Bruce grimaced. "What an ugly business. That poor guy flew all that way, in the dead of night, only to be waxed by some little thug with an attitude."
"Yes. The killer got justice, in the end. Hopefully I'll be able to deliver the same to Gerry."
"Amen to that!" He ceased drumming, and fixed Martin with a level stare. "Martin, I'm afraid this ghost business is getting very old, you know?"
"I understand, completely," Martin said in a soothing voice. "Honestly, I don't think you need worry for too much longer."
When he glanced at Claudia she was looking toward the table where a number of sheets of paper lay. A crease had appeared between her eyebrows, a sign he recognized as meaning something was bothering her.
She caught his gaze and looked up. "Oh, there was something I wanted to ask, Bruce. Who was the architect that designed this conversion?"
"It's pretty neat, huh?"
She nodded. "Aesthetically and professionally, yes, it's a nice piece of work."
Bruce flashed his white smile at her and Martin stiffened inwardly, disliking the attention he was giving her. It was more than just polite. Mercifully, Claudia seemed not the slightest bit interested in him.
"I can't remember their name offhand, Claudia," Bruce said smoothly. "It's somewhere in my files; I'll dig it out for you."
"Thanks."
Just then a knock sounded on the door and a contrite and obviously hung-over Greg Dewar walked in. A large bruise decorated his left cheek where Martin had struck him in the night. He gave Martin and Claudia a sheepish look. "Ms. Mackenzie, Mr. Grey, I'd like to apologize to both of you for my behavior last night. It was inexcusable."
"It was, rather," Martin said in a clipped, unforgiving voice. He unconsciously flexed his right hand where the knuckles were still sore from administering the punch.
"I'm truly sorry, sir; I'd had too much to drink. We, uh, that is, I thought it would be funny to try and scare you." Greg held out his hand. "It won't happen again."
Martin looked at him, then reached out and shook hands. "I should hope not! You can go some way to redeeming yourself if you tell us what you did with the Scotch you took from the cabinet last night."
Greg hesitated, glanced at Bruce then nodded. "I left it under the bar. Maybe it's still there."
"It isn't," Bruce said in a cool voice. "We looked when the lights came back on."
Greg began to look hunted. "Maybe it got broken when the machine exploded and someone cleared it up with the rest of the mess? Sorry, sir, I really don't know where it is."
"Guess that'll have to do," Bruce said, rubbing his brow. "Now, folks, if you'll excuse us, I need to speak to Greg whilst he's here."
Greg went pale. Claudia looked at Martin and nodded. They left, closing the door behind them.
Claudia glanced back at the loft as they made their way back to the main building. Taking his arm she leaned close. "Bruce is up to something, dear."
He felt his heartbeat quicken. "Like what?" he asked, wondering if he'd failed to notice some nuance of Bruce's behavior toward her.
"Did you see those papers on that table by the couch?"
Relieved, he nodded. "I saw you looking at them; you were frowning."
"Was I? Guess so. What I saw made interesting reading." She glanced at him sidelong. "One of the tricks I picked up as a realtor is the ability to read upside-down. You'd be surprised at how many people think it can't be done quickly or easily.”
"I can imagine," he replied. "It must give you an edge if you can do that."
Her eyes glinted. "Exactly! Bruce fell into the same trap. Those papers he has back there relate to a property deal in Pennsylvania. From what I could see, there were two sheets for the same location—but the details were different!"
He blinked and looked along his shoulder at her. "Different in what way?"
"One had a lower quoted price than the first. I'm wondering if he's up to no good."
"Hmm! Possibly; I seem to recall Laurel saying the relationship between the partners isn't all it could be."
"There you go," she said, and seemed almost happy to have her suspicions enhanced. "There's nothing like a bit of double-dealing to ruin sweet harmony."
"Aren't there safeguards against that sort of thing?"
"Oh yeah; but Bruce is an architect, honey. He'll know the scams and the shortcuts."
"I can believe that of anyone involved in the building and property trades," he said ruefully, thinking of times when he'd had to deal professionally with defaulting builders and contractors.
"Including realtors?" she asked. Her grip on his arm tightened to a painful degree.
"Excluding realtors!" he said hurriedly.
He didn't like the dangerous gleam in her eye. They'd been together only a matter of a few weeks, yet it seemed they'd known and loved each other for years. It was easy to make assumptions—and just as easy to fall right into an emotional tar pit. Judging by her hard expression Claudia was proving to be very sensitive about any implied slight to her honesty and professional integrity.
"I should think so," she said. "We may be hard bargainers, but we're not crooks! I had to work damn hard to get my license, mister. So did all the others in my profession. Why would I throw it away by making shady deals?"
"Of course you wouldn't make shady deals! I didn't mean to imply for one second that you would." He thought desperately to find some way of assuaging her. "From what I see, your profession over here requires a heck of a lot more training and schooling than the equivalent in Britain. Our realtors are called 'estate agents.' They don't need any kind of qualification to set up in business."
Claudia looked aghast. She stumbled to a halt on the path and stared at him. "You're kidding!"
He shook his head. "I kid you not. They don't need so much as a scrap of paper. They can just open an office and away they go."
"Unbelievable!" She shook her head. "How can anyone trust them?"
"Oh, they have a regulating body which is voluntary to join, and that has a national code of conduct. Anyone who seriously oversteps the mark can find themselves out of business. Apart from that…” He winked, glad that his ploy had diverted her wrath. "—it's a case of caveat emptor."
"Huh!" They resumed their walk. "Any realtor who plays fast and loose in this country will be in real trouble!"
"Understood. So one of the documents you saw was forged."
She gave him an irritated glance. "Well, duh!"
He held up a hand. "Yes, alright, so I walked into that one. Claudia, I'm trying to feel my way around this, okay? Have a bit of patience. Is it possible for Bruce to forge such a thing or to obtain one without going through a realtor?"
She nodded, grudgingly. "Yeah, it's possible. Water marks and official stamps can be forged with the right equipment. Bruce could theoretically get access to that kind of thing. Equally, I guess there're people around who'll forge anything for the right price."
"What do you think we should do?"
"Instinct—and professional pride—tells me to call the cops." She looked vexed. "But we've no proof. By the time they get a warrant, he could destroy the evidence."
"We can't confront him over it, either. He'd just laugh in our faces and have us thrown off the site. That would put the kybosh on our attempts to help Gerry."
She grimaced. "I know. It still sticks in my throat! So what can we do?"
"Nothing—for now. We can watch and wait. Maybe he'll slip up somehow."
* * * *
Donna was waiting outside the reception hall when they passed. The young woman was huddled against the cold in an oversize parka. She spotted them and called out. "Mr. Grey? Ms. Mackenzie? Wait up!" They waited as she hurried up to them. "Is Greg going to be fired, sir?" she asked anxiously.
"I hope not," Martin replied. "What he did was stupid and even frightening, but he apologized to us, and I don't think he'll do it again."
Donna's shoulders sagged and astonishingly she looked on the verge of te
ars. All the cool stiffness she'd shown in his past encounters with her had vanished.
"I'm sorry!" she said so softly that Martin could scarcely hear her. "It hasn't been easy for us here. What with the way things have been this season, none of us have been able to keep everything in hand. It's Greg's first year with us, and he worked so hard. He deserved to have a good birthday party." She looked up at them, her eyes wet. "Surely Bruce can let him off the hook just this once?"
"Donna, we really can't do much to help Greg," Claudia said and patted the girl's arm. "Bruce is in charge here and it's entirely up to him. We just can't interfere in the running of the resort."
Martin looked at her, and the memory of the brief DVD clip they'd viewed of the young couple rose in his mind. As short as the passage had been before they turned it off, there was real tenderness between them, and he was glad Laurel had destroyed the disk. "You really like Greg, don't you?" he said.
She looked at him with moist eyes, then fished a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose, hard. "Yeah; we're an item." She drew herself up and, when she spoke again, it was in a determined voice. "Well, if it comes to it, I think I can persuade him not to fire Greg. I know a few things about Bruce," she added, darkly.
"Would they have something to do with Joanne, perhaps?"
Donna stared up at him. "You know?"
"Yes, but if we're asked, I'm afraid we'll have to deny it," Martin said. "We've got enough on our plates as it is."
Claudia nodded her agreement. "Donna, just be careful."
"I will." She leaned close. "Greg didn't take the Scotch," she said in confidential tones. "He never had it. It was Joanne. I saw her with it in her hand when I came out of the ladies room last night."
"Do you know what she did with it, or where it is now?" Martin asked anxiously. "Donna, it's vital we get it back!"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. I don't get on all that well with Joanne, so I don't know what she did after the party. I was with Greg all last night, and I mean all last night," she said with an embarrassed little shrug. "I know for sure he didn't have it at any time. For some reason he's covering for her."
"Damn," Martin muttered. "Thanks, Donna; you're a gem for telling us this." He looked up at the office windows in the main building. The windows shone with the pale autumn light. "I'm not sure if we can approach Bruce about this new development," he said finally. "Telling him his lover may have taken the Scotch isn't exactly politic. We'll have to find Joanne and try to do this discreetly."
"She's not due in until one, today. Her cabin is number 12 on the staff row. If she's on site, she'll be there."
* * * *
She wasn't. They spent a fruitless morning trying to find the elusive desk clerk until someone finally recalled Joanne had gone into Gainesville on a shopping trip. As they emerged from the main building they saw her father sweeping snow from the restaurant veranda. Something about the set of the man's shoulders and the dogged way he handled the broom told them an approach would not be welcome.
Lunch came and went, with Greg and some of the others avoiding them. Greg and Donna seemed subdued, eating with no appearance of appetite. Laurel came in when Martin and Claudia had nearly finished the meal and glanced from them to Greg, assessing the situation before coming over to their table.
"I hear you're looking for Joanne?" she said. Her voice was cool and business-like, but her eyes looked haunted.
"Yes. We want to ask her about the Scotch that was taken last night. We've been given reason to believe she took it from the office for some reason."
"Oh?" Laurel's eyebrows rose. "'Reason to believe' sounds very formal!" she said with a flash of her old fire. "I guess she'd have a good reason, too. Anyway, she's back from town. I saw her go into her cabin a few minutes ago."
He cocked an eye at Claudia who nodded, wiped her mouth and stood up. He did the same, noticing how Claudia kept her gaze fixed away from Laurel. "We'd better head down and speak to her before she goes on duty," he said.
"Would you like me to come with you?" Laurel asked.
Claudia gave him a hard look. "No, thanks," he said quickly. "It's a simple inquiry."
When they reached the top of the track leading to the row of staff cabins they saw Joanne in the distance, moving towards the utilities area behind the resort’s main building.
"It's too far and rather impolite to shout," he said. "We'd better go after her."
"British courtesy to the fore again," she muttered, turning the collar of her coat up against the cold damp wind blowing along the valley. She put her fingers in her mouth and let rip with a shrill whistle.
Joanne hesitated but kept walking without glancing back, disappearing from sight almost immediately.
Martin stared at Claudia. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"New York." She grinned. "Jealous?"
"Very!"
"It's the only way to attract a cab in that city." She nodded toward the building. "She took no notice. Do we go in pursuit?"
"Yes, we need to find that bottle."
Raised voices greeted them as they approached the utilities building. The door was partly ajar and, for some reason he couldn't define, Martin slowed and stopped Claudia with a touch to her arm before they reached it. A quick glance inside through the louvers over the windows showed Pete and Joanne Ashby facing each other a short distance apart, glaring at each other.
"Why are you so stubborn about this?" she was complaining. "It's not as if it's serious between me and Bruce!"
"I don't like the idea of you sleeping with that creep!" he replied in a low, angry voice. "How do you think it makes me feel, having to maintain my cover when you're boffin' that little fucker every night?"
"You don't have to think about it," she retorted. "I'm an adult."
"Sometimes I wonder, girl!" He sighed and leaned against a generator casing, fixing her with sad eyes under his beetling brow. "Jo, sweetheart, someday you'll have kids of your own. Then you'll know what it's like to be in my position." He raised his hands and let them fall heavily to his sides. "No father likes the idea of his little girl being…" He grimaced. "Sexually active. It makes us feel old, dammit!"
Joanne giggled then laughed aloud. "Oh, Dad! You're not old." She stepped up to him, put her arms around his neck and hugged him. "You'll never be old, especially not with the way your mind works."
"Like a box full of bananas? Full of devious curves?" He snorted. "That's what my pals at the Treasury reckon." He cuddled her, a strangely touching gesture from one so heavy set and almost perpetually angry-looking. "Baby, at least tell me you're being careful with this guy. I am not in the mood to become a granddaddy yet!"
"I am, Dad; I promise. Oh, speaking of which, have you finished with that bottle yet? Bruce and that Brit ghost-hunter are tearing their hair out over it."
"Yeah, I'm done."
Pete released her and went to a workbench, from which he lifted a bulky toolbox. Opening the top, he unfolded the compartments and took out a cylindrical shape wrapped in a clean white cloth. Gerry appeared beside him, blinking as if he'd woken into a bright light from a heavy sleep. He gazed around him in a woozy fashion before staring hard at Pete, who handed the object over to Joanne.
"Make something up about how or where you found it." He glanced at his watch. "You'd better get goin' or you'll be late for work. I'll catch you later."
Martin clasped Claudia's arm. "Damn! Quick, hide!"
They moved quickly away from the window and ran up the path, looking for concealment. An opening in the side of the building revealed an alcove in which was a fire door, partly blocked by a stack of beer crates in contravention of fire regulations. They ducked behind them just in time, huddling close in the confined space.
A few moments later Joanne walked past accompanied by Gerry, who stumbled along in her wake muttering, "Wait up, dammit!" He glanced in at them and waved in friendly fashion. "Hi, fellersh!" Martin found himself signaling to the ghost not to give away the
ir hiding place, and immediately felt ridiculous.
As they emerged from the alcove they saw Pete Ashby locking the door to the utility building. He started visibly and stared suspiciously at them.
"Hi, Pete!" Martin called, walking towards him.
"Martin, what are you doing?" Claudia hissed, hurrying to walk alongside him.
"He's seen us, and he must guess we saw Joanne. We need to talk to him."
As they drew closer, the level glare the man turned on them made them stop of one accord. "We're looking for Joanne; I think she's got a bottle of Scotch we've been looking for," Martin said.
"She's taking it to Baker," Pete growled and narrowed his eyes. "I'm kind of surprised you didn't see her if you came from that direction."
"Oh, we came from up there," Martin said, waving vaguely towards the staff cabins.
"Yeah? Well, now you know where and what Jo's doing, you don't need to hang around here. If you don't mind, I got work to do." He turned away.
"Right, fine," Martin said. "Joanne's a nice girl, by the way. A real… treasury of virtues."
Pete stopped, turned, and gave him a hard stare. Martin met his gaze with a neutral expression. A long career in the British Inland Revenue Service had equipped him well for meeting hard or evasive looks. It was Pete who broke eye contact first.
Chapter Ten
On their way back to the office Claudia looked at Martin. "Did I hear right back there? Pete's a Treasury agent?"
"Yes, you did. He did say something about his pals in the Treasury. If he's working undercover I assume he's some sort of investigator, not a tax inspector."
"I think you're right. Martin, this is serious stuff! US Treasury Agents have incredibly wide powers. If this guy's working here as a general handyman, he must be keeping watch on someone—maybe Bruce!"
"The investigation branch back home's staffed by some scary people too," Martin said soberly. "Even though I work there as line manager for an inspectorate office, I really don't like going up to their lair on the third floor. Sometimes I feel I should carry garlic—or a crucifix!" He shuddered.
Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky Page 15