by Stacy Green
Cage knew his own smile must look like a little boy’s. He and his dad used to go caving before his dad got fat and Cage too cool to hang out with him. Good times. “How big is it?”
“A lot bigger than it looks. It goes fairly deep underground. Between the gunpowder and scattered weapons, I’m pretty sure it was used as a Confederate munitions stash. Which isn’t uncommon. But there are human bones in there, and I think they are the Brennan gang. I think they died here.”
“Why?” Gina hung back.
Dylan leaned against the rocky hill. Whatever excitement he’d mustered over showing them the cave dribbled away. “This is where I really screwed up. I never should have brought Gilbert here.”
“When did you two meet?” Edging closer to the entrance, Cage nearly lost his footing.
“About three years ago, in Jackson. I didn’t know he was a criminal when I started seeing him. He wanted to visit, and this was the perfect meeting spot.” Dylan squinted against the gleaming sunlight. “I was too much of a coward to let my father find out. Everything went fine the first time we met here, but the second time, I was running late.
“When I got here, I found Gilbert sick inside the cave. I pulled him out in the fresh air, and he gradually got better. We did some research, started looking around.”
“So what made him sick?” Gina said.
“Natural gas. There’s a leak inside the cave. It’s odorless in its natural form, so no one knew it. I think that’s what killed Brennan’s men,” Dylan said. He stared at the cave, seemingly lost in the memory.
Gina looked at Cage triumphantly, the grim set of her mouth edging into a tight smile. She’d been right about the property.
“Gilbert got all excited, started talking about how much money the cave was worth. I told him this was a historical place, and I was going to get permission to excavate. He wasn’t happy, and less than two weeks later, Wyatt Booth shows up at the house to talk to my father.” Dylan looked down at his feet, the tops of his ears red.
Cage wanted to bang his head against the trees. Natural gas. Gina had been right. Sonofabitch. “He told him about the cave?”
Dylan shook his head. “No. Somehow, Booth’s people found out the Semple owners weren’t far from foreclosure. My dad’s all about money, and it wasn’t hard to convince him that Norton investing in the land would be great for the local economy. He bought the resort idea hook, line, and sinker.” Dylan snorted. “He had no idea about the natural gas, and since he doesn’t talk to me, by the time I found out, it was too late. He was already in deep with Norton. He’d been promised a cut of the profits to help get the land zoned commercial. I told him about the gas, and he confronted Booth. That’s when Booth showed his true colors.” Dylan’s morose expression turned to anger, his teeth bared like a threatened dog.
“He told Dad he was up to his neck in this, and if he tried to pull out, he’d regret it. ‘Money’s the boss,’ he said, ‘and I control the purse strings. I want a piece of the area, and I get what I want.’”
“Did you ever talk to Gilbert again?” Cage asked.
“He’d been arrested. I went to the prison to visit him once, and he admitted he worked for Booth’s organization. He never said the words Dixie Mafia, but it was obvious the way he talked. He was scared of the man.”
Dylan’s face crumpled. “I went to Ben. We were friends, grew up together. He knew everything by then, and he couldn’t help. See, Booth had his hooks in him too. He found out about Memory Lane and wanted a piece.”
“Why didn’t you tell us any of this sooner?” Gina demanded.
“I’m a coward. And I’ve been trying to clean up my own mess. That’s why I’ve been prospecting. I can’t spend too much time in the cave, but I found more bones just before the fire. I think I’ve got enough to get the City Council to change their minds. I’m just afraid of what Booth will do. So…I thought I’d make my own statement. Let him know I’m not afraid of him anymore.” His words tumbled out. “But God, I swear I thought the house was empty. And that I could control the fire.”
A jolt of shock, followed by the urge to wrap his hands around Dylan’s neck. “What the hell were you thinking?” Cage’s shout scattered the chattering sparrows from a nearby oak tree. “You almost killed Jaymee and destroyed the town! And you’re a firefighter!”
Dylan stepped back, hands in front of him. Shame drained the color from his face. “Stanley threatened to out me, had compromising pictures of me that Gilbert took of us. He was going to post them online, which would have caused a war between my parents and me. I know Gilbert gave them to him.”
His shoulders rounded as though he realized how pathetic he sounded. “The Dixie Mafia is like one big virus, all the pieces working together to form one deadly piece. He told me Booth was coming to talk to me because they knew what I was up to. I needed to have some sense talked into me. Even brought up Mom. So I lost it. But I thought the place was empty, I swear to God.” His shoulders sagged, and he leaned against the exterior of the cave. Cage desperately wanted to clock him in the jaw. Stupid ass.
“Why did you set the fire?” Gina demanded.
“I told you, I’d lost it. I was tired of being threatened, being treated like a helpless kid, like their prisoner. I wanted to send Stanley a message. Stand up to them for once.” Dylan’s chin trembled, and he jerked his head high, jaw tight with the effort not to cry. “I didn’t know Jaymee was in there.”
“What about Nick Samuels?” Cage swallowed his anger. “Did Booth or Stanley say anything about him?”
“No,” Dylan said. “I had no idea Nick was missing until Jaymee told me. But when she started talking about the replicas, I wondered. I called Ben, and he acted funny. But he had been with his mother. I looked around Ashland as best as I could, but I didn’t find anything. And then I heard Booth was coming and knew Stanley would be picking him up.” His voice trailed off.
“We’re going to have to arrest you,” Gina said. “But if you’re willing to testify against Booth, there’s a good chance you’ll get leniency.”
Dylan nodded. “As long as my family is safe.”
Cage needed to check in with Dani and Jaymee, but his cellphone had died, and Wyatt Booth was handcuffed in the interview room. With Dylan’s official statement, Gina had arrested Wyatt Booth on two felony charges: threatening a government official and fraud. Dylan had witnessed multiple threats on his father, and he’d seen money exchange hands at least once. Mayor Asher was also arrested on fraud charges, and Gina and the Adams County Prosecutor were working on him right now. They hoped he’d take the plea deal and start singing. Her contact from the FBI was on his way, but she’d given Cage permission to question Wyatt Booth.
“You’ve established a rapport with him,” Gina said. “But go by the book. Don’t let your temper or personal attachment get in the way.”
He’d try. But if ever there was a case for tripping over the table and his fist accidentally landing on the suspect’s chin, Wyatt Booth was it.
Wyatt Booth had the confidence to smile when Cage entered the room. “My attorney is flying in from Maryland. He’ll be here in a couple of hours. I won’t be speaking to you until then.”
“That’s fine,” Cage said. “We can hold you for twenty-four hours anyway. But I don’t understand why an innocent man would wait for his lawyer.”
“I’m not a fool, Investigator.”
“I know.” Cage smiled back, making himself comfortable in the straight-backed chair. “You’re a powerful man. You’ve spent years building up your business. But we’ve got Dylan Asher’s word against yours.”
“I heard he admitted he set the fire,” Booth said. “What do you think a defense attorney is going to do with that?”
“I’m sure one employed by the Dixie Mafia will have a lot of fun with it.”
Booth didn’t react, his steely gaze fixed on Cage. His impassivity was as good as a confession.
“See, we know you conspired with the mayor to get
the Semple land zoned commercial. Not because you want to build a resort but because you want to drill for natural gas. That’s big money. Makes a lot more sense than some off-the-road resort.”
Booth shrugged. His eyes were hard as ice.
“Of course, all that’s secondary to me. I’m much more interested in your murdering Ben Moore.”
“That poor man hung himself. Couldn’t face the trouble he was in, I guess.”
“No, you got sloppy,” Cage said. “You should have injected him with the fentanyl in a less obvious place. The coroner found the mark on his arm. A medical examiner certainly would have. But I suppose you figured the body wouldn’t be examined until it got to Jackson, which gave you time to get everything lined up.”
This time, an involuntary twitch in Booth’s jaw. Still, he didn’t engage.
“Here’s what we know,” Cage said. “Ben Moore got mixed up with you. You found out about Memory Lane Antiques, and being the entrepreneur you are, you wanted a piece. Ben got tired of your threats, and I think he regretted helping you with the Semple purchase. But he was a coward at heart, so instead of coming clean, he finds some pictures he took of you on the property—likely knowing he might need them as insurance—and sends them to Nick Samuels as an encrypted file. Nick starts researching the fakes, finds out about your mafia connection. You find out what Ben’s done. You have Nick snatched and take care of Ben yourself. Now, if you tell us where Nick is, the district attorney might go easier on you. I can’t speak for the FBI, though. They’ve been looking at you for a long time.”
“Sounds like wonderful fiction to me.”
“Oh no, this is nonfiction.” Cage flashed his own confident smile. “Live action. And remember, we’ve got Stanley in another room. He strikes me as the sort who will talk for the right deal. Not to mention our mayor. Gina will get him to fold in an hour. His backbone’s about as strong as a baby’s.”
Booth licked his lips. “I assure you, I know nothing about the reporter. I wasn’t even in town.”
“No, but you’ve got the contacts. Timed your arrival perfectly. By the way, we’ll find out you were actually visiting Carl Gilbert at the prison. What were you telling the warden? Making sure the man didn’t speak with the FBI? Or just greasing him in case you needed him for something later?”
“You really should be a storyteller, Investigator.”
“We’re getting a search warrant for Ashland, as well as for your personal property. Including your plane. We’ll find what we need.”
Cage stretched out his legs. “You know what’s funny to me? Here you are, at the top of the Dixie Mafia, feeling invincible. I bet you thought this little town was going to be an easy take. Just like all the others. And yet its people are going to knock you off your throne. Funny how life works sometimes.”
Booth shifted in the chair, a pain-filled expression twisting his features. Breathing deeply, he stretched out his right leg.
“What’s the matter? Use up your last patch on Ben?”
Booth gritted his teeth. “As I said, I’ll be waiting for my lawyer.”
“Sounds good. I’m sure the FBI agent will be here by then. The agent was twenty minutes out last time I checked.”
He let the door slam behind him. That had gone exactly as he’d expected. Booth was too good to fold easily. Cage could have pressed, could have brought up the project manager’s death, but he’d thought better of it. Much as he hated to give anything to the Feds, they had jurisdiction, and they had a lot more pressure points to use. Besides, sweating it out in jail a while would do a man like Booth some good.
Gina was already in her office. “Mayor’s singing like a bird. Started crying. He’ll cooperate with the Feds, anything to protect his wife. Claims Booth and Stanley threatened to burn Ashland and string Margaret up. Apparently Booth even hinted he’d done it before. To set an example. Since his arrival, they’ve essentially been prisoners in their own home.”
“What about Nick?”
“That’s the bad news. The mayor swears he doesn’t know anything about that. He gave us permission to search Ashland, including the grounds. I don’t think he’s lying.”
A stone dropped through Cage’s empty stomach. “Doesn’t mean Booth didn’t have Nick kidnapped. The mayor may not know.”
“Yeah, but remember what Dylan said? After the storm, they were all over the property checking for damage. They didn’t see anything.”
“Then he’s got him somewhere else.”
“Possibly.”
Still in an evidence bag, the cartridge box sat in the middle of Gina’s desk. Cage picked it up, thinking about the note they’d found inside. “We’re missing something, Captain. It’s staring us right in the face, and I can’t see it.”
“Me either,” Gina said. “But we’d better get the blinders off soon. If Nick Samuels is still alive, he’s in more danger with Booth and Stanley in custody. He’s nothing but dead weight at this point.”
Cage sank down into the chair, the euphoria from Booth’s arrest evaporating. Every time he looked at that cartridge box, something licked at his brain, like a nightmare he’d forgotten. He’d had his problems with Nick, but after last summer, they’d started over, gotten to be real friends. He leaned forward, head in his hands. He’d been the one to tell Jaymee Lana was dead. Would he have to do the same thing with Nick?
26
NICK
He’s back and rambling. Ben Moore is dead. The Dixie Mafia killed him. My heart lurches into my throat. That’s my fault. I’d put that story on the back burner when I figured out what Ben wanted. The guy had caused so much trouble for my friends, and there he was, too much of a coward to turn state’s evidence. When I contacted him about Memory Lane Antiques, he seized the opportunity to push me onto a bigger and better story. By the time I realized the mafia connection, I’d already sent the other pictures on to Jaymee so I wouldn’t forget. I was focused on the cartridge box. Pulitzer. A decades-old murder that changed a community finally solved. How could I ignore that?
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Is Jaymee all right?” My voice is hoarse as a bullfrog’s and not as strong. I take a drink of the water he’s brought me. “Does the mafia think she knows?”
He’s across the room, shuffling and mumbling. “Fine. The mafia people are in custody. For now. FBI’s on their way.”
He’s weak. I hear it in his voice, the way his words start and stop. He’s never done this before.
“You can let me go. I’ll speak up for you. You can testify against the others.”
“No.” The singular word is stronger than anything he’s said. “I can’t allow that to happen. Too many lives ruined.”
“Lives’ll be ruined if you kill me too.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” He bumps into something metal. A clang of objects against a hard floor.
Bit by bit, my head clears. Listening, smelling, touching as far as my bound hands will allow me. I’ve figured out where we are.
It won’t be hard for him to get rid of me here, right down to the last ash.
27
DANI
Dani sat in one of Grace’s antique chairs—her father had saved them from the Yankees, she loved to tell Dani—holding the woman’s clammy hand. She fiercely wanted to think of something to say that didn’t sound patronizing or presumptive, but nothing came to mind. Dani couldn’t imagine the gaping maw left by the loss of a child. It had to be like a part of your own life getting snuffed out.
The heavy pall of grief hung over Oak Lynn’s parlor like the ash and smoke clouds still lingering over Roselea. Looking wrinkled and as breakable as china, Grace sat in her favorite chair, the one she always perched in when she shared her favorite bits of family history with Dani. Instead of bright and glowing, Grace’s eyes were bloodshot, her skin pasty-thin and splotched red from crying and wiping her tears.
Jeb had been at the house when Dani arrived, fussing over Grace. He looked at her wit
h such tenderness Dani suspected there was a lot more than friendship between them.
“At least you know he didn’t kill himself.” Dani still couldn’t quite grasp what Jeb had told her. “I know that doesn’t help, but it somehow seems like it would be worse if he chose suicide.”
Grace’s boney shoulders raised and then sagged. “I don’t see how anything could be worse. I just feel like everything inside of me has melted away. There’s nothing left.”
Jeb knelt next to her, his knees cracking with the effort. “Now that’s not true. You know Ben wouldn’t want you to give up. He had plans for this place. For you. He’d want you to carry on.”
Ben Moore had been a manipulative, lying ass, but he didn’t deserve to die. “He tried to change,” Dani said. “Finally doing the right thing after all the trouble he caused. Remember him for that. It takes a lot for a person to acknowledge their mistakes and actually put the effort into turning their life around.” Too bad the decision got Ben killed.
Despite all the havoc he caused, his loss stung. What did he think about during those final moments? Fear? Anger? Confusion? Or did it all happen so quickly he had no time to register the cold truth?
“Is there anything I can do?” Dani knew the answer, but she asked it anyway. Grace had taken her under her wing, treated her like a daughter these last few months.
“No, dear.” Grace blew into yet another tissue. “Jeb’s going to help me make the arrangements, but I won’t be able to do anything until the Jackson people release him.”
“Should only take a few days,” Jeb said. His usually ruddy complexion was nearly as pale as Grace’s, and he looked thin, shadows under his eyes. Both of them were too old to deal with this sort of stress. Jeb slammed his foot on the floor. “Damn that company. If they’d stayed out of this area, none of this would have happened. Both Ben and Nick would still be here.”
“Do they have any leads on his kidnapping?” Grace asked.