by Patti Larsen
Really, Dad. Sloppy security.
“Lester didn’t seem to care about the thefts,” Chris said, his anger from our first encounter not any less than when he’d confronted Dad. “We had to do something.” Illegal or not? Well, I hardly blamed him. “Not to mention the dumping.” Wanda nodded like that was worse than the disappearing property. “We need to know who’s destroying our lake so we can put a stop to it.”
“We couldn’t take this to the acting sheriff,” Wanda said, voice low and angry. “You were the only one I trusted, Fiona.”
I’d earned her trust, had I? The fact she and Chris were handing the footage over to me helped, quite frankly. I had them on the original suspect list for Lester’s murder, though Wanda’s involvement seemed farfetched. If she was going to kill anyone it would have been Olivia. But Chris’s falling out with Lester wasn’t lost on me.
Wanda seemed much calmer than he did now that the evidence was coming to life on the screen. I noted the poor quality of the video footage, disappointed to discover they hadn’t made the dumpster area a priority either. Well, I could hardly blame them for that.
“Sheriff Turner knew about the thefts,” Wanda said, sounding grumpy about the whole thing, “though, in his defense, it was pretty minor before he left. And I know he told Acting Sheriff Carlisle to look into it while he was gone. But that was a week ago and the losses have ramped up.”
“I overheard Geoffrey talking to Carlisle,” Chris said, leaning across the desk toward me, heavy brow furrowed, double chin accentuated as he shook his head. “That we weren’t a priority. Imagine that. Olivia’s really losing touch with her council if elected officials in her ranks are openly telling law enforcement not to care about what happens to us in this tourist climate.”
Agreed. I knew if it was my establishment losing out I’d be furious. Come to think of it, did I have anything to worry about? I needed to talk to Daisy about doing an inventory to make sure nothing was going missing.
My mind went to the boat this morning, to the two figures in hoodies heading out on the lake, and I pondered their secret surveillance as Chris went on.
“I wish Wanda and I had talked sooner,” he said.
The fisherwoman nodded. “Me too,” she said. “Look, I know I had a grudge against Lester and that Olivia and I don’t see eye to eye on the tourism thing. But I’m willing to put all that aside.” She glanced at Chris next to her, shrugged. “At least the cottagers are consistent clients. If they start jumping ship because of these thefts, I’ll lose the last of my revenue.” When she met my eyes again, hers narrowed. “We have enough evidence on the footage to prove Lester and his boating friends were dumping garbage into the lake.” I scrolled through a few scraps of footage, watching in fast forward as the laughing Patterson’s boat passed the camera and tossed a bag of trash over the side like it was hilarious to him. “I don’t have proof, but I wouldn’t put it past Lester to be involved in the thefts as well as the dumping.” She shifted Dad’s computer around, scanning for a particular timecode in one of the files. I watched as two hooded figures—the same two from the boat? Certainly looked that way, enough to renew my thrill of nerves over the encounter that morning—talked in the shadows with someone else, a someone that walked away from them with a nasty grin on his face. Lester Patterson crossed the light in front of the clubhouse door long enough to identify him, though his two companions disappeared into the shadows.
“Rumor has it Lester’s been having money problems,” Chris said. “That he was in deep debt and that the family had cut him off.”
Interesting. I didn’t really believe, it, but interesting.
“This is the part I want you to see.” Chris took control of the computer this time, scanning the final file before letting the footage run. I watched two hoody clad figures climb out of a small boat—it had to be the same one I’d spotted on the lake—and slide onto Lester’s. The timecode told me they visited a half hour before his estimated time of death.
Hadn’t the first one said there’d be evidence they were on “his” boat? Here it was, plain as day (well, night). But, when the two reappeared moments later and slunk off, it was the last visitor who made my breath catch, her face clear as she turned with what looked like guilt, slipping off the dock and into the cabin just as the footage went black.
“The drive space ran out,” Wanda said, sounding frustrated by the equipment failure. “But I’m positive the last person on board Lester’s boat the night he died was Heather Parborough.”
***
Chapter Twenty Six
Chris and Wanda left a short time later, after I saved copies of the footage they took. I sat at Dad’s desk and perused the video files, disappointed that the pair hadn’t caught the killer on tape. Heather’s appearance was damning, I’d give them that, though, and her apparent distress with Lester and whoever it was she’d been talking to this morning at Petunia’s made her seem pretty guilty to me.
If she’d accidentally caused the yacht club president’s death, why was she lingering in Reading? Right, something to do with recovering lost money. But where did it go and how did she lose it?
I was about to call Dad again when the phone rang. I recognized his number and answered, knew from the sounds in the background he was on the move, the hum of his truck’s motor discernable as was the faint country song his radio played.
“I had to leave town for the rest of the day,” he said. “Unrelated case.”
I filled him in on what Wanda and Chris told me while Dad listened with his usual silence.
“Any idea who the two you saw might have been?” Dad sounded worried.
“Not sure,” I said. “I’m going to head back out to the lake and check out the site. See if I can find anything that identifies them. But Dad, it’s got to be the thieves. And from the sounds of things they are getting ready to wrap up their operation.” And we’d lose the chance to catch them and question them about their involvement with Lester Patterson. They were nervous enough about being on board his ship they might have killed him and run, leaving him for Heather to find, right? Rather than jump to the conclusion that Heather was the killer, I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Fee.” The vibration in Dad’s voice told me he thought that was a terrible idea before he even said so. “Stay out of it until I get back. I’ll be home tomorrow morning. We’ll go out together, okay?”
It would be too late by then, I just told him that. “I’ll be fine, Dad,” I said. “I’m not going to go anywhere near them personally, I promise. But if it is the thieves, if I don’t do something they’ll vanish and with them our chance to catch them.”
“Just wait for me,” he said. “Please, Fee.”
I grumbled and I growled but I agreed at last, hanging up with a promise I wouldn’t go looking for the thieves alone. The door to Dad’s office locked behind me as I pondered calling Jill. If I took her, I wouldn’t be breaking my promise, would I?
But she just reiterated what Dad said, sounding angry. “Fiona Fleming,” she snapped, voice very low like she was trying to keep our conversation a secret. “If you do anything to put yourself in harm’s way I’ll kill you myself. Because Crew will strip my hide if even a hair on your head gets harmed.” She paused a long moment before exhaling. “Just tell me where you saw the boat and I’ll do my best, okay?”
“Never mind,” I said in a rush. “Dad’s back.” Yup, just lied to her. “He’ll call you.” And I hung up, feeling guilty and frustrated and more than a little rebellious. Crew might not be here, but his smothering protectiveness was in full evidence.
As I turned, considering doing as the deputy told me to (snort), a black sedan cruised past, familiar enough without the bulky sunglassed bully in the driver’s seat I knew exactly who sat in the rear passenger side.
I should have gone home to Petunia’s. But I’d long given up on not following my nose when the chance came up. Instead, I crossed the street and headed for the edge of town, appr
oaching the front entry of The Orange with growing trepidation. Dad mentioned he thought Malcolm might be behind the thefts, but I had other ideas. No way someone as smart as the Irishman would make a mess where he lived. More likely he either had no idea or was monitoring the situation himself.
Time to find out which.
The bully at the door towered over me but didn’t try to stop me as I slipped past him, wishing Malcolm would hire guys with necks for once. His suit just made him look bigger, too, intimidating, though I was used to big men thanks to growing up with my uniformed Dad. Honestly? I found men like Malcolm far more frightening. Slim, contained, with faint deprecating humor hiding who knew what behind eyes vaguely reminiscent of a shark watching prey, the handsome silver haired Irishman didn’t comment as I approached and sat at the bar he leaned against.
“Get you a drink, Fiona?” He circled to the taps, offered me a glass but I shook my head.
“Bit early,” I said. “I’m here about business.”
“Siobhan?” The name was said with lightness of tone but his not-so-subtle meaning wasn’t lost on me.
“Local thefts,” I said, trying to wrangle the conversation into something that didn’t make me feel uncomfortably like I was cheating on my dad’s trust.
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t seem surprised, so I figured he already knew. Did that mean he was involved after all? “I’m aware of someone infringing on my territory,” he said, answering that question. “And I’m taking steps to uncover who it is thinks they can waltz in and tread on my toes.”
I wouldn’t want to be the thieves if Malcolm caught them. Which gave me an idea I should have tossed to the wayside the second it crossed my mind. Instead, I spoke up while my heart skipped in wild palpitations in my chest.
“I have information that will help,” I said. “If you’re willing to let me talk to them when you catch them.” Shouldn’t I have just trusted Dad? Or let Jill handle it like she said? Except Dad wasn’t here and Jill had been hamstrung by Robert. Then again, did I care how the thieves were caught? All I wanted from them was what they knew about the death of Lester Patterson, right?
Um, not exactly, Fee. Dad had been hired to track them down. Well, I was tracking them. Just using unconventional means to do the deed. The fact I was about to tap an illegal source of assistance? That’s what my father got for leaving Reading without telling me after giving me the keys to his kingdom.
Malcolm held very still a long moment before nodding, smile returning, eyes narrow and tight. “I think we can be of mutual benefit to one another,” he said. “You sure you want to cross the line from the law to my particular vocation, lass?”
“Are you planning to kill anyone?” I really needed to just go. But I couldn’t turn to Robert and Jill told me to stay out of it. Dad wasn’t here. Neither was Crew. If what I overheard was true, the thieves were going to vanish tonight, once and for all. What choice did I have?
Malcolm laughed, though it was a cold and heartless sound while his boys chuckled in time with him. “Now don’t you worry your pretty little red head about that,” he said. “You tell me what you’ve got and I’ll take care of things.”
“That’s not how this is going to work.” I waited for Malcolm to nod before exhaling a barely contained breath of nerves. “I need to talk to them. About Lester Patterson’s death.”
The Irishman seemed to think about it, though I was confident he’d already made up his mind. When he finally leaned over the bar and tapped the back of one of my hands with a narrow index finger it was hard not to pull away.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll be happy to bring you along on this little caper on one condition.”
Naturally. “What’s that?”
He reached under the bar and pulled out a phone, setting it in front of me. The shark-like expression reappeared, though there was a kind of sorrowful eagerness that blunted his fearsome nature. Enough I actually felt a pang of empathy as he spoke.
“You call Siobhan right now,” he said, “and you can have anything you want.”
I could have rejected his offer. Instead, my heart pounding but the opportunity to act so immediate I couldn’t resist, I lifted the receiver, eyes never leaving his. “Number?” Like I needed him to recite it. I knew it by heart, didn’t I?
His own gaze widened and for a moment he seemed shocked, even scrambling to pull out a small notebook from his back pocket. Apparently he hadn’t consigned it to rote like I had. He read off an international code before a familiar string of numerals I dutifully typed into the keypad. I held onto the receiver and his gaze while the line rang and rang.
And ended in a message service. “I can’t be reached, my love,” an older woman’s voice said with a cheerful grin behind her words. “Just talk to the machine, why don’t you?” Her accent was also Irish, heavier than Malcolm’s, and I almost stuttered as the beep turned into waiting silence.
“Ms. Doyle, my name is Fiona Fleming,” I said. “Malcolm Murray asked me to call.” I left her my number before hanging up, handing the phone over to the staring Irishman. Wait, was that a shine in his pale green eyes, the hint of barely suppressed tears? Just what the hell was my father hiding from me and why? And what could possibly trigger so much sadness in a hardened criminal like Malcolm?
“Thank you, lass,” he said, soft, barely audible. He tucked the phone under the counter, shrewd expression returning, that faintly mocking grin back in place. “Now, tell me what you’ve got on the crew who think I take lightly to poachers.”
***
Chapter Twenty Seven
That’s how I found myself, late that night, crouching in a boat darkened and quiet hovering on the edge of a cottage dock while Malcolm whispered into a cellphone. Still reeling from just how idiotic this decision to join him was, I did my best not to think about how much more efficient his operation was than anything I’d witnessed even when Crew was around being sheriff. If Malcolm wanted to run Reading, he could have from the way he swiftly organized and implemented his plan to use the information I gave him to end the brief but fruitful stretch of thefts the two hooded individuals enjoyed.
All it took was telling him exactly where to find the boat I’d spotted twice now and Malcolm was on the move, a GPS tracker planted on the hidden boat, the pair under surveillance by Malcolm’s boys, cameras much clearer and in full color with infrared brilliance showing us their latest journey to head out and make themselves richer at other’s expense. The silence broken by their motor puttering as they skimmed off into the darkness was punctuated by the soft hum of the boat Malcolm used, newer and quiet enough to follow without alerting those we pursued.
Ten minutes after we set off after our quarry I hunched low in the prow of the now moored boat and watched with a wince dying to manifest as the two big bullies Malcolm had following by SUV cornered the pair of hoody clad thieves and, with the sort of rough but practiced actions of men who knew what they were doing and had a lot of experience doing it, corralled their prey and cuffed them tight with zip ties. Malcolm lounged next to me in the boat we’d arrived in, a beaming smile on his face, cigar between his lips, casually relaxed enough I knew the pair were in for a terrible time unless I could convince the Irishman to turn them over to the authorities when I was done asking questions.
“Please, don’t kill us!” I knew that voice at full volume, even if the whispered version had given me trouble. Though it was shocking to hear so much terror from the hulking form whose head snapped back as one of the towering bullies unmasked him. David Campbell might have looked like a force to be reckoned with all his own, but the way he crumbled in the face of the career criminal seated beside me told me he wasn’t nearly as tough as he made out to be.
Then again, if I was facing off with the likes of Malcolm Murray, and not on his good side, either, I’d be pretty scared, too.
“Evening, gents.” When the second thief staggered to his knees, his head jerked back by a firm grasp on the ties of his ho
od, I gaped at the sight of Luke Patterson. Wait, I thought he and Keira’s father were enemies…? The whole deception played out in my head with a clarity that had me furious with my own lack of deduction.
Oldest trick in the book, pretending to hate each other on the outside while working together. Great way to misdirect suspicions. I wondered if Luke’s girlfriend was in on it, too? Keira’s tears had seemed real enough, her worry for her boyfriend’s wellbeing. For all I knew, though, she was part of the scam.
Pissed off now by my failure to suspect either of them, I actually considered letting Malcolm do what he wished once I had what I needed, just on principle.
“You two have been naughty,” Malcolm said, grinning around his cigar. The pungent smoke reached me, making me cough softly. He glanced my way, shrugged. “And this fair lass has some questions you’re going to answer. If you tell her what she wants to know in a way that makes her happy, you just might live to talk about it.”
“We don’t know anything.” Luke shuddered, looked at me, at Malcolm. “About anything.”
“Considering she hasn’t asked you yet, you might want to hold off on saying a word, lad.” Malcolm’s good humor flashed to an evil grin before he gestured to me. “All yours, Fiona, my dear.”
He really seemed to be enjoying himself, far too much if I was honest. How much of his delight came from the end of the chase and how much came from me being here with him when both of us knew just how furious Dad would be when he found out?
“You two were caught on tape with Lester Patterson,” I said.
“My father,” Luke said, snarky enough around the edges I scowled in response. One of the bullies casually smacked him on the back of the head. It looked like a small gesture, but Luke rocked from the blow, cursing a bit before catching himself.