by Jayne Castle
“I was under the impression Miss Jones was an independent businesswoman,” Vandyke snapped. “She doesn’t work for you.”
“No, but in this situation she’ll do what I tell her.”
“Why should she do that, Justis?”
“Because if she doesn’t I’ll pick her up and carry her on board that ferry tomorrow morning. I’m not leaving her here with you when I can’t figure out what the hell is going down.”
“Does Miss Jones know your intentions?” Vandyke murmured sarcastically as Guinevere and Toby Springer approached the table.
Guinevere smiled, her eyes bright with charming inquiry. “Does Miss Jones know what intentions?” Springer pulled out a chair for her before Zac could get to his feet. Then the younger man sat down beside her. Zac felt his irritation rise.
“I was just telling Mr. Vandyke that you and I will be leaving first thing in the morning.” He watched Guinevere coolly, silently challenging her to defy the edict.
Guinevere hesitated, and Zac saw the concern in her face. She knew he had failed. For a moment he thought she would refuse to cooperate, but she smiled ruefully at her client. “I’m afraid Zac’s right. I’ve already stayed longer than I should. I promised my sister I would be back in the office tomorrow morning, and I won’t be able to get there until tomorrow afternoon as it is.”
“I’m paying you for your time, Miss Jones,” Vandyke said huffily. “I don’t see the problem.”
“It’s a scheduling problem,” Guinevere explained quite gently. “My sister is only helping out, you see. She isn’t a full-time employee of Camelot Services. I really must get back. And Zac has a business to run too. He took this job for you as a favor to me, but he made it clear from the outset he couldn’t commit to more than three or four days. Isn’t that right, Zac?”
“Right.” He was vastly relieved that she didn’t intend to fight him on this. “We’ll leave in the morning.” He glanced at his watch. “That first ferry is a very early one. We’d better head for bed.” He got pointedly to his feet and waited for Guinevere. Toby Springer looked dismayed.
“Hey,” Springer protested, jumping up to pull out Guinevere’s chair. “How about one last dance?”
Zac already had his hand under Guinevere’s arm. “I think Gwen’s as ready for bed as I am, aren’t you, Gwen,” he answered for her.
“Well, actually, it is only ten thirty, and I”—she gave a small cough as Zac tightened his hold on her arm—“I did have a busy afternoon. I think I will retire. Good night, Mr. Vandyke. I probably won’t see you in the morning. Have a good trip back to Seattle, and congratulations on concluding the deal with Washburn.” She nodded politely at Toby Springer and allowed herself to be hauled forcibly out of the lounge.
“Really, Zac,” she muttered as he marched her down the corridor to her room, “there’s no need to be so heavy-handed about this.”
“Probably not. But it comes naturally to me.”
She shot him a swift glance as he took the key from her hand and turned it in the lock. There was a new remoteness in his eyes. It was the expression she’d seen during the last stages of the StarrTech case. She’d mentally labeled it Justis in Deep Think. He was just going into it now, and if she didn’t catch him quickly he would be too far-gone to deal with.
“No luck with Vandyke?” she demanded as she preceded Zac into the room.
“No.”
The monosyllabic answer was not a good sign. Zac was more far-gone than she had thought. “Did you confront him with what we knew?”
Zac stood by the door, staring thoughtfully at the blank television screen across the room. “We don’t know much.”
“I realize that, but did you imply we knew he might be in real trouble?”
“I asked him if he was being blackmailed.”
Guinevere perked up. “What did he say?”
“Denied it.”
“Did you tell him about Cassidy?”
“No.”
Impatiently Guinevere tossed her purse onto the dresser. “Well, why not?”
“If Vandyke’s running drugs, I don’t want him knowing we know. Not unless he’s willing to confide in us first.”
Hands on hips, Guinevere faced him, but first she had to get between him and the television set. “I see. A standoff, is that it? You wouldn’t tell him how much we knew, so he decided to play it cool too. The result is that neither of you got anywhere because you wouldn’t take the risk of confiding in each other. I knew I shouldn’t have left the confrontation to you, Zac. I should have handled it myself.”
Zac’s eyes focused long enough to meet her irate gaze. “Don’t be stupid, Gwen. There’s more at stake here than trying to help a client who doesn’t want too much help. We’re better off out of this, and you know it.”
Guinevere lapsed into silence herself after that. Zac was probably right, she realized morosely as she drifted around the room packing her suitcase, lost in a sensation of uneasy regret. Still, it just didn’t seem proper to be abandoning Vandyke to his fate this way.
It was when she was getting ready to brush her teeth that Guinevere finally became aware that Zac was showing no signs of going back to his own room. He was still sprawled in the chair he had sunk into shortly after arriving, and his attention was still focused on something she couldn’t see.
“Zac?”
No response.
Guinevere crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Zac? Aren’t you going to go to bed?”
He blinked and looked up at her briefly. “No. I’m just going to sit here and think for a while.”
“All night?”
He shrugged and went back to thinking.
Guinevere sighed and headed for the bathroom. When she emerged in her nightgown a few minutes later he hadn’t moved. Tentatively Guinevere switched off the light. There was no word of protest from Zac. Deep Think had taken over completely. Either that or he was asleep. Guinevere gave up and crawled into bed.
She didn’t look at the clock when the bed gave beneath Zac’s weight a long time later. Guinevere stirred, feeling the pleasant heat of his body as he curled against her, and went back to sleep. Her last fleeting thought was that there was a deep sense of comfort to be found going to sleep in Zac’s arms.
***
It was still dark when the ferry left shortly after six the next morning. Zac must have set an alarm, Guinevere decided, although she hadn’t heard it. Of course, at that hour she would have been lucky to hear the Seattle Symphony if it had been playing right there in the hotel room. She was still yawning as she followed Zac up from the ferry’s car deck and stumbled into the cafeteria.
“Sit here and I’ll get us some coffee. Do you want anything to eat? We’ve got nearly a two-hour trip ahead of us.” He frowned down at her as she slipped into a booth.
Guinevere shook her head. “Just bring on the caffeine.”
He nodded and left, returning a few minutes later with two plastic cups. “Here you go,” he said, and set one down in front of her.
“You weren’t kidding when you said this ferry left early. It’s still the middle of the night outside.” She sipped the coffee gratefully. “Ah, that’s better. Come to any momentous conclusions last night?”
Zac looked at her. “Not really. Just a lot of questions. Nothing new about those. I’ve had them all along.”
“It still doesn’t feel right.”
“Ditching Vandyke?” Zac grimaced. “I know. I hate to admit it, but it does feel wrong somehow. I sort of liked the guy. But that’s the thing about criminals, Gwen. They’re incredible con men. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t get away with everything, up to and including murder.”
“Vandyke is no murderer!”
“I was just making a generalization, honey. Calm down.”
; Silence prevailed for another few minutes as they drank their coffee. Then Zac said carefully, “I did some thinking about that wild hypothesis you had. The one about Washburn possibly being Vandyke’s old partner, Gannon.”
Guinevere felt a flicker of interest. “Did you?”
“With all those papers you were handling for Vandyke you didn’t by any chance happen to end up with anything that might have Washburn’s handwriting on it, did you? Notes he might have made, or his signature?”
Guinevere’s eyes widened in admiration. “Zac, that’s a brilliant idea. We could compare his handwriting to the handwriting on that page from Gannon’s logbook.” Her face fell. “If we still had the page from the logbook.”
There was a significant pause from the other side of the table. “We’ve got it.”
“We do? Zac, you copied it?”
He shrugged one shoulder a bit too casually. “I had a lot of time on my hands at certain points during the weekend, and the hotel had a self-service photocopy machine. Yesterday while you were playing hide-and-seek with Cassidy I got bored enough to use the machine.”
“Let’s see the page.” Eagerly Guinevere leaned forward.
“First we’ll need a sample of Washburn’s handwriting.”
“Oh, right. Got it here, I think.” Guinevere rummaged around in her oversize shoulder bag for some stray envelopes and documents she had collected during the stay at the resort. “I have his signature on some of the drafts of the final letter of agreement he drew up with Vandyke. Here!” Triumphantly she pulled an envelope out of her purse.
Zac reached for the letter, opening it with slick efficiency. “Have you ever emptied that purse since the day you bought it?” he asked.
“I never empty a purse completely until I buy a new one. Let’s see that page from the logbook.”
He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and spread it out on the table. “You realize this isn’t exactly foolproof? I’m no handwriting expert. We won’t be absolutely sure, even if the writing does seem similar.”
“Stop being a pessimist. Let’s have a look.”
But one glance was all Guinevere needed. She looked at the flamboyant scrawl in which the logbook had been filled out, and then at Washburn’s neat precise signature. “Well, so much for that brilliant theory. There’s no similarity at all. No one’s handwriting could change that much in the course of a decade.” She frowned. “Or could it?”
Zac didn’t look up from studying the two samples. “It’s possible, if he made a deliberate attempt to alter his handwriting. But I don’t think that’s the case here. It would take an expert to be sure, though. On the face of it, I’d have to conclude Washburn is not Gannon.”
“Ah, well. It was an interesting idea. What could we have done even if we’d decided he was Gannon?”
Zac’s mouth crooked. “Not much. It would have been one more reason for staying out of Hopalong Cassidy’s way.”
“Because it would have meant Vandyke and Gannon had decided to go back into business together?”
“Mmm. And that Cassidy has probably set them both up for a fall.”
“Now what do we conclude? That Cassidy has probably set up just our client?” Guinevere downed the rest of her coffee, aware of a deep feeling of anger. “I think we should have warned Vandyke.”
Zac did a short staccato drumroll with his fingers on the table. “If the guy’s running drugs, Gwen . . .”
“I know. But I don’t think he is. He just isn’t the type.”
“Gwen—”
“I know he isn’t. His wife is too nice and he’s too worried about saving their relationship. A drug runner wouldn’t give a damn about that sort of thing, would he? He’d just replace the wife with a cute teenybopper or something.”
Zac’s brows shot upward. “No kidding?”
“I’m serious, Zac.”
He sighed. “So am I.”
“So what do we do?” she asked challengingly.
Zac did the drumroll with his left hand. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself all night.”
Guinevere felt a spark of hope. “Let’s go back and talk to him, Zac.”
“We’re halfway to Anacortes. It will take us another hour to get there and then nearly two hours to get back on the next ferry.”
“We’ll call him from Anacortes.”
“Gwen, I’m not sure he wants our help. That’s what’s worrying me. I get the distinct impression the guy wants us to back off.”
“We have to tell him about Cassidy,” Guinevere said with grave resolution. “We owe our client that much, Zac.”
Zac groaned and surrendered. “Okay. I’ll call him when we reach Anacortes.”
But an hour later when they drove off the ferry in Anacortes and found a telephone, the Good Samaritan project went down the tubes.
“There’s no answer, and the front desk says they tried a page.” Zac stepped out of the phone booth.
“Then we’ll have to get right back on that ferry,” Guinevere announced, feeling committed now.
“It would make more sense to try phoning every half hour,” Zac pointed out.
“I think we should go back.” She faced him determinedly. “I want to talk to him in person.”
“I know I’m going to regret this,” Zac murmured.
The return trip seemed to take forever, but three and a half hours after they had left the island Zac was driving the Buick back off the ferry. He took the first turn to the left and started toward the resort. He had said very little during the return trip, but he did glance casually at the marina as they drove past the dock where Cassidy kept his plane.
“The Cessna’s gone.”
Guinevere peered out the window. “What do you suppose that means?”
Zac abruptly increased the speed of the Buick, saying nothing.
By the time he finally parked in front of the resort Guinevere was more than uneasy, she was downright nervous. Zac quietly reached out and took her hand as they walked into the lobby.
“Hey, settle down. It’s going to be okay. We’ll deliver our grand message and then leave. We’ll have done our duty by our client.”
“I’m worried, Zac.”
“So am I,” he admitted. He released her hand and headed for the front desk. The clerk looked up in surprise.
“Oh, Mr. Justis. I thought you’d checked out this morning.”
“I did. I’m back. I’m trying to locate Mr. Vandyke. Have you seen him this morning?”
The clerk nodded. “A couple of hours ago. He checked out too.”
“Did he?” Zac leaned forward, his hands on the polished countertop. “Did he sign the bill?”
“Well, not exactly. Mr. Springer checked out for both Mr. Washburn and Mr. Vandyke.”
“They left a couple hours ago? That wouldn’t mesh with any of the ferry schedules.”
The clerk was looking increasingly confused. “I believe Mr. Springer said that Washburn and Vandyke were in a hurry to get back to the mainland. They were going to hire a charter flight.”
“Really? And what did Vandyke intend to do with his car?”
Confusion turned to nervousness mingled with belligerence on the clerk’s face. Zac’s relentless, undiplomatic approach was beginning to have its usual effect, and Guinevere decided she’d better step in. Smiling brilliantly she went to the counter.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” she advised the clerk. He blinked warily. “He gets a little overbearing at times. We’re trying to find Mr. Vandyke because something very crucial has arisen. A business matter. It’s imperative that we find him. You say he and Washburn intended to fly out this morning?”
“That’s what Mr. Springer said.” The clerk kept an eye on Zac, who was still glaring at hi
m.
“Then I guess we’ve missed him.” Guinevere turned away from the desk. “Thanks for your help,” she added over her shoulder, making a grab for Zac’s arm and leading him out of earshot. “So much for that. There’s no sense hounding him, Zac. He doesn’t know anything.”
“Vandyke told us he doesn’t fly in small planes anymore,” Zac said, looking down at her.
“I remember,” Guinevere whispered.
“But the clerk thinks he hired a plane with Washburn this morning,” Zac continued flatly.
“And Cassidy’s plane is gone.” Guinevere twisted her hands together as she wandered over to stand in front of the lobby fireplace. Zac followed slowly. A few other guests were lounging in chairs, reading and sipping coffee. It was a warm and peaceful winter scene, but Guinevere did not feel at all peaceful. “If Cassidy has moved in on our client already,” she murmured, “would he have flown Vandyke someplace after arresting him? Wouldn’t he have called in the local authorities?”
“Who the hell knows. Cassidy seems like the independent type. Not an overly cooperative sort. He’d want the excitement and glory of the kill.” Zac rested a hand on Guinevere’s shoulder as he stood staring down into the fire. “But he’d probably dump Vandyke into the laps of the local cops. The lion bringing in his prey so that everyone could admire him. He’d just want to be certain he got all the credit.”
Guinevere slanted a curious glance at Zac. “You don’t think much of Cassidy, do you?”
“He’s a hot dog.” Zac moved abruptly, taking Guinevere by surprise. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the marina. I want to have a look in that boathouse. If Cassidy’s got his plane in the air this should be a good time to have another look around.”
“But, Zac—” Guinevere began, but stopped as she noticed the clerk at the front desk signaling her. He had a phone in one hand and he was beckoning her with the other. “Miss Jones?”