by Kathi Daley
Colt added, “At this point, Tank and his customer have to drag Train back onto the porch, so he’s where he’d told everyone he was going to smoke. Tank goes into the kitchen, gets a knife, and stabs his brother with it. Tank then goes back into the garage, gets the beer he told me he’d gone out for, and returns to the house.”
“That is exactly what I was thinking,” I agreed.
“The buyer must have gone inside the house for some reason,” Colt suggested. “Otherwise, instead of being upstairs for Billy to see, he would have just come back out to the street through the same side gate he’d gone in through.”
“Maybe Tank needed to give him something else,” I said. “Billy did say that one of the shadows he saw upstairs gave something to the other. Tank probably realized that the buyer wouldn’t be able to sneak through the house with people milling around, so perhaps he suggested that he go in via the deck stairway and wait upstairs in a guest bedroom until everyone had regrouped. Once everyone had, Tank told the men in the den that he was going to find Train, but what he was really doing was going upstairs to give the buyer whatever he needed to. Once the buyer has it, he goes back down the deck stairs and out through the gate before you and your people got there. Meanwhile, Tank returns to the poker players and tells them that Train was stabbed. The rest continues as we already know.”
“I need to get a look inside the boxes in Tank’s garage.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Thanks, Abby. This is a good theory. I’ll call you later to let you know what happens.”
I hung up the phone and walked into the living room, glancing out the front window. It was still pitch-dark, but Jeremy was already out working on the walkway between the inn and the cottage with the snowblower. I’d hit the jackpot when he’d wandered into my life. Not only was he great with the guests and a good friend I could confide in, but he was one of the hardest workers I had ever come across.
As I stood looking out the window at the falling snow and the young man who was trying so hard to stay out in front of it, I heard the shower go on in Georgia’s bathroom. I figured she’d want to head over to the inn early to get everything ready for the guests, so I went back into my bedroom and pulled on the warmest clothing I could find, then filled a tall travel mug with piping hot coffee and went out into the storm.
“You read my mind,” Jeremy said when I handed him the mug.
“It’s freezing out here. You must feel like a Popsicle.”
“Close. Although with the depth of the snow, the amount of energy required to clear the walkway has been significant, so the workout is actually keeping me fairly warm.”
“When you finish the walkway, come in for a break. Have some more coffee and breakfast before you tackle the drive.”
“Thanks. I could use a break. I do want to get the pathway finished first so Georgia can move easily between the two buildings.”
I thanked Jeremy again for being so conscientious then went back into the cottage. I poured what was left of the coffee into my own mug, and then started a new pot. The shower went off in Georgia’s room. The coffee ought to be done just about when she emerged.
Most mornings, it was Georgia greeting me with coffee. It felt good to have the roles reversed for once. I thought about gathering the supplies she’d need to make breakfast for the guests, but I had no idea what she’d planned for breakfast or whether any of the items she needed to make it with were here in the cottage. I’d just feed the animals and wait for her to come out. When she did, I’d take the dogs for a very quick walk while she got breakfast underway.
“Morning.” I greeted Georgia with a mugful of coffee with a splash of cream when she came through her bedroom door.
“Thank you so much. You sure are bright and sunny this morning. What has you up so early?”
“Actually, I’ve been up for quite a while, so I’ve had time to wake up fully.”
She took a sip of the coffee. “Something on your mind?”
“I’ve been thinking about Train’s murder and the odd set of circumstances surrounding it. I think I may have figured a few things out. I guess time will tell. If you want to get whatever you need to go next door together, I’ll take the dogs out, and then we can both head over. I’ll tell you all about my theory while we make breakfast.”
“Sounds good. I really only need a few things from the cottage this morning. I have fresh cinnamon rolls in the pantry at the inn that are all ready to heat and serve, and I thought I’d make an egg and cheese casserole to go with it. I also plan to prepare bacon and sausage to have on the side, along with toast for anyone who isn’t into the sweet rolls, and fruit of course.”
“Sounds wonderful, but as always, that sounds like a lot of food for eleven people.”
“I always make use of the leftovers, and there haven’t been as many as you might think. The guests we have this week have been a hungry bunch. I think it is the storm and the isolation. Normally, our guests go into town for at least some of their meals, but this group has been stuck at the inn the entire time they’ve been here.”
“It is the nature of the retreat to stay to work on their writing, but I’m sure the storm has something to do with it. I’ll tell you all about the theory that has been keeping me up for the past few hours while we walk over.”
Chapter 17
When Colt called later that morning and informed me that he had found nothing illegal in Tank’s garage, I was disappointed. I was so sure I was on to something. Of course, Tank had had plenty of time to remove any illegal inventory he might have had there. He must have known that the police would come snooping around again. Colt didn’t mention that the garage had been searched on the night Train died, but Tank couldn’t have known it wouldn’t be.
“The garbage,” I said after a pause in our conversation. “Tank said he was looking for whatever had made the noise he heard when he noticed the garbage and put it out. Tank told you that he realized the next day was trash day. What if what he really put in the alley were the boxes that contained the illegal inventory? Maybe the thing he gave to the man upstairs was a key to a storage unit or similar warehouse or storage facility. Maybe the man who’d come by agreed to move the illegal inventory so that it wouldn’t be on Tank’s property for the cops to find when they inevitably arrived.”
“It would be easy enough to check out his garbage story,” Colt commented. “I can call the refuse company and get the pickup schedule, but even if everything you said is true, I still need to prove that Tank had illegal inventory in the first place. Whether he did or did not have it then, he doesn’t have it now.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is going to be tough to prove that Tank had something he no longer has.”
“And even if I can prove that he had illegal inventory in the garage at some time, that doesn’t mean he killed or was in on the killing of Train. Even if the schedule proves that the day following the poker game was not garbage day, Tank could just say he got his days mixed up, and I wouldn’t be able to prove otherwise. I need more.”
“Yeah.” I huffed out a breath. “All we have is a theory. You need physical evidence, or maybe a witness. And if Tank did move the inventory to a storage unit, figuring out where it is would be good.”
“I’ll do a search to see if I can find out if Tank or his company owns or rents a warehouse or storage facility.”
“It was late when all of this went down, but if the boxes of drugs or other illegal inventory had been put out into the alley, as we suspect, maybe the neighbor behind or on either side of Tank’s house noticed something,” I offered.
“It was dark and snowing, so I doubt it, but I’ll interview them again,” Colt assured me. “I’ll call you later. The snow is supposed to let up for a few days, so hopefully, you will have time to dig out before your guests check out tomorrow.”
“Hopefully. The driveway is totally impassible right now, but Jeremy will get it cleared by the end of the day.”
I hung up, bundle
d up, and went out to see if Jeremy needed any help. I couldn’t drive the plow, but I’d become proficient with the snowblower. The sun had actually peeked out from behind the clouds, creating diamondlike reflections on the fluffy white snow. Colt had said that the forecast had called for clearing over the next several days. I certainly hoped that was accurate. As far as I was concerned, we had had plenty of snow and could really use some bright, sunny days.
When I’d first moved to Holiday Bay, I’d hated having to run the snowblower, but since then, I’d actually learned to enjoy the activity. In moderation. I’d discovered that being outdoors blowing snow could provide a Zenlike experience if one took time to simply enjoy the beauty of the bluff while pushing one’s muscles to their limit as the huge snow-eating machine tossed an archway of snow from the path in front of you onto the banks on either side.
Of course, an hour out in the elements was about all I could take. After that, the peace and serenity the activity brought were replaced with the demands of screaming muscles and frozen toes. When I’d had my fill of calming seas, serene waves, and snowy shores, I headed inside for coffee and a warm fire.
Now, as I sat staring into the flames, I wondered how the authors were doing today. I’d called Kate yesterday to ask about Piper’s book. She hadn’t been in, so I’d left a message. She’d called me back while I’d been outside playing king of the snow with the blower. Rather than asking me to call her in turn, she’d left a message. “I see Piper’s story has engaged you. I’m not surprised. The girl can certainly spin a tale. As per your question about whether the book is written from the perspective of personal experience, she isn’t sharing that, but in my opinion, the raw emotion and attention to detail seem to point in that direction. In the beginning, I, like you, felt a need to know the backstory, but in the months I’ve worked with Piper, I’ve come to realize that she is the sort to share what she wants when she wants and trying to force the issue will get you nowhere. I should have advance reader copies in a couple of months. I will be sure to send you one, and you can come to your own conclusion as to whether the book is based on fact or fiction.”
Well, that was disappointing, but the fact that Piper was being so secretive added to the mystery. I had a feeling Piper was going to have a best seller on her hands.
After I listened to Kate’s message, I sent her a quick text thanking her for getting back to me. Then I logged onto my computer. My toes were still pretty icy, so I took my laptop to the sofa in front of the fire and pulled the fleecy throw over my lap. I’d just finished answering my emails when Velma called.
“Hey, Velma. Are you open today?”
“Yeah, I opened, but I figure there won’t be much business with all the snow. Still, I needed to do an inventory, so I decided to tackle that while I waited for any customers who might dig out and come in for a bite to eat. Listen, you haven’t talked to Colt this morning, have you?”
“Yes, actually, I have. Are you looking for him?”
“I might have picked up something connected with his investigation and wanted to share it with him, but when I called down to his office, the phone was answered by the central dispatcher. I guess Peach didn’t make it in.”
Peach was Colt’s receptionist. The Holiday Bay office was a small one, with just Colt and two deputies in training, so when Peach wasn’t working, the phones were forwarded to the central dispatch.
“Did you try his cell?” I asked.
“I did, and my call went to voice mail. I hated to leave a detailed message, so I just asked him to call me. I guess he must be out investigating.”
“He did have plans to check out some storage facilities owned or rented by one of the suspects. What did you want to tell him? I can pass the message along if he calls me back.”
“Just tell him that I spoke to Helen Riverside. She lives on the street directly north of the one Tank lives on, so the two share an alley. She told me that her husband had his bowling league on Wednesday night, and when he came home around eleven-thirty, he could barely get down the alley to their place because of the stacks and stacks of boxes piled up behind Tank’s house. He said the boxes were gone when he went to work the next morning, so Tank or someone else must have moved them, but the night before, they were a real nuisance.”
“Could he have put them out for the garbage collector?” I asked.
“I asked Helen that and she said the garbage crew comes on Mondays. She didn’t know why the boxes were in the alley or who moved them, but she thought Tank might have received a delivery and moved them inside after Helen’s husband had passed by.”
“I think it was more likely the other way around, and he was moving stuff out of his garage, but this information helps a bunch. It actually sort of proves a theory I had. Well, maybe it doesn’t prove the whole theory, but part of it.” I went on to share my idea with Velma. Colt had trusted her enough to tell her everything he knew when we’d stopped in for breakfast on Friday, so I figured I could trust her as well.
“Wow, that does make sense,” she said when I had finished filling her in. “I’m glad I could help. I assume if Colt calls you or stops by, you’ll tell him what I heard from Helen.”
“I absolutely will. And thanks for calling. I’m sure Colt will be excited about this piece of news.”
And he was. He called me about an hour after I’d spoken to Velma, and when I passed on her news, he said he would head over to speak to Helen and her husband directly. Before he did, though, he shared that he’d spoken to the medical examiner, and he confirmed that a cause of death by a chokehold followed by a knife to the chest after Train was already dead fit the evidence provided by the body in his morgue perfectly.
Colt had also learned that Tank had rented a storage unit in Portland the day after the death of his brother, and he called to have the Portland PD check it out. He was fairly certain that by the end of the day, Tank would be behind bars for possession of illegal goods, even if those goods did not in and of themselves prove he was the one who’d killed Train.
Chapter 18
By the time the sun set beyond the clear and cloudless horizon, Tank was indeed in jail for being in possession of boxes of illegal guns. To be honest, I would have bet there had been drugs in the boxes, but guns made sense as well. He still hadn’t admitted to having had anything to do with Train’s death, but the only reason for him to have bothered to move the boxes of guns from the garage on the night of the poker game would have been because he knew Train was dead and the police would be coming around. I figured it was only a matter of time before someone got the truth out of him, but I supposed he could argue that the reason he put the guns in the alley was to make them available for his buyer. Of course, if that were true, why did they end up in a storage unit in Portland?
In Colt’s opinion, he had enough to keep Tank incarcerated while he figured out a way to prove that Tank was one to have killed his brother or at least for him being in cahoots with the killer. He was still looking for that witness or piece of physical evidence to seal the deal, but he felt like he was close and was happy with our efforts.
I asked if he planned to take action against any of the other men. He shared that Dax cheating on a college paper and Hank cheating on his wife were not actually illegal acts, and therefore not in his jurisdiction. He did say that if Frank had stolen the money Train felt had been owed to him, or if something illegal was going on with Dr. Bob’s secret patient, he would very much be interested in following those evidence trails to the end.
Now that Tank was in jail, and in my mind at least, the murder case was close to being settled, I figured I could relax and enjoy the last night with the authors, who all planned to check out the following day. It seemed everyone had enjoyed their time at the inn. Compliments flowed freely, and every single guest at our table had promised to come back to visit again.
As the retreat members ate their last meal together, they shared the highlights of their time here. Jeremy and Hazel had really hit it off, a
nd there was no doubt in my mind the two would stay in touch with each other. Jeremy never talked about his own family much, except for the sister who lived and worked overseas and the niece for whom he acted as guardian when her mother wasn’t in the country, but I didn’t know if he had parents or grandparents still alive. I didn’t know if that meant they were estranged or they just weren’t close. Jeremy and Annabelle were as close as an uncle and niece could be. In fact, in many ways, they were like father and daughter. I knew from the very first time I met them that they considered themselves to be a team who had chosen to navigate life together, at least for the time being. Annabelle loved her mother, and she certainly had been excited in the weeks before her visit home, but during the long stretches when she was away, Annabelle talked about her very seldom.
Albert and Piper seemed to have forged a bond as well. I didn’t know a thing about Piper’s family history, but she was so sweet and patient with Albert that I refused to believe she’d been raised by a serial killer. I supposed it was likely she just had a very active imagination that allowed her to feel and experience things she hadn’t actually felt or experienced during the course of her life.
Larry and Laverne were a real kick. I loved the way they openly shared their love and respect for each other. I’d loved Ben with all my heart, but I wasn’t sure we’d ever shared the connection they seemed to have. I had to admit that I found myself hoping that if I did allow love into my life at some time in the future, I would have as much adoration and respect for my mate as this writing team seemed to.
The pair I was the least certain about were the sisters. They shared blood and a long family history, which counted for a lot, and they were both in similar phases of their lives. Both had suffered the loss of divorce and the adjustment that comes when your youngest child leaves the nest. They certainly seemed to be friends, but I could sense an underlying tension between them. Writing was an extremely intimate undertaking. Writing as a team was not something everyone could do. I supposed over time they might work out a system, or perhaps they’d each set out to forge their own path. I just hoped for their sakes that if they decided to split as a writing team, they would be able to do so while still maintaining the bond they’d forged as sisters.