"And when will that be?" the younger man demanded.
"When I get the lodge back."
A strangled gasp burst from my throat, but I managed to hold my tongue, straining instead to hear what Shane would say next.
"Forget it!" came the heated response. "I did everything you wanted—I set Reno up with that rattler; I torched the cabin; I holed the boat; I spiked the freezer; and I planted those galls. My part's done, Kenny. I need my money—now!"
"Your part's done when I say it is." Legge's voice was louder now, closer—as if he'd stepped up to Shane—menacing. "You'll keep arranging little accidents until the Craddock's are busted and they have to sell."
"No way, dude. If what I did so far isn't enough to drive 'em out. Nothing will. I want my money."
"And I said, 'No.' I'll pay for these galls, but that's all you're getting. Until Dan and Brooke Craddock are out of that lodge, you'll keep doing exactly what I tell you." I could almost see the smarmy toad poking a finger at his young henchman's chest. "If you don't, I guarantee you won't get another dime."
"We'll see about that," Shane Deeks stormed.
A door slammed. The tape went dead.
Matt shut off the recorder. "Holy!"
"I'll say!" I shook my head in wonder. "There we were, poking around after Max Edelman. How wrong can you get?"
"Pretty wrong," Matt said. "About a lot of things. Think how convinced we were Shane would stay loyal to Dan and Brooke."
"I guess he had a stronger loyalty somewhere else," I said, remembering the cancer clinic brochure.
Matt nodded thoughtfully. "And Legge was letting him down."
"And he decided to get some leverage." I looked at the recorder.
"He must have gone to see Legge yesterday, got him to admit everything, then brought the tape back here for safe-keeping."
"He must have gone back today to give Legge his options."
"And Legge killed him."
"It looks that way," Matt agreed.
"Then how does Tovey Aquino fit in?" I wondered aloud. "She was there today as well."
"I don't know. But—" my husband continued in his best dry-asdust tone, "I bet you'll want to find out."
I sniffed and flounced from the room. Presumably, Matt replaced the tape and recorder before following me out, because they were no longer in his hands when we were confronted by Claire, Lynette, and a skeletal middle-aged woman coming through the front door.
"Hi, you two," my goddaughter beamed, rushing past her friend to crush me in an enthusiastic hug. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to find you," I said, amazed at how quickly the lie slipped from my tongue. "We've hardly seen you for days."
"I know," she moaned, making a face. "Everything got so crazy on the weekend and Lynette and I have been really busy with our project." The reference to her friend reminded Claire that introductions were required. "This is Lynette's mom," she said. "Mrs. Deeks."
"So I gathered," I said, extending my hand. "And we owe Mrs. Deeks an apology for barging in this way."
The frail woman took my hand. "Call me Sharon," she said warmly. "Happy to meet you both. The girls have told me all about you. Please come and sit down. I'll get some coffee. We've just been out for a little walk by the lake."
It must have been a very little walk, I thought sadly to myself. This poor creature hardly seemed strong enough to make it across the floor, much less face the news she was soon about to hear. I declined the offer of coffee and hastily redirected attention to the looming school project.
"Yeah. It's due tomorrow," Claire wailed. "Sorry I can't come with you now, but we have to get it finished."
"No problem," I said, smiling at the two girls. As usual, Lynette stood shyly to one side. The sight of her fragile little figure nearly did me in. Sudden emotion welled up inside, tears pricked my eyes, and I had to swallow hard to stifle a sob. Turning quickly to hide my face, I made for the door, fighting for control.
Thankfully, Matt was there to step into the breach. "See you later, then," he said, sounding casual and cheerful as he took hold of my arm. His touch steadied me. A good very thing.
As I stepped into the late afternoon sunlight, a terrifying sound erupted, hurtling me through an unwanted time warp to a cold forest ledge. Suddenly I felt myself once more cowering in the black folds of night, terrible howls coming closer and closer.
"What is it?" Matt hissed as I stopped rigid in his grasp.
"It's okay," piped Lynette, her little girl voice going some way toward breaking the spell. She rushed past us into the yard and grabbed the collar of a big yellow hound. "Shut up Pooch," she scolded. "You're scaring the nice lady."
For a moment, I simply stared as yet another piece of the puzzle snapped into place.
"Thanks," I finally murmured in a strangled whisper—all I could manage before I fled to the car.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matt was behind the wheel as we pulled out of the trailer park and turned left onto the narrow road to the lodge. I sat in the passenger seat, trying to pull myself together and feeling like a jerk. In a very short time, police detectives would be knocking on the Deeks' worn door, bringing yet more pain to an already overburdened family. I could do nothing to help them, but maybe there was still time for Tovey Aquino.
We knew she'd been at Kenny Legge's house—with or without Shane Deeks—who was now dead. Legge was missing and she was, too. Somehow, I was betting, there had to be a tie-in, and I didn't like the implications for our young biologist. My gut was reacting on overdrive. As far as I was concerned, Matt couldn't get to the lodge fast enough. The car had barely stopped before I was out and running to the lobby.
"Have you seen Tovey Aquino?" I demanded of Rachel van Brennen who stood behind the reception desk. Clearly startled, she shook her head.
"Try her room for me, will you?"
"She's not there," Rachel said.
"How do you know?" I pressed.
A hint of smugness tugged at the corners of the oh-so-sureof-herself young woman's mouth. "Because a couple of cops came looking for her about an hour ago."
That stopped me short—for about a nanosecond. "What did they say?"
"Nothing, really," Rachel said, putting on a look of complete indifference. "They just wanted to know if Tovey was here. When I said I didn't know, they asked to see her room. Brooke said it was okay, and I gave them a key."
"Then what?" Matt prompted.
"Then nothing," she shrugged. "They went up to her room and came back down a few minutes later."
"Did they say anything?" I prodded.
"Not a word. Brooke wanted to know what was going on, but they brushed her off."
"Where's Brooke now?" I demanded, desperate for some real answers.
"In the dining room," she replied, as though explaining the obvious to a three-year-old. "It's dinner time."
Didn't matter, she was talking to my back.
When I burst through the double glass doors, Brooke looked up from the maître d' podium in surprise. I could see her starting to formulate a question, but I cut her off. "Have you seen Tovey?"
She frowned. "Not since early this morning. What's going on
Taylor? The police are looking for her, too."
"Shane Deeks is dead," I blurted—quietly, at least. It hadn't seemed appropriate to tell her over the phone, and this was hardly the time or place either, but I saw no choice.
"What are you talking about?" Brooke hissed in a low voice, also mindful of the roomful of guests behind her. "Has there been an accident? Something at the trailer?" Suddenly the colour drained completely from her face. "Is Claire all right?"
"Claire's fine," I assured her, realising too late that this approach was no better. I hadn't stopped to think about how a mother would react to the announcement that the brother of her young daughter's best friend, was dead. That's a character flaw I'm working on— learning to engage my brain before my mouth. "Nothing happened at the Deeks' place," I
hurried to explain. "Shane was found at Kenny Legge's. Murdered."
I'd done it again. My intention was to reassure my friend, but I'd missed that boat by a mile. She sagged against the podium, complete bewilderment written all over her face—soon replaced by sad disbelief as I gave her the briefest possible summary of what had been going on all afternoon. "You'd better get over to the Deeks' as soon as you can," I concluded. "Claire's going to need some backup in the moral support department."
"I'm on my way," she agreed, beckoning the nearest server. I left her to make arrangements and returned to the lobby. Matt was waiting near reception, talking quietly with the Fisks, whose expressions left no doubt about the subject of their conversation.
I butted right in. "Any news of Tovey?"
"We were just talking about that," Art replied.
"What a terrible business about young Shane," said Belle. "He was such a peculiar young man."
"He's also a very dead young man," I pointed out, more brutally than necessary. But my concern for Tovey was mounting by the minute. "And now we're trying to save a young woman. Have you seen her?"
"Why, yes."
"That's what I was trying to tell you." Art's tone was edged with frustration. "She almost ran us off the road. Near the main gates."
"When was that?"
"Around one?" The retiree glanced at his wife for confirmation. She nodded. "We were coming back from a morning round of
golf at Okanagan Canyon. Silly girl nearly scared us to death. Driving like a maniac, she was. Pulled right in front of us."
Not surprising, under the circumstances, I thought, but had no chance to say so. Liam Maloney pushed through the main door, looking tired and grumpy.
"Liam," I called. "Have you seen Tovey in the last little while?" It struck me as possible that she knew where to find him and had gone to seek his advice.
The biologist stopped at our group. "In the last little while," he snorted. "I haven't seen the miserable ingrate all afternoon. This morning she asked for a couple of hours off. Said she had an appointment in town. It wasn't a good day and she knew it. I really needed her help. But she insisted it was important and wouldn't take long. I broke down and said okay." Liam looked disgusted. "Then she never came back."
"Yes, she did," I countered, and hastened to tell him what we knew. His boyish features aged considerably in the two minutes it took.
"God knows where she's gone," he moaned. "If she's somehow involved in this Deeks thing..."
"Maybe we should check her room," Matt suggested. "She might have left something that would give us a clue."
"If she did, the cops have probably already found it," I said. "But it's worth a try. You get a key from Rachel." Then I turned to Art Fisk. "Would you and Belle mind tracking down Walt or Dan and let them know what's going on. Brooke may need some help over at the trailer park."
"Absolutely," they chorused and hurried away as we made for Tovey's room.
The place was a shambles. A half-packed bag lay open on the bed, surrounded by the contents of closet and drawers. Apparently, our youthful student had felt some reason to bolt. But why come back here to gather her belongings—then suddenly skip out without a thing? The others appeared equally bewildered.
"Something must have happened," Matt reasoned. "Something sudden."
"Like what?" I wondered.
"Maybe a call," Liam suggested.
That made sense. I tapped the reception button on the room phone to see if by some miracle (for us) a call had come through the switchboard instead of directly to her cell.
"Yeah, she got a call around lunch time," Rachel said, now sounding eager to help. What an about-face, I thought. Matt must have filled her in to cause this much of an attitude adjustment. Good thing his mind wasn't as one-track as mine.
"Did the caller mention a name?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "He didn't have to. I recognised his voice. It was Kenny Legge."
I didn't know whether or not to be surprised. "Could you be any more specific about the time?"
Rachel answered promptly. "It must have been close to one o'clock.
I remember, because Brooke came along right after I hung up to send me on lunch."
"Thanks Rachel," I said, sincerely. "You've been a big help."
I refocused on Matt and Liam, relaying the information about Kenny Legge's call.
"Whatever he said, sure set her off," said Liam, looking helplessly at the chaos around us. "She just dropped everything."
"Which doesn't make any sense," I said. "When Legge called her around one o'clock, the police had no idea Shane Deeks was dead. We didn't go into that house until after three. So, if he wasn't calling to warn her—"
Matt finished the thought, "He was calling to threaten her. He must know something she's afraid of."
"And what? He's blackmailing her." Liam sounded incredulous. "Tovey's a starving student."
"Maybe Legge doesn't know that," Matt countered.
"Or maybe he's after something else." I was thinking out loud again, but there was a reason. The hazy germ of an idea was taking root my brain. "We have to find the Fisks."
Both men were left staring as I pelted down the hall, though they'd caught up by the time I cornered Art and Belle. Clearly not wanting to be separated from the action, the couple had returned to the lobby the second their mission was accomplished. I found them perched on the raised stone hearth of the great circular fireplace, eager for news.
But I was there to ask, not tell. "When Tovey nearly ran you off the road earlier," I began without preamble, "do you remember where you were?"
Art and Belle looked thoughtfully at each other. "I don't know, exactly," Art replied. "Say a couple of kilometres from the main gate."
"Can you tell me what happened?" I pressed. I knew I was badgering these poor people, but I just had this terrible feeling.
Again, they exchanged a look, then Art shrugged. "We were just driving along, enjoying the scenery when this little green car came shooting over a rise."
"Going way too fast for that road," Belle added. "All those hills and bends."
"And then what?" I prompted. We had no time for editorial comment on Tovey Aquino's driving skills.
"Well," Art continued, "this little car was practically on top of us, close enough I could see it was Tovey, because of her red hair, you know." I nodded, willing him to get on with it. "When suddenly, right out of the blue, she slammed on the brakes and whipped across the road right in front of us."
"Right in front," Belle echoed, her mouth pulled tight with indignation.
"Why would she do that?" Liam asked, shaking his head.
Art tipped his head and shrugged. "I guess she wanted to get onto that other road—"
"—and she was going so fast she nearly missed the turn," his wife finished.
"You mean the old logging road at the fork?" Liam's voice rose with excitement.
"Yes," said Belle.
"That's the one," Art confirmed.
The penny dropped. "She's gone to the cabin," I cried.
Liam lifted his eyebrows in my direction. "I agree," he said. "But how do you know about the cabin?"
"That's the road I took the day I did my little swan dive off the cliff," I admitted. "I've seen the cabin."
Matt groaned. I ignored him.
"Call the police," I ordered Art. "Tell them to take that road and meet us at the cabin."
"Wait a minute." Liam grabbed the older man's arm as he turned away. "We can't lead the cops right to her."
"Oh, yes we can," I countered. "I have a feeling Tovey'll be a lot safer with the cops than she is with Kenny Legge."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Last time I'd bumped along that rutted mountain track in my little Toyota, I was on a leisurely sightseeing tour—emphasis on leisurely. Even then, it'd been like a crazy amusement park ride. Today was a chiropractor's nightmare. Although we'd had the sense to take Liam's four-by-four, our speed turned the journ
ey into a qualification for flight pay. The moment he realized what was happening to Tovey, her boss's anger had melted into something very close to panic. He drove that road like a man possessed.
Every major bump launched me toward the roof until my seatbelt grabbed. The bruises on my shoulder and hips were going to be legion, but I figured bruises beat a concussion. And every sideways jostle knocked me into Matt, which was at least some compensation.
Either way, I was definitely relieved when we got close enough to the cabin to worry about engine noise giving us away, and Liam pulled off the track into the bush. As we climbed out of the vehicle, my legs nearly buckled—whether from sardine-ing into what passed for a back seat in the jeep, or just plain fear—I couldn't say.
We moved out in single file, keeping close to the trees.
Though it was getting on for seven o'clock, the sun still peeked over the western ridge. Its slanted rays bathed the evening in amber glow, stretching long shadows across the track. Fortunately for us, the dry valley climate keeps mosquitoes to a minimum. It occurred to me that in most places we'd have been eaten alive long before we got to the cabin. Instead, we could have been out for a pleasant evening stroll. Except, we weren't.
I could feel the pulse in my neck beating in quick-step with my heart. Every sense registered high alert as I strained for the slightest hint of anything unusual or unexpected. The three of us literally tiptoed through the shin-high clumps of bunch grass, still green and supple from spring rains and runoff. A month from now that grass would be brown and dry. Legge would have heard the crackling a mile away. That night, he didn't.
As we neared the edge of the clearing, we held to the scanty cover of the open bush, crouching low in the heavy shadows. "What a bizarre place," Matt whispered in my ear. And I had to agree. From this angle, it looked like somebody's garage dropped into the middle of the forest, and abandoned. There was no sign of vehicles and, with nothing but the roll-up door on this side of the building, it was impossible to see if a light shone inside.
"If they're here," Liam murmured, "the cars are pulled inside. We need to get a closer look."
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