Deputy Defender

by Cindi Myers

  “No problem.”

  For the next two hours, they worked arranging the space. Parker proved both strong and fast, and able to work well without supervision—in other words, a dream volunteer. “I’d never get this done so quickly without your help,” she said as she surveyed the newly arranged furnishings. “Now all we have to do is set out the items on display. Later today I’ll work on printing out all the labels and signs.”

  “This is the fun part,” Parker said as he opened a carton and lifted out a World War II-era uniform. “Like opening Christmas presents.”

  “It is sort of like that,” Brenda agreed. “I’ve seen all this stuff before, but it’s been packed away for a while. And some of it has never been on display. People give us things all the time that we have to save for the appropriate exhibit.” She set a canteen and mess kit side by side on a shelf.

  “What do we do with the clothes?” Parker asked, as he laid out a navy uniform next to the army gear.

  “We have mannequins we’ll need to dress,” she said. “We’ll save them for last.”

  After another hour, they had everything unpacked and arranged. Brenda might move some items later, after she had time to consider the flow of the exhibit. The idea was to display things in a logical order that led visitors from one area of the room to the next. They retrieved the mannequins from her workroom and arranged them in the center of the room, the navy man clutching a pair of binoculars, his army counterpart holding a field radio.

  “It looks pretty good,” Parker said as he and Brenda stood in the doorway, surveying their work.

  “It will look even better when the signs and labels are up. And I may add a few things in. Sometimes after a new exhibit goes up, someone will come in and donate something that fits the theme.”

  “What about that book you’re auctioning?” he asked. “The one about the secret labs that were here in the county in World War II?”

  She shook her head. “It’s far too valuable—and apparently, controversial—to display.”

  “Do you think I could see it some time?” he asked.

  “Why do you want to see it?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “To try to figure out what all the fuss is about, I guess.”

  “The sheriff has the book and it’s going to stay with him until the auction.”

  “Yeah, I guess that probably is best. Have you had any more threatening letters?”

  “No. I hope the article in the paper will scare off whoever wrote the letters. I tried to make it clear that I was immune to threats.”

  “I hope you’re right and you scare him off,” Parker said. “And don’t just make him angry and want to try harder.”

  His words sent a shiver through her. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as they moved empty boxes back into storage and swept up the room. Maybe he was only curious about the book and concerned about her—but what if he had other motives?

  She said goodbye to him and the afternoon volunteer and prepared to lock up the building and leave herself. She hated feeling this way—untrusting and suspicious. Was Dwight’s cynicism rubbing off on her? If that was the case, she wouldn’t thank him for it.

  Chapter Ten

  “We have the coroner’s report on Henry Hake.” Travis distributed copies around the conference table, two days after Dwight and Brenda discovered the body. “There was a fair amount of deterioration, but he’s ruled out physical violence as the cause of death. He found no sign of gunshots, knife wounds or asphyxiation.”

  Dwight skimmed the paperwork, flipping over to the end of the report. Next to “Cause of Death” was a single word: Inconclusive.

  “Does that mean it’s possible Hake wasn’t murdered?” Gage asked.

  “We can’t rule out murder,” Travis said. “Especially considering how the body was found. But the coroner did say the body was strung up after death—and that it hadn’t been hanging where we found it long.”

  “We knew that already,” Gage said. “The Feds only left the place three days ago.”

  “Maybe Hake was poisoned,” Dwight said. “One of those poisons that leaves the body in a relatively short time.”

  “Did the coroner say how long Hake had been dead?” Gage asked.

  “Approximately seven weeks—maybe a little more,” Travis said.

  “So he died not too long after he disappeared,” Dwight said.

  “The coroner did find evidence of heart disease,” Travis said. “It’s possible Hake was kidnapped and the stress brought on a heart attack. The kidnappers panicked, ditched the car and hid the body.”

  “Then why not keep the body hidden?” Dwight asked.

  “Maybe because now we don’t have a way of linking Hake to the killer?” Gage asked. “They think they’re in the clear.”

  “Hake’s car was found near the resort, and his body was found on the resort,” Travis said. “The Hoods died because they saw something at the resort they shouldn’t have. Wade and Brock kidnapped Gage and Maya and Casey and imprisoned them at the resort.”

  “So the resort is key to solving all of this,” Dwight said. “What is going on up there that someone is willing to kill to protect?”

  “We need to know that,” Travis said. “And we need to know who.” He consulted his notes. “Gage, you saw a black SUV at the resort when you were fired on. Casey reported seeing a similar SUV—and two men in dark suits—when she went for help. Wade and Brock were talking to those men before they were killed.”

  “So the suits were running the show.” Gage nodded. “Two strangers in suits are going to stand out around here, where pretty much everybody wears casual clothing unless they’re going to a wedding or a funeral. Even the bankers and lawyers seldom put on a jacket and tie.”

  “So why haven’t we been able to find them?” Dwight asked. “And why haven’t we been able to find whoever is threatening Brenda?” Their canvass of the neighborhood had turned up not a single clue to help them find the arsonist who had burned down her house.

  “The only link we can find between Brenda and the resort is the fact that her late husband was the lawyer who represented the development company,” Travis said.

  “And he was killed because of something he saw or said or did that didn’t please his murderer’s boss,” Gage said.

  “Ian Barnes was Henry Hake’s bodyguard,” Travis said. “But in talking with him before he died, I got the impression that there was someone above Hake who was calling the shots. My feeling is that that mysterious someone ordered Andy Stenson’s murder.”

  “Why did Hake need a bodyguard?” Gage asked.

  “Because he was afraid of the people over him?” Dwight asked. “He thought they were dangerous?”

  “Or because those people had enemies who were dangerous,” Travis said.

  “Henry Hake had enemies of his own,” Gage said. “Paige Riddell’s environmental group didn’t make any secret of their loathing for him and his development. And let’s not forget his own lawyer, Andy Stenson, who was probably blackmailing him.”

  “So maybe Hake did order the hit on Andy,” Dwight said. “But then who kidnapped Hake?”

  “If he was kidnapped,” Travis said, “we don’t have any proof of that.”

  “When a guy disappears and his car ends up in a ravine—but his dead body is found hanging in an underground chamber a month later—that didn’t all happen of his own free will,” Gage said.

  “And the coroner said no physical trauma,” Dwight said. “So it’s not as if Hake somehow managed to escape his car, only to die of his injuries later.”

  “And what—someone found the body and decided to hang it up as some kind of sick joke?” Gage asked.

  Dwight shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Right now all we have are a lot of questions and no answers,” Travis said. “Bu
t maybe I’ll get some answers this afternoon. I have a meeting with the new owners of the Eagle Mountain Resort property.”

  Dwight and Gage exchanged looks. “What was that company’s name again?” Dwight asked.

  “An investment group called CNG Development,” Travis said. “I’m meeting with their representative on the property at two.”

  “Who is CNG Development?” Dwight asked.

  “That’s what I’m hoping to find out,” Travis said. “As far as I can determine, at least some of the principals were silent partners in the original development. Before Hake disappeared, they signed an agreement with him to take over control of the property.”

  “How come nobody else knew about this?” Gage asked. “I mean, the way gossip spreads in this town, I would have thought someone would have said something.”

  “I think they kept it deliberately low-key,” Travis said.

  “Do they plan to go ahead with developing the property?” Dwight asked.

  “That’s one of the questions I’m going to ask them.” Travis consulted his notes again. “What else do we have going on right now?”

  “I’m working the high school basketball tournament this evening,” Gage said. “Maya says the girls’ team has a good chance of winning.”

  Gage’s fiancée, Maya Renfro, had snagged a position teaching English at the high school when another teacher’s husband was transferred. A former avowed city girl, she had thrown herself into small-town life and signed on as assistant coach of the girls’ basketball team.

  “Dwight, what are you working on?” Travis asked.

  “I’m going to take another look at that book of Brenda’s, see if I can figure out what Andy might have been looking for when he borrowed it from the professor. And I’m going to touch base with Brenda and see who has made a bid on the book so far.”

  “I thought the auction wasn’t until next Saturday,” Travis said.

  “It isn’t, but she said bidders had the option of mailing in a bid ahead of time. I want to know if anything has come in that might raise a red flag.”

  “There’s a reception next Friday night where people can view all of the items up for auction, including the book,” Travis said. “I want as many of us as possible there, keeping our eyes open for anyone suspicious.”

  Everyone was beginning to look suspicious to Dwight—not a feeling he especially liked.

  “We still have our regular patrols,” Travis said. He read off their assignments for the day and they dispersed.

  Dwight resisted the urge to drive by the museum first thing. Brenda had been polite but decidedly cool toward him since he’d made the mistake of revealing his true feelings to her yesterday morning. So much for the honesty women said they wanted.

  But maybe that wasn’t a fair judgment, either, he admitted. Brenda had made it clear she wasn’t ready for a relationship, and he could see how his comment might make her think he was trying to rush things.

  Instead of saying he had remained single because he was waiting for her, he should have shared another bit of truth: staying single was a lot easier than navigating the land mines inherent in any relationship.

  * * *

  WITH THE AUCTION fast approaching, Brenda spent the next few days working long hours at the museum, proofing the final copy of the auction catalog and updating listings on the website she had established as new items continued to come in. The work needed to be done, but when she was being honest with herself, she admitted that staying late at the office gave her an excuse to avoid Dwight. She couldn’t think clearly when she was with him, what with her body demanding to be back in his bed and her mind focused on the benefits of sticking close to a man with a gun and a desire to protect her. She could shut up her mind with a reminder that she had received no more threatening letters. Her body, awakened from long dormancy, wasn’t so easily reasoned with. Better to avoid the object of her lust until she had gained a little perspective.

  Work was one thing that allowed her to focus. The interest and support from the people of Eagle Mountain and the surrounding county touched her. Surveying the growing collection of items in her workroom, it seemed as if half the residents of the area had raided basements and attics for great-granddaddy’s miner’s lamp or great-grandmother’s Victrola to contribute to the museum’s fund-raising efforts.

  But their generosity wasn’t going to be enough. The money the auction would bring would keep things going for a few more months, at most, but an ongoing donor was needed to insure continued operation—and Brenda’s continued employment. In addition to getting ready for the auction, she continued to send letters to potential sponsors, both corporate and private.

  She was composing such a letter, long after the museum had closed, on the Tuesday before the auction when a pounding on the door broke her concentration. A glance out the window showed a distinguished-looking man in a dark suit standing on the porch. Annoyed but curious, she opened the door. “The museum is closed,” she said. “You’re welcome to come back tomorrow morning after nine.” She tried to see past him, into the parking lot. Wasn’t Eddie supposed to be around somewhere, doing his security guard duties? She hadn’t seen any sign of him all evening.

  “I’m here to see Mrs. Brenda Stenson.” He offered a smile that transformed his expression from businesslike to breathtaking. Of average height and build and in his forties, he had the thick dark hair and piercing gray eyes of a matinee idol. “Would that be you?”

  “Yes.” She maintained her composure under the force of his movie-star smile. “What can I do for you, Mr...?”

  “Brownley. Robert Brownley. Could we go inside to talk? It’s awkward, standing here on the doorstep.”

  If she admitted she was alone in the building, would that make her more vulnerable? She had certainly been alone in the museum with strangers many times, given that she operated with a skeleton staff. But always before, that was during regular business hours, when another person could have walked in any time. She should tell Mr. Brownley to come back tomorrow.

  “I have a financial proposal to make,” he said. “I would have come earlier, but my business demands my attention during working hours. I saw your car out front and decided to take a chance that you were here.”

  He certainly looked like a man who had money to give away—his deftly tailored suit, gleaming leather shoes and even his haircut advertised wealth—and the black SUV parked beside her Subaru was a brand she was sure retailed for close to $100,000. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a serial killer, but could she really afford to pass up the chance that he was going to offer up a much-needed donation to the museum? She stepped back, holding the door open wider. “Come in.”

  He strode past her, the spicy fragrance of his cologne trailing in his wake. He admired the photographs on the walls and the books displayed on the shelves. Brenda perched on the high stool next to the cash register, keeping the glass display case that served as the front counter between them. “What can I do for you, Mr. Brownley?” she asked.

  “I’m interested in one of the items you have listed for auction,” he said.

  “Oh.” She tried not to show her disappointment. “You’re welcome to make an early bid online, or attend the live auction Saturday night,” she said.

  “I’m prepared to make a preemptive bid now,” he said. “I’ll beat any subsequent bid you might obtain.”

  “What’s the item you want to bid on?”

  “It’s a book. The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado. An esoteric item, I admit, but I’m a collector, and you know how collectors are obsessive about completing our collections.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention at the mention of the book, but she remained cool. “We’ve had quite a bit of interest in that item,” she said. “As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s quite rare.”

  “Yes.” Did she imagine that his smile h
eld less warmth? He looked around the room, scanning the titles on the shelves, as if he expected to find the book there. “And as I explained, I am prepared to meet or beat any other bid you receive, provided the volume meets with my expectations. I’d like to see it and assess its condition.”

  “The book is in a secure location. Off-site,” she added. “All the auction items will be on display at the reception Friday evening, which you’re welcome to attend. And of course, you can see everything the morning of the auction.”

  No smile now. Without it, his expression was forbidding. “I’m prepared to offer a substantial sum to acquire this volume,” he said. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a private showing ahead of time.”

  “That isn’t possible,” she said. “The book isn’t here. It isn’t anywhere I can get to it.”

  “That’s a very poor way to do business,” he said.

  “That may be your opinion, but it’s how we’ve chosen to handle it.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I think you’d better go.”

  He scowled at the phone, then turned and stalked out. When the door had slammed behind him, she laid the phone aside and slumped on the stool. She hated confrontation. But even worse, she hated people who tried to push her around.

  Five minutes later, the jangle of the doorbells had her grabbing up the phone again, heart pounding. Dwight stepped into the room, and the sight of his lanky figure in the familiar khaki uniform left her weak with relief. “Everything okay here?” he asked.

  She laid down the phone and smoothed her damp palms on her skirt. “Fine. I’m just working late on auction stuff.”

  “Who was that in the black Land Rover that just went tearing out of here?” he asked.

  “A man who wanted to place an auction bid. I explained he could go to the website or attend the live auction Saturday.”

  Dwight’s alert posture didn’t relax, and his gaze remained fixed on her. “What did he want to bid on?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, “Oh, it doesn’t matter.” She began shutting down her laptop. “I’m about ready to call it a night.”