Tin God; Skeleton's Key; Ashes and Bone

by Stacy Green

  “That’s the foundation of the Semple house.” Cage squinted at the picture. Mayor Asher was easily recognizable, as was Joseph Stanley. The other man was partially hidden, but his stature, and the way the other two men seemed to be looking at him, their heads angled down like obedient dogs, suggested the other man could be Wyatt Booth.

  “There’s more.” Amy brought up another picture. A clear shot of Wyatt Booth standing with his arms crossed, balanced on the bank of White Creek.

  “That’s the border between Ironwood and the Semple land.” Cage’s chest tightened. Adrenaline made his fingers restless. He drummed them on the edge of Amy’s desk. “That tree’s on Dani’s side. Needs to come down, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “Those are the only pictures, but there are text files.” Amy shot Cage an irritated glance, her eyelashes shining with some sort of silver glitter, and then looked pointedly at his fidgety hand. He jammed his hands in his pockets. Amy brought up the text file.

  “Is that a bank statement?” Gina leaned forward, lower lip pinched between her teeth.

  “Yep,” said Amy. “Looks like Memory Lane was making payments to Weston Construction every month. Same amount, regardless of their profits. A few times, there are deposits from a personal checking account. Ben Moore’s. Like he’s covering the difference.”

  “Did you find out who owns Weston Construction?” Gina asked.

  “Yep. Here’s the weird part. It’s a really small construction company in Jackson that hasn’t done any business since its owner died of a drug overdose. Guy’s name was Tim Lyons.”

  Gina smacked the wall, her usual stern expression lit with excitement. “That’s the project manager for the housing development with the mold issue. The one Booth fired and was rumored to be talking to the police and suddenly wound up dead.”

  “No coincidence.” Cage’s mind ran sprints. “Amy, did you find out who’s in charge of Weston now? Is the guy’s widow still getting the money?”

  “Nope,” Amy said. “According to tax records, Mrs. Lyons sold the business in an auction. Norton Investments purchased it, but they haven’t done anything with it. I’m assuming Norton folded Weston’s clients into their own, yet the business is still collecting money. But not as income. They’re just a holding source. And before you ask, no, they didn’t file a tax return.”

  “When does this start?” Gina asked.

  “Ben started making payments to Weston the month after Lyons died,” Amy said. “And the pictures are from eighteen months ago.”

  Sonofabitch.

  Everything was starting to make sense now. Cage thought Ben Moore had brought Norton to Roselea after the foreclosure on Semple had been announced, but that didn’t jive with what Red believed. And Red was right. Norton had come to Roselea long before that. And he’d bet they sought out Ben for his hometown connection.

  “Hold up,” Gina said. “The Semple farm didn’t go into foreclosure until two weeks after these pictures were taken. I remember that clearly.”

  “So you were right,” Cage said. “Booth wanted that property, and the mayor made it happen. This is about more than a damned resort.”

  Gina nodded. “One day you’ll learn I’m almost always right.”

  “Here’s what’s really bugging me,” Amy said. “The Jackson forensics guys confirmed that these files were encrypted on Ben’s computer. And then sent to Nick Samuels’s email address at the Clarion-Register. Nick sent them to Jaymee, but there was one picture he kept back.”

  The answer burst out of Cage’s mouth. “Ben sent him a picture of the cartridge box with a bullet hole, didn’t he?”

  “Yep. No encryption on it, though. And I’ve looked at Jaymee’s email. Nick attached those pictures himself. He purposely didn’t show her the cartridge case.”

  “Thanks for all your help,” Gina said. “When this is over, I’m taking you for a drink. Maybe even two.” She and Cage headed out the door.

  “I’d settle for a nice bonus,” Amy called after them.

  “I don’t think Ben committed suicide.” Cage took the stairs two at a time, forgetting Gina couldn’t keep up with his long strides. His head was too loaded with racing energy and answers to remember manners. “He brought Booth and Norton into the area. Gets in too deep, especially if they are Dixies. He sent these to Nick because he wanted out. His demeanor when we questioned him, the things he said to his mother about getting help, it all makes sense. He thought Nick would expose the truth. Ben was too much of a coward to do it himself.”

  Gina met him at the top of the stairs, huffing and glaring. “Except Nick got snatched by one of these guys. Still, the timing reeks.”

  “Spur of the moment,” Cage said. “Nick contacts Stanley or the mayor, says he’s coming down, wants to talk to them. Maybe they’ve got an idea someone’s been snitching. They head out to catch him before he makes it into town.”

  “It adds up,” Gina said. “Why didn’t Nick send Jaymee the picture of the cartridge case, though?”

  “Because it’s the key, somehow. The proof he needed to bring the operation down around Booth and his cronies. He was trying to protect her.” Anxiety struck with the power of a mallet. “She and Dani are alone at Ironwood. Send a patrol over there. If whoever set the fire thinks she knows something, with Ben dead, I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I’ll get Hendricks out there. But if Nick was trying to protect her, why’d he get her involved at all? And what’s so special about the cartridge case? The note inside doesn’t say anything about the Dixie Mafia or our suspects.” Gina led the way outside. After the rain, the air smelled like a wet ashtray.

  “I don’t know the answers. But I do know that out of those three men, Mayor Asher is the weakest link.”

  Gina reached for her keys. “I’m driving.”

  22

  NICK

  He’s back, shuffling around above me. Every once in a while, I think I hear silverware clinking on a plate. My stomach is grumbling. Surely he’ll bring me something to eat soon. Unless he’s going to kill me. But I don’t think he wants to. He doesn’t know what to do with me.

  My last phone call with Jaymee keeps running through my mind. She wasn’t a weekend girlfriend. I thought she knew that. I’d tried to show it…on the weekends I visited. All those months ago, when she disappeared and I thought I’d lost her just like I did Lana, I promised myself I wouldn’t make the same mistakes. She would come first. And she had, for a while. But I slipped back into old patterns. The lure of a mystery, of picking apart a puzzle down to its core, sucked me back in.

  She knows I love her. Doesn’t she?

  A man doesn’t get more than one second chance, but if I do, I’m staying with her. I’ll find something in Adams County, help her turn Magnolia House into a bed and breakfast. Maybe make a baby or two. No story is worth losing her.

  Why hasn’t he killed me yet?

  23

  CAGE

  Cage expected to make another trip out to Ashland, but Mrs. Asher said the mayor was at City Hall. He doubted Margaret had made any effort to find out what those men were up to. She was the type to look the other way and not rock the boat in exchange for her place in society.

  The short burst of rain had quenched the flames, but the cloying haze of smoke still filled the air, rising like silos in the distance. Late in the day, City Hall was nearly empty, and Cage and Gina bypassed the front desk, going straight for the mayor’s corner office. Perfect. He wouldn’t have his staff to hide behind. Hopefully Margaret hadn’t called ahead to let him know they were coming.

  In his office, his back to the door, pressed dress shirt wrinkled and damp hair sticking to the back of his neck, Mayor Asher stood in his office shredding papers at an amazing speed.

  Gina knocked, making him jump. “Sorry to bother you, Mayor, but we have a few things we need to ask you.”

  The biting smell of burnt wood and grass alerted Cage to Dylan’s presence before the other man spoke
. He nodded at the volunteer firefighter slouching in the corner chair. “I see you’re getting a break.”

  “Fire’s nothing but scattered embers now.” Dylan still had part of his uniform on, his shirt streaked with sweat, his face blackened with smoke and ash. “I was headed home, but I’m so tired this is as far as I got.”

  “Can’t say I blame you,” Cage said. “Any of you guys injured?”

  “No, thank God. How’s Jaymee, by the way? Any news on her boyfriend?”

  “She’s fine. And Nick’s disappearance is actually why we’re here. That and Ben Moore’s death.” Cage tried to watch both men’s reactions. Mayor Asher froze at the shredder and then slowly sank into his seat. Dylan stared at him, the whites of his eyes and teeth startling amid his soot-covered skin. “Ben’s dead?”

  They’d been friends once, Cage remembered. In high school and after. Before all the shit with the Semple farm had gone down. The other jocks used to tease Ben that Dylan just had a crush on him, and Ben had shrugged it off—one of the few decent things he did. Had they rekindled their friendship when Norton invaded their lives?

  “Found hanging in the barn at Oak Lynn,” Gina said.

  “Suicide?” Mayor Asher said.

  “We never mentioned suicide,” Gina said.

  Mayor Asher blanched. “I assumed. Usually that’s what happens when you hear about someone found hanging.”

  “We think it was disguised as suicide, but we believe Ben was murdered.”

  “By who?” Mayor Asher said. “I know he pissed off a lot of people, but that’s an extreme reaction.”

  Dylan hadn’t moved. His white eyes looked watery. A pang of sympathy slid through Cage, but he stuck it away. If Asher was involved in something dirty, Dylan was at the very least a material witness. He didn’t care how big Ashland was, Dylan had to know something. Especially after what he’d told Dani and Jaymee.

  “We brought Ben in for questioning on Nick’s disappearance earlier,” Gina said. “He’s been selling fake Confederate memorabilia. Originally, we believed Nick found out on his own, but new evidence shows that Ben actually gave Nick the tip. He sent him some encrypted files that we need to talk to you about, Mayor Asher.”

  One by one, Gina laid out the pictures on the mayor’s desk. “These are dated shortly before the Semple land went into foreclosure. That’s you, right? With Joseph Stanley and Wyatt Booth?”

  Cage swore a smile flickered at the corner of Dylan’s mouth. He filed the information away for later.

  “You must have the dates wrong.” The mayor’s voice splintered, but he recovered. “And yes, of course, that’s me.”

  “The dates aren’t wrong,” Cage said. “Ben knew what he was doing. He’s also got bank records showing he paid a monthly payment to what appears to be a dummy corporation owned by Norton Investments. Right now, it looks like this is all part of a bigger puzzle. One that ends in Nick’s kidnapping.”

  “I had nothing to do with whatever business Ben Moore was running. Nor what’s happened to the reporter.”

  “So why don’t you tell us the truth behind these pictures,” Gina said. “Clear yourself.”

  “Dad.” Dylan’s voice cracked, but Cage wasn’t sure if nerves or amusement had caused the reaction. Behind the soot, Dylan could have been grinning. “Just admit it. They’ve probably already figured it out. And if they haven’t, it’s only a matter of time. Red will talk.”

  “Already has.” Cage addressed Dylan, keeping his tone sympathetic. They were nearly the same age, had worked together on the Semple co-op, had gone to school together. Common ground Cage could use. “He had some interesting theories.”

  “My favorite’s how your wife is actually on the board of Roselea Financial.” Gina’s tone was authoritative, her gaze hard. They worked well together: she the bad cop, and Cage the nice guy. Greasing the wheels, as Dani would say.

  “I’ve done nothing illegal.” Mayor Asher’s round face turned scarlet.

  “Then tell us what you know so we can find Nick,” Cage said. “Or do you want word to get around that you’re not cooperating in a murder-kidnapping investigation?”

  Mayor Asher looked like he wanted to leap across the room at Cage. Cage would welcome it.

  A shift in the mayor’s indignant attitude. His shoulders slumped. “Fine. Before the foreclosure, I found out the Semples weren’t going to hold on more than another couple of months. Norton Investments expressed interest in the land. It was good business. So yes, the foreclosure came earlier than expected. I’ve been working hard to get the land zoned commercial because that’s what is best for Roselea. You have no idea the money this deal will bring in.”

  “You’re right, we don’t,” Gina said. “Because I don’t believe for a minute this is about a resort. Not when the success of it depended on getting Ironwood. You couldn’t put the financial squeeze on the church the way you did the Semples, and you lost Ironwood. Which means Norton lost their access to the main road. And there’s nothing about a permit being filed for a new road or access. In fact, I couldn’t find record of any building permits being filed at all.”

  “They’re waiting on the zoning to be finalized.” Mayor Asher cut a glance at his son. “We’ve had a holdup. But things should move along shortly.”

  Dylan’s mouth tightened into a white line. Cage battled with his options. He could wait, try to get Dylan alone, or he could go for it now, while Dylan was tired and furious with his father. Weak.

  “Dylan, I know you’re a good guy. And probably stuck with the shitty end of the stick,” Cage said. “What’s your part in all this? You hate Norton. What isn’t your father telling us?”

  “How dare you,” Mayor Asher said. “My son–”

  “Is an adult,” Gina said. “And if he knows something that could lead us to Nick Samuels’s attacker, an accessory. So are you. So one of you needs to start talking.”

  Dylan wiped his face, dragging the soot down his chin, leaving a trail of finger-shaped streaks. “I think Norton will destroy our history. But my father disagrees. And there isn’t much I can do about it.” He doesn’t want his father to know about his digging. Cage decided to hold on to that for now. Trust. Earn it and keep it.

  “Mayor, here’s my theory,” Gina said. “I think that Wyatt Booth and his man Stanley are bad news. Maybe they’re involved in something bigger than we realize, maybe not. But I think they want that land for a different reason than what we’ve all been told. They’re lining your pockets to make sure they get what they want. And if what they want is worth enough, maybe they’re willing to kill to protect it. You get caught in the middle.”

  “You are out of line, Investigator. I won’t sit here and be accused of something so outlandish.”

  She didn’t let up. “Where were you when Nick Samuels disappeared? And this afternoon when Ben Moore was murdered?”

  “I was at home when Samuels disappeared, riding out the storm. Plenty of people can attest to that.”

  “And today?”

  “Here. I left Ashland shortly after Investigator Foster visited and have been here all day.”

  “Will you give us permission to check the security cameras?” Gina asked.

  “Yes,” the mayor said. “Do whatever you need to.”

  Dylan remained silent during the exchange, his jaw clenching every time his father spoke.

  “What about Wyatt Booth?” Cage asked. “You obviously brought him to town. How well do you know him?”

  “I didn’t bring him to town,” Mayor Asher said. “You have my son to thank for that.”

  Dylan’s head shot up, his upper lip curled so high his teeth showed. “Yeah. Blame it on me.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? Here you are, pious and self-righteous about saving Roselea’s history, and it’s your fault Booth came here. The blame is on you.”

  The undercurrent of the mayor’s words struck Cage like the sting of a hornet’s nest he’d once stepped on. The mayor was talking about Booth, the per
son, not his company or all the money it could bring in. And he spoke of blame like he meant it.

  “Dylan?” Cage pressed. “I think you’re stuck the middle. And telling us whatever happened will help you feel better. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you had anything to do with this mess. But I think you know more than you’ve told us.”

  Nodding, Dylan stared at his father, who glared back with barely veiled disgust. “Yeah, so it’s my fault. Before any of this happened, I told…a friend about the land. About how I’d like to prospect it, try to find something of historical value.”

  “By friend he means his boyfriend.” The mayor pressed his hand against his chest. “Breaks my heart. And by telling him about the land, he means he took him there for their ungodly activities.”

  “You’re a bigot.” Dylan sounded tired of what was probably a never-ending argument. “And a hypocrite.”

  “So, you showed your friend the property,” Cage prompted. “And then what?”

  “He saw the potential. Turned out, he had connections to Norton. Word got back to Booth, he paid my father a visit.”

  “What connections to Norton?” Gina said.

  Dylan glanced at his father, whose hard eyes flickered with fear. “Norton’s been expanding down here for a while. My friend had worked on another project with them, but I didn’t know—didn’t even think about his saying anything—until Booth showed up and started talking to my father.”

  “Where’s this friend now?” Cage asked.

  Dylan ground his teeth. “We no longer speak. I don’t know where he is.”

  “Give us his name, then.”

  Another hard look from Dylan, followed by a heavy sigh. “Carl Gilbert.”

  Cage caught Gina’s gaze, and she nodded. So the FBI’s informant in the Delta Correctional Facility, the one who’d been running the meth ring and illegal antiques fraud, was the instigator in this whole mess.