Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

  “Not tonight. I still have a few hours work ahead of me. Where did you get this edition of the Seattle Times?”

  “That nice reporter left it on the table. Look at that headline would you, front page. Seattle Gold Heist. It happened a couple of days ago. Gold bars and coins from that millionaire Wellington. Could be a billionaire from the sounds of the amount of gold.”

  “Any leads?” Gilly blew a puff of air over her spoonful of hot stew.

  “Says here they don’t know how the thieves pulled it off. Maybe an inside job.”

  The oven timer dinged.

  “Hot biscuits. Your mother sure takes liberties with my svelte figure.” Gramps chuckled as he removed the biscuits from the oven.

  Chapter 5

  ───

  SLAPPING THE ALARM BUTTON before it woke up her grandfather, Gilly sat up, stretched, and panicked. The dresses. The wedding was tomorrow. Why did she ever agree to the crazy idea of making the bridesmaid dresses?

  Money! That’s why.

  And a desperate bride.

  Glancing at the clock as it ticked from 4:20 to 4:21, she popped out of bed. Showering, she left her hair damp, combing the mass of springy red curls with her fingers. She quietly slipped out the patio door and trotted up to the guesthouse. In the dark mist she heard a ship’s foghorn easing its way up the channel to Seattle. Fog was thick, the air heavy with dew—a typical predawn morning on Puget Sound.

  The guesthouse was setup to prepare small, medium, and large pots of coffee. This morning called for a large pot. With the percolating gurgle of coffee brewing, the fresh aroma floated in the air. The curtains were still closed from Gilly’s marathon session the night before. She didn’t like working against black glass, her reflection making her jumpy, feeling someone was peering in at her. At the first glimpse of dawn, the curtains would be pulled aside.

  Gilly filled her mug at the counter taking no chance of an accidental spill. With a steamy mug of coffee in hand, she took two quick swallows to jolt her system as she circled Patty draped with the pale apricot dress. The banana yellow fabric pieces lay on the table. She had finished the structure of the apricot dress at midnight pinning the pieces together. This morning she would do the same with the second dress—both dresses ready for fittings by nine o’clock.

  Gulping down the remainder of her first coffee of the morning, she set to work at her sewing machine stitching the shoulder seams of both dresses.

  Head down, concentrating on the rapid pulse of the needle, calculating the time left, suddenly the thin carbon-steel needle snapped, the thread hanging through the eye. “No.” Hitting her forehead with the palm of her hand, she gulped in air and slowly let it out, leaning back, eyes shut. Snapping to attention, she replaced the needle and resumed stitching at a slower speed, carefully guiding the foot of the machine over pins. Finished pinning the second dressed, Gilly relaxed a little. The dresses would be ready by nine o’clock. After the fittings, she just needed to stitch the seams, install the zippers, hems, and bind the armholes. Just.

  “That’s very pretty, Lass.”

  “Watch out, O’Malley.” Gilly didn’t look up at her friend. “Glad you like it. I figure these two dresses plus another couple of week’s tips and I’ll be taking the ferry to Seattle to register for my class, maybe three,” she mumbled grinning. “The timing is perfect—fall matriculation.” Her heart jumped a beat thinking about her plans.

  “Aye, watch out for those big words you’re sayin. Those are grand ideas ya have.”

  Perfect timing? Maybe not if her dad didn’t find a job, even part-time, she might have to divert her school money to help her family. Well, she’d deal with that if it became necessary. But, for now she had two dresses to finish.

  “Good morning, Gilly.” Her head snapped up as she looked at the clock Gramps had made from poker chips. The little hand was on the red seven chip, and the big hand sat on the blue three chip—7:15. Standing up, stretching, she reached for the intercom button as O’Malley disappeared under the table.

  “Good morning, Gramps. I still have some coffee up here if you’re interested.”

  “Let me check the mailbox for the newspaper and I’ll be right with you, sugar.”

  Gilly smiled. She loved Gramps. So sweet. Releasing the intercom button she glanced at her watch, feeling uneasy about the time. Would the dresses be finished for the girls’ walk down the center aisle of the church?

  Gramps wiped his feet on the mat and entered the little house.

  “Look here, Gilly, I’m in the paper. Skip included my name. Short article about John Doe. He says the cause of death has not been determined but that it looks suspicious.”

  “I think that’s the reporter’s wishful thinking. He’s hoping for a bigger story. Here’s your coffee. You’ll have to sit at the counter—don’t come near the table.”

  “Don’t you worry, I won’t. Skip must have checked what we said about John asking for the Stanleys’ address.”

  “Why’s that?” Gilly had a mouthful of pins as she pinned little darts in the front of Sherry’s dress fitting them to Patty’s form.

  “According to our new friend—he has a byline by the way—the Stanleys weren’t expecting any visitors, and they don’t know anybody around here by the name of John, and none of their friends would ever stop by their house late at night.”

  “Hmm? Well, that guy John stopped here late at night.”

  “Oh, look at this, another headline on that gold robbery,” Gramps said his head buried behind the raised newspaper. “Gold Heist at Philip Wellington’s Mansion. The article goes on to say that several million dollars in gold bars and coins are missing. No Skip byline on that article. I guess he has to work up to a gold heist.” Gramps chuckled.

  ───

  THE BRIDAL PARTY ARRIVED for their fitting chatting and laughing. Anne excused herself and continued down the steps to the main house, carrying an apple pie.

  Seeing the dress on the model the girls immediately circled Patty. “Gilly, it’s sooo pretty,” Sherry squealed clapping her hands.

  Spotting the other dress on the table, Trudy ran her fingers over the shiny fabric. “They’re beautiful. Can we put one of the scarves over Patty’s shoulder?”

  “Sure?” Gilly retrieved a scarf at the end of the table and draped it over the mannequin’s shoulder and stepped back. “There. What do you think? Do you like it?”

  Gilly let go of her breath realizing that Trudy and Sherry were pleased. Her eyes darted to Jean, who had helped herself to coffee and sat on a stool next to the counter. O’Malley, what can I do to Jean’s dress to make her happy? I know, I know, don’t tell me—spray it black. Smiling to herself, she looked at Trudy.

  “I thought with Sherry’s blonde hair the pale apricot would be nice and the creamy banana for Jean. It will complement your dark hair,” Gilly said glancing at Jean. Removing the apricot dress from the mannequin, she handed it to Sherry to put on for her fitting. “You guys go in the bedroom and put on the dresses but be very careful of the pins. Help each other—no blood allowed.”

  The girls rounded the corner to the bedroom carrying their wedding shoes in their new Designed-by-Gillianne totes. Lost in thought for a moment, wondering how many adjustments she’d have to make, she realized Trudy was staring at her.

  “Trudy, are you okay? Do you like the dresses? The color?”

  “Gilly, they’re going to be beautiful.”

  “What about Jean? She didn’t seem very happy.”

  “Oh, that’s just her way. Don’t you worry. The dresses are so much prettier than the ones we bought in Chicago. My Mom and Dad thank you, too.”

  “You hadn’t mentioned your parents. I was wondering if they flew out here with you.”

  “No, but they’re landing as we speak,” Trudy said checking her watch. “Everything’s been so quick. Quentin’s folks almost demanded that we get married in Port Gamble. We’re going to live in Chicago so I guess they feel they’re losing the
ir little boy forever. Naturally, this ticked off my folks. When I told my mom about the dresses going to Hong Kong, she said it was a bad omen. But if Quentin and I can just get through today and tomorrow everything will be okay. I just know it. In spite of what Jean said, we do love each other.”

  Gilly thought over what Trudy said. She sure wouldn’t let any future in-laws dictate where she got married. What nerve. I’d like to see this Quentin guy stand up for his future wife. What did Jean call him? What’s-his-name. Maybe she should wear black.

  Sherry and Jean emerged from the bedroom walking slowly to avoid being stuck by the pins.

  “Trudy, if you won’t let me wear black then I guess I’ll just have to suffer with this yellow dress. However—

  Gilly braced herself.

  “I do like the color and I think it fits perfectly.”

  “Mine, too,” Sherry chimed in. “The pastel really shows off my blonde hair, and fair skin, and—

  “For God’s sake, knock it off, Sherry,” Jean snipped. “But, of course, you’re right—very pretty on you.”

  “Alright, ladies, one at a time. I’ll pin up the hem. Tea length is below the knee. What do you think, Trudy about here?” Gilly, sitting on the floor, a ruler anchored in a stand, and a mouthful of pins, held the fabric to Sherry’s knee.

  “Looks good to me,” Trudy said standing back cocking her head one way then the other.

  “Trudy, can we go a tad above the knee—show a little more leg?” Sherry asked.

  “What do you think, Gilly,” Trudy asked.

  “Pretty either way, but Sherry has a point.”

  “Okay, just above the knee it is,” Trudy said smiling.

  As Gilly pinned up Jean’s hem, Trudy draped one of the scarves at Sherry’s shoulder. “Wow, look at this. Dramatic.”

  Jean looked up. “Yes, nice. Trudy, sure you won’t change your mind? Gilly could whip up another dress for you and we’ll leave what’s-his-name at the altar and find a real man for you.”

  “Hey, Jean, hold still. Just one more pin. Trudy, the dresses should be ready by three o’clock. I can drop them off at the boutique before my shift at the casino. Mom will give you a call from the Tea Room when they’re ready for pick up.”

  With the last adjustment made, Gilly called her mother on the intercom to let her know the fittings were accomplished and they were ready to leave for their hair appointments at the beauty salon.

  After waving goodbye, Gilly stepped back into the guesthouse and shut the door. Leaning against the wall she slid down to the floor, legs out, head back.

  “Well, O’Malley, I just have to hang in here a little bit longer.”

  “Aye, Lassie. The girls seemed to be happy.”

  “Yes, they did. Okay, a quick chat with Gramps, and then it’s back to work I go.”

  Chapter 6

  ───

  THE MORNING SUN HIT Hawk Jackson in the eyes as his car bumped over the ramp onto the Bainbridge-to-Seattle ferry. He was anxious to get to his classes and to return to the reservation and the night’s casino action. But more important, he was anxious to talk to Gillianne Wilder. Something about that redhead made his blood run hot. Out on the forward deck he watched the Seattle skyline come into view. The temperature was expected to reach into the nineties, but on the deck, with the gusty morning breeze off the water, the air was cool and refreshing.

  He held a poster in his hand that he had removed from the ferry’s bulletin board. If you’ve seen this man, please call Kitsap Deputy Kracker. Hawk was sure the man in the picture was the same man he dropped off in the rain at Hansville two nights ago—John, the man in the hooded sweat jacket. Putting his thermos and mug on the bench beside him, he punched in the number on his cell listed at the bottom of the poster and was quickly transferred to Deputy Kracker.

  Forty-five minutes later the ferry pulled into Pier 52. Driving off the ferry, Hawk headed to his morning class at the University of Washington. Traffic was heavy and slow—a good thing because Hawk wasn’t paying too much attention to where he was going. His conversation with Deputy Kracker had been unsettling.

  The man Hawk had dropped off at the Hansville General Store was found dead on the beach when the tide receded leaving his body on the rocky shore. When he asked how the man died, the deputy said it could have been an accident, or it could have been foul play. The man had a nasty gash on the back of his head, bad enough that the blow would have rendered him unconscious. If he was either thrown in the water, or caught by the incoming tide, he would have drowned. Kracker asked Hawk to meet him at the Bainbridge ferry landing on his way home. The deputy didn’t care what time, only asked Hawk to call when the ferry left Seattle.

  Meeting Kracker wasn’t a problem. But when the deputy told him that the man stopped at the Wilder house, and that both the old man and his granddaughter, Gillianne, talked with him, Hawk’s pulse kicked up a notch. This report meant that he and the Wilders were going to be linked together in the controversy, even if marginally. That was not good.

  Gilly was scheduled to work and he planned to ask her out for dinner Saturday night. Hawk was well aware that his father, the casino’s Facility Manager, wasn’t keen on his son paying attention to the vibrant waitress.

  If his father didn’t approve of her, well, that would probably end a relationship before it started. The senior Jackson had made it clear that the tribe needed a lawyer who was passionate about the tribe’s plans for the casino. That passion was not to include a particular woman with wild red hair. U.S. and state laws were always changing and the tribe’s elders wanted to be sure they didn’t run into any roadblocks as they continued to expand their multi-million dollar business.

  Well, he certainly didn’t want to have a fight with his father, at least not until he had a chance to get to know Gillianne Wilder. So, for the time being he’d be careful that his father, or anyone else from the tribe, didn’t see him talking to her and he’d make sure, if she accepted his dinner invitation, that he’d take her someplace where he wouldn’t be recognized. Maybe Discovery Bay on the western side of the island—a nice cozy restaurant on the water, a bottle of wine, far away from the reservation.

  ───

  IT WAS LATE-AFTERNOON and Skip Hunter sat staring at his telephone. No assignment had come his way since he arrived at the paper that morning. He wasn’t the only one. The whole newsroom seemed to be gripped in a Friday malaise. However, the outward calm belied his jangled nerves. He was wired from downing cup after cup of syrupy coffee. Well, if no calls were coming in, he’d just have to stir up his own action. He yanked the phone from its cradle and punched the number printed on Deputy Kracker’s business card lying in the center of his desk pad. Maybe the deputy had a new development in the case of John Doe.

  The deputy was on the road but Skip’s call was patched through. Kracker informed him that another person, Hawk Jackson, had come forward saying he had seen the man named John the night before he was found on the beach. Just a chance meeting on the Edmonds to Kingston ferry, but still no ID other than the name John. Kracker further said that Mr. Jackson lived on the Suquamish reservation and worked at the tribe’s casino. He thought Jackson could probably be reached by phone. He’d just questioned him at the Bainbridge ferry terminal. Kracker told Skip he could run John’s picture again. Hopefully someone would recognize the man even though the short article was buried in Section D of the paper. Skip said he’d try to get the next article in a better spot.

  Not wasting any time, Skip called his mom asking her if it was alright if he didn’t pick up Agatha, his Bassett Hound, until that night. He was on a hot story … he hoped. Having provided for his dog, he drove to the waterfront to catch the Bainbridge ferry. He made the decision not to call Mr. Jackson first—he’d just show up. Skip didn’t want to give the guy any chance to duck his interview.

  It was almost seven when Skip arrived at the casino. Following the parking signs, he rolled down his window and inhaled the distinct aroma of fish sim
mering in melted butter. Nice. He parked on the third level of the five-story parking garage and took the elevator down to the main entrance. Bypassing the shuttle service window, a transportation amenity to and from the ferry terminal, he smiled at the name of the gift shop—Tribal Smokehouse. He slowed his gait taking in the striking atmosphere. Ahead in the gaming area he could see a lush, Indian print carpet, blending with an abundance of mellow wood, mixed with gold tones and red accents. Beautiful Northwest Indian paintings adorned the walls.

  Soft music fused with the familiar sound of slot machines—cherries, oranges, and wild cards whirling in front of the faces of eager players, their eyes glued to the action. No matter how the AC unit tried to circulate the air, gambler’s sweat mixed with a faint hint of smoke managed to escape, but otherwise the air was clean and cool. Pulling away from the beauty of the paintings, Skip headed for the information desk and asked if Mr. Hawk Jackson was on the floor. It was his lucky night—the Indian woman pointed out Mr. Jackson standing a few feet away from a poker table. The table was ringed with eight chairs—all but one was occupied. Mr. Jackson was talking to a pretty red-haired waitress—Gillianne Wilder.

  Skip didn’t know if he should join them or wait. He decided to observe for a few minutes. Their conversation seemed almost intimate. She was standing close to him, and he was looking down at her as if he wanted to devour her. Skip didn’t realize he had taken an offensive stance—body square over his feet, arms crossed over his chest, and a frown crossing his face at the sight of Gilly with Mr. Jackson. At least she wasn’t in some skimpy outfit. The waitresses were all dressed in black from head to toe—slacks and a long-sleeved shirt buttoned to the neck.

  ───

  HAWK’S VOICE WAS TENSE. “Gilly, how about dinner tomorrow night? I see you’re not on the schedule to work. I thought maybe we could—

  “I’d love to, Hawk, but I can’t. I’ve been invited to a wedding—I made the bridesmaids’ dresses. The bridal party flew in from Chicago but their dresses flew on to Hong Kong,” she said laughing.