A Killer Retreat

by Tracy Weber

  I picked up my coat, grabbed Rene by the hand, and pulled her toward the door. I whispered so Bruce wouldn’t overhear. “Let’s get out of here.” I forced myself not to run all the way back to the cabin.

  twenty-one

  “What are you two, idiots?” Michael stomped back and forth across the living room like a frustrated Neanderthal confronted with the first liberated cave woman.

  “Michael, keep your voice down. You’re overreacting. I’m perfectly capable of—”

  He whipped around and held up his palm. A fountain of spittle spewed from his lips. “Don’t even start with me on your independent woman spiel. Believe me, Kate, I know. You can survive just fine without me.” He pointed at Bella. “I’m sure you think she can, too, for that matter. That’s not the point.”

  I winced. Why bring Bella into this? I had a feeling that Michael was upset about a lot more than Rene’s and my visit with Bruce.

  Bella whined, clearly uncomfortable with the infighting in her pack. She looked at Michael, then at me, then back at Michael again, as if unsure with whom she should align. I was the Dog Food Provider, but Michael was the Cookie Man, and he had taken her on a hiking adventure. She placed her body between us and tried to diffuse the tension.

  I mimicked her actions, hoping that together we’d calm Michael. I licked my lips. I looked down at the floor. I yawned. I considered showing him my belly, but that would have compromised my status as alpha. Besides, I knew it was useless. I’d strained Michael’s patience to the breaking point. For now, I’d have to ride out the storm. Michael would calm down with time.

  I hoped.

  For his part, Sam completely ignored all three of us. He was too busy browbeating Rene.

  He threw up his arms, gesticulating wildly. “It all makes perfect sense. One woman has already been murdered on this infernal vacation, why not add two more?”

  Bella finally chose sides. She walked purposefully across the room, sat in front of Rene, and glared at Sam. If he wanted to get to Rene, he’d have to go through her first. Evidently I was on my own.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Rene chided. She rubbed Bella’s neck and cooed. “It’s OK, sweetheart. He’s just a big grouch.” She looked directly at Sam, then at Michael. “Stop yelling. Both of you. You’re upsetting the dog.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Come up here, baby.”

  Bella jumped on the couch and shook her entire body, as if forcing water droplets from her deep black coat. She turned a quick circle and lay down next to Rene.

  “Kate and I are both fine,” Rene continued. “We were never in any danger.” Bella sighed and rested her chin on Rene’s lap. “You two have a choice. You can stomp around like a couple of macho cowboy jerks while Kate and I ignore you …”

  “You will not—”

  Rene’s look stopped Sam mid-sentence. “Or you can stop lecturing, sit down, and help us figure out what to do next.” She paused a moment for effect. “Well, gentlemen, which will it be?”

  Sam crossed his arms sullenly but nodded his head yes.

  Michael stopped pacing. He barely looked at me when he spoke. “Nothing I say will make any difference, will it?”

  A hollow, uneasy sensation fluttered deep in my stomach. Michael wasn’t asking about my amateur sleuthing anymore.

  I considered several honest responses, none of which would have been adequate. None of which were what he wanted—maybe even needed—to hear.

  I could assure Michael that he was important to me, but he already knew that. I could tell him that I loved him, but he already knew that, too. Michael wanted me to promise that someday we would walk together, hand-in-hand, off into the sunset.

  Problem was, I couldn’t. How could anyone predict the future of a relationship? I was beginning to believe that happily-ever-after only happened in fairy tales.

  I took no pleasure in my response, but at least it was honest. “No, Michael, I’m sorry. It won’t.”

  He stared out the window for several seconds, his expression unreadable. When his eyes met mine, they seemed heavy—dulled by a mixture of worry, resignation, and heartbreak.

  My heart broke too.

  “I can’t stand it when you keep me in the dark, Kate. If I help you, will you at least let me know what you’re doing?”

  “Yes. Of course I will.” I joined him at the window and squeezed his hands. He didn’t squeeze back, but he didn’t move away, either. We stood silently together for several moments. After what felt like an eternity, he sighed, pulled out a chair, and sat down. I sat next to him.

  Sam spoke. “All right you two, tell us exactly what happened again, from the beginning.”

  Rene and I took turns sharing the details of our day’s excursions. I finished by describing how I found the bottles of medicine, read the labels, and shoved them back into the bathroom garbage can. “But I don’t know if they mean anything.”

  Michael frowned. “Kate, it’s obviously time to call the police.”

  “And tell them what? That I found some perfectly legal bottles of pills while rummaging through someone else’s trash? I don’t even know if those drugs have anything to do with Monica’s murder. She was strangled, not drugged. Maybe Bruce has a painkiller addiction.”

  Michael lifted his laptop off of the end table and turned it on. “That would explain the Vicodin, but I’m not sure about other prescriptions. What else did you find?”

  “Bruce interrupted me before I got a good look at all of them. I only saw two: the bottle of Vicodin and another labeled digoxin.”

  “It’s a start. Let me see what I can find.” He typed for a moment then scanned the screen. “According to this, digoxin is a heart medication.” He kept reading. A few clicks later, he looked up. “Nothing I see indicates that digoxin can get you high. It’s not even a controlled substance.”

  “Bruce would have known that,” Sam interjected. “He’s a doctor. If he’s a drug addict, he’s not a very smart one.”

  “Maybe there’s some other simple explanation,” I replied. “Emmy thinks Helen forgot her prescriptions at home. Maybe Bruce picked up refills for her. Or maybe Helen was at Bruce’s cabin for some reason and left them there.”

  “One prescription maybe, but several?” Sam looked unconvinced. “I doubt it. And in that scenario, how did they end up at the bottom of a garbage can?”

  I shrugged. “Someone obviously put them there. If it wasn’t Helen, which seems unlikely, then it must have been Bruce.”

  “Not necessarily,” Rene argued. “Monica might have stolen the drugs. She hated Helen. Maybe she thought Helen would get sick without her medicine and have to go home.”

  I thought for a minute. “That doesn’t explain how Bruce ended up with the Vicodin.”

  “What do you mean?” Michael asked.

  “Bruce gave me some of the Vicodin last night. That’s what made me suspect him, remember? If Monica took the pills and tossed them into the trash, how did Bruce get them?”

  “So we’re back to Bruce,” Michael replied.

  “Maybe.” I sighed. “But other than being crazy suspicious, I don’t see how the stolen medications can be related to Monica’s death.”

  I looked around the room, but no one seemed to have any answers. Rene absently rubbed Bella’s ears. Michael tapped at his keyboard and scanned the monitor. Bella snored.

  Sam eventually spoke. “What if the stolen drugs aren’t about Monica? What if they’re about Helen? Bruce might be planning to kill her, too.”

  “What would his motive be?” I asked. “Bruce and Helen have been divorced for two years. Besides, Emmy said that Helen always carries extra medication in her purse. Bruce would have known that.”

  Michael spoke as he scrolled through the site. “From what I can see here, missing a dose or two wouldn’t have harmed Helen, anyway. She’d be able to get a replaceme
nt prescription long before she was in danger.” He frowned. “This is interesting, though.”

  “What?”

  He handed me his laptop and pointed to a page titled “Digoxin Toxicity.” “Read this. Does it remind you of anything?”

  I read the symptoms out loud. “Nausea, loss of appetite, vomiting, diarrhea …”

  My slow-witted mind finally kicked into gear. “Wait a minute. Monica didn’t have food poisoning; she had digoxin toxicity!”

  Michael agreed. “Bruce tried to poison Monica. When that didn’t work, he resorted to something more reliable.”

  I frowned and read the symptoms again. “Maybe …”

  “What is it, Kate?” Rene asked.

  “That theory certainly fits, but it doesn’t feel right. You saw Bruce today; he seemed truly grief-stricken. And he practically collapsed the morning Monica died.” I bit my lower lip. “I could be wrong. Bruce could be the world’s best actor. But my gut says he’s legit. I don’t think he’s the killer.”

  Michael stood up. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, we need to call the police.”

  Cold sweat dripped down my back and pooled under my armpits. “I suppose.”

  “Don’t look so glum,” Rene said. “The digoxin doesn’t prove anything for certain, but it goes a long way toward clearing you.”

  Michael’s face darkened. “Kate, what aren’t you saying?”

  My mouth felt almost too dry to form words. “I think I screwed up.”

  “How?”

  “I had my hands all over those bottles today. They’ll be covered with my fingerprints. And I’ve been at the Retreat House twice now. How will I ever convince Sergeant Bill that I didn’t steal those drugs and plant them in Bruce’s cabin myself ?”

  We all stared at each other in echoing silence. Even Bella woke up from her nap and gazed at me with concern.

  Michael picked up his phone. “We’d better call Dale.”

  _____

  Dale arrived at the cabin an hour later with a bag of rosemary chèvre muffins, several goat-shaped dog cookies, and a hazy, half-baked idea. The five of us gathered around the kitchen table, discussed options, and formulated a plan.

  I didn’t like Dale’s idea. The risks of collateral damage were too high for my taste. But in the end, I went along with it. Dale made a phone call, then sent Rene, Sam, Michael, and Bella off to Eastsound, convinced that our plan would work better without them. He waited until both cars had driven off before chiding me.

  “I swear, Kate, my goats have more common sense than you, and they’re only half as stubborn.”

  I swallowed the last bite of pastry. “I screwed up. I know that. But what are you complaining about? You’re the one who told me to get involved.”

  He crumpled up the now-empty muffin bag and tossed it in the trash. “Talking to a witness or two is one thing. An illegal search is something different entirely.” He pulled a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water. “Did you have to put your hands all over the evidence? Didn’t your father teach you anything about crime scene investigation?”

  I would have argued that since I was a citizen, not a cop, digging through Bruce’s garbage was probably legal, if not exactly neighborly. But I knew what he meant. In hindsight, my whole plan had been pretty foolish. “Honestly, Dale, I have no idea what I was thinking. Would you believe me if I said it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

  He smiled. “Unfortunately, yes.” He sat back down. “Let’s hope our little subterfuge works, or you’ll be listening to the prosecuting attorney explain all about fingerprint evidence at your trial.”

  We sat together for a few quiet moments, while undigested flour and curdling goat cheese congealed in my stomach. “Dale, this waiting is killing me. Distract me. Tell me more about yourself. John wouldn’t give me any specifics, but I know something happened. Why did you leave Seattle?”

  “We have more important things to worry about right now.”

  “I’m trusting you with my life, Dale. Humor me.”

  He sighed. “OK, Kate. You win.” He looked off in the distance, as if reciting a memorized story that no longer interested him. “I was quite the idealist when I joined the PD’s Office.” He shook his head wryly. “Rolled my briefcase to the rescue like I was the Lone Ranger.” He took a long drink of water. “Took me ten years to realize that most of my clients were actually guilty.”

  “Is that when you left?”

  “No, not then.” He smiled. “Though that would have been smarter. I spent the next five years telling myself that the system wasn’t broken, but that it wouldn’t work unless everyone—guilty and innocent—had an adequate defense.”

  “Isn’t that true?”

  “Actually, it is. But that’s a lot easier to accept in the abstract than when you’ve just helped put a two-time sex offender back on the street.”

  I saw his point.

  “I started having trouble sleeping. Solved that problem with Ambien and alcohol.”

  I smiled. “I’m guessing that didn’t help for long.”

  He touched his index finger to the tip of his nose. “When that stopped working, I went private. I figured if I was going to sell my soul, I might as well make decent money.” He shrugged. “The thing was, most of my clients were still guilty. The last one was the CEO of a hot startup who liked to slap his girlfriend around. By the time she found the courage to report him, she had a broken rib and a dislocated shoulder. I worked it so Mister Hot-Fists got a slap on the wrist and a fine he could pay from the change in his Porsche’s ashtray.”

  Dale paused and looked down at his hands.

  “Three days later, he killed her.”

  I wanted to say something. I wanted to assure him that it wasn’t his fault. But only two words came. “I’m sorry.”

  Dale looked up, no longer wistful. “I’m not. It changed my life. I quit the firm, took all that money I’d made, and bought some land here. I figured if I was going to save someone, they might as well be innocent.”

  “Hence Dale’s Goat Rescue.”

  “Yep. Those goats never hurt anyone. Humans are the cruel species.”

  Soft tapping sounded at the door. Dale gave me a stern look. “Remember, be quiet and let me take the lead.”

  He didn’t have to worry. I’d learned my lesson.

  Dale opened the door. “Hey there, Emmy.” He ushered her inside. “Thanks for coming by. Miss Kate and I here need to talk to you.”

  I started, surprised. I’d forgotten all about Dale’s affected southern twang.

  Emmy greeted him with a hug. “I got here as soon as I could, and I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, just like you asked.” She grinned mischievously. “I feel like a female Double-O-Seven. But why all the secrecy? Did you figure out who killed Monica?”

  Dale pointed to a chair. “Maybe you should sit down for this.”

  Emmy’s secretive smiled morphed into a cautious frown. “What’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.”

  “Please have a seat.”

  Emmy sat, but she leaned forward as if she might bolt in an instant.

  Dale knelt in front of her and spoke in a soft voice, like a loving uncle comforting a frightened child. “I’m sorry, sweetie. This is going to be hard to hear. We think your daddy killed Monica, and that he might be planning to hurt your momma.”

  Emmy’s cautious worry turned into horrified disbelief—with a touch of anger thrown in for good measure. “You’re crazy, Dale.” She stood up. “You’re both crazy. I’m not going to sit here and listen to you slander my father.”

  Dale grabbed her arm. “Hear me out, Emmy. You don’t have to believe us, but at least listen to what we have to say.”

  Dale described Rene’s and my visit with Bruce, though he conveniently left out how most of the evidence pointed right back
at me. At first Emmy simply stared at Dale, her face frozen in disbelief. By the time he finished, her body was rigid; her eyes wide; her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Like the doe Bella and I had encountered in the upper field, Emmy desperately wanted to believe that she was among friends, but every instinct primed her to bolt.

  Instinct won.

  “I need to go talk to Dad.” She raced for the door.

  Bruce blocked her way. “I can’t let you do that, hon. You know I like you. Heck, I wouldn’t let just anybody foster Billy and Thunder.” I assumed those were two of the center’s Nubian goats. “I figured I ought to tell you first, so you could be prepared. But I can’t let you talk to your daddy, at least not until after Bill questions him.”

  “Dale, this is crazy. Dad would never hurt anyone—especially not Mom! I don’t know how that medicine ended up in his cabin, but he didn’t steal it. Why would he? Even if he wanted to kill Mom, missing a dose or two of her heart medicine wouldn’t hurt her. He even picked up the replacement prescription for her. There has to be another explanation.”

  The concern on Dale’s face didn’t look feigned. “Then this is even more urgent than I thought. For all we know, he tampered with that new medicine. I’m sorry, hon, but we already called Bill. It’s only a matter of time before the judge issues a search warrant. Your father will be arrested by nightfall.”

  Emmy grabbed Dale’s arm. “Dale, please. We can’t let that happen. Dad’s close to a nervous breakdown as it is. Getting arrested might push him right over the edge. You’re a defense lawyer for God’s sake! Can’t you do something?”

  Dale stepped back, scratched his head, and pretended to look conflicted. “I’d like to, hon, but I represent Kate here. Talking to your father would be a conflict of interest. I’m only telling you this now because Kate said I could.”

  That was my cue. I mentally crossed my fingers and hoped Emmy would take the bait. “Dale, maybe Emmy’s right. Maybe we should give Bruce a chance to explain.”

  “Please, Dale,” Emmy begged. “Let’s go talk to Dad. I’m sure he can clear this up.”

  Dale pursed his lips, pretending to think. After a few silent seconds, he picked up his coat. “All right, ladies. You win. Let’s go see what Emmy’s daddy has to say for himself.”