When No One Was Looking (Sophie McGuire Mysteries)

by Jenny Rebecca Keech

  “Sophie?”

  The light moved to the side. I blinked to remove the spots from my vision and look toward the figure. Gabe stood by the corner of the house, a weapon raised in his hand.

  “Gabe,” I said in relief.

  He moved forward and made his way through the weeds to where I stood. His beam flashed around and lit the spot where George lay.

  I winced. Suddenly, it hit me that this wasn’t showing me in the best light.

  Gabe’s gaze flickered back at me. “Uh, Sophie?”

  I pointed to George’s body. “So help me, Gabe, he was already dead when I got here.” I knew I was babbling. “I didn’t. I mean, I wouldn’t. Gabe, you have to believe me—”

  He holstered the weapon and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Easy, Sophie. Slow down.”

  I grabbed a deep breath and nodded.

  Gabe patted my shoulder and turned, crouching down. He swiped the beam around the body and the surrounding area. “It was a close shot.”

  I grimaced and tried to avoid looking directly at the body. “Really? How do you know?”

  “There’s burn residue on his shirt. His killer stood only about a foot from him. I wonder if George even saw it coming.” Gabe’s light caught the edge of the concrete. “That looks like an ‘m’.”

  “I thought the same thing.”

  “Wonder what the ‘m’ means?” Gabe’s narrowed glance turned back to me. “You have a clue?”

  “Uh…maybe.”

  Gabe’s jaw tightened. He rose. “I need to call this in.”

  I scrambled up. “The phones don’t work out here.”

  “We can use the radio.” He started for the front. When I didn’t follow, he reached back and grabbed my arm above the elbow, pulling me with him. “Come on. You’re staying with me.”

  He didn’t have to repeat the words. The dusk had set in, with darkness not far behind and the thought that I had been out here all alone suddenly hit me. I kept up with his fast pace, not that I had a choice. At his truck, he reached in the open window and grabbed the radio, calling in the report and asking that help be sent out. I stood there, hovering as close as possible.”

  Gabe finished and turned to me. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “Let’s have it.”

  I shined my flashlight on my watch. The dial read five-thirty. I looked back up in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think that’s supposed to be my question.” At my silence he shook his head but continued, “I saw Jane. She mentioned that you were cooking your kids a home-cooked meal. I dropped by,” he stated sardonically, “to tell you that I was going to be running late and wouldn’t be back at my house till six-thirty.”

  I winced.

  “And Paige,” he continued, “gives me this letter, says she was supposed to run it over to my house at six.”

  I opened my mouth to interject a comment but Gabe put his finger up to my face, “Just hold that thought.” It hit me that he was so angry that he was shaking. I swallowed and kept my silence as he continued.

  “What was I supposed to do after reading that note? I find out that you’re meeting George Wilkins out here in the middle of nowhere and that there’s some possibility that he could be a suspect in Rebekah’s death. I drove out here as fast as I could. I had this vision of finding you lying on the ground dead. Apparently I wasn’t completely wrong about the picture, just the victim.”

  “Gabe, I had nothing to do with George’s death,” I stated again. I pointed in the direction of the old cistern. “He was like that when I found him.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He ground out. “That someone killed George and then you walked up on the scene? You could have been killed, you little idiot.”

  I thought about his words. “So, you don’t think I killed George?” For some reason, I felt a little put out. “What. You don’t think I’m capable of killing someone?”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ll put you in handcuffs and stick you in the truck,” he said through gritted teeth. Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “Sophie McGuire, what’s been going on?”

  I scratched my neck nervously. “Shouldn’t you canvas the area or something?”

  “We’re having this discussion. We might as well start now while we’re waiting. In your note, you wrote something about George being a suspect. What did you mean?” Gabe crossed his arms and waited.

  I threw up my hands and sighed. “Fine. I found out that Cindy had several men that she was attached to during the time she worked for the Butterfields. I was trying to prove Johanna’s innocence. Part of Johanna’s guilt hinged on everyone thinking that Thomas Butterfield was Rebekah’s father. I knew I had to find someone who might have been connected to Rebekah and who better than the real father?”

  “Johanna’s guilt is hinged on the fact that her earring and a scarf from her new collection were found near or on the victim,” said Gabe.

  “I think someone framed her after seeing her fight with Rebekah that morning.”

  Gabe’s look was incredulous. “You’ve been watching way too many mysteries, Sophie.”

  I glared but continued. “Anyway, I discovered that Cindy had been seeing Richard Moya, Daniel Wolfe, Michael Kirkwood, Seth Sutherland, and George Wilkins during the summer she worked at the Butterfields.”

  Gabe whistled. “Busy lady. And how did you find this out?”

  I fiddled with my watch as I hesitated. “Uh, promise you won’t get mad, Gabe?”

  His eyes seem to darken but Gabe gave me what could be construed as a slight nod of agreement. I swallowed and continued. “Well, Jane had this idea,” I began.

  Gabe groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think I want to hear this.”

  “See, she thought that you might have overlooked something when you conducted your search of Rebekah’s room—”

  He closed his eyes and covered them. “Please don’t tell me you did what I’m thinking—”

  “So we went to check out—” I finished softly.

  “—Rebekah’s room,” Gabe finished coldly.

  I winced at his anger. I could see that he was fighting holding back words. “We only meant the best and we were right,” I said, pointing my finger at him, “You did miss something.”

  “I’m not going to even ask how you got into a locked and sealed room, or explain the legal ramifications I could throw at you for doing so. If you found something, you should have brought it to me,” Gabe ground out.

  He reached out and grabbed me by my arm tightly, pulling me in. “Don’t you understand, Sophie. This isn’t a movie. Everyone doesn’t get up and leave when it’s over. There are no sweet happy endings. People are dead.” Gabe pointed out into the darkness. “George is dead.”

  His finger was in my face. “You could be dead. Do you want to leave your kids with no parent at all?” Gabe turned away and ran his hand back and forth through his short hair, muttering under his breath. He looked at me. “Get in the truck.”

  “Gabe—”

  His expression was unreadable. “Get in the truck, Sophie. I was wrong. I’m too mad to talk right now. The best thing you can do is get in the truck and stay there while I deal with this.” Gabe reached out and opened the door. He motioned inside. “Don’t worry, though, we’re not done talking for tonight. I’m going to give you plenty of time to talk. Think of this as a period of time to sort your thoughts.”

  I climbed inside and slammed the door shut. “I’m doing this just as a sign of my cooperation,” I stated stiffly. “You keep this up and I am not going to vote for you two years from now.”

  “Two more years of having to keep you out of trouble like this and I may not want to be Sheriff.” He spun around and walked toward the back of the vehicle to await the arrival of his ‘help’ in silence.

  Fifteen minutes later, a light lit up our vehicles from behind. The vehicle was Dr. Jonathan Maxwell’s. I recognized his navy Excursion. Pete climbed out of the passenger side.
I heard Gabe greet them and then they followed him back toward the rear of the yard. Pete’s gaze flickered in my direction but he said nothing as he followed his boss.

  After about ten minutes, all three came back around to the front. Pete and Doc went to the Excursion and pulled out what looked like flashlights and black plastic. I swallowed at the sight of the folded material in Doc’s hand that I knew would be used to wrap George in to get him to the clinic. I jerked as Gabe opened the door and climbed inside and started the engine.

  I pointed. “My vehicle—”

  “Pete’s bringing the Yukon into town. He’ll drop it off at your house.” There was a tight quietness to Gabe’s voice. I decided not to argue as he continued, “There’s not much we can do to the crime scene tonight. Pete’s going to do a light canvas and help Doc get the body back to the clinic. We’ll come out here tomorrow to see if we missed anything and do a more detailed search of the area.”

  I nodded. “What happens to me?” I asked soberly. “Am I under arrest?”

  “Doc’s phone is with a different network. It actually had service out here.” He shrugged. “I called Paige. I told her that you were helping me out with some stuff and might be a little later getting to the house.”

  “Thanks.” I sighed. “And where will I be?” I had this vision of a locked jail cell or some little room with Gabe grilling me.

  “With me. Talking. I hope you like frozen pizza, ‘cause I haven’t had a chance to get to the store and that’s all I have at the house that’s edible and quick.”

  I glanced at my watch “It’s not that late, Gabe. I could help you throw something together.”

  He had that unreadable look on his face as the truck came out of the dirt lane and onto the asphalt. “We have another stop to make before my house, Sophie,” he said quietly.

  The minute he said it, the way he said it, I knew. He glanced in my direction but I turned my head away and looked out the side window, unsure of the expression on my face. Susan. He had to talk to Susan Wilkins. He had to tell her George was dead. Gabe would want to make certain she was all right, that there was someone to be there for her.

  For a second, I couldn’t swallow the lump in my throat was so big. Then everything hit me and I started shaking. This evening was too close to another. I closed my eyes to try and block the tears from flowing. I didn’t want Gabe to see me cry.

  Gabe slowed the truck with a curse. I still couldn’t look at him and I was so afraid he was going to say something. But all he did was grab his coat from the seat and wrap it around my shoulders. The truck started moving again and Gabe left me in my miserable silence the rest of the way back into town.

  *

  By the time Gabe had seen Susan Wilkins, stopped by the office to tell Melinda some details and pulled into his driveway, it was nearly eight-thirty. I stepped down out of the cab, slammed the door and followed him into the house. He threw his keys on the table by the door and walked back toward the kitchen.

  I had no qualms about the frozen pizza. I was exhausted. I slid into a seat like liquid rubber and rubbed my eyes. Gabe turned on the oven, pulled the pizza out of the package and put it directly in without a pan. He closed the door and punched the timer. I opened my mouth to mention preheating but shut it. Gabe didn’t look to be in the mood for womanly advice right now.

  He crossed over, opened the refrigerator and reached in, pulling out a bottle. Gabe passed one to me with a slight smile. “I know you don’t normally partake but there aren’t any kids to be a bad influence on, so?”

  I snagged the bottle from his hands and twisted the cap. It was ice cold and the sound of gas escaping as the lid came off was music to my ears. It was fresh. I deserved the treat. I’d been good. I hadn’t had one in months. I turned the Dr. Pepper up and let it burn down my throat. It tasted so good I shivered and took another swig.

  Gabe laughed softly but there was sadness in it. The evening had been hard on him. He twisted the lid of his drink off and took a deep swallow. The silence between us didn’t seem as stiff. We enjoyed the drinks in the stillness while the pizza cooked. I knew we were both thinking about the evening. I let the quiet drag on while I finished mine. I wanted the time to get my head on straight. He was going to want answers.

  Gabe rose and grabbed my bottle just as I screwed on the lid. He tossed it with precision into the trashcan. Gabe opened a cabinet and pulled out two plates. He set them on the table and added silverware and napkins. “Want another one?”

  I smiled. “One’s my limit, Gabe. I’m already sure the kids will smell the sweetness on my breath.”

  “We’ll conceal it with pizza.” He grinned as he pulled a glass out and filled it with ice water. “I don’t get it. You don’t want them to drink sodas but they can have chocolate?”

  “Sodas aren’t good for them at all,” I pointed out. “And they do get chocolate but it’s not like I let them dive into the display cases at the shop. They get the occasional chocolate.”

  Gabe set the ice water in front of me. The timer dinged a minute left. “Still, it hints at a little bit of hypocrisy, don’t you think?”

  “No,” I said with a smile. “There are at least some benefits of eating chocolate. There are none with sodas.”

  His grin almost met his eyes. “Yeah. When I was a kid, that was why I ate chocolate. For all the benefits.”

  I ignored the smugness and watched him turn the oven off and pull out the hot pizza. Gabe slid it onto a round pan and set it on the table. It only took a minute to do the slices with a cutter. I pulled a slice into my plate and watched Gabe snag another Dr. Pepper. He twisted it open and set the soda beside his plate before grabbing his own slice. Gabe let me eat one and grab another before he brought up the subject of the evening.

  “What did you find in Rebekah’s room that we missed?”

  I finished chewing. “A journal.”

  Gabe grabbed another slice. “Where, and was it Rebekah’s?”

  I shook my head. “It was under the toilet lid in the bathroom. And no, the journal wasn’t Rebekah’s. It was Cindy’s and this specific journal talks about her time in Merry Hill the summer of eighty-six when she worked for the Butterfields.”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “And it mentions all of the men you talked about, including George Wilkins?”

  “Not exactly.” Gabe looked about to argue so I plowed ahead. “It does mention Richard Moya by name. But everyone else that she met, she gave a letter designation. There was an S, an M, an L and a B mentioned.

  “I can see where you got Seth and Michael but how did you get Daniel and George with an L and a B?”

  I shook my head. “For this, I need to step back. When I was in Rebekah’s room at the B&B, I discovered some opened notecards on the desk.”

  Gabe nodded. “I remember something like that.”

  “Well, they had a distinctive pattern. The other day I happened to be at the grocery and was looking for a pen in George’s office to add to an order I was leaving with Susan when I found that same kind of notecard. I looked inside. It was addressed to Marabou but the card had been sent to George.

  “It mentioned something about claiming what was rightfully hers and it was signed CP,” I continued, “which I took to mean Cindy Peterson. I’m still not sure why Rebekah signed them that way. Maybe she was looking to shake people up?”

  I shrugged. “Jane and I were both a little confused about Marabou until I mentioned the word to Effie Rae and she informed me that Marabou was the name of the old family estate the Wilkins family used to own. They had to sell it to cover debts about twenty years ago.”

  “You’re telling me that the letters stood for the names of the family estates of the men she was dating?” Gabe asked stunned, “sounds a little mercenary to me.”

  I had to agree. “I think the reason Richard’s name was plainly written in the book was because he was just for fun. Cindy didn’t really have plans to have a future with him. Richard didn’t have a family es
tate. It looks like she wanted money and power. She dropped George Wilkins not long after his family had to sell their estate. That also backs up my theory.”

  The pizza was cooling but Gabe grabbed another slice. In about four bites it was gone. “So the letters lead to estates, which led you to individuals: Michael, George, Seth, Daniel, and of course, Richard. So any of these men could have been Rebekah’s father is your thought? What about Rebekah’s attack of Johanna if Tom Butterfield wasn’t in the journal?”

  “Maybe because her mother worked for the Butterfields, Rebekah was covering all her bases. She appears to have inherited her mother’s mercenary streak.” I nodded, “as to the other men, the answer is yes. Richard said that Cindy told him her child wasn’t his. But I got the feeling that reading her journal that she might have said that just so he wouldn’t pursue it. Cindy wanted someone who could take care of her in the manner she felt was her right. I don’t see her viewing Richard as having the ability. He was just starting out as a manager for the Butterfields.”

  Gabe grabbed another slice.

  I had no clue where he put it.

  “So that’s why all of them were there at the funeral yesterday.” Gabe shook his head. “Wow.” His look turned thoughtful. “So you’re thinking one of them killed Rebekah, framed Johanna and that now this same person has killed George?

  I was so nervous I grabbed another slice myself. “I know it sounds crazy but it has to be one of them. I know that Johanna didn’t kill Rebekah, no matter what you might think. That only leaves them.”

  “But the only problem with that theory,” Gabe interjected, “Is that they would have had to get the scarf and earring from Johanna’s shop without being seen.” He gave me a strange look. “I don’t see how any of those four men could have gone into Johanna’s shop that day and not be noticed.”

  “Johanna would have remembered them. Shoot, I would have remembered if I saw men coming out of a ladies shop. And please don’t tell me you think it was a group effort, that there was some woman involved trying to help?” Gabe sighed. “I just don’t see how this helps Johanna.”