by Clover Tate
“It seems to be part of a whole complex.” Jack knelt next to me and pointed to a building facing west, toward the ocean. “Here’s Miles’s restaurant.”
“A resort,” I said. The architect had sketched in fake trees and indicated a few landmarks in the landscape. “Isn’t that Perkins Road?” I tapped a road on the east side of the complex. “And the lighthouse is up here.” If the lighthouse and Perkins Road bordered it . . . “Oh, Jack.” I stared at him. “It’s set on Avery’s land. The whole complex.” I clenched my fists to stop my trembling hands.
He pulled the plans closer, then let them drop to the carpet. “You’re right.”
“It’s red-hot evidence against him,” I added. Frank had planned a resort on Avery’s land, a complex including Miles’s new restaurant. Avery was framed for Miles’s murder. Her legal expenses could easily swallow the value of her house. We let the facts settle for a moment.
“Let’s put this away and get out of here,” Jack said. “We’ll tell the sheriff in the morning. He can follow up there.”
I agreed. We slipped the plans into the portfolio and edged it back into the closet.
“Come on, let’s go,” Jack repeated.
I froze. “Look.” In the depths of the closet, just beyond the portfolio, was a golf caddy. Full of clubs, Frank’s golf clubs. The realization hit me full in the chest. Frank wasn’t in Bandon Dunes at all.
As if on cue, a key turned the front door’s deadbolt.
* * *
Jack was at the window in two steps. He opened the blinds and looked down. I knew it was hopeless. We were on the second floor of a tall building. Even if we could get out the window in time, we’d break something vital on the fall down. Our only hope was to stay quiet until Frank went to bed. We could sneak out then. Jack seemed to have the same idea, because he pulled me into the corner, behind the door.
Voices came from the living room, Frank’s and a woman’s. I knew Frank could be a bit of a flirt, but at this time of the night? It had to be two in the morning. From his sharp inhale, I could tell Jack recognized the woman’s voice seconds before I did. Annabelle.
The floorboards creaked as someone came down the hall. I held my breath. Let it be for the bathroom, I prayed.
“Make yourself a drink,” Frank said.
“Do you have any wine?” Annabelle’s voice came from the living room.
“Check the refrigerator. Wineglasses are in the cupboard above the sink.”
My heart thumped so loud I could barely hear. Frank did this. Frank orchestrated the whole thing. He’d planned a resort on Avery’s land, killed Miles, then framed Avery for the murder. Miles didn’t mean anything to him anymore since he wouldn’t repay his debt. With Avery in jail and on track to sell everything for legal fees, he’d be able to buy her land. He was willing to murder for the resort. For the first time, terror replaced anger. Frank was willing to murder, and Jack and I were hiding in his apartment. I glanced up at Jack, but it was too dark to read his expression.
Then I saw the office door. Shoot. It was open. It had been shut when we came in. “I can’t believe you forgot our date,” Annabelle said from the other room. “Good thing you called.” Frank’s voice was unnervingly close.
The steps in the hall hesitated, and all at once the office was flooded with light.
“I didn’t—” Frank’s voice said. He whirled around and saw us, his face tightening from surprise to anger. “What are you doing here?”
“Frank?” Annabelle asked from the living room. “What is it?”
Frank ignored her, his focus trained on us. “You broke in. You thought I was away and decided to break in. What do you want? Money? Maybe something to blackmail me with?”
Annabelle appeared in the doorway, clearly dressed for a night out, and not even prairie-style. “Jack? And Emmy?”
“I’m calling the sheriff.” Frank reached into his pocket for his phone.
“No, Frank,” Annabelle said. “They must have a reason for being here. Let’s hear it.”
I was too flummoxed to speak.
“We can explain,” Jack said. I looked up at him. This should be good. I stepped back, and my head hit the closet’s door frame. The portfolio toppled sideways.
Frank shook his head. “What’s to explain? They broke in. They were probably planning on stealing something or getting into things that aren’t any of their business.”
“Frank.” Annabelle’s voice was soft, calming. “I’ve known Jack a long time”—she gave him a meaningful look—“and Emmy seems reasonable. They must have a good reason for being here.”
My power of speech was coming back, and it was coming back angry. “Go ahead and call the sheriff. Go ahead. I’d love to tell him about your plans for Avery’s land and how you framed her for Miles’s murder to get it, not to mention the fact that you burned down his cabin this afternoon.”
Jack shot me a warning look.
“What? You’re insane. You’ve been going through my files. I should have known it. I should have—”
Annabelle raised her hands palms out. “Listen. Let’s go to the living room and sit down. We’ll start from the beginning and talk it out. See what’s really going on here. I have a feeling there are a few misunderstandings at the heart of this. Frank murder Miles? No way.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Jack broke the silence. “Annabelle’s right. Let’s sit down and start at the beginning.”
Hesitantly, Frank followed Annabelle to the living room. Fear and surprise and anger—and the late hour and lack of dinner—had left me shaky. Frank and Annabelle took the couch while Jack and I sat in armchairs facing it.
“All right,” Annabelle said. “Emmy, you start. Why did you and Jack break in?”
I glanced at Jack. I didn’t want to speak for him. “Avery has been framed for killing Miles. I know she didn’t do it. I wanted to find out who did.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Frank’s voice picked up volume.
“Just listen, Frank,” Annabelle said.
Frank was too smart to try anything dangerous with Annabelle and Jack here. That thought gave me courage. “I knew—it was common knowledge,” I corrected myself, “that Miles wanted his own restaurant. Word is that you lent him money for it. It occurred to me that Miles might have spent the money and not been able to pay it back.”
“You’re right. He did. So?”
“Frank’s right, Emmy,” Annabelle said. “Why kill someone who owes you money? Doesn’t seem like a smart way to get repaid.”
“I know. That’s what I thought, too. But there had to be something more going on. That’s why I came here. Maybe the restaurant deal was more complicated than I’d thought.”
“And you?” Annabelle looked at Jack. “You came with her?”
“Sort of,” Jack said. “For the same reasons, basically.”
“The thing is, I was right,” I said. “You planned to build a resort on Avery’s land. It would probably have made you a millionaire several times over. It’s awfully convenient that Avery’s in jail. Maybe you figured that once it went to trial, legal fees would make her sell the house. Or worse.” Worse being a life in prison. Bile rose in my throat. “That would be a reason to kill someone, wouldn’t it?”
“Whoa. Careful there,” Annabelle said. Good grief. She could lead group therapy sessions. “What I hear you saying is that you feared Frank killed Miles and pinned it on Avery for financial motives. Am I right?”
Now the good-little-Annabelle attitude was getting on my nerves. I wished she’d shut up so I could call the sheriff myself. “That’s what I said.”
“Frank?” She turned toward him on the couch.
“I’m not a murderer.”
“I know that. But these are serious accusations. Maybe you can cast some light on the situation.”
H
e fidgeted with his hands and looked toward the TV remote on the coffee table as if it were an oracle. “Emmy, you’re right. To some extent. But I never killed Miles, and I would never frame Avery for his death.”
I relaxed an iota. I was on the right track. How he was going to talk his way out of this, I didn’t know, but I had witnesses to at least part of the confession.
“I did want Avery’s land for a resort. It would have been perfect—location, geography, all of it. The house is falling down, anyway. Avery would have had money to buy a much nicer place somewhere else. And I did lend Miles money for a restaurant as part of the complex, and he wasn’t able to make his payments.”
“And?” Annabelle prompted.
“And—and I’m not proud of it, but I told Miles I’d forgive his debt if he convinced Avery to sell me her land.”
“And that’s why they started dating,” Annabelle said, not without satisfaction.
Avery did tell me that Miles came to see her out of the blue. She hadn’t expected he’d be interested in her. But they dated. And then he disappeared. I began to understand.
“He couldn’t do it, could he?” I said. “He cared about her and couldn’t convince her to sell her land when he knew it was so important to her.”
Frank stared at the table. “That’s what he said.”
Miles had broken up with Avery in a fit of conscience. He hadn’t lost interest in her at all. Poor Avery. If only she’d known. She’d been so hurt.
“That sounds like Miles,” Jack said. “He did his own thing, but he had a moral code. Maybe not the societal standard, but a code of his own.”
I shook my head. “I’m not convinced. Besides, why didn’t you tell Sheriff Koppen about this? You have a lot stronger motive than Avery does for killing Miles. Avery might not even be in jail if you came clean.” My throat was tight, and my words choked out. “Plus, what about Miles’s cabin?”
“What about it?” Frank said.
“Someone burnt it down today. Someone wanted to hide something.”
“You mentioned that,” he murmered. “Strange.” He shook his head as if cleaning an unwanted thought. “I told you,” Frank said, “I’m not proud of what I did, all right? But I’m no murderer, and I don’t go around burning down houses.”
“Words. Just words. Go tell them to Sheriff Koppen.”
A storm of anger gathered in Frank’s expression. His voice was steely cold. “As it happens, the sheriff did want to know where I was the night Miles was killed.”
“And where was that?” I said.
Frank rose, and I lurched back in my chair. Jack grabbed my shoulder. Frank pushed past me and went down the hall, returning a few seconds later. He tossed a piece of paper on the coffee table. It was the boarding pass I’d seen earlier. “I was in Palm Springs,” he said.
chapter twenty-nine
“I can’t believe it,” I said. “I’m such an idiot.”
After Frank had kicked us out of his apartment with the warning that he might still turn us in to the sheriff, Jack and I slumped to my workshop below. We could only hope that Annabelle’s cooler head was prevailing upstairs. We sat at the little kitchen table in the dark with only the light burning over the stove.
“A real idiot,” I repeated.
“That makes two of us,” Jack said.
“You had the sense to keep your mouth shut. You weren’t accusing him of being a money-hungry murderer.”
“The money-hungry part is right, at least. He even copped to that.”
“Poor Avery. I really wanted to help her, but every time I think I’m close to finding who really killed Miles, it falls apart. In this case, explodes.” My chest felt heavy.
“I know. I want to find who killed Miles, too. It’s not over yet.”
I looked around the dim workshop, at the broad-topped worktable placed to take advantage of the afternoon sun, the windows I’d had yet to sew curtains for, the teapot and mugs resting on the stove. My dream. I’d worked so hard to pull it all together. “It looks like Sullivan’s Kites will be the only kite shop in town soon.”
“What’s with the melodrama?” Jack said.
“How long do you think it will take me to pack up and move back to Portland?”
He leaned back. “I didn’t take you for a quitter. I thought you were determined to get Avery out of jail, not to mention make a success out of Strings Attached.”
“I am. It’s just . . .” What could I say? “I’ve met with dead ends everywhere I’ve turned. I can’t even tell you why Miles was killed, let alone who did it.”
“You’ve tried.”
“And left a trail of disasters. First I thought Miles was killed because he was gathering morels on someone else’s territory. It turned out that the mushroom hunters couldn’t have done it.”
“How did that lead to disaster?”
I winced at the memory. “The morels were the family’s best source of income. They have a little girl to support, too. Now that the sheriff has questioned them and word is out, no one will hire them.”
“But they still have the morels,” Jack said.
“Nope. They were gathering without a permit. I got them busted.” My pity party’s DJ was just getting started on the violin music. “And then there was Sam Anderson.”
“Oh yeah. The ‘sweet cup of Goffee.’” He chuckled.
“I was so sure he’d done it. Instead, when Miles was killed he had a solid alibi—with the deputy sheriff, even.” I looked up at him. “She hates me, too, by the way.”
“That’s a tough one.”
“And now I’ve blown it with Frank. My own landlord.” I raised my eyes toward the ceiling and lowered my voice. “Do you really think he’s going to want me around after I accused him of killing a man and dumping his body in the ocean?”
Jack grabbed one of my fidgeting hands and clasped it in his larger, warmer ones. “Listen. Things will look different in the morning.”
“It is the morning,” I said. At least, I think that’s what I said. My heart’s rat-a-tat from the warmth of Jack’s fingers interfered with my brain function.
“You know what I mean. I have faith in you. And I’ll help. You can count on me.” He held my hand a moment longer, then placed it on the table and let go. I wanted to grab it again. Or, better yet, find a seat in his lap. I might have stared at him a bit too intensely, because he leaned forward and started to say something, then stopped.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow,” I repeated.
“You know what I mean. Get some sleep.” His voice was low, seductive.
And with that, he was gone.
* * *
After Jack left, I sat in the kitchen in silence. What a debacle. Despite Jack’s calming words and even more calming presence, I was mortified. There was no way Frank could have killed Miles. He’d proven conclusively that he wasn’t even in Rock Point. Worse, Sheriff Koppen knew it, too. If it weren’t for Annabelle, I’d probably be locked up next to Avery right about now.
A knock at my back door got my attention. For a second my heart leapt as I thought it might be Jack again, but it was Annabelle, her long blond hair backlit like a halo from the outside light.
“I thought I’d see how you’re doing,” she said.
“Humiliated, but fine. Thank you for smoothing everything over up there.” Why she was being so nice to me, I didn’t know, but I was grateful. “I overreacted. I shouldn’t have gone into his apartment. I was just so upset about Avery. I couldn’t—”
“Emmy, stop. I—”
“I just can’t believe what I did. It’s awful. I should have—”
“Hush!” Annabelle didn’t shout, but her voice cut like sharpened steel. She had my full attention. “I’m not so sure Frank’s innocent
.”
What? I’m not sure my jaw dropped in real life, but it did metaphorically for sure. “But upstairs—”
“I know, I know. I wanted to calm him down, get him to think we didn’t suspect him.” Annabelle placed a hand on the chair Jack had left. “Do you mind if I sit?”
I snapped out of the shock left by her words. “Please. I was just about to make some tea. Would you like a cup?” I was exhausted, but my nerves were jangled, and half an hour with a warm mug in my hands might help.
“Please.”
I busied myself with the electric teakettle. “Frank showed us his ticket stub to Palm Springs for the same night Miles died. What makes you think he might have done it?”
“Boarding passes can be faked. Easily. I mean, look at the facts. Frank wanted that land. He admitted to being willing to excuse a huge debt to get it. If he’d essentially pay a hundred thousand dollars for the chance to buy land, why wouldn’t he be willing to stab someone with a filet knife to get it?”
For a huge reason, I thought. Greed is one thing, but murder is another one entirely. Then I heard Annabelle’s words in my mind again. With a filet knife. The sheriff hadn’t let out that information. Neither had I. My blood ran cold.
“How did you know it was a filet knife?” I asked.
She paused, then smiled brightly. “Well, it wouldn’t be a butcher knife, would it?”
She was lying to me, I knew it. I forced a smile, but dread bubbled up in my chest. “Good point,” I said. “Are you sure about Frank? I thought maybe—” I lifted my eyes toward the apartment above.
“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Frank’s just a mentor. We’d been out to dinner, and he wanted to show me something, that’s all.”
The filet knife had come from a restaurant-supply store. Avery confirmed it, and the sheriff had added it to his reasons for her guilt since she owned a coffee shop. Annabelle owned a teahouse. She would have had access to a knife like that. Ace said he saw “a blond” on the dock. Annabelle was blond. She was always talking about Rock Point’s future, too. She might not have Frank’s money, but her ambition doubled his.