Silent Protector

by Barbara Phinney

  “Your phone line had been tapped.”

  “Do they know for sure that Smith did it?” Just the thought of having Smith so close to her. He’d followed her home, for sure…

  She gasped.

  “What is it?”

  Biting both her lips, Liz peered down at the man, trying to see past the idea of a violent death. She tried to see the man as being alive. The hair was the same, the popular beard style. “When I saw this man last night, he gave me the creeps. I thought it was just because the whole thing felt sinister, but no, it wasn’t that. I think I’ve seen this man before.”

  “When?”

  She swallowed and gave a hasty shake of her head. “Last Sunday, after they told me Charlie had been killed. Once I got home, I called my pastor and walked into the village. I met him at the church and we talked for a bit.”

  Pointing down, she continued, “I remember walking back and seeing this man in a car, driving on the road away from my house.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “The road goes down to the water, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time—just that it was a stranger. You see, we don’t get too many of them, even in the summer. The people who can afford boats tend to hang out at coastal villages with good water access. We just have a few rickety stairs going down to the rocks.”

  “It’s possible that he hooked up the listening device then. That means he knew who you were and where you lived and guessed that Charlie had been taken into custody and you might hear from him.”

  “That seems like a lot to assume.” She grimaced. “Maybe he thought I had him.”

  “Not really. He may have known about you for some time before he killed Jerry. Even known where you lived, especially since you had contact with Charlie and Jerry. Is your house secluded?”

  “Very much. I have trees on all sides, and my neighbors aren’t close. I brought Charlie there once, and he really enjoyed the woods.” She looked up at Ian. “Was your agent able to find any fingerprints?”

  “None. It’s obvious Smith wore gloves or wiped everything down.”

  She cringed at the thought of Smith coming to her house.

  The wind picked up then and buffeted Liz. She didn’t want to be out on the beach anymore. She should be feeling better now that Smith was out of the way, no longer a threat to Charlie, but comfort didn’t come. Someone had murdered this man.

  “What now?” she asked Ian, surprised to find him looking at her closely.

  “I’ve called my supervisor and the police. We shouldn’t leave the body here. We’re due to get a storm surge.”

  “How bad will that be?”

  “Historically, they’ve always predicted higher than what actually comes. The last big hurricane to hit had a much smaller surge than expected. But on this island, a storm surge of just a few feet could do a lot of damage. We’re right at sea level, unlike the resort, which is on a slight elevation.”

  “The police will come soon, won’t they?”

  “Yes, but some evidence may still wash away. Something we could be missing. I haven’t worked a crime scene before. My job was to take the witnesses and deal with them.” He flipped open his phone. “We’ll need to secure this area, and the resort can help with that.”

  “Maybe you can ask them about Leo? Such as, has he ever met Nelson?”

  Ian nodded. “Good idea.” He called the resort and talked briefly with them. Then he hung up. “They’re coming.”

  Liz knew that they had to stay here until someone came but shivered at the thought. Then, she walked over the knoll and sat on an ancient log. The sound of water gurgling, barely heard over the wind and pounding surf, comforted her.

  She watched Ian. Methodically, he searched the shoreline around the body—slowly, in great detail.

  He was good at being a marshal. And despite the grim circumstances, she knew he appreciated doing that work.

  Her thoughts returned to why they were here. Smith was dead. And because of that, Ian could give up his job as Charlie’s protector. Soon, Liz knew she’d get the chance to take the boy home. She’d love him, care for him and be the mother she’d wanted to be to him after her sister had died.

  She’d leave soon. A short, hard pang of yearning hit her, and she swallowed down the lump it caused. Because she would soon leave Ian? Because Charlie might miss him?

  That couldn’t be helped, she told herself sharply. Ian belonged here. He would give this town his all, and any personal relationships would have to take a backseat. What woman in her right mind would want that kind of relationship?

  She knew she must take Charlie away, to start a new life that wouldn’t remind him of all he’d lost. After her father had died, her mother had moved the family out of the home that they’d all shared for fifteen years because the house reminded her too much of Dad.

  Liz couldn’t allow Charlie to stay here.

  She cast a long look at Ian, his slim form bent down to look at something in the sand. His expression was full of concern and concentration.

  Again, regret hit her hard.

  SIXTEEN

  Ian was glad when security arrived from the resort. When Nelson had first offered to assist the village should they need some of the services being set in place, Ian had expected only firefighting and the occasional medical service would be used.

  He hadn’t thought he’d need security to not only guard the rec center but also to babysit the remains of a killer.

  The security chief arrived shortly after two of his men. Ian had met the man once and had checked out the company and the man the next day. They both came highly recommended.

  Ian approached him. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. Just about one of your employees. His name is Leo Callahan.”

  “Sure,” the chief said. “Do you think he’s involved in this murder?”

  “I don’t know. You recently hired him from the village?”

  “Not me, but HR did. I did a basic background check on him, that’s all.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Nothing unusual, no convictions,” the big Hispanic man said with a shrug. “He wanted work because he needed the money, like everyone else. He said his last job was on board a charter boat up near St. Petersburg, but he was laid off when the economy collapsed. He helped paying passengers fish for amberjack and king mackerel. The passengers got to keep the fish after the crew dressed and wrapped them.”

  Ian reacted to the chief’s words. So Leo would likely own a good filet knife. Mind you, Ian added to himself grimly, he probably had one in his own cutlery drawer. He’d been given the house after one of the longtime residents passed away and Annette Vincenti had bought it for “The Shepherd’s Smile” pastor.

  Still, Leo would be comfortable using a filet knife, whereas Ian had never dressed a fresh fish. He twisted his mouth. Not a strong lead by any means. And it still didn’t discount Monica and her strange behavior.

  “Has anything really unusual happened at the resort lately?” Ian asked.

  “I’ve worked a lot of construction sites but, except for this here—” he pointed to Smith “—this site is fairly normal. Oh, we’ve had a few thefts here. First up, we had our petty cash stolen. It wasn’t much—a few thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a big petty cash.”

  The chief nodded. “We don’t get into the city often, and sometimes we need a worker for only a day or two. A temporary wage, plus other daily incidentals, can eat up a petty cash fund fairly quickly. The money was in a locked box, out of the safe for just a minute or two, and then it was gone.”

  “Do you suspect anyone?”

  “No one. The secretary who was responsible for it is extremely upset and has been with Mr. Vincenti for years. She was our most likely suspect, but I don’t think she did it.”

  “You said there were other thefts?”

  “Small stuff. A lunch here and there, and one worker lost his spare pants.” The chief shook his head. “We’ve been kept busy with the stor
m coming. The site manager has been told to prepare for possible evacuation, so we’ve been securing everything. We even moved the barricades away from the causeway in case we need to move the heavy equipment.”

  That explained one mystery. “It’s risky work, building a resort in a hurricane-prone area,” Ian commented, fishing for a reaction.

  The chief looked blasé. “The whole Gulf of Mexico is like that. But this resort is being built to withstand hurricanes and to still be eco-friendly. There’s a growing market for minimal footprint vacations, I’m told. And Florida is ripe for them.”

  Liz had, at one point, walked up beside Ian, prompting him to cut short his talk. “One more thing, if you don’t mind? When was Nelson Vincenti on the island last? Would Leo know him by sight?”

  “He was here briefly two weeks ago, so I doubt Leo would know him. He’s returned to London. That’s where his head office is. Mrs. Vincenti is due to come next week to visit friends in Fort Myers, so I imagine Mr. Vincenti will accompany her. He’ll want to see how the buildings have survived a storm.”

  Ian knew Annette Vincenti was due to come. He was supposed to have several program proposals ready for her. He thanked the chief, who promised to call the minute the police arrived, and with that, Ian steered Liz away.

  “Let’s go back to Moss Point.”

  Liz followed him onto the trail that led from the stream to the spring and then to the trailhead. As they approached the end, Ian stopped and turned to her. “I need to find Monica.”

  “Why? Do you think she killed that guy? Ian, if it’s to turn her over to the police, first we need to talk to her—”

  “No.” Ian worked his jaw, then added, “There is one other thing that troubles me. Monica needs money—a lot of it. And I don’t know if you heard, but—”

  “Yes, I heard. The petty cash box was stolen from the resort. How would she be able to steal a cash box? She’d have to know where it was, and as a woman, she’d stand out at a construction site, even if she did work there.”

  “I know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s the only lead.” He stopped abruptly. “A pair of pants was stolen, too. Maybe she dressed like one of the workers. She’s about the same size as Leo, and Leo’s working there.”

  She pressed her lips into a thin, skeptical line. “I don’t know. She seems awfully feminine to me.”

  “She’s reserved. Maybe because of her background. She came to Florida as a refugee from Central America with her parents when she was a little girl. She told me they’d had no contact with their homeland after that and that her family was very private. That’s all I know of her right now, but you can rest assured, I’ll know more by this time tomorrow.”

  “So there’s no obvious reason why she’d need the money. Do you think she has a drug habit? Maybe she broke into the clinic looking for drugs?”

  “I don’t know enough about her. But I’ve learned that things are sometimes not what they appear. People sink to the lowest points, people who you wouldn’t expect.”

  “We should also find Leo. Smith may have lied to him but then again maybe Leo lied to us.”

  “We aren’t going to find anyone. Let me deal with Monica and Leo. But not until after the police arrive. If either of them have something to do with Smith’s death, I don’t want to tip them off beforehand.”

  With that, he turned and stalked out the end of the trail and into the area near the front of the rec center.

  Just then, a police car rolled to a stop in front of them. Ian introduced himself. They’d been on their way here to respond to the breaking and entering, and were hurried along by the murder. They talked briefly for a moment, Ian learning that the FBI were also on their way, and the officer said he was only too glad to turn the investigation over to them. They wanted a quick look at the rec center before heading to the beach. With a federal case starting a quarter mile away on the beach, the police asked that the center be left as it was until the FBI looked at it, and the security guard agreed to stay.

  Over an hour later, Liz and Ian were finished and were allowed to leave. To Ian, the air was depressing, heavy, hot and thick with impending rain. The police said they were expecting the call to evacuate, because Sandy, as the storm was now called, had strengthened quickly.

  “I have some information that needs to be distributed in case of a hurricane,” Ian told Liz. “I took it home with me last night. I’ll need to dig it out and photocopy it.”

  She nodded. “I’ll help.”

  “And I’m hungry,” he added. He imagined Liz was, also. All they’d eaten today was a bit of breakfast and the granola bars he’d taken late this morning after Charlie had been bandaged and sent back with Elsie.

  “I don’t feel much like granola bars or juice,” he said quietly. “But I make a mean tuna sandwich, if you’re interested.”

  She lit up. “I love tuna.”

  They walked down to his house, Liz pausing at the Wilsons’ house for a moment. The curtains were drawn, with only a lamp on in the living room to counter the cloudy evening.

  Along the side of the house, Ian noticed Charlie’s bedroom light still glowing. He came to stand beside her. The warm sea breeze felt burdened with rain as the evening dragged into night. The wind had increased, its whooshing howl now almost hurting the ears.

  “I’ve been gone most of the day. I wonder how Charlie is,” Liz mused.

  “Elsie would have called us by now if he’d suffered any ill effects. You can go if you want to, but I need to check my messages and the position of the storm.”

  “No, I’ll check later. If I go in, he’ll want me to stay, and Elsie will want to feed me. I’m already a burden to her.”

  “You’re not. But instead of eating her great food, how about you make the sandwiches while I search for those papers?”

  She smiled at him, however brief the warm expression was. “Deal.”

  Ian walked ahead and unlocked his side door. It opened easily, and he stepped into the dark house.

  He was shoved hard into the kitchen counter. As he grappled for his balance, he watched a black-clothed body race toward Liz.

  SEVENTEEN

  Ian leaped to his feet and dove at the man. Both men went down hard, but his assailant twisted about and kneed Ian in the stomach. Air whooshed out of him as he collapsed backward.

  Liz jumped backward away from the man, and in a single movement, she grabbed the nearest thing on Ian’s counter—a wooden banana stand—and swung it at him. The man ducked, and Liz twirled wildly until she hit the doorjamb with her small improvised weapon.

  On his feet in the next second, Ian plowed into the burglar, driving him to the ground. He grappled at his opponent’s hair but found it covered in soft cotton. His fingers plucked elastic at the ear.

  They flipped and rolled across the room until Ian saw a blur of dark metal slash across his face, blinding him with a burst of pain a moment before a hit to the abdomen knocked the wind out of him.

  Over the pain, Ian could hear Liz gasp and cry out. He tried to focus through his watering eyes.

  The man shoved Liz and disappeared out the door. Ian collapsed back onto the cool linoleum.

  His eyes shut and his face stinging, Ian heard the door slam and felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s gone. We’re both safe. I called the police.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No. I think he was wearing a hoodie and a surgical mask. It’s dark in here. Just a sec.” She stood and fished around for the light switch. Now flicked on, the light glared in his face. Again, Liz dropped to the floor. “You’ve been hurt. Let’s get you up and into the bathroom.”

  With her help, Ian rose. Once upright, he walked with her to the bathroom where he peered in the small mirror above the sink. “He hit me with a gun, so I should be grateful he didn’t fire it at me.” He looked through the mirror at her. “Looks like we’re a matching set now.”

  Liz grunted out something and took a facecloth to w
et it. Ian gasped when she pressed the cold, wet cloth to his welt. “It’s bleeding a bit. Much worse than mine,” she said.

  He leaned forward, one hand pressing the cloth and the other gripping the cool porcelain. He shut his eyes.

  “Do you think that was Monica?” she asked quietly. “Though Monica is strong, I doubt she’s strong enough to take you on, even with the element of surprise.”

  Ian dabbed his scrape. “Probably not. I was just thinking of all the evidence building up against her. Besides, whoever it was felt too muscular for a woman.” He peeled away the cold cloth and rinsed it before reapplying it. “What we need to do is find out what was taken. Let’s go.”

  “Wait, what about your cut? You need to get it looked at. At least let Elsie—”

  “No, not right now. We need to discover what, if anything, is missing. Monica took some of the info I had on Charlie, so if that’s missing it most likely was her, having come here to get what she thinks is the rest.”

  “Did you bring it home with you last night?”

  He nodded. “I did. I’d been hoping to read through it more and see if there was anything I’d missed before.”

  By then, they had reached the spare room. When he’d been given this house, most of the furniture came with it. Ian had already given away the spare single bed, among other things, to the couple down the road who’d taken in their grandchildren. All that remained in this room was a battered desk and wobbly chair. Ian had set it up as a secondary office. His laptop remained closed, but the papers he’d brought home were scattered about.

  They spent the next half hour sorting through his papers. Just as Liz handed him the last of her pile, his cell phone rang.

  Ian answered it with a curt hello. It was the FEMA’s office. After talking briefly, he hung up and sighed. “What’s wrong?”

  “The island is being evacuated. We have until tomorrow morning to get out. The roads will be closed by then.”

  He looked grim. “Sandy is now a category one hurricane, and is coming this way. But the police can’t get here right away. There are some serious accidents caused by the evacuations.”