Refuge Cove

by Janet Dailey

  Packard leaned back in his chair. “I appreciate your telling me this, but it’s too late to make much difference. I got Traverton’s call around eleven-thirty. By noon I’d located the homestead and sent a SWAT team out there to pick Ezra up. There was nobody home when the team arrived, but they were waiting when Ezra and his mother drove up in the truck. He surrendered without a fight. He’s being booked into the county jail as we speak.”

  “And Boone? What about him?”

  Packard shrugged. “As the only witness, he’ll need to be questioned. But so far, he hasn’t turned up.”

  “You know this case won’t likely go before a jury,” John said. “Innocent or guilty, Ezra won’t be found competent to stand trial.”

  “Maybe not,” Packard said. “But our job isn’t to prosecute the bastards. Our job is just to catch them.”

  * * *

  Dog tired, John drove back to the cabin. By the time he’d showered and downed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with milk, he was ready for a good book and an early bedtime. But he remembered the strain in Emma’s voice, and he knew she needed him. He needed her, too. He needed to hold her close and forget the things he’d seen, touched, and smelled today. And he needed to know that, for now at least, she was safe.

  Leaving his damp hair loose, he dressed, closed the cabin, and drove back to town. From the docks, he could see her through the front window, finishing the nightly cleanup. If Boone were out here, there’d be nothing to stop him from shooting her, he thought. But that wasn’t what Boone wanted. He wanted to have her, to possess her, to make her suffer in ways too awful to imagine. And now, with Ezra in jail for the murder that Boone had almost certainly committed, he would be bolder than ever.

  He watched her a moment longer before he crossed the street. He’d hoped to see David, too, but his son was nowhere in sight. Maybe Marlena had put a stop to his working.

  He stepped close to the window and waved. When she saw him, her face lit in a smile that made him glad he’d driven back to town. She was stunning when she smiled. It was hard to believe that he’d thought her ordinary-looking when they’d first met. There was nothing ordinary about the woman.

  She unlocked the door to let him in. He held up the spare jacket he’d brought. “I thought you’d like to get out and go for a ride,” he said.

  “I’d love that,” she said. “Just let me finish here.”

  Pearl came out of the kitchen and gave him a friendly greeting. “If you’re looking for David, he went home early,” she said. “He has a test tomorrow.”

  “How’s he doing?” John asked. “Does he seem all right?”

  “He’s fine. I think you did him a lot of good.” Pearl glanced toward Emma. “Go on. We’re almost done here. I can finish.”

  “Thanks.” She let him slip the jacket around her shoulders and usher her outside. As was getting to be a habit, he looked up and down the street for any sign of Boone. This excess caution was getting tiresome, but it was still necessary—now more than ever.

  “Did you switch rooms?” he asked as he helped her into the Jeep.

  “Yes. The new one’s nicer, and the workers have promised not to let Boone onto the floor. Such kind men. Now that they know he’s a danger, they’ve become protective of me.”

  “Good, but we’ve got a problem.” He started the Jeep and headed south along the highway. “Ezra’s been arrested for the murder of that woman.”

  “But isn’t that a good thing? Boone said he killed her.”

  “Boone was lying. Ezra’s no murderer. He may look dangerous, but he’s a gentle giant, with the mind of a child. He’s shy around strangers, especially women.”

  “Oh, no!” Emma cried. “John, this is terrible! I was the one who called the police and reported him. This is all my fault!”

  “It’s not your fault, Emma. Boone played you. He knew that you’d never met Ezra, and that you’d report whatever he told you. Now Ezra’s in jail for his crime, and Boone is pretty much free to come and go as he likes, which makes him all the more dangerous. Until we find a way to trip him up, you’ll need to be very, very careful.”

  “I’m already being careful. Oh, John, that poor man! He must be so scared in jail—and I’m the one who put him there. Can you go with me to the police in the morning and tell them I made a mistake?” She was on the verge of tears.

  “Not you. I’ll go by myself. Maybe I can convince Traverton that Boone’s the real murderer.” John tried to sound encouraging, but something told him he’d have no better luck convincing Traverton than he’d had convincing Packard. Neither lawman liked being wrong.

  He took the road to the boat ramp where they’d been once before, stopping the Jeep at the narrow beach. The stars cast shimmering reflections in the water. “Come here, Emma,” he said, and pulled her close.

  For a few quiet moments she nestled against him, quivering like a frightened animal. He wrapped her in his arms, wanting her to feel protected. His lips grazed her face, brushing her eyelids, her cheeks, and coming to rest on her sweet mouth. She was his woman, to love, keep, and protect. He wanted to build a life with her, to raise their children and grow old together.

  But until he could promise to keep her safe, he had no right to speak of those things.

  “This nightmare won’t last forever, love,” he murmured against her hair. “It will end, I promise, even if I have to end it myself.”

  And maybe that was the key to it all, he thought. He’d depended on the law to take Boone out of action and put him where he’d never harm Emma, or any other woman, again. But the law had failed him. It had failed Emma, and it had failed to get justice for poor Bethany Ann. Maybe it was time to take matters into his own hands.

  * * *

  The next day John paid a visit to Traverton to express his doubts about charging Ezra. “All you have to go on is Boone’s word,” he said. “And you know Boone’s a liar. He tricked at least two women into fake marriages and took their money. Now he’s pinning a murder he committed on his handicapped brother. That’s pretty low, if you ask me.”

  Traverton gave him a cold look. “Just because Boone’s a con artist, that doesn’t mean he’s a killer. As far as I’m concerned we’ve got our man. Ezra Swenson has been processed, arraigned, and assigned a public defender. The judge denied bail, on the grounds that he was a flight risk. My job is done. If you have anything more to say, you can say it to his lawyer. Here’s the young man’s card.”

  Robert Falconi. The name on the card had a familiar ring to it, John thought as he walked out to the Jeep. What were the odds that Ezra’s public defender was related to a certain retired judge?

  The law office was located above a travel agency on Grant Street. The building was nothing grand, but the law office, at the top of the stairs, was freshly remodeled with a neutral color scheme, high-end leather furniture, and original artwork on the walls. “Nice digs,” John commented as the young lawyer strode into the reception area to meet him.

  “Thanks.” He looked about twenty-four, with thick, dark hair and an aquiline nose. “My mother has elegant taste and the money to go with it. Otherwise you’d be looking at folding chairs and a card table in here. ”

  “Your mother’s the judge.” It wasn’t even a question.

  “You know her?”

  “Some. But I’m here to talk about Ezra Swenson.” He spent the next fifteen minutes filling the lawyer in on the background of the story.

  “I talked to Ezra for just a few minutes,” Falconi said. “But I got the impression he was a few pints short of a gallon, as they say. Until you showed up, my plan was to get him evaluated and declared incompetent to stand trial.”

  “That’s exactly what Boone wants. His brother gets blamed for the murder, the case never goes to trial, and Boone gets off without ever having to show up.”

  “Are you saying that Ezra should be tried because he’s innocent?”

  “It would be better than shipping him off to some hospital for the
criminally insane, where he’d pine away and die. What I’m saying is, before you seek a ruling on this case, you need to learn the truth. Talk to the mother, at least. Talk to Emma, too. She doesn’t know Ezra but she can tell you plenty about Boone and the hellhole where he brought her.”

  “What about you? If this goes to trial, would you be willing to testify to what you just told me?”

  “Absolutely. But that’s not what you should be shooting for. Bring up enough evidence to get the case dismissed. That’s what a good lawyer does.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Falconi looked young and sounded uncertain. John could only hope that the judge’s son knew his job.

  * * *

  John had planned three errands today. The first two had ended in frustration—with a stubborn lawman and an irresolute public defender.

  The third errand was different. He was about to cross the line to the dark side.

  After a quick lunch, he drove to the house with the peeling blue paint—the house where Sherman Philpot lived. When he knocked on the door, it barely creaked open. Philpot’s bloodshot eye glared at him through the narrow crack.

  “What the hell d’you want, you sonofabitch?” he demanded. “Have you got that cop with you again?”

  John shook his head. “Take it easy, man. I didn’t mean for that to happen. And I’m not here to rat you out. I don’t even need to come in.”

  “Good, ’cause I ain’t invitin’ you. Anything you got to say, you can say it right there.”

  “Fine,” John said. “I know you’re in touch with Boone, wherever he is. I just want you to give him a message.”

  “Okay. Let’s have it.”

  “Since he’s got a way of hearing things, he probably knows that I was with the state troopers when they found the body of his so-called bride. She was buried with a deer on top of her body to hide her remains.”

  “So?”

  “The troopers combed the place for evidence, but there was one thing they missed—something that can tie Boone to the murder. The deer was mostly hide and bones, but there was a bullet in it, plain as day. When the troopers were packing up, I went back, took a picture, and put the bullet in my pocket. If I turn it over to the police, they’ll run ballistics and match it to Boone’s gun—or if not that, they can match it to other bullets they found in the dirt around the trailer. That’ll nail him right to the wall.”

  “So what do you want from Boone?”

  “A trade. That bullet for his promise to leave Emma in peace. He can call me. He knows my number.”

  “Hell, he’ll laugh in your face.”

  “If he does, he’ll end up sorry. Just tell him. Got it?”

  “Got it.” The door closed with a click.

  John walked down the steps and back to the Jeep. He had lied. There might have been a bullet in the deer, but nobody had thought to check for it. John hadn’t come up with the idea until last night, after he’d taken Emma back to the hotel.

  Finding a similar bullet to pass off to Boone wouldn’t be hard. There were probably some around the cabin from the game John had shot for meat.

  Of course, he knew better than to think Boone would keep his promise to leave Emma alone. But that wasn’t the idea. The plan was to click the recorder on his phone and get Boone talking. With luck, by the time the exchange was made, he’d have a recorded confession.

  Now that he thought about it, it struck him as a crazy idea, like something out of a bad TV crime show. He couldn’t begin to count the number of things that could go wrong. For all he knew, he could end up dead. But he had taken the first step. Now he had to see it through. He wouldn’t tell Emma about the plan until it was over. She would only worry.

  He was halfway home when his phone signaled an incoming text. He pulled off the road to read it.

  Mr. Wolf, please contact me about the recovery of your airplane. If you’re available for the next few days, I might be able to help you.

  There was a phone number. John’s pulse leaped. The problem of getting the Beaver repaired had kept him awake nights. If this was a solution, he would have to go for it.

  If need be, his plan to trap Boone would have to wait a few days. Getting his plane back had to come first.

  * * *

  Emma cleaned up after the lunch rush and took her break, such as it was. Since she’d promised John that she wouldn’t go out alone, she picked up the chicken sandwich the kitchen staff had made her, along with a cold soda, and took it upstairs to her room. Here, at least, she could eat in peace and quiet, put her feet up, and maybe do a little reading.

  Part of her was counting the days until this work marathon was done. But with so many uncertainties hanging over her, she had no solid plan for what to do next. Should she look for a cheap apartment and another job, maybe as a substitute teacher or aide? Should she cut her strings here and fly back to the life she’d left behind? Could she count on staying with John, even though he had yet to mention that possibility?

  Until Boone was out of the picture, there was no way she could make a decision.

  John had called her last night. He’d gotten a text from a salvage dealer with a boat who could get him to his damaged plane with replacement parts and tools to do the work. The price was better than expected, but the man had other business and would only be available for the next couple of days, which meant John would need to leave first thing in the morning. He would be gone for at least two days, maybe longer. Again, he’d cautioned Emma to be careful and stay inside the hotel.

  It was hard, having him gone at such a critical time. But Emma understood how much John depended on the Beaver for his work, and more. The plane was his lifeline to the sky and the freedom he loved. Without it, he was an eagle with broken wings. She couldn’t begrudge him the time it took to recover it.

  A glance at the clock told her the break was over. David would be coming in soon to start his shift. She’d grown genuinely fond of John’s bright, cheerful son, but except for work chatter, they’d never had a chance to talk. She found herself wishing for a chance to know him better.

  After washing her hands, she gathered up her plate, left the room locked, and went back downstairs.

  The restaurant tended to be quiet at this time of day, between late lunch and early dinner. But as she crossed the lobby, she heard the sound of voices. One of them, a woman’s, was shrill with anger.

  “You get on that phone and call her, Pearl! Get my daughter here right now! This is family business, and, damn it, she’s family!”

  Emma’s first impulse was to stay where she was. But that wasn’t her job. Pushing aside a dark premonition, she walked through the connecting door.

  Besides Pearl, there were two people in the restaurant. One, an elderly man with a nervous look, was getting up to leave. He slunk out with his meal unfinished and his cash on the table. The other, a woman, was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by empty tables. Emma recognized her at once. Although she’d only seen her from a distance, there could be no mistaking Lillian, the matriarch of the Swenson clan.

  Emma walked back to stand next to Pearl, as if in support. She wondered if Boone had shown his mother the school photo she’d given him, but to her relief, Lillian only glanced at her, with no sign of recognition.

  “All right, Lillian,” Pearl said. “I’ll call Marlena, but only if you’ll sit down and be still. Would you like some coffee? Maybe a doughnut or some pie, on the house?”

  Lillian sank onto a chair with a weary sigh. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a man’s lumberjack-style coat, she was a portly woman, but powerfully built, as if she’d spent a lifetime doing heavy work. Her thin, gray hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head.

  “I’ll take some black coffee and a slice of your apple pie with ice cream,” she said. At a nod from Pearl, Emma scurried off to get her what she’d asked for.

  Moments later, when Emma came out of the kitchen, Pearl was still on the portable landline phone. Bending close, she placed the cof
fee and pie, along with a napkin and utensils, on the table. “Here you are,” she said, getting her first good look at the woman.

  Weathered by wind, sun, and time, Lillian’s creased face told a story of hard work, rough living, and disappointment. Her husband had either died or run off. Of the three children she’d raised alone, one son was weak in his mind, the other son was a lying sociopath, and her daughter had cut all ties to the family. Now the one child who’d stayed with her, maybe even loved her, was in jail for an awful crime he hadn’t committed.

  Looking into Lillian’s bloodshot blue eyes, Emma caught a glint of tears.

  I’m sorry, she wanted to say. This is all my fault. But she knew that would only make matters worse.

  Without thanking her, Lillian took a forkful of pie and shoveled it into her mouth. Her hands were chapped and callused, another testament to the rough life she’d led.

  Pearl was still on the phone. Placing her hand over the receiver, she turned to Lillian. “Marlena’s not coming. She says that you’re no longer family to her, and your problems are none of her business.”

  Lillian rose to her feet, upsetting the coffee cup. “Give me the damn phone!” She snatched it out of Pearl’s hands. “Listen, you ungrateful little bitch, your brother Ezra’s in jail for something he didn’t do! They think he murdered a woman, out at Boone’s trailer. You’re still our blood. If that means anything to you—”

  She went silent. The phone dropped to the table as she stared.

  David had just walked into the restaurant.

  CHAPTER 15

  Pearl picked up the phone. “Marlena, you might want to get down here,” she said, and hung up.

  David glanced from Lillian to Pearl as if to ask, What’s going on here? From the stories she’d heard, Emma guessed that the boy hadn’t seen his mother’s family since he was small. He didn’t appear to recognize the woman standing at the table, staring at him.