"The main door is on the left," I said. "There's a picture window across the front and a small casement around the other side. I suggest we split up and try to get to a spot where we can see what's going on in there. Unless Tovey's in immediate danger, there's no need to do anything but wait. Even coming all the way from town, the police shouldn't be more than another twenty minutes."
My two companions murmured agreement, grudging on the part of my husband, who still harbours annoyingly antiquarian notions of male protectiveness. But he'd learned enough in our short time together to know when the battle is hopeless. I was pleased that he surrendered with relative good grace, planting a brief kiss on my cheek before we set off. "Be careful," he said, lips close to my ear. "I'd like our marriage to make it past the honeymoon."
I gave him what was intended to be an encouraging wink, although it probably looked more like a spastic tick, given the state of my nerves. We moved out in different directions. Crouching commando-style, I broke into the clearing and scooted for the blind side of the cabin. At the corner beside the roll-up door, I paused to catch my breath. It came in short, tight puffs, completely out of proportion to the physical effort. I clasped my hands together to stop them shaking, but there was nothing I could do about the trembling in my knees. I willed myself forward and inched along the wall—until a man's voice stopped me cold.
I crept closer to the screen door, struggling to make out the words, but nothing was clear enough to understand until I stopped at the porch steps and hazarded a peek over the planking.
" —me lose patience again," growled a disembodied voice I recognized as belonging to Kenny Legge. The menace in his tone lifted the little hairs on the back of my neck.
"But I've told you over and over—for hours," I heard Tovey Aquino choke out in a voice grown husky with tears. "I wasn't working with Shane. He never said anything about a tape."
From my position by the steps, I could see part of the kitchen through the screen door. Tovey sat with her back to me, tied to one of the chrome chairs. Legge walked into view, seeming to tower over the huddled student despite his small stature. No doubt the automatic pistol in his right hand contributed significantly to the impression.
"Yes, I know," Legge was saying. He leaned close to the young woman, raising the gun to eye level, his doughy face so near she must have felt his hot breath on her cheek. "But—I—don't—believe—you."
The little man straightened up and retreated a pace. "Now let's review the facts one more time. Fact one:" he began, ticking the first point off on his left index finger with the tip of the gun barrel, "Deeks called me at the hotel this morning. He boasted about how he'd recorded our conversation yesterday and demanded a meeting. Fact two:" the gun barrel tapped his middle finger, "when I arrived home for that meeting, I saw you run out the back door of my house."
"But I've explained—"
"Don't interrupt," Legge barked.
Tovey's small frame cringed back like a whipped dog.
"Fact three:" her tormentor continued, starting to pace as he talked, "Shane Deeks was waiting for me in the house..." Legge wheeled to confront her, "...lying face down on the kitchen floor—in a pool of blood."
The repulsive little man shrugged, arranging his features in a show of mock bewilderment. "Now, what am I supposed to think?
Obviously, the two of you came to my house together."
I could see Tovey shaking her head, but Legge carried on, ignoring the silent protest. "Then something went wrong," he said. "I suppose Deeks could have slipped and hit his head against the counter the way you said."
He paused, screwing his face into a frown as though pondering the point. "But an argument seems more likely to me—maybe over your cut. Who knows?" he said, with another shrug. "Whatever happened, by some miracle, you were left standing. You panicked, and ran."
Legge stood still and looked his captive square in the eye. "Which leaves both of us with a problem. I've got a body and no tape. You've got a tape—and a murder rap."
"I keep telling you it was an accident," Tovey wailed. "And we didn't go to your house together. I had no idea Shane was meeting you there today. I deliberately picked a time when I thought you'd both be working."
"To do a little detective work?" Legge scoffed.
"Yes," the young student replied miserably. "I'd figured out Shane was poaching bears and I followed him to your place. All I wanted was to find some proof."
"So, you broke into my place looking for it."
"I told you before," Tovey replied, sounding exhausted, defeated.
"I didn't have to break in. The little window over the sink wasn't locked. I just slid it back and squeezed in."
"Handy being so small," her tormentor sneered.
"Sometimes. Anyway, I found what I was after," Tovey declared, her defiant spirit flaring briefly. "Then Shane showed up. I guess when he recognised my car, he didn't know what to think. When he came to the back and saw me inside, he started pounding on the door. I was so surprised, I just let him in. We got in a terrible fight. He completely lost it—screaming and shaking me. I don't know how it happened," Tovey's voice had risen to a wail. "But suddenly he was falling backward. His head hit the counter. I'll never forget that sound..." she cried.
Legge regarded Tovey's hunched figure, ignoring her sobs. "I'm sure it was memorable," he said, without emotion. "And maybe you didn't kill him on purpose. But Deeks is still dead. If you don't want the cops to get an anonymous tip about where to find you, it's time to cough up the tape."
"I don't have your fucking tape!" Tovey screamed, shocking me so completely I gasped out loud. The sound might have given me away, but the poor soul had jerked against her bonds so violently the chair actually scraped across the floor.
It was a bad mistake. Legge erupted. "That's too bad," he bellowed. Sweat beaded his forehead and coursed down his temples. "Because that tape's the only thing keeping you alive."
His threat lunged through the gathering dusk to grab my gut in a cold fist. Hopeless questions whipped through my mind. Where were the police? Should I try to signal the others? Could we overpower Legge before he took one of us out?
Tovey's voice stopped the flow. "You're going to kill me anyway," she accused, each word steadier than the last. "You only got me here because I was still in a panic, not thinking straight. If I'd had any sense, I would have told you to piss up a rope. Shane's body is in your house. You've got no alibi because you were going there to meet him. I'm the only person who knows he's dead. And you can't afford the police making any connection to you." The young student's conclusions sounded chillingly logical.
She continued with a note of speculation in her tone. "An accident, I'd say. You've brought Shane's truck. Of course, you couldn't leave it on your street anyway. But that's not the whole reason. My guess is that sometime after dark, Shane and I are going for a little ride. As soon as you've got his tape, we'll go sailing off a cliff. Nothing suspicious about that. People know we've been seeing each other. They'll just assume he was taking me into town, driving fast like usual. Only this time he lost control. On that treacherous stretch of road, the result would be inevitable. Tragic, but inevitable."
Legge produced a thin-lipped smirk. "You're very clever," he hissed. "Now let's get on with it. Where's the tape?"
"I don't have it," Tovey answered placidly. "And even if I did, why would I tell you? You're going to kill me anyway."
"Not until I get the tape," Legge snarled. "Just remember, Miss College-Know-it-All, there are lots of ways to die.... Now where's the tape?"
From where I crouched I could plainly see the straight-line set of the little man's mouth, the tightening around his eyes, shadowed by the harsh glare of the kitchen light. I shivered.
Tovey could obviously see it, too. "I really don't have the tape," she said, very quietly. A tremor had crept into her voice.
"Where—is—that—tape?" Legge thundered. His gun hand streaked back, crashing into the side of Tovey's face
before she could cry out.
I didn't see her head loll onto her chest. I saw nothing but rage. Springing onto the porch, I crashed the screen door open and launched myself at her startled tormentor. His mouth gaped open, the air forced from his lungs as I drove into his sagging gut. We went down together, gun thudding across the old pile carpet. His flaccid belly cushioned my fall.
"You scumbag!" I screamed, lashing out to rake the doughy cheek with my nails. I would have got him again, but a pair of vices grips clamped on my arms and pulled me away.
"Whoa there, Scoop."
It took a second to recognise Matt's voice. When I did, the bones suddenly disappeared from my body and I felt myself go limp in his arms, shaking all over. Even so, I was in a whole lot better shape than Kenny Legge. He lay cowering at the feet of Liam Maloney. A revolver pointed at his chest.
Tovey lifted her head, moaning slightly at the movement. Suddenly the door flew open and a blue uniform filled the frame.
"Lower you weapon!" commanded a no-nonsense baritone.
I looked the cop over with a mixture relief and annoyance, thinking, Where the hell have you been?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As soon as the first rush passed, I felt like a birthday balloon with a slow leak. The satisfaction of watching Liam slice through the ropes binding Tovey to the chair was soon countered by the sight of a burly Mountie snapping steel cuffs on her child-sized wrists. The police put her and Legge in separate cruisers and I was left with the image of a jostling clouds of red curls, barely visible above the back of the prisoner's seat, disappearing into the gathering night.
Liam dropped us at the lodge gates before following Tovey to town. We shambled back to our room where Matt insisted on ordering a couple of salads. For once I didn't care. While we waited for the food, I called Brooke and gave her the bare-bones facts. Even our feline roommates, no doubt sensing our mood, contributed to the leaden atmosphere. No leg-rubbing, no floorshow wrestling, no lap-sitting, nothing at all. The pair just lay in a chair like bookends without books, eyeing us through narrow slits.
When the salads arrived, I made a half-hearted effort to choke something down, but there was no way. After ten minutes of pushing greens around the plate I gave up and climbed into bed.
Despite the bone-weariness we both felt, serious sleep seemed beyond us. As the night dragged on, I awoke from a fitful doze to see Matt standing by the window, staring into darkness. I didn't bother to speak. Neither of us wanted conversation.
I guess pure exhaustion finally took over, because the morning was well advanced when I next opened my eyes. Matt lay beside me, snoring softly. I let him sleep.
Apparently, the gods were feeling melancholy, too. Through the open curtains, I could see nothing but heavy cloud, the sky a low and dirty whitewashed ceiling. Like the walls of Tovey's cell? I wondered. By now there might be news.
Carefully I slipped out of bed and threw on the nearest clothes to hand. The cats looked like they might be interested in breakfast, but since there were still crunchies in their bowl, I only stopped long enough to brush my teeth before heading off in search of information. The quest was disappointing. Liam still wasn't back and no one had heard a word since we returned last night. I trudged up the stairs and found my husband propped against the pillows with Dudley stretched out on his lap. Matt scratched absently at the cat's ears.
We diddled around until lunchtime. There was no reason to hurry. Even if we'd been inclined to do something, the steady drizzle would probably have kept us inside. And when we eventually gravitated to the dining room, it, too, was depressingly quiet and empty.
The government employees were back in their bureaucratic warrens. The hunters were on the road with their trophies. And none of our regular circle was around. We ate a sandwich in troubled silence and took our coffee into the lobby where a blazing fire presented the only bright spot in an otherwise miserable day. Nestled in the crook of Matt's arm, I watched the flames flicker and dance, catching the faint tang of wood smoke in the air. I felt anaesthetised.
It was a surprise when Dan ushered Brooke through the main door, then helped her peel off a rain spattered jacket. This was the first time in ten days I'd seen him set foot inside the main lobby. And here he was with Brooke. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, their troubles had faded to vague and distant memory. After a brief word with Rachel at reception, they hustled over to join us.
Dan opened with the traditional weather gambit. "What a crappy day," he said.
"I'll say," Matt agreed. "Too wet to do much of anything."
"Except sit by the fire," Brooke added, plopping down next to her husband in an adjacent loveseat. "Rachel's going to rustle us up some coffee."
"Forget the weather," I spluttered. "And the coffee." Who had time for social niceties when what we really needed was information.
"What's the news?"
My husband leaned away from me, turning a reproachful eye in my direction. "Take it easy, Scoop. I'm sure the news is forthcoming."
I reacted in an appropriately wifely manner—and ignored him. My gaze remained fixed on Brooke.
"Nothing on Tovey before we left this morning," she supplied. "But that was hours ago. We've been at the hospital with Sharon Deeks."
"Oh no," I murmured, the wind suddenly spilled from my sails. "What happened?"
"Lynette called around breakfast time. I didn't want to leave them alone last night, but Sharon insisted. When we got back over there, she was lying in bed, barely conscious. We just bundled her up and headed for town. Once she was admitted and settled, we ran Lynnie over to school. They wouldn't let her stay with her mom so she wanted to be with Claire."
"Best place for her," Dan remarked, his weathered features softened with care. "She's still freaking over Shane, poor kid. He had his faults, but that boy was as much a father as a brother to little Lynnie." He shook his head slowly from side to side, momentarily alone with his thoughts. "She knew her mom was sick," he finally continued, "but Shane had shielded her from the worst. Now everything's hit her at once. All she's got left is Claire."
Brooke nodded, shifting her gaze from Dan to us. "They'll keep her busy at school. Much better than hanging around here all day with nothing to do but brood."
"How long does her mom have?" Matt asked quietly.
"A few weeks at most," my friend replied, with deep sadness. "Her cancer is in the final stages."
"No wonder Shane was in such a panic for that money."
"It wouldn't have made any difference," said Dan. "The cancer's all through her body. No clinic would have been able to help." He shook his head. Regret etched in each line of his face. "If Shane had only talked to us. We could have explained."
"He wouldn't have listened," his wife said gently, placing her hand on Dan's leg. "Shane marched to his own drummer and he was fiercely
protective of his family. He'd have done anything to save Sharon."
"I know," Dan said, covering his wife's hand with his own. "It all just seems such a waste."
"What will happen to Lynette?" I asked, hoping to distract Dan from what appeared to be a growing sense of helplessness and failure.
"Oh, she'll come here," he said, visibly perking up.
"Sharon designated us legal guardians several years ago," Brooke explained, sharing a smile with her husband. "At that point, Shane was too young and since then he's had his problems. He was aware of the arrangement and respected his mother's wishes. It's part of the reason we hired him. We thought it would be reassuring to know he could stay close to his sister."
I was relieved to hear that the little girl would be wrapped into what was evidently once more a loving family. She had a lot to face, but I knew how good Brooke and Dan could be together. If they managed to keep things patched up, Lynette's future didn't look quite so bleak.
On the far side of the expansive concourse, Jasmine appeared, bearing a tray from the dining room. She approached with a cautious smile, responde
d politely to her employers' brief greeting, efficiently deposited a thermos pot of coffee and assorted paraphernalia, and quietly withdrew. Brooke played hostess, pouring us each a fresh cup. She was in the process of filling her own, when Liam Maloney's voice rang out from the entrance.
"Look who's here," he called, beaming as he held the door wide for his tousle-headed companion.
"Tovey," we cried in unison, leaping up to greet her.
"We thought they'd never let you out."
"You must be exhausted."
"Come have coffee, we'll get you both some lunch."
With everyone talking at once, poor Tovey looked overwhelmed.
She allowed herself to be led to the fireplace and duly installed in a comfortable seat by the hearth.
"Did it take all this time to get bail?" I demanded bluntly of Liam. Tovey was in good hands with the others.
"No bail," he declared, grinning broadly. He looked more boyish than ever, despite a night with no sleep. "Tovey's free and clear."
"They accepted her word about the accident?" I asked, wishing my tone hadn't sounded quite so incredulous. We might believe her, but the hard-noses downtown were another story all together.
"Not for one minute," he replied happily.
"Then why did they let her go?"
The others had all fallen silent and my question sounded unnaturally loud.
"Because she's innocent!" Liam crowed, cheeks perilously close to splitting completely apart. His grin was downright silly.
I turned to Tovey for a coherent explanation. "You admitted to struggling with Shane," I reminded her. "You said he fell against the counter."
The young woman nodded, "Yes—"
"But Shane Deeks didn't die from the blow to his head," Liam burst in. "According to the preliminary medical report, he died of asphyxiation."
"What?" demanded four voices in almost perfect unison.
Liam's head bobbed up and down, his eyes open wide. "Shane wasn't dead when Legge stuffed him in the freezer."
It took a few seconds to assimilate. "If Shane was still alive when his 'body' was hidden in the freezer—and he died from lack of oxygen," I said, "then Kenny Legge would have been responsible for his death."
Bear of a Honeymoon Page 22