He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “What’s going on?”
“Craig Wilde asked to meet me. I think he wants to talk about the assault on the Christmas Cow. Can you come along?”
“Maddie, this is called interfering with an investigation.”
“No it isn’t.” I’d looked that up online earlier in the year and was careful to stay within the rules. “Besides, you’re a police officer, and I’m telling you. He called me and wants to talk. He didn’t say why. There’s nothing illegal or interfering about us talking. And whenever I’ve learned anything useful in the past, I’ve always turned it straight over to you. But he did ask to meet in a kind of dark and secluded spot, and I don’t like the idea of going alone.”
There was a pause. I drummed my fingers on the top of the ancient cash register.
“Where exactly?” Jason asked.
I also didn’t like the idea of him telling his partner. Would he do the right thing or keep Laurel out of it?
“We’re supposed to meet at five thirty,” I hedged. “I can pick you up. Just tell me where.”
There was another long silence, then, “532 Cabernet Drive.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Thanks.” I hung up and checked my watch. “I’ll be back by six thirty. Are you okay setting up on your own?”
Leo nodded. “It’s only putting out folding chairs and the projector. I’m good.”
“Thanks.” I clapped him on the shoulder. Leo was already scheduled to work tonight’s speaker series, so I felt no guilt about abandoning him. Grabbing my thick pea coat off the wall hook, I hurried through the bookcase and down Adele’s narrow hallway. I burst through the heavy metal door to the alley and bumped into a solid wall of leather-clad Viking muscle.
Mason grasped my shoulders, his arctic eyes crinkling. “Hey, you all right?”
“Fine!” We were close enough to kiss, and suddenly I remembered the feel of his mouth on mine, the roughness of his cheek. I swallowed, breathless. “What are you …?” I started noticing more than his tight T-shirt and slim hips. He didn’t have a garbage bag in his hand for the dumpster. His motorcycle was parked outside the rear door to his shop. And he didn’t need to go through Adele’s place to get to the street, since he had his own entrance from his store.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he said and released me.
“Oh.” My gaze darted about the alley. I could play this casual. “What’s up?”
“It’s this curse business.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “It may not be real—”
“It’s not.”
“But it’s got Belle rattled. Especially after someone was run down outside your museum.”
“Detective Slate.”
His gaze slid sideways. “Yeah.” He grimaced.
“A lot of people are worried,” I said, unsure why I felt I was tiptoeing through a minefield.
He shook his shaggy blond head. “It’s more than that.” He hesitated.
“Then what is it?”
“Belle’s been acting strange, skittish. You know anything about that?” An odd expression, somewhere between suspicious and hopeful, crossed his rugged face.
“We don’t talk much,” I said.
His gaze narrowed. “She said she doesn’t like having a haunted museum right beneath our apartment.”
Our apartment. Disappointment tightened my stomach, and that feeling was wrong for so many reasons. I’d walked away so Mason and Belle could sort things out for the sake of their son. That things were working out for them now was good news. “So she’s staying?”
He blew out a gusty breath. “I’m not sure.”
My stupid, traitorous heart leaped with hope. And that was wrong too. “Anyway, I’m researching the curse now, so that I can debunk it.”
His smile was bleak. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do.” He hesitated, as if he’d say more, but then he turned and walked up the steps to his apartment.
Unsettled, I got into my truck and drove down the alley. Mason and I had broken up only two months ago, so mixed feelings were probably normal. I’d been attracted to Jason Slate since we’d first met nearly a year ago, but was I looking at him now as rebound guy? Because he deserved better than that.
I drove beneath the adobe arch marking the exit from downtown and turned right on a residential road.
Maybe nothing would happen between Jason and me anyway. Maybe the detective wasn’t interested in me at all, and my crush—eesh, I had a crush—was one-sided. I’d just go slow and see what happened.
What if nothing happened?
What if something happened?
By the time I pulled in front of his neat lemon-yellow house, I’d worked myself into a full-throttle panic. Did I …? Did he …?
His front door opened, silhouetting his lean, muscular figure. And then the detective trotted down the short flight of porch steps and across the manicured lawn.
I leaned across the seat and unlocked the pickup’s passenger door. Jason slid inside and fumbled with the old-fashioned seat belt one-handed.
“Need a hand?” I asked.
His navy parka slid off his left shoulder and he exhaled heavily. “If you don’t mind.”
I held the locking mechanism. He pressed the seat belt into the lock and our fingers brushed.
A tingle of electricity raced up my arm. My mind might be saying “go slow” but my hormones hadn’t gotten the message.
“Where are we going?” Jason adjusted the parka over his left shoulder.
I started. The question was taking on metaphysical dimensions. “Swimming hole.” I revved the truck and pulled away from the curb.
His dark brow furrowed. “There’s a swimming hole in San Benedetto? What about the lake?”
San Benedetto had a small man-made lake surrounded by a park. I never went there. “The swimming hole is where all the cool kids go. You have to hike to it, and it’s private.”
“Gotcha. Why does Craig want to talk to you?”
“He didn’t tell me. Maybe he has something to say but isn’t ready to talk to the police.” I glanced at the detective. His face was chiseled in the darkness, and there was something comforting in having him beside me. “He told me to come alone, but I’m not stupid. If Craig wants to talk to me, I’d like to give him the opportunity. But if he sees you, I’m not sure he’ll open up.”
“I’m certain he won’t.”
“Oh?”
“Detective Hammer and I worked the good cop/bad cop routine on him after your mom’s car got blown up. I was the bad cop.”
I tried imagining Laurel as the good cop and failed. “Okay. So how do you want to do this?”
“The kid doesn’t strike me as a killer, either. I’ll keep close but out of sight. If anything feels odd, yell. I’ll come running.”
“Will do.” Pleased, I rolled my shoulders. I’d taken a risk calling the detective. He could have made me cancel the meeting, or insisted I bring in Laurel. But he’d done neither.
I turned down a dirt road, bumping along it until I reached an old oak. Three cars were parked beneath the gnarled tree.
“Doesn’t look like Craig came alone,” Jason said.
“No.” I killed the ignition. The headlights blinked out, washing us in velvety night. The pickup ticked, the metal cooling, contracting. I clenched the keys in the pockets of my pea coat and they dug into my palms.
“You sure you want to do this?” he asked. “I can go instead.”
“Craig wanted to talk to me.” I stepped out of the truck and let my eyes adjust to the night.
“Flashlight?” Jason asked.
“I don’t need one.” A three-quarter moon turned the landscape of oaks and high frozen grasses into a charcoal silhouette. I buttoned my pea coat, turning up the collar.
/> “Which way?” he asked.
I pointed to a trampling of grass: the path.
He grunted. “Lead on. Let me know when we get close, and I’ll fall back.”
We walked along the flat ground. The silhouettes of barren oaks twisted like misshapen giants. The ground swelled, rising, and there was the faint trickling sound of running water. “The swimming hole is just over the rise,” I whispered.
He nodded and slowed.
I continued alone and plodded up the small hill. My skin pebbled from the chill, or paranoia, or both. The world was cold and still, except for the soft sound of running water and the crunch of my footsteps on the trail. I crested the rise.
Below me, the swimming hole, really a wide bend in the creek, glittered in the moonlight. Low brush squatted around a narrow band of beach. It was a secluded spot, perfect for serial killers or vampires.
I walked down the slope, gravity pulling me along. “Craig?”
No one responded.
I reached the stretch of bare earth. The water lapped, sluggish, against the shore.
Eyes wide, I scanned the brush but saw no one.
Branches rustled behind me. I jumped and spun around.
Three masculine figures stepped from behind the brush.
nineteen
I tensed. “Hi, Craig.” Please let it be Craig and not a merry band of murderers. I didn’t see any bows in their hands, but there was a lot I couldn’t see.
Water lapped gently against the shore. Something plopped into the water, and my muscles squeezed. But it had only been a fish.
“Hey,” Craig said. His voice was roughened, I guessed by grief. His bulky parka made him seem small and vulnerable, and for a moment I saw his mother in him—the soulful, umber eyes and dark complexion.
The muscles between my shoulders relaxed. He wouldn’t hurt me. “Who are your friends?”
“No names,” said one of the men, a broad-shouldered blond with a thick five-o’clock shadow. Like his two friends, he also wore jeans and a parka.
I angled my head. The blond looked too old to be a college student. So did his companion.
They approached, surrounding me. Not liking that, I edged away, backing up to the water. “You said you wanted to talk?”
“Are you alone?” the other stranger asked. He wore glasses and was small and narrow, with a full dark beard that screamed compensating!
“You told me to be.” I forced confidence into my voice. “You’re all students at the junior college?”
“Yeah,” the bearded one said. “Why?”
“No reason.” But these students had to be at least as old as I was. “I take it you three are the gingerbread gang?”
They glanced at each other.
“We didn’t shoot that guy,” the beefy blond said.
“Then what happened?” I asked.
A branch cracked and they spun, their heads turning.
“Is someone out there?” Craig asked.
“It’s probably an animal,” I said, my heart rabbiting.
The blond walked to the top of the rise and scanned the horizon. He shook his head. “I don’t see anyone.” He returned to the group.
“Why did you want to talk to me?” I asked Craig.
“We didn’t kill Bill Eldrich,” Craig said.
“But you were all there, at the cow, that night?” I asked.
“Not all of us,” Craig said. “I mean, we three were all there, plus Oliver, but he wouldn’t come tonight.”
“Oliver,” I said. “Kendra Breathnach’s son?”
“Yeah.”
“All right,” I said. “You were there. And you shot up the cow. What happened next?”
“It was supposed to be a prank,” Craig said. “Students from the college try for the cow nearly every year. We weren’t the only ones who’d talked about going for it.”
“But you did more than talk,” I said.
Craig nodded, his brown eyes morose. “We knew they had a webcam, so we got costumes from the theater department. Fred—”
“No names,” the bearded guy barked.
Craig’s shoulders hunched to his ears. “One of us had a contact there. We thought the gingerbread men would be funny.”
“Who was Santa?” I asked.
“No one,” Blondie said. “There was no Santa. It was the four of us, with four gingerbread men costumes. We’ve got no idea where the Santa came from.”
So I’d been right, and Santa had taken advantage of the students’ attack. But had he known about it in advance, or had his presence been a coincidence? “What kind of bows were you using?” I asked.
“You know,” Blondie said, “the usual kind,”
“Recurve bows,” Craig said.
“And the arrows?” I asked.
“Wooden,” Craig said.
“You all used wooden arrows?” Bill had been killed with an arrow made of some sort of modern, not-quite-metal material.
They nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “Santa showed up. What happened next?”
“The cow caught on fire and we took off,” Craig said. “We agreed it would be a quick in-and-out job. Even though we had costumes, we knew the cow would be guarded. We didn’t want to hang around for the show.”
Something rustled in the bushes, and we all twitched.
“An animal.” Fred (I think) scratched his chin beneath his beard.
“And what was Santa doing?” I asked.
They looked at each other.
Fred shrugged, his narrow shoulders hunching. “I noticed him, but I wasn’t really watching him.”
“Anyone else see what he was doing?” I asked.
They shook their heads.
“Did you tell anyone you were going to attack the cow that night?” I asked.
“No,” Craig said heatedly. “We didn’t.”
“What are the odds that Santa would show up with a bow and arrow at the exact same time your team did?” I asked.
“We didn’t tell anyone,” Fred insisted.
“Then how could someone have found out?” I asked. “Were you meeting about it in public?”
“No,” Craig said.
“And don’t you find it suspicious that Oliver isn’t here?” I asked. “Maybe he’s the one who spilled the beans.”
“Oliver didn’t do this,” Craig said. “He’s not here because his mom sent him away. She knows he was involved and is freaked he’ll go to jail.”
“How did she know?” I asked.
“The same way my mom knew I was in on it, I guess.” Craig laughed bitterly. “But my mom knew lots of things.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Craig hung his dark head. “It means my mom was crooked.”
Even in the dim light, the anger scrawled across Craig’s face was plain. His two friends looked at each other and shifted their weight, their parkas rustling.
Fred grabbed Craig’s arm. “Come on, man. You don’t know that.” His breath puffed in the chill night air. Moonlight glinted off his glasses.
Craig shook free. “What else could it have been? My mom was taking payoffs.” His olive skin darkened.
“How do you know?” I jammed my fists into the pockets of my pea coat, an ugly feeling growing in my chest.
“I overheard her talking to Mr. Eldrich about some permits or something.”
“Or something? What exactly did you hear?” San Benedetto seemed too small to have stakes worth bribing anyone over.
“Bill Eldrich was going to make a ‘big donation.’” Craig put the last word in air quotes. A vein pulsed in his temple. “But I knew what they were really talking about.”
“Where were you when you heard them?” I asked.
“At my mom’s home office.�
� The skin bunched around his umber eyes. “They didn’t think anyone was around. This must be why someone killed her. It’s got nothing to do with the cow fire.”
“And you think the same person killed Bill Eldrich?” I asked. “Because of whatever they were discussing?”
“Maybe. I just know there’s only one reason why anyone would want my mom dead.” His voice broke, and a sliver of cold pierced my core. I wanted to step closer and comfort him but didn’t think it would go over well.
But had Craig misconstrued what he’d overheard? Had Tabitha’s relationship with Bill been romantic or criminal? “You need to speak to the police,” I said. “Your mother’s murder—”
“No way.” Fred removed his glasses and polished them on the hem of his parka.
“The reason we’re here is so you can tell the police, lady,” the blond man said. “But no names.”
Craig lowered his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“No cops.” The broad-shouldered blond glared at Craig. “If Craig wants to confess, that’s his business. We’re out of it.” He stalked up the slope.
Jason emerged from behind a tree. “Sorry, son. But you’re all involved.”
“Cops!” Bent low, the blond bolted left.
Jason moved to intercept. There was a blur of motion, and the detective went down.
“Jason!” I ran up the small hill.
Craig’s two friends scattered.
Jason rolled to his feet and made a muffled sound. Wincing, he grasped his sling. His face looked strained in the moonlight. “Hell,” he said through clenched teeth. “Why did I think I could do that?” He scanned the expanse of low ground, but the two had disappeared.
I looked toward the water.
Craig stood at the edge, shoulders slumped, and stared at the moonlight glinting off the dark pool.
I touched Jason’s arm. “Craig Wilde is ready to talk.”
The detective walked down to the swimming hole. I waited on the crest of the hill.
The two men spoke in voices too low for me to hear. Then Craig nodded and followed Jason up the hill.
The three of us returned to my pickup. In silence, we drove to the police station. I parked on the street, killed the engine, and reached for my seat belt.
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