“Also hated him.”
“I see.” I doodled a face. “Did anyone threaten him, or were there—”
Peter looked down at his desk and shifted a pencil. “No. No. Not really.” He shook his head. “Not that I know of. We all wanted to keep our jobs.”
Breaking eye contact, multiple denials, change of behavior. Peter had just lied. I made a note of his deception on my sketchpad and added horns to the face. “When was the last time you saw him?”
The man leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I guess it would be the Easter egg hunt at Clearwater Park. I saw him with his wife and little girl.” He opened his eyes and straightened. “Any word on her?”
“Not yet. The Easter egg hunt was on what day?”
“Sunday.”
I sketched an egg. “Tell me more about it.”
“It’s an annual event. Very popular. My wife and I took our two kids.”
“Were there a lot of people there?”
Peter nodded. “The place was packed.”
“But you noticed Adam’s family. Tell me about that.”
The man leaned back in his chair again. “Beatrice—I heard Adam calling her Busy Bee—is a beautiful little girl. And she was wearing a pink dress, you know, the fluffy kind that costs an arm and a leg at Nordstrom. I mean, all the kids were dressed up, but Bea looked like a . . . a kid movie star. Everybody would turn and look at her when she walked by.” His face flushed and lips thinned. “Do you think someone killed the Sinopas just to get Bea?”
“I want to look at all possibilities. How do you think they found the Sinopas’ home? Lapwai is about fourteen miles from the Lewiston Easter egg hunt.”
Peter opened a desk drawer and rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a flyer and handing it to me. The cover featured a large Easter bunny. “You had to register in advance.”
“May I keep this?” I held up the flyer.
He nodded, then grabbed a computer printout of the local news and dropped it in front of me. “The press had the same idea, though.” The headline screamed, “Couple Slain, Child Missing!” Under that it said, “Lethal Easter Egg Hunt?”
“You can keep that,” he said.
I placed the printout under my sketchpad. “You said you last saw Adam on Sunday. He wasn’t at work on Monday?”
“He takes . . . took Mondays off.” He stared at my hand.
I stopped twirling my pencil. “Where were you Monday night?”
Peter grimaced. “The million-dollar question. I was at home. With my wife and kids.” He grabbed a business card from a holder in front of him and wrote on the back. “Here’s my home number. Call my wife. Her name’s Michelle.” He handed me a second card.
“I’ll do that.” I stood. “Where’s Adam’s office?”
He jerked his thumb toward a door on my left. “Through there, up the stairs. The police released his office about noon.” He fiddled with a letter opener on his desk. “I guess I need to go up there. But it’s kind of creepy.” He remained seated as I went out.
I entered a small foyer with a door on my left leading to the casino and stairs straight ahead. Interesting. Someone could go up to Adam’s office without going past Peter. At the top of the stairs was a large, richly carpeted room with a wall of one-way glass overlooking the casino floor. Pendleton wool upholstery with Native American prints covered the rustic furniture, and fingerprint powder overlaid most of the surfaces. Moving to the center of the room, I slowly turned in a circle. I have a photographic memory when it comes to faces. With a bit of effort, I can do the same with a scene. The cherrywood desk was void of papers, the matching bookshelves contained three-ring binders of manuals and a few books, and the four-drawer filing cabinet held a single dying plant on the top.
After one last look around, I left Adam’s office and found my way to the business center, where I used their computer to compose a report on the interview. I’d have to discover if the chief wanted me to pursue leads, such as the Easter egg hunt. After sending off the report, I stared at the blank wall, then checked my watch. Every minute Bea was in the hands of a stranger, the possibility of her survival dimmed.
I placed calls to the remaining staff members on my list of people to interview. None of them were working at the casino tonight.
Great. I’d be showing up at the task force meeting tomorrow with a big, fat goose egg.
CHAPTER SIX
AFTER DINNER AT THE QEQIIT BAR AND GRILL, I WANDERED through the hotel, ending back on the second floor. My room overlooked a parking lot and, beyond that, a large RV park. Farther still, the grass-covered, steep hills rose to the Columbia Plateau, broken by jagged outcroppings of basalt. Night had fallen and few lights illuminated the lot. I pulled the drapes against the darkness outside. I’d left a message for Beth at the front desk along with an extra key card.
Settling at the desk, I read the printout Peter gave me. The article mentioned Adam was the manager of the casino and speculated his murder was work related or somehow connected to the Easter egg hunt.
Each presented a challenge. The Easter egg hunt involved hundreds of young children and could have been a hunting ground for pedophiles. But pedophiles don’t usually brutally murder the parents. The child is their target.
On the other hand, if someone who knew the Sinopas—a disgruntled worker, a family member, a neighbor—hated them with enough passion to slaughter them with a hatchet, why take the little girl? The crime didn’t make a lot of sense.
A click and thump in the hall announced Beth’s arrival. Opening the door, I found her with a cart loaded with luggage. She was wearing a striking houndstooth jersey jacket and matching ankle pants with a cream blouse. Her hair was casually clipped up and her porcelain complexion held just a whisper of makeup. She looked like a Paris runway model.
I ran my fingers through my hair and straightened my crumpled blouse. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. Dog-fur-resistant clothing. You look . . . professional. And tired. Can I come in?”
Opening the door wider, I helped her maneuver the cart into the room.
“I can’t believe I’m working with you on a homicide.” She shoved the key into her purse. “This is so exciting! Just wait until my cousins in Oconomowoc hear about this.”
“Are you moving in?”
“Oh no. You said we had to find a dog-friendly place, so I only brought a few things. The rest of the stuff’s in the car. Along with Winston.”
“Unfortunately, my poor dog’ll have to sleep out there.” I pulled some suitcases from the cart.
“He seems happy. We stopped at a rest area on the way and he took care of things, ate, and drank water. He has a bone to work on—”
“You’re spoiling him.”
“He deserves some spoiling.” She pulled the remaining bags off the cart. “At the gas station, a couple of unsavory individuals came around the car. Winston warned them off.”
“He knows when folks are up to no good.”
“Look at you.” Beth stepped back and examined me from head to foot. “I haven’t seen you in ‘uniform.’” Her fingers made air quotations. “They gave you a badge! Did you get a gun and handcuffs?”
I opened my purse, which was sitting on the dresser. “Glock. Handcuffs.” I lofted both items.
“Those don’t look like handcuffs. More like plastic twist ties.”
“Flex-cuffs. Disposable restraints. Ten to a package. Cheap. But it’s not as if I’ll be handcuffing any of my witnesses or victims.” I returned them to my purse. “I’ll take the cart to the lobby and check on my dog. Where did you park?”
She gave me directions, then handed me the car keys. Opening my suitcase, I found a jacket and pulled it on. Beth’s SUV was in the far corner of the lot, with no other vehicles nearby. Traffic noises in the distance from Highway 95 gave a slight feeling of civilization, but an ax-wielding murderer was still on the loose. I pulled my jacket tighter and broke into a trot.
Winsto
n stretched across the rear seat, a hairy, snow-white mound of Great Pyrenees. He greeted me with a juicy burp and sloppy kiss, then politely waited for me to snap on his leash.
Baaa baaa baaa . . . ! A fire alarm sounded from the hotel.
I jumped. Winston leaped from the car and spun toward the sound.
Hotel guests, some in nightclothes, poured out of the exit doors.
A prickly feeling danced across my shoulders. False alarm.
Winston and I raced toward the exit nearest to our room. I searched for smoke or signs of fire that I knew wouldn’t be there.
Beth emerged from the building and glanced around. She quickly spotted us. We met up halfway across the parking lot just as sirens from fire engines howled in the distance.
“Did you smell any smoke?” I continued to check the building.
“No.” She held up her computer and purse. “But I’m not taking any chances.” I noted she hadn’t brought mine.
Before Winston could attract attention, I steered him toward a patch of grass and low plantings near the RV park. Beth followed. “This is quite an exciting place. Homicides, car theft, fire.”
“Don’t forget the missing girl.”
“I can’t.” Beth rubbed her arms. “What are you looking at?”
I stopped staring at the hotel and looked at my friend. “Listen, Beth, stay here with Winston. I think something hinky is going on. When the firefighters say it’s clear, put Winston up and meet me in the room—”
“Waaait a minute. Where are you going?”
“I need to check this out.”
“I’m not going to sit in the room and twiddle my thumbs while you have an adventure.”
Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “Okay. I’m heading to the manager’s office. He’s the guy who got killed. You can access it off the casino on the far side of this structure. Put Winston up and meet me there. Stay clear of the firefighters because they’ll just send you outside until everything is clear.”
“That’s better.”
Leaving Beth, I strolled to the end of the building. The door was locked, but my keycard opened it. I plotted my path to the casino. Racing down the hallway, I made it almost to the lobby before the sounds of the firemen’s voices shouting evacuation orders sent me skittering into the ladies’ room. I ducked into a stall but left the door ajar and climbed on top of the commode. The room smelled faintly of bleach.
Bang! The door slammed against the wall. “Anyone in here?” a man asked.
I held my breath.
The door swished closed.
Jumping off my perch, I ran to the door and peeked out. Ahead was the empty lobby and beyond that, the casino. I flew into the casino, not worried that my passing would draw attention with all the pinging and chortling of the slot machines.
Across the room was the casino access to Adam Sinopa’s office. It was open a crack.
Someone grabbed my arm.
I spun and caught myself before punching Beth.
“I come in peace.” Beth held up both hands.
“Sorry.” I pointed toward the open access. “I thought the alarm might have something to do with the Sinopas. I closed that door behind me when I checked out his office earlier.” With Beth in tow, I raced across the casino but paused before stepping through.
“What?” Beth asked.
“Checking the location of security cameras. See if you can spot any aimed at this door.” I nodded at a camera in the corner of the room.
Beth moved away from the door and turned in a circle. “I count five, but only that one”—she pointed—“would give the right angle.”
“And it rotates. So someone would just need to time it. Probably no surveillance image to look at. Let’s go up.” Beth and I moved through the door and up the stairs to Adam’s office.
The lights were on. The top two drawers of the filing cabinet were open, and several books lay on the floor by the bookshelves.
“Was Sinopa . . . was he killed here?” Beth asked.
“No. But it looks like someone was looking for something—”
“What are you doing here?” Peter entered the room behind Beth.
“I saw the open door.” I waved at Beth. “This is my . . . associate, Beth Noble. Beth, this is Peter Otskai, the assistant manager—”
“Yeah, yeah. Did you leave the door to the casino open?” Peter asked.
“No one got up here because of me. How about you? Did you leave your office unlocked?” I shot back. “There are two ways to get into Sinopa’s office, as you well know.”
Peter wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Whatever. Someone must have used the fire alarm to gain access to here. Is this how the police left it?”
“No. And the fire alarm is far too convenient timing. I’d bet our burglar was the one to set it.” I pulled out my cell and dialed Chief Kus’s number.
He answered on the first ring. “Seth Kus.”
I explained what I thought had happened. “On my way.” He disconnected.
I gave Peter a quick nod, then moved to the center of the room and slowly pivoted. Something nagged at the back of my mind. Every item in the room had been moved, yet there was no destruction. The invasion looked deliberately staged. The most noticeable item was the top drawer of the filing cabinet. I strolled over and used my pencil to pull the drawer completely open.
“Shouldn’t you wait for the police?” Peter asked.
“I am the police. Sort of.” The files were neatly labeled, color coded, and in alphabetical order.
“Very nice.” Beth peered over my shoulder. “Organized, efficient—”
“OCD.” As I slid the drawer closed, it made a shhhhhh sound. I opened it, reached in and upward. My fingers encountered a thick piece of paper. I gave a gentle tug and pulled out a large, gold-colored envelope.
“You really need to be called Sherlock Bones,” Beth whispered. “That was awesome.”
“Mm,” I grunted. After placing the envelope on the desk, I again used my pencil to nudge the flap open and slid out two pieces of paper. Each one bore a sentence assembled from newspaper or magazine cutouts. The first one said, I warned you. your a dead man. The second said, Im comming for you and your family.
“Terrible speller,” Beth said.
Peter came over and read the notes. “Why would Adam hide those?” He reached for them.
I grabbed his arm before he could touch them. “Don’t. Fingerprints.” Pulling out my cell, I stared at the blank screen. “Beth, I don’t know how—”
My friend took the cell from me, fiddled with it for a moment, then snapped photos of the notes. “Did you want anything else photographed?”
“Yeah. Just get a picture of everything.”
She’d just completed a circuit of the room when Chief Kus arrived. “Who are you?” he asked Beth.
“Beth Noble.” I stepped forward. “My associate and transportation, at least until you find my car.”
He touched the brim of his baseball hat. “Ma’am.” He turned to me. “We found it.”
“You found my car? That’s great—”
“In the middle of the Clearwater River.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I STARED AT HIM. “YOU’RE KIDDING.”
“Nope. Someone drove it into the water at a boat launch downriver from Fir Island. About halfway between Lapwai and Lenore.” He nodded at Beth. “Looks like your friend will have to continue to be your driver.”
Beth tried to hide her grin.
The chief strolled over to the notes spread out on the desk. “Where did you find these?”
“Hidden on the underside of the filing cabinet. But . . .” My gaze flickered to Peter, then back to the chief.
“Mr. Otskai, I wonder if you could wait for me in your office?” Chief Kus jerked his head slightly toward the door. Peter looked like he wanted to argue but left without saying anything, closing the door behind him. “What is it, Gwen?”
The way he said my name made my brain go blank for a
moment. “I . . . ah . . .” Oh, for crying in a bucket, Gwen. “Yes. Um. I don’t think your detectives missed that envelope when they searched this office.”
“Go on.”
“And I don’t think the fire alarm was pulled so someone could get in here and look for those letters.”
The chief sat on one of the colorful chairs. Beth took another. “I’m listening,” he said.
“I think someone wants you to think a disgruntled employee murdered the Sinopas.”
“Why an employee?”
“Possibly because that’s what the newspaper suggested. I read the online article. I’d bet by now the evening edition has hit the stand.”
“Do you think that’s a possibility?”
“I think there’s a lot about this case that doesn’t add up.”
Beth leaned forward, her gaze alternating between the chief and me.
I picked up the pencil I’d left on the desk and used it to punctuate the air. “Let’s say you’re the killer. You see Beatrice at the Easter egg hunt. Maybe you have access to the registrations and know where she lives, or you follow the family home. You kill the parents and grab the child.”
“Somehow I don’t think you’re buying that. Are you leaning toward someone with a grudge against the Sinopas? Or maybe even a random killing?”
“Let’s just say I have more questions than answers.” I licked my lips. “I am inclined to think the killer pulled the fire alarm, emptied the building, and planted the letters that point to someone at the casino. He would want the letters well hidden, yet easily found. He would leave the door open a crack and stage the room so it looked like someone was searching for these letters.”
“So now we’re back to the Easter egg hunt?” Chief Kus’s right eye narrowed, then he grinned. He had a beautiful smile with snow-white teeth and a small dimple on the left side. His perfect skin—
“I said”—Chief Kus waved his hand to get my attention—“your sheriff was right about you.”
“You talked to Dave Moore?”
“We go way back. I called Dave after you fainted at the scene, figuring he would know you. He recommended you. And he sent me a glowing report from a Sheriff Colton out in Summer Harbor, Maine.”
Portrait of Vengeance Page 4