laid the frames back on the workbench and raced upstairs with King right behind her. Wyeth. Dad’s collection of books illustrated by Wyeth! Reaching the living room, she ran to the bookcase and pulled out Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Black Arrow. She rifled through the pages, then looked for more books in the collection. “Where is Treasure Island? It should be right here with Kidnapped and The Black Arrow. And where are Dad’s other books illustrated by Wyeth? Where are they?”
Thanks to the vandals, all the books were hodge-podged on the shelves. Aurora spent precious minutes finding and examining copies of the books she sought. When she finally finished checking each volume, she stood, puzzled, her hands on her hips. I just knew the pictures were hidden in one of the books. I was sure of it. I was wrong. “Ask Wyeth, ask Wyeth” kept running through her head.
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