Grave Danger

by Rachel Grant

  “Fast. In reading her notes, I could sense her focus.”

  “Will the police draw the same conclusions when they go through her papers?”

  “They didn’t in 1979. They’re not likely to now. They probably haven’t read ethnographers’ notes before. They wouldn’t understand that her focus on recent history was unusual.”

  “Why did you call me and not the police?”

  Libby gave Rosalie a tight smile. “I’m not exactly on the best of terms with them right now. They’ve got a witness who claims he saw me bring gasoline home so I could torch my house.”

  “And don’t you find it interesting that you are at odds with the police, right when you have relevant information for them?”

  “So my stalker’s goal was to undermine my credibility with the police.”

  “At first, yes. Then, if you told the police you found a murder victim instead of an old Indian burial, they wouldn’t take you seriously. But that didn’t work. Think about this, when you were attacked, had Angela been identified?”

  A chill spread through Libby as she remembered the sequence of events. “Not officially.”

  “I think your attacker was desperate to discredit you before she was identified. He or she staged an attack, leaving a trail of clues straight to you. Once it became clear you were crazy, your claim that you’d found a murder victim could have been determined to be another hoax. The bones would have been given to us for reburial without further investigation.”

  “But that didn’t work. A DNA test confirmed we’d found Angela on Friday, the day after my attack but before my arrest.”

  “Things haven’t gone according to plan for your attacker. So tell me, why is he or she still working so hard to frame you?”

  Libby shrugged. “Too late to stop a plan in motion?”

  “You mentioned a witness. Did you bring the gas cans home?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “When did the witness talk to the police?”

  “I assume sometime over the weekend.”

  “After everyone in Coho knew Angela Caruthers had been found. So the witness lied after it was already too late to discredit you. Too late to stop the police from identifying Angela. The plan to frame you could have been dropped. But it wasn’t. The witness lied anyway. What did they still have to gain?”

  Libby gnawed on her thumbnail. “When you say ‘they’ you mean the four people with something to lose. You mean Laura, Earl, and James Montgomery. You mean Jason Caruthers.”

  “Yes. What do they get out of framing you now?”

  “At this point, there is only one reason to continue to frame me. To stop me from finishing Angela’s research. To stop me from finding the will.”

  “Yes. This tells us they don’t know what happened to the will either. They didn’t get it when they killed Angela. The will is still out there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A KNOCK ON THE DOOR of the RV startled Simone. The crew never knocked. Curious, she answered the door and came face to face with Jason. His gaze scanned her coolly from head to toe. Although she could see his frank appreciation of her snug tank top and shorts, she knew his thoughts weren’t complimentary.

  He stepped into the RV and closed the door. “I’m here to take a look at your financial information. For Libby’s defense. I need a list of clients, projects, the works. Libby said you could give me everything I need.”

  Did she hear innuendo in that last sentence, or was that just wishful thinking? “Sure. Have a seat.” She waved to the booth. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “I just want the information.”

  “Everything is in the proposal package. I can print it out, but the computer here is slow. It’ll take a few minutes.”

  He moved a box from the booth seat and sat. Simone began printing the documents he’d requested. Slowly, the ink jet printer came to life. The rhythmic clicking of the printer carriage was the only sound in the increasingly oppressive and tense silence.

  The first section finished printing. She handed the pages to Jason. “I know you’ll get the charges dropped,” she said to break the tension.

  “No thanks to you,” he muttered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what you think it means.”

  “You blame me for looking out for Libby.”

  “I think you’ve done her more damage than good.”

  “I don’t care what you think. Three years ago, I was the only one who believed her. I was the only one who helped her. So I made a mistake. Libby has forgiven me. And my being caught with a camera and Aaron’s work schedule isn’t why Libby was arrested. If that were the case, I’d have been booked along with her.”

  “What do you mean Aaron’s work schedule?”

  She smiled tightly. “Did I forget to mention that part?”

  “I don’t think you forgot.”

  She was riled and defensive and didn’t like being at a disadvantage with him. She stood to her full five-foot-two height. “Just say it, Jason. Let’s deal with this here and now.”

  He moved to stand in front of her. A scant inch separated their bodies and Simone’s pulse jumped. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But I won’t absolve you of your sins. You have to deal with your mistakes on your own.”

  “I don’t need absolution.”

  “That’s where we disagree.”

  “You don’t want to be my confessor. You want to be my judge and jury. I need your judgment even less than I need your absolution.” She cursed her short stature. He was nearly a foot taller than her, and she had to crane her neck to meet his eye, but she wouldn’t look away. She wouldn’t back down.

  Their gazes remained locked. The moment stretched out long enough for her to forget the point she’d been trying to make. He smiled in a slow, sexy way. “You know what pisses me off about you the most, Simone?”

  She laughed. “I have a wild guess.”

  “I don’t like you, but still, I want you. I always have. I focused on Libby to convince myself to forget about you. It hasn’t worked.” He reached out and traced her collarbone. The gesture seemed like an impulse he couldn’t control. He dropped his hand. “If you’re interested in getting laid, give me a call.” He tucked a business card into her cleavage and headed for the door. Before leaving, he stopped and turned back to her. “Have your client information delivered to the Dawes house. I need it today.” Then he was gone.

  She plucked his card from between her breasts and stared at his number. He was rude and insulting. She had a hundred and ten reasons to avoid him. But she knew it was only a matter of time before she gave in and dialed his number.

  BEFORE LIBBY LEFT ROSALIE’S HOUSE, Rosalie gave her a small pistol. “The police will hardly race to your rescue if you call 9-1-1. Take the weapon. Lou will show you how to use it.”

  The last time she’d tried to arm herself, someone had used the weapon against her. She didn’t want to take the gun, except she had no other way to protect herself. She spent the early part of the afternoon shooting at aluminum cans with Lou in an old gravel pit on the reservation. Lou was friendlier now that she wasn’t desecrating a grave, and she found she enjoyed the target shooting.

  From there, she went to the library to read every newspaper article she could find on Millie Thorpe Montgomery. According to Frances, Millie’s lawyer was named Banks. Libby scanned the newspaper for references to him as well. A footnote to a 1946 article about union negotiations caught her eye. After the union formed, the union gained three percent ownership of the mill. A lawyer named Eli Banks brokered the deal. Banks received a cut that included two percent of the mill.

  Two percent was a ridiculous payout for a negotiator. The agreement must have been a payoff from Lyle. Perhaps Banks had threatened to tell the sheriff about the will.

  She left the library at seven p.m. At home, she read all her notes and interviews, searching for references to Millie. Simone called, wondering where she was, an
d Libby remembered she’d promised to move to the apartment. She was immersed in her research and didn’t want to leave, nor did she want company. Her head was spinning and she wanted to read through Angela’s notes without distraction. She wanted to see whether Angela left any veiled references to her search. She managed to convince Simone that she was fine and just needed to be alone.

  By eleven p.m., she regretted her choice to stay in the Shelby house alone. When she’d spoken with Simone, it had still been light out. Now the darkness outside brought out a fear she hadn’t experienced since she was a child. Every noise she heard sounded like a prowler invading her home. She checked the status of the alarm system for the fourth time, turned on the inside motion detectors and then retreated to her bedroom for the night.

  She checked for a dial tone on her bedroom phone to be sure the landline hadn’t been cut. Her imagination was getting away from her, but she knew she had reason to be afraid. She placed her cell phone and the loaded gun on her nightstand and then pulled a heavy dresser in front of her bedroom door. Finally, she crawled into bed, if only to pass the time until dawn when she could resume researching.

  She lay in bed wide awake and mentally reviewed everything she knew. Angela Caruthers had been killed either by her grandfather, one of her uncles, her aunt, or possibly even Millie’s lawyer. She kept no notes on her search for the will. The only evidence that she sought the document was the tape of an interview she had conducted at least three years before her death. As far as Libby knew, Angela hadn’t transcribed the entire interview. She was careful. This explained the void in Jack’s and Dan’s knowledge of her research. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know what she was doing.

  Did Earl, James, and Laura know their father killed their mother? Millie was a battered woman. The suspicion must have crossed their minds. Did any of them condone Lyle’s actions? Earl and Laura seemed to worship Lyle.

  Then there was Jason. Handsome, sweet, kind, protective Jason. He knew about Libby’s research. He’d located the boxes for her but then put limits on her report. He had scratches on his arms that could have come from blackberry vines. As far as she knew, he had been in town at the same time as every stalking event. He had a key to this house and he could lose upwards of twenty-five million dollars if the will was located and validated.

  Libby would never believe he was involved in his mother’s death, but he could be acting on behalf of his aunt and uncles now. He was smart enough, and this was a clever person’s scheme.

  She didn’t dare go to the police. They already thought she was nuts. And if she did, the Montgomery family would find out she knew about the will. She’d be hanging a bull’s-eye on her chest.

  Libby had no clue how to proceed at this point. If Angela had located the will, and if the will had been left where she found it, and if all her sources were still available, then someone else doing the same research could maybe find the document again. A lot of ifs and she still ended in a maybe.

  But still, Libby had only one option. She needed to find the will if she wanted to exonerate herself.

  Angela had access to the ancestral home and in the 1970s she’d interviewed people who personally knew Millie. Many of those people were dead now. All Libby had were Angela’s notes. They were incomplete and included absolutely nothing on the search for the will.

  Who else stood to lose if the will was found? Was the lawyer still alive, ready to collect on his two percent? Did the now defunct union still have a three percent share? She decided to find out exactly who all the owners of TL&L were and the portion they retained. Time to know the enemy.

  She slept fitfully and woke early, ready to begin a concentrated search. First, she developed a plan. Step one: set up a meeting with Jason to pick his brain about the structure and ownership of TL&L. He was the fastest route to the information, and she could cloak her snooping by making him believe it was for the report.

  Step two: contact Dan Parker to find out who might know about Angela’s research.

  Step three: make appointments to interview the Montgomerys again. She would start with Earl, using the pretext that she needed to finish his interview.

  Step Four: find the will and clear her name.

  Piece of cake.

  She called Jason and set up a dinner meeting with him. She had hoped to meet him earlier, but he explained that a dinner meeting would be better because she needed to be holding her head high among the townsfolk. They made plans to meet at a restaurant at seven.

  Dan Parker was out of the office. She left a message asking him to call her ASAP. She left similar messages for a few professors at the University of Washington who taught there in the 1970s. Surely they would remember Angela—if nothing else, her disappearance would stand out in their minds. They could hopefully steer her to other grad students she’d known. Perhaps Angela had confided in someone.

  Finally, she set up an appointment with Earl Montgomery for the following afternoon. She was surprised by his acquiescence, considering he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming the first time around.

  After each part of her plan had been implemented, she went through Angela’s notes again and listed the names of people Angela had interviewed and then created a database of all the relevant information she had on each individual.

  She had reached her research saturation point by the time she heard a knock on the front door in the early afternoon. At the sight of the Corps archaeologist through the door window, she quickly keyed off the alarm system. “Dan! What a surprise to see you! Please come in.”

  “I’m sorry, Libby, I don’t really have time to stay. The police interviewed me today—about Angela. I gave them the box of Angela’s research materials, but before giving the box over, I made copies for you.” He carried a carton into the house and set it on the window seat.

  Excitement over having fresh material jolted her. “Thank you. I hope you didn’t get in trouble for making copies.”

  “I was questioned about that—the cop wanted to know if you’d asked me to make the copies for you.”

  Libby grimaced. Mark would hold her accountable for actions in which she had no knowledge or part.

  “I told him you didn’t know I’d located the box, let alone made copies. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. Frankly, I still don’t, but the way the cop acted you’d think I’d mugged an old lady.”

  “We had a little issue with Angela’s boxes,” Libby said.

  “So I gathered. I explained to him that twenty years ago I packed everything of Angela’s that remained in our office and stored it, hoping to give it all back to her someday. When I was making the copies for you, I found some of my own notes in there too, stuff I’d misfiled. That box was as much mine as anyone’s and I had every right to go through it and make copies.”

  “I’m sorry he gave you a hard time. His behavior had more to do with me than with anything you did.”

  “Don’t worry. He has other issues with me,” Dan said.

  His words confirmed her belief that Dan had been a suspect in Angela’s disappearance. She realized that finding the will would clear him of suspicion, too.

  “So, tell me, how is the report coming?” he asked. “Will I have a draft on Friday?”

  “You’ll have something. I met with Rosalie yesterday. She’s satisfied with my progress. Even if I don’t make the deadline, I think we can work something out.” Rosalie was more than happy with what Libby had discovered. “Angela’s research is quite…interesting.”

  “She worked hard. It’ll be nice to see her research used at last.”

  You don’t know the half of it. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Angela’s research questions for her dissertation. I haven’t been able to find them and she covered a broad range of tribal issues. What was her focus?”

  “I don’t know. Angela didn’t talk about her research. Maybe that box will contain something.”

  “If you think of anything, will you let me know?”

 
“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “There are some rumors flying around…about you.”

  At least he gave her an opportunity to address the issue. If she were tried and convicted with whispers and innuendo, her career was already over. “It’s been one hell of a week,” she said flippantly. “Finding Angela would be significant enough. Being stalked, attacked, and framed was a special treat. But I didn’t do anything wrong; my cost proposal will bear that out. I’m not worried.” For a moment she almost believed herself.

  “Glad to hear it. You do good work. We’ve got an on-call contract coming up and I’m hoping EAC will submit a proposal.”

  “I’ve already begun lining up my team.”

  “Good. For what it’s worth, when you came up during my interview today, I told the cop that I believed the rumor about your finances began with Amy Seaver and it’s well known in the archaeological community Amy resents your success.”

  That was a huge show of support coming from Dan Parker, and given Amy’s basic psychotic behavior, she was sure to boil the Parker family bunny if she ever got wind of what he’d said. Gratefulness swept through her. Her peers might stand by her.

  “I also told him I was aware of the financial trouble you had with a client three years ago,” Dan continued. “But I didn’t hesitate to accept you as the consultant on this project because I trust your integrity more than rumors.”

  She again felt the sting of tears, a sign of how fragile she really was. “Thank you, Dan. Your words mean more than I can say.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “You already have.”

  He left. She studied the box he’d delivered. She had six hours until her dinner with Jason and a new set of notes.

  MARK STARED AT THE PHOTOS posted on the wall in the room they had set up for the Caruthers murder. All the information collected during the initial investigation and now was gathered here.

  Color photos of a living, smiling Angela Caruthers hung next to photos of a hollow-eyed skull looking up from damp earth.