by Betina Krahn
“But you know where she kept the set,” Tyler pressed.
After a short hesitation, Finn nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Where did she keep it?”
“In a glass cabinet in the den.”
“How did you notice it was there? Did you admire it?”
Finn let out a barking laugh. “No.”
Tyler braced his hand on the kitchen table and leaned toward Finn. “How, Mr. Hastings?”
His gaze, which had just enough green to mark him as related to Andrea, met Tyler’s and held. “She bragged about it. She was mostly background noise, you know? But she loved that stupid tea set, ’cause she went on and on about it until some of the stuff sunk in.”
“And what sunk in?”
“It belonged to Andrew Jackson. The president,” he clarified with an uncertain look around. “He took it with him to the White House.”
When he stopped, Tyler prompted, “Anything else?”
After a long pause, Finn stared at the floor. “It was priceless.”
Hamilton rose. “That’s enough. If you have follow-up questions, Deputy, you can arrange them at another time. Mr. Hastings has been more than cooperative with this abrupt request for an interview.”
“So have I, Counselor,” Tyler returned, putting some heat in his tone. “Two thefts inside a week is practically a crime spree for Palmer’s Island. I could have insisted on calling him to the station. I didn’t, out of respect for Andrea.”
Hamilton nodded, then not-so-subtly nudged him toward the front door. “We have full confidence that you’ll bring this…spree—” he seemed to be amused by the word “—to a satisfactory end.”
“And I will.” Before Hamilton could open the door and shove Tyler outside, he planted his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d like to talk to Andrea.”
“I suggest you call—”
“Thanks, Carr,” Andrea said as she appeared at the end of the hall. “I have a few things to say to Deputy Landry.”
“Of course.” Hamilton nodded in that calm, elegant way of his that set Tyler’s teeth on edge. “Finn and I will go out on the back deck and give you some privacy.”
After a quick murmuring, Tyler heard the back door open, then close. Andrea said nothing during that time. She leaned against the foyer wall, her gaze fixed on his face.
“That was lousy,” she said.
He was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about her friend Carr Hamilton’s hand brushing down her arm before he’d turned away. For Tyler, however, that image was burned into his memory like a brand. “I’m sorry,” he said, fighting to focus on his job.
“Did you have to be so cold?”
“I had to be professional. I have a duty to honor—much as that sounds goofy and old-fashioned.”
“It doesn’t. This is just…” She trailed off, lifting her hands, then letting them drop, obviously not knowing what this was.
Unfortunately, Tyler didn’t, either. He wanted to touch her, but she seemed much farther away than the physical distance where she stood. He’d fought battles, flew through hostile skies, parachuted onto beaches in the blackened night, knowing daylight might bring his death.
But he didn’t know how to fight this.
How did he honor his commitments and not ruin everything he wanted to have with Andrea?
“I don’t want my brother part of this investigation,” she said finally.
“I’m sorry. He is.”
“Do you believe he answered your questions truthfully?”
“Yes.”
“Because he’s my brother, and I believe him, or because you think he’s innocent?”
He hesitated a second, uncertain whether the truth would help or hurt. “I’m not sure.”
She dropped her gaze and turned away. “Let me know when you decide.”
He grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is upset you.”
“And I’m sorry, but I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect my brother. He’s paid for his mistakes, and I won’t have him doubted by anybody.” Her eyes darkened with regret. “Even you.”
8
CARRYING A SCREAMING HEADACHE direct from Andrea’s into the police station, Tyler caught sight of two people who made him want to turn around and go right back out again.
Lester Cradock, his opponent in the election for sheriff, paced beside Aqua’s glassed-in office. His trademark bullwhip—he was a staunch gun-control advocate—was hooked to his belt loop and snapped against his skinny leg with each step.
The other occupant of the room was his mother. She was sitting in a chair, campaign posters and a book in her lap. Probably the latest volume of crossword puzzles. Solving every last one was part of her grand plan for avoiding Alzheimer’s.
He loved her, of course, and he wanted to be sheriff, but he needed to concentrate on his cases. He had to prove Finn Hastings guilty—and destroy his closeness with Andrea—or he had to dismiss him and find the real thief. Maybe saving his career and his love life.
When he felt so close to failing, he didn’t need the reminder that he was expected to live up to his family’s sterling reputation.
“There you are, honey,” his mother said, rising and scooting toward him.
“Hi, Mama.” He kissed her cheek and tried to look pleased to see her. “You look pretty today.”
Her face flushed. “You always know just the right—”
“Deputy!” Lester called, marching over. “I have some important town matters to discuss with you. Can’t the personal business wait?”
“Lester,” Tyler began in a smooth tone, belying his annoyance at the other man’s rude interruption, “do you know my mother, Sophia Landry?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with forced politeness. “But since I don’t suppose I can count on your vote in two weeks, I won’t give you one of my manifestos on the changes that need to be immediately instated to our island’s archaic justice system.”
Tyler’s mother smiled, sweet as the seven generations of Southern belle that flowed through her veins. “And I am most thankful for that gracious reality.”
Lester frowned, apparently uncertain whether or not he’d been insulted.
Cheered, Tyler took his mother’s arm and led her away. “This won’t take long, Lester. Why don’t you have a seat in the meantime?”
Back in the sheriff’s office, he offered his mom coffee and the seat in front of the desk. “Mama, as much as I appreciate you handling Lester, I need to talk to him to get rid of him, so I can get back to work. Maybe I could come by the house later on?”
“That’s fine, dear.” She smoothed her hands down her flowered skirt. “I only wanted to bring you some more campaign posters.” She laid the stack on his desk, then leaned back, undoubtedly about to launch into the real reason she’d come. There were posters on every pole, window and bulletin board on the island. “You might be interested to know that a reporter at the newspaper has already called both your father and I, and your grandfather, wanting to know if we think you can handle the responsibilities of sheriff.”
Tyler barely resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands. “The island newspaper?” he asked, wondering how far the humiliation planned to spread.
“Yes. This reporter went on a rant about some missing silver. He’d apparently talked to Cal Wells this morning, who’s upset about his volleyball trophy.”
Tyler held up his hand to forestall the rest of the explanation. “I know, Mama. I’m on it.”
“Of course I told this idiotic busybody reporter that you could handle the responsibilities of being sheriff just fine. Honestly.” She let out a huff of disgust. “You’re a lieutenant in the United States Navy. A decorated officer, first-rate pilot and hero to your unit.”
“I appreciate your confidence, but I doubt Cal or Mrs. Jackson care about my military record. They just want their stuff back.”
“You’ll be a wonderful sheriff.” She reached across the desk
and patted his hand. “Just like your grandfather.”
He hadn’t shared any of the trauma of leaving the Navy with his mother. He hadn’t told her he doubted his ability to lead and serve his community, and he couldn’t bring himself to share his uncertainties now. Greatness had followed every step of his life. She didn’t have to know about his single misstep. “I’ll do my best, Mama.”
Rising, she walked around the desk and kissed his cheek. “Make sure you get your hair cut before the swearing-in ceremony. I want some nice pictures of you and your grandfather in your uniforms.”
Victory was a foregone conclusion.
Wasn’t it?
After escorting his mother outside, he reluctantly called Lester back to the office. He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and took two aspirin as he listened to the other man ramble on about campaign reform—he was in favor. Dolphin poaching—he was against.
The guy had passion, Tyler would give him that. Unfortunately, the fact that campaigns on the island consisted of a debate at the rotary club and a few hundred posters stapled to telephone poles and bulletin boards was lost on Lester. The reality of legal jurisdictions had also escaped his notice. The Coast Guard pretty much had a lock on the safeguarding of marine life.
He was considering personally financing Lester’s bid for Congress—then Washington could deal with him rather than his fellow islanders—when he barked out, “Did you look at my proposal on banning guns? Despite the fact that we’re opponents, I think if we both came out strongly in favor of the policy, the citizens would respond.”
Tyler sighed. “Lester, while I agree guns have no business in the hands of kids or inexperienced users, they’re a pretty crucial piece of equipment for a cop.”
“But they shouldn’t be,” Lester asserted, his beady eyes narrowed.
“And maybe someday somebody will invent something better. Till then we use what we’ve got.”
Smirking, Lester held up his whip. “I’ve got this.”
“Can you flick that thing faster than a bullet shot out of a nine millimeter pistol?”
“Hmm…”
“When you can, we’ll talk.”
After that serious blow of physics, Tyler managed to get Lester out of the office. Alone and leaning back in his chair, he ran through the theft cases one by one. Eyes closed, he pictured the actual crimes, trying to line up the facts with his thoughts and instincts.
And something was plain down screwy.
Especially when he tried to cast Finn Hastings as the culprit.
If he knew Mrs. Jackson’s silver was priceless—and he’d admitted he did—he also had to know fencing such a piece wouldn’t be easy. And no way would he consider using his sister to help him. He had to know she’d never do so.
Neither could Tyler picture Finn helping himself to the volleyball trophy. If he was tempted to take anything, there was probably plenty of easily sold jewelry around. He’d confirm that when Dwayne returned, but the Wells house was easily worth two million dollars. It followed that they’d filled it with valuable things. Things that could be shoved in a pocket without detection.
Instead, the thief had broken in the house in the middle of the night and taken a worthless, three-foot-tall trophy?
He couldn’t make the scene play in his head.
What had happened, however, he couldn’t say. He only knew one thing at this point. His life would never be back on track until he’d closed these cases.
He’d wanted—needed, really—a break from balls-to-the-wall military action. He’d come home to find the reasons he’d gone off to fight in the first place. His feelings for Andrea were a living, breathing reminder of beauty and purity, the core of defending God and country.
Semper Fidelis. Always faithful.
She embodied the phrase that wasn’t just a slogan, but a way of life. Her defense of her brother demonstrated her strength, character and loyalty.
He was so damn crazy about her.
“Sir, I’ve got the evidence from the Wells house,” Dwayne said as he walked into the office.
Determined to get answers for his fellow islanders, as well as—hopefully—repair his relationship with Andrea, Tyler rose. “Let’s get to it.”
BY SUNSET, TYLER HAD parked his SUV in the church parking lot near the side of the old orphanage.
He was doing his duty and possibly betraying his lover, but he didn’t see how they could move forward, or how he’d get elected, if he didn’t find out who was responsible for the thefts.
Even if the guilty party was her brother.
Finn walked down the sidewalk a few minutes later and got into one of the church vans. Tyler followed him at a discrete distance as he headed toward town.
Surely, if he was set on nefarious business, he wouldn’t do so in a church van? But then the whole reason suspicion had fallen on Finn in the first place was because he’d delivered meals to the elderly for a church-sponsored program.
The younger man drove smoothly, without speeding, to the ice cream shop just around the corner from the historic buildings of city hall.
While Tyler parked in front of the souvenir shop nearby, he watched Finn order a giant sundae, talk with some of the teens who were hanging out and have a brief conversation in the shadows of a palm with a pretty brunette.
Finn left after talking to the girl, presumably, by the route he took, heading back to the church. Andrea had mentioned a curfew, and it appeared her brother adhered to it.
Since tourist season had waned, it was hard for Tyler to put cars between him and Finn or to keep a discrete distance without calling attention to himself, and he couldn’t help but think that if Finn was the thief he was pretty damn calm about it.
Moments later, Finn made an abrupt move and pulled off the side of the road.
Even as he wondered if the guy had car trouble, Tyler had no choice but to roll past him. Had Finn spotted the tail? Had he gotten a call from the cute brunette?
While Tyler considered the ideas and looked for a place to turn around and double-back, lights suddenly flashed in his rearview mirror.
Finn.
When Tyler glanced back, the young man waved.
Shaking his head at his gullibility, Tyler pulled over in the post office parking lot. Finn had spent time in prison. He was in a gang before that. Despite getting caught, he certainly had plenty of street smarts.
As Tyler exited his vehicle, he saw Finn do the same.
The other man raised his hands, then crossed them over his narrow chest and leaned back onto the front grill of the van. “Did you need to talk to me, Deputy?”
“I already did.”
“And I guess I didn’t convince you with my answers.”
“I have to be sure.”
“You like my sister.”
Tyler didn’t flinch at the abrupt question and also didn’t bother to ask how Finn knew of his feelings. He imagined they were pretty obvious to everybody. “Very much,” he said simply.
“Does that mean you’re going to let me off?”
Tyler looked into eyes that weren’t the same vibrant color as Andrea’s but had the same steely determination, and realized he wanted to make her happy more than he wanted to solve this case. “Have you done anything you’d like to confess?”
“Father Dominick handles confessions.”
The kid was smart like his sister, too. Tyler just hoped he was innocent. “Have you done anything that would require me to arrest you?”
“No, sir, but sometimes that doesn’t matter when you’re one of the only ex-felons on an island this small.”
“It does to me.”
Tyler let Finn go and drove home, brooding about the case and certainly about being caught tailing a suspect.
Trudging inside his rented house a mere block from the beach, he glanced around at the leased furniture and wondered if he belonged here. The island was his home, always would be in his heart, but he’d spent so much of his time on the road, he wondered if he had
the commitment to settle down.
He tossed his keys on the kitchen table and headed for his bedroom, though he doubted he’d sleep. If Finn was the thief, he wasn’t sure he could arrest him. Another conviction would send the kid back to prison for a long, long time. Could he have that on his conscience? Then again, how could he not solve the crime? What kind of would-be sheriff did that make him?
Sheriff Caldwell would be back in ten days; the election would be held in two weeks. So, he certainly didn’t have long to decide where his loyalties lied.
THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER little sleep, Tyler walked into the station with his sunglasses on and his third cup of coffee in his hand.
And he was no closer to solving the thefts.
His tailing of Finn Hastings had been a disaster, so he was no closer to learning whether the kid had gone back to his old ways or not.
The results from the fingerprint evidence on the Wells house that he and Dwayne had processed the afternoon before basically matched those from the Jackson scene. Prints everywhere. The victims dominated. The others from the Jackson home had been eliminated as the cleaning service, and since the Wellses didn’t use the same service, they still had to process those prints before determining who they belonged to.
None of the prints, so far, belonged to anybody who had a criminal record. Unless Tyler counted Cal’s misdemeanor conviction for streaking when he attended the College of Charleston over twenty years before.
And not only did Tyler not count Cal’s past as a trend toward breaking the law, he’d been forced to put it out of his mind in favor of two other, more immediate problems.
One, the extremely short, emotionless quote he’d given to a newspaper reporter who’d wanted a comment about the case. He didn’t see how he could change what he’d said, but would his constituents wonder if he cared at all? Maybe he’d been professional, but also distant. Did he even deserve the job?
Especially given problem number two: how long would it be before Finn told his sister about last night’s surveillance? And how long after that before she threw him out of her life?