“Did he injure the cat?”
“No. It got away.”
“Please tell me the whole story.”
Tommy stood. “I took Fred with me when I went to the post office for Mom after school on Wednesday.” He looked down and began making circles in the grass with the toe of his worn red sneaker.
“And?” I prompted.
“I let Fred off his leash in the field nearby so I could throw a ball for him.” The toe circled faster, wearing a groove in the grass. “I know I’m not supposed to. I promise I’ll never do it again. Ever.” His eyes met mine.
“I believe you. Then what?”
“Mrs. Henderson’s orange tabby cat jumped out of the grass under Fred’s nose, and he started chasing it.” His eyes wandered to the tables under the large tent.
“And . . .” I prompted again.
He sighed. “He ran across Mrs. Smith’s backyard. She was hanging up clothes to dry.” Tommy studied me warily, as if scared to add more wrongs to Fred’s list of offenses. “He knocked over her laundry basket.”
“Was she upset?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stop. I was running after Fred as fast as I could.” He looked at the dog. “We went back later and apologized. She said nothing got dirty and everything was okay.”
I pulled a clean tissue out of my pocket and handed it to him.
“What happened next?”
“Fred ran past the post office and across the street and squeezed under a fence. I opened a gate and followed him. The man who gave me the cupcake was loading stuff into his van.”
Jason. “What kind of stuff?”
“Big bags.” He shoved the tissue into his pocket. “I chased Fred to the other side of the yard, and he went under the fence again. I opened another gate and ran out. I found him sniffing around and put a leash on him. The cat had disappeared.”
“Did you see what was in the bags?”
“No, but I tripped on one. There were big, hard things in them. They felt like rocks.”
What could be described as big rocks that were being loaded into a van in large bags? Abalone.
“Did Jason, the man who gave you the cupcake, see you?”
“Probably. He had his back to me when I ran in, but the yard’s pretty big, and Fred was baying by the time we got to the back of it.”
“Tommy, I think you learned a lot from this experience.” I touched him lightly on the shoulder. “You can keep Fred.”
Tommy jumped up and down, clapping his hands. “Thank you! Thank you!”
Fred jumped up and down, too, never one to miss a good time. Little did he know he’d just been spared.
“Thank you for telling me about Wednesday. Fred’s a wonderful dog. He just didn’t resist temptation that day.”
Daniel and Allie waved in the distance.
Allie came running up, a chocolate something in her hand. “Tommy, you have to try the chocolate mousse brownies. They are soo . . . good.” She rolled her eyes.
Daniel strolled up beside her. “She’s right.” He looked at me. “The chefs in the area plan for months to come up with unusual chocolate delectables.”
Allie handed part of her brownie to Tommy.
“Thanks!” The chocolate disappeared in one bite.
Daniel turned to me. “He’s staying with Allie and me until Helen can join us.”
“Miss Kelly, can I go now?”
“You bet. Have fun sampling.”
Tommy grinned, and the three of them walked off with Fred in tow. The kids stopped at the first table, and their hands darted out for chocolate cookies.
I walked through the tented area, passing numerous tables of wine and sweets, in search of Scott and thinking about what I’d learned. Jason. How could the man who made mothers want to pinch his cheeks be involved with poaching?
“Would you like to try some truffles?” A young woman wearing a black wool sweater patterned with several varieties of colorful flowers gestured toward her display of candy.
Startled out of my thoughts, I stopped.
A display of mini-truffles was before me.
“Please, help yourself.” Amy, her name tag read.
Maybe it’ll stimulate my brain and I can figure this whole thing out.
“Thanks.” I placed one in my mouth, letting it slowly melt. The intense chocolate was heaven. Scott stood a couple of tables away, next to a fountain of dripping chocolate, and I headed in his direction.
“Hi,” Scott said. “Have you tried any goodies yet?”
“Yes. The truffles are luscious. Scott, Tommy told me something—”
Just then, Andy came huffing up to us. “Suzie’s table is almost out of pastries. She left a while ago to get some. Could one of you find out where she is?”
“Probably got pulled into some hotel business,” Scott said.
“I’ll go.” Perfect. I could check out where Tommy had seen Jason. “It’s only a couple of blocks away. I should be back in a heartbeat.”
Scott frowned but didn’t say anything as I walked away.
Up one block, I turned left. Tommy said the fenced lot was across from the post office. I could walk through it, and I’d be only a short distance from Suzie’s place.
The cool ocean breeze streamed through my hair as I strode down the wooden boardwalk. It was empty, and I walked fast.
Jason had been involved in the poaching operation. He smuggled them out in his catering van. The location Tommy had talked about was where the boy had seen Andy and Charlie on Thursday.
Could the three of them have been in it together? Andy and Charlie could’ve been the two who were there the night of Tommy’s attack. But that would mean Phil was in on it, too. He gave Andy an alibi. And why kill Jason? My head was spinning.
And silver and gold. Where did that fit in? Charlie’s car was silver, Andy’s was gold, and Jason’s was white. If the colors meant anything, that could put Charlie and Andy together, but Jason was the one with the abalone. It all didn’t add up.
I spied the post office up the street on my right. There was only one fence that fit the location Tommy described. The wood was gray with age and beaten by the elements. I lifted the worn latch and let myself in. The lot was empty, except for rusty pieces of a sink tossed in one corner.
Tommy said Jason was putting the bags in the truck. Why was he loading the sacks here? Where had they come from?
I walked slowly toward the other side, scanning the ground, and found an area where the grass was flattened a bit. I bent down, searching carefully, hoping to find something. Nothing. Why didn’t real life happen like on television? A convenient clue popping up would be nice.
I went to the far end and opened the gate that had eventually led to Tommy’s reunion with Fred. Suzie’s storage shed was two buildings down on the right. The door to it was closed. Charlie’s truck was parked outside. He was a suspect. I broke into a run. Was Suzie alone with Charlie? Was she in danger?
Chapter 31
I raced toward the storage building.
What was Charlie doing there?
Delivering water? No. It was Saturday.
Where was Suzie?
Forget polite knocking. I twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
Charlie was sprawled on his side on the floor. Suzie crouched beside him, one hand on his shoulder.
“Suzie, are you okay?” I ran up to her.
As she turned, a huge metal wrench gleamed in her hand.
The expression on her face reminded me of the bobcat I surprised in the barn one winter, hunched over a slaughtered goat. The predator’s lips had been curled back in a defiant snarl. Its eyes shifted from side to side, seeking escape, then back to me. Trapped.
I froze.
“Suzie, what happened? Are . . . are . . . you okay?” I stammered.
A trickle of blood glistened on Charlie’s cheek. There was no movement. He was unconscious . . . or dead.
She rose slowly, her eyes never leaving me. “It’s my t
hird strike. I won’t go back,” she uttered between clenched teeth. “I won’t.”
Suzie moved to my left. Before I realized what she was doing, she had cut me off from the door. She came toward me, the heavy tool at her side, a red stain along its edge.
“I didn’t want to hurt anybody, but I won’t go back.”
“What are you talking about? Go back where? And what’s a third strike?” I slowly began to back into the storage shelves. My peripheral vision worked overtime trying to find something I could use to defend myself.
“Prison, that’s where. I’m in for life with a third offense.” The wrench began to rise. “I’d rather die.”
Life in prison. She’d rather die. There was nothing for her to lose if she killed me.
I stumbled back another step and grabbed a wire shelf. Industrial-sized olive oil cans were stacked next to my hand.
She approached, wrench held high, gripping it with both hands.
Keep her talking. “Did you kill Bob?”
Suzie stopped. “He found out I was involved with the abalone poaching and wanted me to turn myself in. Get a lighter sentence.” She stared at me with eyes devoid of emotion. “I told him I wouldn’t go back to jail. He said he was sorry, but he had to do what was right. I grabbed his arm and begged, but he insisted he had to report it.” Her shoulders sagged. “I shoved him. I was so scared, so angry.”
“Suzie, you didn’t plan to kill him. It wasn’t premeditated.” I darted a quick glance at the bottles and cans on the shelves. “That makes a difference.”
“His wasn’t deliberate, but Jason’s was.” Suzie took a step forward. “He planned on splitting and tried to blackmail me over Bob’s death. I knew he’d always be a threat.”
A shaft of sunlight hit a strand of Suzie’s hair. Gold. Jason’s prematurely gray hair. Silver. The words the Sentinels had decoded. Now it all made sense.
She lunged at me, swinging the wrench downward.
I seized one of the large cans of olive oil by the handle, held it up, and blocked the blow. The clashing sound of metal on metal made my ears ring. I staggered under the fierce power of the hit and went down on one knee. Pain shot through my wrist.
Suzie swung again.
Another crushing blow. The can buckled. She raised the wrench upward, but before she could swing again, I thrust the container into her legs.
She staggered, and the tool aimed for my head came down on the can, puncturing it. Oil spewed out. I stepped backward; Suzie came forward, then began slipping in the greasy liquid. It was like some macabre dance—bloodied wrench and dancing feet.
Suzie began to fall. She clutched a wire shelf with one hand to stay upright.
I leapt for the wrench.
She struck out at me and missed. The momentum of the heavy weapon pulled it out of her hand and sent it flying.
Suzie let go of her support and grabbed the front of my fleece vest with both hands. She yanked me toward her. My feet hit the oil. I clutched her jacket. We began to slide like ice-skaters out of control. We held on to each other in an embrace of death. If I let go, I could die.
Her hands released me for an instant and then they were around my throat.
I lost my balance, and we crashed to the floor. The impact broke her grip.
We rolled over and over—grabbing, hitting, slapping. My head hit the concrete as Suzie managed to slam me downward. Pain blasted through my forehead. I pushed her over, caught a handful of hair, and pulled her head back. Suzie raked my face with her fingernails.
She locked a foot onto the end of the wire shelf; her body went stiff, stopping our movement. Suzie shoved, and I slid.
She got to her knees. The wrench was a couple of feet away. As she reached for it, I launched myself forward and into her, knocking her backward. Her head grazed a metal shelf.
Suzie fell back and blinked a few times. She didn’t move.
But I did. With shaking fingers, I unbuckled my belt and ripped it off. I turned her over and cinched her hands together behind her back.
She began to struggle, but the knot held.
I hunched over, my head in my hands, gasping for air. Straightening up, there were red smears on my hands. I gingerly touched my throbbing temple. There’d be a humdinger of a bump.
The door burst open. Fran and two male game wardens ran into the room, guns raised.
“Is there anyone else here?” Fran barked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll check.” One of the men headed behind the shelving area. The other one hurried to Charlie, calling for an ambulance on his cell phone.
Fran approached me. “Are you okay?”
“I think so. Careful. That’s oil on the floor.”
Her boot was ready to land in a pool of it.
“Trust me, I know how slippery it is.”
Sirens rapidly got louder.
Fran did a quick survey of the room and went over to where towels hung next to a large sink. She took them and covered the oil on the floor. Ignoring Suzie, she knelt down next to me.
She leaned in and examined my injury. “How do you feel? Are you nauseated?”
“No.” I knew the routine questions. I’d fallen off horses enough times. “I’ve been through the concussion questions before. I don’t have any of the symptoms.”
Fran nodded. “Good.” She turned to look at Charlie.
I saw faint stirrings.
“He’s coming to,” said the man kneeling next to him.
A moan heralded Charlie’s return to the living.
“Everything is clear back here,” said the warden who’d checked the back area.
A deafening siren suddenly stopped. Doors slammed, and a familiar voice yelled, “Stay there and keep people out.”
Deputy Sheriff Stanton plunged through the door, gun drawn.
“It’s all under control,” Fran said immediately.
He lowered his gun.
Someone shouted, “Kelly, are you in there? Are you okay?”
Scott.
I grabbed a shelf and pulled myself to my feet.
“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Fran asked.
No. “Yes. I’ll be fine.” I hobbled to a window, careful to stay on the towels Fran had put down. I struggled with the latch and was finally able to crack the warped wood open an inch. It was enough.
“Scott, I’m okay. I’ll be out in a bit.” With that, I sank to the floor, my head pounding.
Another siren stopped. Two paramedics, kits in hand, rushed through the door. One went to Charlie, and one hurried to me, carefully following Fran’s towel trail.
He knelt down beside me. “Let me look.”
The medic gently examined my wound and then my entire head. “Lucky. I only see one small cut and some scrapes.”
“Nothing like a good can of olive oil to keep you healthy.” My pathetic attempt at a joke. Either that or cry. What a fool I’d been. I’d trusted Suzie so completely.
“Do you hurt anywhere else?” He opened his case.
“No. I’m trembling, but that’s the adrenaline.”
“Understandable.” He cleaned the area on my forehead. “We always recommend people go to the hospital after a head injury to get checked out.”
“I’ll have someone take me over.”
He snapped his case shut. A warden and the other paramedic were taking Charlie out the door on a stretcher.
I grasped the window ledge and began to haul myself up. This was beginning to be a habit.
“Let me help you.” He supported me as I stood, then he went to Suzie.
Fran came over. “We all want to thank you.”
“For what?” Getting beaten up by Suzie?
“Charlie’s one of us. He’s been working undercover. He’d be dead if you hadn’t shown up. We’re grateful.” The grizzled woman turned away as tears showed in the corners of her eyes. She grabbed a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. Visible emotion gone.
Cha
rlie. An officer of the law. How far off was I on that one.
“How did you know we were here?”
“He radioed in he had a suspect in the abalone poaching ring. Charlie gave us her name and location and said she was packing her car with personal possessions. He figured she was fleeing.” Fran shook her head. “We got here as fast as we could. It’s a big county.”
“I demand to be let in!” an authoritative voice came through the flimsy walls. “One of my employees is in there. It’s my responsibility to take care of her.”
Corrigan. Not great timing.
“Do you see a mirror around here? Or do you have one?”
Fran gave me a funny look. “Uh . . . I haven’t seen one.” She paused. “And maybe you don’t want one right now.”
What was that supposed to mean? The tough, no-nonsense game warden was looking at me like I was Medusa.
Nothing to be done about it. I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling greasy, matted strands. I wiped my face with a corner of my once-white shirt and saw a dirty smear with a little blood mixed in. Straightening my shoulders, I marched out—or more like tottered.
Corrigan stood outside the door, looming over a tall deputy who blocked his way. He was about to say something when he saw me. His mouth remained open, but he said nothing.
Uh-oh. That bad. I should’ve known from Fran’s reaction. Tommy and Fred were next to him. I didn’t think Tommy’s eyes could get any bigger than I’d seen them, but they did. Even Fred looked serious.
“I’m okay. Really. If something was really wrong, they’d have sent me off in the ambulance. You don’t have to worry about . . .” I was rattling on.
“Kelly, breathe.” Scott walked up next to me and put an arm around my shoulders.
Oh. Breathing.
Fran approached Corrigan. “Are you Kelly’s employer?”
“Yes.” Corrigan’s tone was subdued.
“I’m Warden Fran Cartwright.” She thrust her hand out to Corrigan and they shook. “Kelly saved the life of one of our officers. She’s one tough cookie. We’re all deeply grateful to her.”
“Thanks for telling me that.” Corrigan looked in my direction. “She means a lot to us.”
Chapter 32
The next morning I awoke in my room at the inn with more painful muscles than I’d ever had before, and that was saying a lot after growing up on a ranch. I stretched one limb at a time. They all responded way too vocally in terms of pain.
Murder at Redwood Cove Page 18