by Maggie Pill
“I noticed you,” Faye told her. “You looked too young to fit in.”
Holden smiled ruefully. “I wish I’d known who you were. I could have saved you some scary moments.” She continued her account. “Several times last night and this morning, Draco went back to the meeting site to see if Ms. Evans had showed up. He never found her, but an hour ago he saw Troy hitchhiking south. Draco called me, and I went downhill on foot. Between us we took him into custody.”
“He tried to kill Cray,” I said. “He planned to kill Faye and me, and—” That brought back my fear of what was to come. “We have to find Barbara, Agent Holden.”
She glanced at Draco. “The county guys and the inn staff are already searching, and we’ll get more people in to help. And dogs.” The tight muscles around her lips told me she believed they’d find a corpse.
After the “We’ll leave no stone unturned” speech they always give terrified relatives, Holden went off to speak to her partner. I took hold of Faye’s arm. “What if Barbara Ann is—”
Faye cut me off before I said the word. “Margaretta Joy, we’re not going to think that way.” Faye’s taut face told me I was not allowed to even hint Barbara Ann was dead until we were absolutely sure.
Instead of trying to change her mind, I nodded. If Faye wasn’t ready to stop hoping, then neither would I. It was harder for me though, because Troy’s gloating voice kept drifting through my mind. “…a bad accident.”
Holden returned to say that neither Troy nor Gretchen admitted seeing Barbara. “Gretchen says all the ‘old broads’ looked alike to her, but she was only told to keep track of Mrs. Burner.” Holden’s head tilted. “I think Troy’s hiding something, but it might not apply to Ms. Evans. The man has a lot to hide.”
It was time to be completely honest. “I’m pretty sure he…did something to Barbara.” I told them about the struggle outside the shed the day before. “He came back later and said—” Tears began again as I finished, though I thought I’d wept them all away in the night. “—he drowned her in the bay.”
Faye’s arm went around my shoulders, and I heard her speak to Holden as I rested my head on her shoulder and sobbed. “Gretchen said both my sisters were dead, but Retta’s right here, alive and well. If she was wrong about Retta, she might be wrong about Barb.”
Just then we heard a shout, and I raised my head to look. Deputy Barrett hurried toward us, crossing the road with hardly a glance for oncoming traffic. When he got close enough to speak he said, “One of my men just radioed to say he found a corpse on the beach.”
Chapter Forty-five
Barb
Wake up. Wake up!
Light reflected off the placid water and slid through the leaves, making me squint. My mind tried again to regain control, but the rest of me wasn’t cooperating. I heard tiny waves lapping. I felt a breeze at my back, humid enough to perhaps signal rain to come. I winced at the scratchy grit on my tongue. And I smelled the damp of decaying leaves. It was an effort, but I involved the fifth of my senses, opening one eye enough to see tree roots before my face with long-dead oak leaves trapped among them.
Something needed me. An image floated along my eyelids—a cat, square-built and self-sufficient. It had a name—a silly name. It needed a better one. Without me, who would scratch its ears and feed it treats? I had a vague idea Dale might, though I wasn’t completely sure who Dale was.
Get up. Get up!
I tried. Pulling one arm forward, I pushed myself up out of the sand. The world started spinning, and my stomach threatened to exit through my throat.
There was something I had to do. There was someone I had to meet. There was—it was too much. I sank back to the damp sand.
Chapter Forty-six
Faye
Agent Holden suggested we stay at the inn, but we refused. Promising to stop when she told us to, we followed her out the drive, across the highway, and down the steep decline to the bay. Where the soil turned to beach we turned right, toward a small group of people who stood around a prone form.
Relief flooded my mind as I looked ahead. Even from a distance I could tell the dead person was much larger than Barb and dressed in a water-soaked business suit.
Holden put up a hand and we stopped, as we’d agreed to do. She approached the body, ordering those nearby to back away in their own footprints to preserve the scene as much as possible. I was pretty sure a lot of evidence had been obliterated by searchers and shifting sand, but she did a careful assessment, stopping every few feet to take pictures with her phone and circling the body to get all angles. That the man was dead was obvious from the color of his skin, but she checked his carotid anyway, kneeling carefully and waiting several seconds for a pulse that wasn’t there. Beginning with his jacket pocket, she searched the body for identification.
We watched in a combination of fascination and impatience. Finally Retta whispered in my ear, “Why aren’t they looking for Barbara?”
“They will,” I answered, “but this is going to distract them for a while.”
Holden said something to the others before starting toward us. They followed her, and when we were one group she made a general announcement. “It’s Roger Engel. I thought I recognized him, and his driver’s license confirms it, at least for now. Shot at close range.”
I had a moment’s thought for Dina. Would she be sorry her father was dead? It might help that he’d apparently come north to deal with Honny’s treachery in person, possibly to support her. Roger Engel had misjudged his daughter, believing her incapable of handling a business. That was sad, but he also had badly misjudged Honny. For that, he’d paid with his life.
Retta nudged me, and thoughts of Dina fled. She’d have to deal with her grief. My sister and I had our own family crisis to handle.
Chapter Forty-seven
Retta
The people around us were mostly silent as they waited for the techs who would document the scene. Most seemed stricken, looking for probably the first time in their lives at a murder victim. Others seemed faintly excited, and I imagined them telling friends and family for the next few weeks about the time they were there at the end of a drug lord’s career.
No one said anything about the search for Barbara. It would resume soon, but for Faye and me, soon wasn’t good enough. “We should go,” I murmured, surveying the shore to the south. I pictured what might have happened yesterday. Barbara had started running from Troy at the shed, which was on the south side of the vineyard. If she’d made it to the bay, then what?
“…found it a ways down,” an inn employee was telling Agent Holden. “He brought it up to the inn and I put it with the others.”
“What was that?” I asked Faye. “What did someone find?”
“A canoe.” She pointed. “It was floating down there late yesterday afternoon.”
“Come on, then. That’s where we need to look.” We might have split up and covered more territory, but neither of us suggested it. We needed to be together, whatever we found.
A light rain, the wind, and the waves had swept the sand clear of signs. With nothing to see on the shore we angled into the trees, circling any that had trunks large enough to hide a person.
“You know how they say you’d feel it if someone you love was dead?” Faye asked as we walked. “I don’t feel it.”
I didn’t tell her that was the stuff of fiction. We believe we can sense imminent trouble, but it isn’t true. The day my husband was killed had been like any other, and until his brother officers knocked on my door, I had no idea what tragedy had befallen me. If a person can’t imagine the world without a loved one, she doesn’t.
I turned away from Faye’s hopeful expression. Since hearing Troy’s cruel account of Barbara Ann’s drowning I’d tried to remain optimistic, but in my heart I accepted that she was dead. Faye was still hoping, and I couldn’t bear to watch.
That’s when I saw a plain, flat sandal sticking out from behind a clump of trees.
Chapter
Forty-eight
Barb
I won’t bore anyone with a detailed account of what it’s like to ride in an ambulance, be admitted to a hospital, and undergo emergency surgery. If you’ve experienced it you know all about it, and if you haven’t, well, good for you.
I don’t remember a lot of it anyway. Mostly I recall a vague feeling of relief that someone else was in charge. Faye was there, holding my hand. She kept saying Retta had gone for help that wasn’t far away. Then there was a flurry of people around me and the helpless sensation that comes with being strapped down, carried with practiced ease by trained rescuers, and transported by ambulance. People tell you things as you ride along, but only some of them compute. Mostly they talk over you as if you aren’t there, and to be honest, you don’t really care. Soon there are white ceilings with bright lights, and you move along with swift efficiency, expending no effort whatsoever. Kind people tell you what’s going to happen next—not that you care much about that either.
And then there’s a long space where you know nothing at all.
I woke several times to find Faye sitting in a chair in a corner. Once she snored softly, resting her chin on her chest. Other times she paged through magazines without much real interest. I thought about saying something to her, but it was too much effort.
Later a doctor came in to talk about gunshot wounds and concussions. Faye was still in the chair, and Retta peered over his shoulder. He asked if I remembered where I was, and I managed to get out a wispy “Yes.” He explained what he’d done to repair my shoulder, told me I was lucky the bullet hadn’t done more damage than it did, and warned that therapy was in my future. My head trauma was apparently healing nicely.
“I’ll see that she does whatever you say,” Retta assured him.
I didn’t have the energy to argue, but I think I managed to express disapproval with an eyebrow.
Chapter Forty-nine
Faye
Once it was certain Barb would be all right, Retta and I took turns leaving the hospital to provide official statements about what had happened at St. Millicent’s. Retta spent a lot of time on the phone with Lars, who wanted to know everything. I spoke to Rory, who blamed himself for some reason.
“Rory, you couldn’t have known she’d get shot.”
“No.” He didn’t sound as if he meant it.
“She’s going to be fine.”
“So you said.”
“She doesn’t want you to fuss or miss work. She says she’ll see you when she gets home.”
“That sounds like Barb.” He seemed a little less tense. “What does Lars say about all this?”
“Well, Troy eventually told the FBI everything. He got a call from a friend in Detroit warning that Roger was on his way up here. He wanted to take the money and run, but Honny figured it was the perfect time to get rid of Roger and set himself up as the new top man.”
“He met Roger on the beach and shot him.”
“That’s the operating theory.” I paused. “All they have to do is track him down.”
“They haven’t found him yet? It’s a peninsula, for Pete’s sake.”
“His photo is posted everywhere, and he’s got no vehicle. It’s just a matter of time.”
“What about Engel’s daughter?”
“She’s offered the Bureau full access to his records, which should be a gold mine of associates and conspirators.”
I recalled Dina’s face when she’d been told her father was dead. Cecily had taken her into her arms like they were old friends, comforting her at first then tending to what needed to be done so Dina didn’t have to. I hoped that meant the two women might go forward together, with Dina as designer and Cecily as her assistant. The image made me happy, and I said, “I think she’ll be all right.”
“And how are you, Faye?”
“I’m sticking close to Barb.” In fact I was outside her hospital room, watching her sleep.
“And Retta?”
“She’s fine.” I sighed. “It was a really scary experience, but we made it through.”
Rory chuckled. “Maybe that sister power thing of yours really works. When do you think you’ll be back in Allport?”
“If things go well with Barb’s shoulder, she’ll be released tomorrow. Retta’s going back to St. Millicent’s with two deputies this afternoon. They’ll clear up the details with the inn staff while the Bureau handles the larger concerns, and she’s riding along to pick up our things and her car.”
“What about Barb’s?”
“One of the officers agreed to drive it vehicle back to our hotel in Traverse City. I’ll drive her home when she’s ready.”
“Tell her—” His voice got funny. “Tell her I’ll be here.”
“Sure thing, Rory.”
Chapter Fifty
Retta
Deputies Barrett and Weisnewski couldn’t have been nicer, and we chatted about a lot of things on the way to St. Millicent’s. Barrett had been reading up on Brad and Angelina, but Weisnewski insisted it was all a publicity thing. I’d long ago lost interest in that particular story, though I buy People faithfully and try to keep up on who’s with who (Barbara would remind me it should be whom, but I think that word is totally archaic and should be dropped from the language).
The weather had turned cool and rainy, but the drive was just as pretty as before. Instead of sunshine, the trees were lit with moisture that made them look deep and impenetrable. And the bay was every bit as impressive in shades of gray as it had been in blue. It was a little creepy riding in the back of a police car though. Talk about feeling closed in!
When we got to the inn, I thanked the deputies for the ride and handed Weisnewski Barbara Ann’s car keys. “I’ll see you at the Holiday Inn,” I told her, and she nodded. As I turned toward my car, I felt a pulse in my jacket pocket. Taking out my phone, I read a message from Rory Neuencamp. Don’t take any chances while that guy is still on the loose.
Rory’s cautious attitude made me smile. He was so much like Barbara Ann, always looking for the shadow in the corner. It was weird though, because the message conjured the image of Troy taking my car keys and sliding them into his pocket. Where had those keys ended up?
“Deputy Barrett, would you wait a minute?”
He was almost to the inn door, but he turned, his handsome face politely interested. “Sure.”
“The guy who kidnapped us took my car keys.”
“You said you had a spare set in the wheel well.”
“Right, but what if he gave them to Honny Bellows?”
“It wouldn’t do him any good. We’ve got roadblocks on the highway.” He pointed at my car. “See? It’s still here.”
I waited, and he finally got it. With a serious glare at the parking lot he said, “He’s hiding in there.”
“I’m not saying he is, but it’s possible. He could come out at night to eat and--whatever. The back windows are tinted, so no one can see in.”
“And he can listen to the radio to find out when we pull the roadblocks.”
I glanced at my car. “I’m just saying it’s possible.”
“Wow.” Barrett looked very young and decidedly unsure of himself. Was he competent to handle this or should I insist he call for backup? I glanced at Weisnewski, whose hand strayed unconsciously to her sidearm.
“Mrs. Stilson, I need you to go inside and keep everyone there until we come for you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Barrett said, “Now, ma’am.” The friendly manner I’d seen earlier was gone. Weisnewski took a step to the side, forming a line with her partner that sent a silent message. They were the professionals. I should butt out.
Moving past them, I entered the inn. It was almost empty on a Wednesday morning, but I told the desk clerk what was going on and asked her to keep everyone inside. She got on the phone immediately, and I went down the hall to the side door that faced the parking lot. I opened it a slit, eager to know what was happening outside.
Barrett
approached my car from the road and Weisnewski from the vineyard side, both with weapons drawn but at their sides. About thirty feet back they stopped, met each other’s gaze, planted their feet, and raised their guns. I noted they’d chosen positions that assured they wouldn’t be in each other’s crossfire if there was shooting.
“Honny Bellows. We know you’re in the blue Acadia. Come out with your hands up.” Barrett’s voice sounded different than before, like the quarterback giving commands on the field sounds so much tougher than that same man doing shaving cream commercials.
Nothing happened.
“Bellows! The next step is tear gas and stun grenades. Come out of there now.”
Again nothing for a few seconds. Then the back door on the driver’s side opened a few inches. “I’m coming out. Don’t shoot.”
I wanted to warn them not to trust him, but that wasn’t necessary. “Unload your gun and drop it onto the ground before you get out.”
Seconds later, bullets clattered onto the pavement. Then the gun hit with a metallic clatter.
“Okay.” Barrett stepped forward and kicked the gun across to Weisnewski, who picked it up and stowed it in the back of her waistband.
“Come out with both hands in sight,” Barrett ordered. “Move slowly and drop to your knees as soon as you’re out of the vehicle. Once you’re in the position, put your hands on the back of your head, fingers interlaced.”
The door opened wider, and a man got out of my car. He wore a hooded sweatshirt over leggings that were a little much for a man his age. I’d never seen him before, but the turquoise flip-flops recalled Faye’s description. Stepping away from my car, Honny dropped to his knees, as ordered. When he put his hands behind his head, Weisnewski visibly relaxed.