“Care to open the saddlebags?” Vic asked, pointing to the white mounted toolbox behind the cab of the truck, the one Eric had seen Gene pitch something into the day of the fire.
While Paxton fumbled for his keys, Eric sidled over to the ATV. Reaching down, he laid his hand on the red engine cover. The machine felt warm to the touch. He looked up and nodded at Vic.
Paxton’s hands shook as he inserted the small silver key into the truck’s toolbox. “There isn’t much in here besides tools,” he said, pushing back the cover.
“Mind if I look?” Vic asked.
Paxton hesitated, then stepped aside.
Vic checked visually, then reached inside the toolbox and rummaged around. “You’re right, there’s not much here.” He started to pull his arm back, then hesitated. “Oops, wait a minute.”
Eric could see the sheriff straining for a better reach. Paxton looked like he planned to be sick.
“Well, what have we here?” Vic said. He pulled back his arm. Clutched in his fist was a long, red flare.
CHAPTER 23
“I can explain,” said Paxton.
“I’m sure you can. And I’m going to give you the chance,” Vic said. “But first, I want everyone to wait here for a minute.”
Vic headed to the office, holding the fusee like a baton. Paxton shuffled his feet on the ground. “Do you two know what this is all about?”
Lark looked away.
Eric shrugged. “Someone tried to kill us this afternoon.”
Paxton’s head snapped up. “And the sheriff thinks it was me?”
“Whoever it was rode an ATV like that one.” Eric pointed to the little red machine. “The engine’s still warm.”
Paxton’s eyes grew wide. “I just rode it, but I didn’t take it up on Eagle Cliff.”
“Who said anything about Eagle Cliff?” Lark asked.
“I just assumed,” stammered Paxton.
Vic came out of the office holding a paper bag. He dropped the fusee in the bag, then strode toward them. “Okay Gene, let’s start from the beginning. Where were you this afternoon?”
“Here. I swear.” He pointed at Lark and Eric. “Like I told them, I borrowed Mandy’s ATV and rode around the property making a list of damages to submit to the insurance company. I can show you the list. I have it in my office.”
Vic put the bag on the seat of his patrol car. “And where were you on Friday, the day of the fire?”
“I was here, all day.”
“Did you know about the tape?”
The sheriff moved closer to Paxton with each question, backing him against the blue pickup. Paxton’s eyes flicked to Eric at the mention of the tape.
“You were at Linda Verbiscar’s,” Eric accused. “You’re the one who took the tape.”
Fear leached the color from Paxton’s face. “I’m the one on the tape, I’ll admit that. But I didn’t do nothin’to Linda Verbiscar.”
“What was on the tape?” Vic asked.
“I don’t know. I never saw it. Verbiscar contacted me and said she had footage of me stacking wood up on Eagle Cliff Mountain the morning of the fire. She wanted me to come forward about what happened up there. You gotta understand, Shangri-La was draining me dry. I figured if I started a fire, everybody would just think it was a spot fire from the burn.”
He hesitated, and Vic urged him on. “But Wayne caught you, and you killed him.”
“No. I piled up some wood, that’s all.”
“So you’re saying you never saw Wayne, and you never lit the fire?” Lark asked.
“I did see Wayne. I never had a chance to light the fire.” Paxton leaned against the pickup. “Wayne showed up before I got done. I didn’t want him to see me, so I ducked into the woods. I figured I’d wait until he’d finished what he was doing, but then someone else came up and I got scared. I figured Wayne had spotted the slash pile and called for backup. I took off, and, the next thing I knew, Wayne was dead and Shangri-La had burned to the ground.”
“Who came up?” Vic asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see.”
“What was Wayne doing?” Eric asked.
“He was swinging some sort of gadget around. Checking the humidity, I guess.”
The psychrometer.
“What happened at the inn, Gene?” Vic asked, his voice quiet but firm.
Paxton hung his head. “When I got there, I found the cabin locked up tight. By the tracks, it looked to me like someone else had been there before me. I knocked on the door. No one answered, so I left. I swear, I didn’t do nothin’.”
“You didn’t go inside?”
“No. I’m telling you the truth, Sheriff. I never saw her.”
Eric motioned to Vic, and the two of them stepped to the back of the pickup.
“Wayne’s psychrometer never turned up,” Eric said.
“Is that the thing Paxton claims he saw Wayne swinging?”
Eric nodded.
The sheriff grinned. “Then if Paxton has it, we could just about wrap up this case.”
Vic strolled back to where Paxton stood. “Mind if I take a look around inside the trailer?”
Paxton focused his gaze on the toe of his boot. “Maybe I need an attorney.”
“Suit yourself,” Vic said. “I’ve got plenty to get the warrant I need. Have Mandy lock up, and we’ll go downtown until I can get a hold of the judge.”
Paxton sighed. His shoulders sagged, then he made a sweeping gesture toward the trailer. “What the hell, I don’t have nothin’to hide.”
The inside of the office building was nicer than the outside. The front door opened into a large living room with a vaulted ceiling and plush, jewel-toned carpet, spread wall to wall. Wood cabinets, mahogany furniture, and overstuffed chairs furnished the front area. In the back, couches ringed a rocked-in fireplace.
“Not bad for a man on the verge of bankruptcy,” whispered Lark.
Eric agreed. Either the insurance company had paid off in record time, or Gene Paxton had squirreled some money away.
Mandy hung up the phone when they entered. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
“The sheriff just wants to have a look around,” said Paxton. He pointed toward a door on the right. “My office is in there.”
Although the room had been converted to an office, mirrored closets still screamed “master bedroom.” The room contained three burgundy-colored chairs and a large cherrywood desk spanning the far windows. Framed prints depicting the three styles of houses one could purchase in Shangri-La adorned the walls. A bookcase lined the inside wall, and vines rimmed the archway to an oversized bathroom complete with Jacuzzi tub.
Eric checked out the bookshelves while Vic walked over to the desk. The sheriff opened the center drawer and rummaged the contents. He searched the desk systematically until he discovered a VCR cassette in the lower desk drawer.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the tape.
“I don’t know,” said Paxton, his voice rising. “It’s not mine.” He looked toward Mandy for support. Mandy edged toward the door.
“Mandy?” Vic said.
The woman stopped moving. “Yes?”
“Have you ever seen this before?” asked the sheriff, waving the tape to catch her eye.
“Nope.”
“I see. Well, do you have a VCR machine in the office?”
Mandy nodded. “In the waiting area.”
They gathered around the TV, and Vic popped in the tape and hit the play button on the remote. The screen flashed from blue to images of a pair of three-toed woodpeckers constructing a nest. The film was choppy due to the motion-activated nature of the recording. Suddenly, the image changed, and Gene Paxton loomed into view carrying an armload of deadwood.
“This doesn’t look good,” whispered Lark. Vic shot her a warning glance.
Paxton slumped into a chair, while Mandy chewed on the inside of her lip. Eric watched in fascination as Paxton added to the pile of slash, looked up, then
scurried away. The male woodpecker flew in, and Wayne Devlin entered the frame. He walked over and kicked at the pile of wood. A flash of metal caught Eric’s eye.
“Freeze it,” he ordered.
Vic hit the pause button on the VCR controls. “What do you see?”
“There. You can see the psychrometer hanging from his belt.” He did have it with him.
“Hmm,” Vic said, pushing the play button again. Wayne turned and walked straight at the camera. His sandy hair waved back from his face, and his blue eyes searched the woods. A flash of recognition crossed his face, then he smiled. Raising a hand, he stepped from view. The woodpecker swooped in again, then the film ended.
“That’s it?” asked Mandy.
“That’s enough,” Vic said. “Gene Paxton, I’m placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”
Eric and Lark waited until Brill arrived, then headed back to town in the NPS truck. They left Vic questioning Mandy. Paxton had already been hauled off to jail.
“It’s hard to believe what some people will do for money,” Lark said. She’d seen it before. “I’ll bet when they do a thorough search, they find the gun and Wayne’s psychrometer.”
“But why take it?” Eric asked. That was the one piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit.
“For a trophy.”
Eric grimaced. “Serial killers do that sort of thing, not weasels like Paxton. His was a crime of opportunity.”
Lark turned to watch him drive. “Are you going to go tell Jackie?”
“Ja.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
He knew he should be overjoyed, but for some reason he only felt empty. The focus on finding Wayne’s killer had kept him insulated from the truth. Wayne Devlin, the man he’d grown to love as a father, was dead.
“Do you want me to go up there with you?” Lark asked.
“No,” Eric said. Too quickly? He glanced at Lark. “I’d like to do this myself.”
How could he explain it to her? Going up there to tell Jackie was his way of saying good-bye to Wayne.
After dropping Lark off at the carriage house, Eric stopped off at his cabin, changed clothes, and cleaned his head wound. Then he headed to the Devlins’. Pulling in the drive, he spotted Wayne’s two quarter horses near the split-rail fence and wondered what would happen to them. Jackie most likely planned to sell them. Maybe he would make her an offer.
He knocked, and she answered the front door dressed in a black pantsuit with pink trim. Tasteful mourning. With her blond hair tucked behind her ears, she looked happy to see him.
“Eric, come in,” she said, beaming, and he realized her eyes looked clear and bright. Her skin carried natural color. She was healing. It seemed too soon, but then his grieving had just begun.
“I’ve got some news,” he said, stepping into the foyer.
“Really?” She led the way into the living room. He stopped at the door, surprised to discover the flowers that filled the nooks and crannies a few short days ago were gone. The bird’s-nest ferns were tucked back into the fireplace. Colored pillows were angled in the corners of the couches. And fresh candles adorned the mantel, along with some new knickknacks. She gestured for him to sit on the couch. “So, tell me.”
He waited for her to lower herself into a chair, then sat down kitty-corner and reached for her hand. “Gene Paxton was arrested today. They think he killed Wayne.”
Her color heightened, and two bright spots of color dotted her checks. “They’re sure?”
“We think Wayne surprised him lighting the fire on Eagle Cliff Mountain.” Eric omitted Paxton’s story about the third party. Something about that niggled at him. “We think he attacked Linda Verbiscar too. Vic Garcia found a tape tucked away in Paxton’s bottom desk drawer that shows Paxton building the fire.”
“Strange he would keep that,” Jackie said, averting her gaze and worrying her fingers in her lap. “I would have destroyed it.”
“I don’t know,” Eric said. “Maybe he got some perverse satisfaction out of watching himself on the tape. Of course, he’s denied everything, except building the fire. Even then, he claims he didn’t light it and therefore hasn’t committed a crime.”
More disturbing was how convincing he had been when professing his innocence. The circumstantial evidence added up, but the more thought Eric gave it, the more it seemed a piece was missing.
“But they have enough to hold him?” Jackie asked.
“Ja. It’s mostly circumstantial, but the evidence stacks up against him.”
“What happens now?” Jackie asked.
Eric rose from the couch and wandered toward the fireplace. “Trent will ask the investigation team to re-evaluate their finding. Wayne’s pension will be reinstated. And you’ll receive Wayne’s full benefits. He died on the job, so you should also receive the extra benefits awarded to a widow and school-aged child.”
“Will the lawsuits be dismissed?”
“I think so. You may have to petition the probate court, but I doubt there will be any problems.” Eric’s hand wandered the edge of the mantel. Small memorabilia of Wayne decorated the painted wood—a medal he’d earned in Vietnam, a tiny picture of him with Jackie and Tamara. Eric lifted the photograph and studied it. Tamara was only a baby. Jackie and Wayne looked so much in love.
Jackie stood up and walked toward a small Queen Anne’s desk near the doorway. “I don’t know what we would have done without you, Eric. Thank you, for everything.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m just glad you’re going to be able to keep the house. And that Tamara can go to college like she’d planned.” He set the picture down and started to turn around when his eye caught on a final item. It was tucked away on the far side of the mantel, canted against the wall beyond the candlesticks. Wayne’s psychrometer.
Eric stepped closer. Picking it up, he turned it in his hand. Engraved on the bottom were the words “To Daddy, Love Tamara. Merry Christmas.”
The missing piece.
Everything tumbled into place. The lie Jackie had told him about the Alzheimer’s disease. Paxton’s third party up on the mountain. The ATV tracks. The small footprints at Linda Verbiscar’s cabin. The reason the psychrometer was missing.
Eric glanced up. Jackie Devlin leaned against the desk, her hands behind her. He held up the psychrometer. She pulled out a small .38 snub-nosed revolver.
“I’m sorry you figured it out.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “What are you going to do, kill me, Jackie?”
“If I have to.”
“Is that what happened at Linda Verbiscar’s? She figured it out, and you tried to kill her too?”
“I didn’t want that to happen. I knew she had the tape. Tamara told me. She found out from that cameraman, Charlie. I didn’t know what was on it, but I needed to know what it showed.”
Eric moved, and Jackie sighted the weapon. Her hand shook. He raised his hands in surrender. “So you went to see her?” he asked, hoping to keep her talking long enough to figure out what to do.
“She was sleeping. It was easy to break in, but she jumped me when I tried taking the tape. I had a gun, but I couldn’t get to it, so I cut her with the X-Acto knife I’d used to jimmy the lock. When she came at me again, I was forced to stab her.”
“Why didn’t you finish her off?” Eric asked, placing the psychrometer back on the mantel.
“Because Gene Paxton came. He didn’t know I was there. In fact, he didn’t think Linda Verbiscar was there. But that’s when I realized who I could frame for Wayne’s murder.” She laughed, a sharp high chortle. “He made it so easy.” She closed her eyes and drew a ragged breath. “Now you’ve made it hard again.”
“But why, Jackie? That’s what I want to know. Why kill him?”
“Do you think it was easy living with him?” She stared toward Eric, looking right through him. “The Alzheimer’s changed Wayne. There were times he didn’t know us anymore.” She moved away from the desk and
closed the French doors leading to the dining room. “Nora Frank wanted to have him fired. He had two years left, two years. There’s no way he could have lasted that long. We would have lost his full pension. Tamara wouldn’t have been able to go to college.” Jackie latched the doors. “She simply couldn’t bear the thought.”
Her words triggered a memory. He and Wayne hunkered down behind a bush in a park campground, being charged by a mother bear. A mother bear protecting her cub. In the flash of a memory, Eric knew the truth.
CHAPTER 24
“It wasn’t you up on Eagle Cliff Mountain, was it? It was Tamara.”
Jackie flashed Eric a thin smile, then gestured for him to sit down. “She did us all a favor, you know. Wayne didn’t want to live like that. I couldn’t help him. I loved him too selfishly. He told us both, ‘The best thing that could happen now, the best thing for all of us, is for me to die. And preferably on the job.’ Don’t you see, he asked her to kill him. Tamara loved her daddy with a purity of heart only the young can define, and she did what her daddy asked her to do.”
“Are you saying she helped him commit suicide?”
“In a sense.” Jackie’s gun arm trembled, and she braced it with her free hand. “She followed him up there, unsure about his plans but prepared to help him make it look like he died in a fire. She took an emergency flare from her car.”
That explains the nail, thought Eric. “What happened then?”
“Wayne was testing for moisture on an incline, and his balance wasn’t good,” she said, gesturing toward the couch again, this time with the barrel of the gun. “Tamara pushed him. He fell and hit his head. She thought he was dead, so she started the fire. Then she stuck the fusee in his hand and left.”
Which explained the fusee residue on Wayne’s glove.
Eric moved slowly toward the couch. “She murdered her own father, Jackie. She needs help. You both need help.”
“What sort of help, Eric? The sort we’d get in prison?” She uttered a brittle laugh. “My baby doesn’t belong in prison. She belongs at Harvard or Yale. She was valedictorian of this year’s class, or didn’t you know?”
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