Dear Crossing (The Ray Schiller Series)

by Doering, Marjorie

  “What? Wait. No. Uh…I wasn’t pointin’ at a particular wrench. I just meant that they’re all there.”

  “Nice try,” Ray said. “Did you find it in the squad car before or after Chuck Wilke went through the wreck?”

  “Neither. The wrench hasn’t left that pegboard in ages.”

  “Or maybe you just didn’t notice it was gone.”

  “What’re you getting at?”

  “Chief Newell called me from here after the squad car was towed in. I heard you in the background. You were telling Greg you wanted your tools returned. That wrench was one of them, wasn’t it?”

  “Greg borrows my stuff once in a while,”—he looked past Ray, raising his voice to a shout—“but he’s never borrowed that twelve-inch crescent wrench. Never. Isn’t that right, son?”

  Ray turned around and saw Greg Speltz and his girlfriend Katie Springfield walking up behind him. Burt Speltz might as well have been holding up cue cards.

  “What’s going on?” the younger Speltz asked.

  “Kramer’s barn—” It was all the additional help Burt could dispense before Ray shut him down.

  “I’ll handle this,” Ray said.

  Katie Springfield held onto her boyfriend’s hand. “What about Kramer’s barn?”

  “Someone threw paint balloons at it last night,” Ray said.

  Katie released Greg’s hand and clapped. “That deserves a round of applause.”

  “Go ahead, Greg,” Ray said. “Take your bow.”

  Eyes widening, Katie’s smile vanished. “What are you talking about? Greg didn’t have anything to do with it.” When her boyfriend didn’t add his own objection, she demanded, “Tell him.”

  “Yeah, Greg,” Ray said. “Tell me.”

  Palms tucked under his armpits, Greg’s eyes flitted between Ray, his father and the floor.

  Burt Speltz’s voice rumbled, “That blue and white paint on Kramer’s barn wasn’t your doing, was it, boy?”

  Katie gripped Greg’s arm. “You didn’t do it. You tell him that, Greg.”

  Ray saw the turmoil in her blue eyes. “When it comes to Kramer’s barn, it’ll be hard to establish any actual damage,” he said, trying to calm her. “That means the vandalism will be considered a misdemeanor. The penalty will reflect that.”

  She crossed both thin arms over her boyish chest. “You’re already talking about penalties, and he didn’t even do anything.” The girl brushed her wheat-blond hair back. It fell out of place again a second later. “Why are you singling Greg out? Hank Kramer’s son has been wheeling and dealing ever since he got into town. From what I hear, that jerk’s been cheating people left and right—lying and ripping everybody off with his father’s crappy stuff. He must’ve made plenty of enemies since he got here. Why not ask around about some of them instead of charging over here accusing Greg?”

  “Every investigation has to start somewhere. Your boyfriend won the toss.” Ray took note of Greg Speltz’s jeans. They were nearly worn through but bore no telltale blue or white paint spatters. The same was true of his torn, gray sweatshirt. Katie’s clothing was also free of paint but, in both cases, a simple change of clothes could explain that.

  “Let me see your hands, Greg,” Ray told him.

  Katie stepped between them. “He doesn’t have to show you squat.”

  “Like hell he doesn’t.”

  “It’s okay, Katie. Relax.” Greg held his hands out for examination.

  They were clean, maybe a little too clean he thought.

  Katie thrust her hands in his face. “Want to check me, too? Go ahead and look.” The prominent knuckles on her bony fingers suggested the body hidden beneath the baggy sweater was skeletal. Katie glared at him. “No paint. Happy now?”

  “Greg,” Ray said, “I want you to come to the station with me.”

  Burt Speltz spoke up. “The girl’s right. You should be checking on those suckers Kramer’s son’s been swindling.”

  Ray crooked a finger at Greg. “Let’s go.”

  “Why? We don’t have to go all the way to the station to talk.”

  “We do if you want to keep our conversation private.”

  Greg chewed his lower lip. “Okay, I’ll go, but I’m gonna need a ride back. Katie was just dropping me off on her way to work.”

  She latched onto his arm. “It’s okay. I’ll drive you there and wait for you until you’re done.”

  “No, you go to work. I’ll drive him back when we’re done.”

  Burt Speltz had managed to coach his son regarding the wrench, but Greg and Katie wouldn’t be allowed to compare notes, not if Ray had anything to say about it.

  37

  The warped trailer door barely managed to close as Katie hurried inside slamming it after her. She tossed her denim purse on a sagging, plaid couch that looked like it needed to be put out of its misery. “Okay, what happened at the station this morning, Greg?”

  He stood leaning against a kitchen counter whose green laminate had started peeling away from the front edge. Spatula in hand, he turned and lifted his supper from a frying pan, plunking the fried egg between two slices of white bread. He offered it to Katie. “Hungry?”

  “I don’t want your stupid egg sandwich.” Pushing his hand away, she threw her car keys on the counter. “I’ve been waiting all day to hear what happened with the cop this morning.”

  He shrugged. “We talked.”

  “Well, no shit. Tell me, Greg.”

  He put his meal on a saucer and sat down at the speckled, gray Formica table jammed in the tiny kitchen.

  “Well?” Her pale face reddened as she waited for an answer too long in coming. “You told him you didn’t do it, right?”

  Greg nodded, tucking a mouthful of sandwich in his left cheek. “At first.”

  Her voice turned shrill. “You admitted it? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” With a sweep of her hand, Katie sent the saucer and his sandwich sailing onto the chipped linoleum floor. “Damn it. What’s the matter with you?”

  Greg leapt from his chair, partly startled, mostly angry. “What happened to the support I was getting from you this morning?”

  “That was before I heard you used my paint—the blue and white paint I left in the garage—the stuff I was going to use inside this crappy piece of shit.”

  “Is that what you’re so pissed off about? Okay, I’m sorry, but the rest of the paint out there is for my detailing jobs.” He bent down, picking the mess off the floor. “It’s not like a couple coats of paint would’ve made any difference in here anyway.”

  “Like I don’t know that?”

  “Then what’s the big deal?”

  Katie wrapped her arms around her emaciated body. “They’re gonna haul your ass off to jail, Greg.”

  “You heard what the cop said. It’ll be a misdemeanor not a felony. They’ll be sending a notice about the court date.”

  “Court, yeah.” She rested a bony hip against the avocado refrigerator. “And whatd’ya think is gonna happen to you there?”

  “That cop—Schiller—he says the judge is likely to go easy on me because of the low damage estimate and my admitting I did it. He said I’ll probably get off with making restitution, maybe paying a fine and probation.”

  “Restitution and a fine. Great. How do you think we’re going to come up with the money, huh?”

  “I’ll figure something out.” Greg cracked another egg into the greasy pan. “You want one?”

  “I told you, I’m not hungry.”

  He pulled two more slices of bread from the wrapper. “I was thinking maybe I could borrow the money from my dad.”

  “Oh, sure, like that’s gonna happen. Are you high or something?”

  “Hey, Schiller told me I can take Kramer’s son to court—sue the estate for what I’m owed. It might take awhile, but if I win, we use the money to start paying him back.”

  “You think your father’s gonna cut you a check, especially with me in the picture? Dream on, Greg.”
>
  “You never know. I’d better not talk to him about it now, though. When I got back to the garage this morning, I leveled with him. He’s royally pissed.”

  She stalked off into the living area. “Damn it, Greg, you shouldn’t have admitted it.”

  He followed. “If I denied it and they found out different, it would’ve only made things worse.”

  Katie looked around the decrepit trailer. “How does it get worse than this? Even rehab was better. A lot better.”

  “You should’ve stuck it out there.” The smell of grease and burning egg reached him. He hurried back to the stove. “Hey, Katie…” he called from the kitchen.

  “What?”

  “The cop kept asking me about that wrench.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  Greg scraped the crispy egg from the bottom of the pan. “The last time I saw it, it was in the trunk of the car. Do you know what happened to it?”

  38

  In the Twin Cities that night, Dana rose from a bath, dabbing her body with a sinfully soft towel. She basked in the warmth of a heat lamp, awaiting Paul’s arrival. The upbeat tune she hummed reflected her mood. This victory would be sweeter than most—the mighty Paul Davis coming in defeat to yield to her demands.

  She heard a noise coming from the living room.

  “Paul?”

  Silence.

  Dana chalked up the lack of response to his newly acquired petulance. “Make yourself comfortable,” she called. “Fix a drink for us. I’ll be right out.”

  She slipped into a floor-length robe, the turquoise fabric skimming her body like loving hands.

  She walked the length of the hall, head down, toweling her hair dry. “I’m glad you made it. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up. I trust you’ve come to a decision.”

  “What decision is that?”

  Her head snapped up. Nick Vincent glared at her from across the room.

  “Nick,” she said with counterfeit calm, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  He moved closer. “No, I just bet you didn’t.”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “I let myself in. Sorry about your back door.”

  Masking her alarm, Dana returned to drying her hair. “There was no need for that.”

  “I didn’t figure you’d be glad to see me.”

  “I’m not—not here, not now. It’s dangerous.” She tossed the damp towel across the back of the couch, her heart thumping against her ribs. “Well, too late now. Want a drink?”

  “You’re expecting Paul.”

  She shrugged. “It could be hours before he shows up.”

  “Or minutes,” Nick suggested.

  She hoped he was right. “True. With Paul I can never be sure. Maybe we’d better keep this short. Why did you come, Nick? It’s asking for trouble.”

  “I’ve already got trouble,” he said. “The cops had me locked up, but I’m sure you already know that.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. By the time I heard, it was too late to do anything about it.”

  “I just got out, but the cops aren’t done with me.” The expression on his face was as threatening as a clenched fist. “I’m sure that doesn’t come as a surprise to you either.”

  Dana opened her full cigarette case and feigned disgust. “Shit. I’m out. Hang on a sec while I get another pack.” She turned and went to her bedroom at the end of the hall, feeling the weight of his gaze every step of the way. She returned with a lit cigarette in one hand, her other hand tucked into the pocket of her robe. “Want a smoke?”

  He stared at her without a word.

  “Whatever,” Dana said. “Have a seat.”

  “I’ll stand.”

  “Fine. How about a drink?”

  “Cut the crap. I came for answers.”

  “About what?”

  “You fingered me, Dana.”

  She let her jaw drop and widened her eyes. “Are you out of your mind? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Like hell it is.”

  “Nick, why would I do that?”

  “You used me. You’ve been out for yourself all along.”

  “I don’t get it. Where’s this coming from?”

  “The cops got an anonymous tip. The caller gave them my license plate number—claimed they saw my bike coming out of the Davises’ driveway.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “You made that call. It had to be you. I stashed my bike off the road and walked the rest of the way to Davis’s place through the woods. My bike was never on the property, but you didn’t know that. You made that call and gave the cops my license number along with that bullshit story. You’re the one who put the fuckin’ bull’s-eye on my back.”

  Dana shook her head, the damp strands of hair swaying in unison. “Baby, you’re crazy.”

  “Like hell I am. You set me up. Nothing else makes sense. God, I’m such an idiot.”

  “I swear I had nothing to do with it, babe. Think about it. All sorts of people must’ve seen you in town. Some do-gooder with an overactive sense of community service must’ve made that call.”

  “What would anyone but you have to gain from doing that?”

  Dana shrugged. “Maybe it was a shot at their fifteen minutes of fame, or maybe some paranoid senior citizen didn’t like your looks and made up a story to get you off their streets.” Dana gazed at him with false anguish. “I’d never have done that to you, Nick. I love you. You’ve always been part of my plans. You still are.”

  “Sure, as long as I’m willing to wait in the background with my mouth shut.”

  “Before long it’ll be just you, me and Paul’s money, like I promised.”

  “How long? Another two years? Three?”

  “It’ll be worth it, baby. Now that Valerie’s out of the way, Paul and I can get married. When the time is right, I’ll divorce him, and it’ll be just you, me and my share of his money. Just be patient a little longer.”

  “You’re talking like everything’s settled between us.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “When you saw me here instead of Davis, I saw your reaction.”

  “You broke into my house. What did you expect?”

  He hesitated, his belligerence shifting toward bluster. “Yeah, okay, but what’s it supposed to tell me that you’re still playing it cozy with him while I’m ass-deep in trouble?”

  “It should tell you I’m sticking to our plan, Nick.” A smile played across her lush lips. “I’m still looking after our futures. Yours and mine.” She watched a subtle change take place in his eyes.

  Nick pulled her into his arms, telegraphing his pent-up passion in a kiss. “This whole thing’s got me crazy.” He pressed his moist lips to hers again. “Dana, forget the plan. Let’s just leave. Now.”

  “Are you kidding?” She pushed him away. “After two years? Forget it. I’m not leaving with nothing to show for it.”

  “Nothing to show for it? What about the jewelry and furs? Sell them. Sell the house. You said it’s in your name. It’s more than we need to get away from here.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “Listen to me. There’s something you need to hear.”

  “Just go, Nick. I’ll get in touch with you later.” The tension in her voice escalated. “Go before Paul gets here.”

  “It’s Paul I have to talk to you about. Listen. I was going to make Valerie Davis’s death look like an accident, like we talked about. I figured I’d snap her neck and throw her down the stairs, but I couldn’t go through with it. I never even set foot in the house. I didn’t kill her, Dana, Paul did. She was dead when I got there.”

  Dana stood motionless for a moment, her expression frozen before a smile broke through. “Paul? You’re telling me he killed his wife…with an axe? Don’t make me laugh.”

  “It was him. It had to be. You were supposed to keep him here Friday night. How could you let him go to Widmer?”

  “
He showed up whining about Chet Stockton. He got into a snit and stormed out. I couldn’t stop him. I had no idea he’d go there.”

  “Yeah, well, he did. Just outside of Widmer, I wiped out on my bike. Guess who pulled up and offered me a ride into town. I nearly shit myself.”

  “Sorry, but there’s no way to change any of that now.”

  Possibilities started playing out in her head. Paul was as cautious as he was smart. His story about reconciling with Valerie and the big kiss-off scene the next day could have been meant to convince her of his innocence after the deed was done. If she were ever questioned, she could defend him more convincingly if she believed him. If that was his strategy, the phony alibi she’d provided for him had blown his plan out of the water. No wonder he’d been livid. It started to make sense to her.

  “Dana, have you been listening to me?” Nick asked her. “Paul Davis isn’t someone you want to mess with.”

  “I can handle him.”

  Nick clamped his fingers around her arm. “Don’t kid yourself. Use your head, damn it.”

  Dana yanked her arm free. She wanted Nick to leave, wanted him found by the police while he waited to get the call from her that would never come. “Get out of here, Nick.”

  “Not without you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She pulled her hand from the robe’s pocket. She was holding a .38 caliber pistol.

  His face went slack as she leveled the weapon at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I didn’t go to my bedroom for cigarettes,” she said, waggling the gun. “You should’ve listened when I told you to leave, Nick.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” He stepped forward as she countered his move. “You said you loved me, Dana.”

  She laughed. “An exaggeration. What we had was nice, but I never planned for it to be permanent.”

  “You told me you were going to leave him, and it would just be the two of us.”

  “You’re so naïve, Nick. Once I married Paul, did you really think that was going to happen?” She took aim. “You shouldn’t have come here, baby. You should’ve kept running.”

  “Kill me and you’ll wind up in prison.”