Tangled Threat ; Suspicious

by Heather Graham

  She was next to him, the length of her body close, and she touched his forehead, moving back a lock of his hair. “I don’t work for myself—well, I do, but I’m a vendor hiring out my services. We need to be realistic. This is your work and more than your work. And now I’m working here, too. And I can help. I’m not stupid, Brock, you know that. I lock doors. I stay where there are other people. Whoever is doing this—be it a new thing or a crime associated with the past—they’re smart enough to work in the shadows. No one is going to be hurt in the resort. You’re in room three, and I’m in room five, and I’m not worried at all about the nights. Brock, I’m all grown-up. Quite a bit older than the last time, remember.”

  “And around the same age—”

  “The missing women weren’t wary or suspicious. They were just leading normal lives, trying to work and survive and simply enjoy their lives. Brock, most people are wonderful. They will lend others a helping hand. They just want the same things. Maureen Rodriguez was probably a lovely person—simply expecting others to be like that, too. From the little I know, the three missing women were probably similar—expecting human beings to act as human beings, having no idea that a very sick person was out there. I know that there’s a predator. I won’t be led astray, into any darkness—or off alone anywhere with anyone.”

  “Okay,” he said quietly. “But if we’re apart, I’ll be calling you on the hour. Oh, screw the hour. Every five minutes, maybe.”

  “That will be fine. But unlikely. I think most of your interviews and investigations will take more than five minutes. And you really don’t need to worry about me today—we’ll be videoing out at the pool, in the restaurants—and I’m sure Angie would like to show herself speaking with Marie Glass—maybe Donald, too.”

  He heard a buzzing from the floor and leaped up. Luckily—he hadn’t thought about it when he had left his room with just pants and his Glock—his cell phone was in the pocket of his jeans.

  He dug for his phone.

  “Yeah, Mike,” he answered, having seen the detective’s name on his caller ID.

  “I’d like you to come with me to the Gainesville County morgue,” Flannery said.

  Brock gritted his teeth; the morgue meant a body. A body meant that his actions thus far had failed to save anyone.

  “One of the missing girls?”

  “I don’t think so—I believe—or the ME there has suggested—that the remains are much older. But... Well, I’ll fill you in. How soon can you be ready?”

  “Ten minutes,” Brock said.

  “Better than me. Meet you downstairs in fifteen. We can grab coffee and head out.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “First man to arrive orders the coffee. Never mind—Rachel will beat us both. She’ll order it.”

  “I’ll be down.”

  He hung up and slipped into his jeans, looking back at the bed. Maura was up, staring at him, her face knit into a worried frown.

  “I have to go... Not sure when I’ll be back. Keep in touch, please. And stick with Angie and Marie Glass—and don’t go walking into any old spooky woods, huh, okay?” he asked.

  She smiled. “I promise,” she told him. “But—”

  “Old bones—we have to see what they are. And no—not one of our three missing girls. You’ll be here all day?”

  She smiled back at him.

  “I’ll be here all day,” she assured him.

  He hurried out of her room, heading to his own, hoping he wouldn’t run into anyone while he was clad in his jeans only—but not really caring.

  He would shower, dress and be ready in ten minutes. He wasn’t worried about that.

  He did hate that he was leaving.

  And hoped it was something he was going to have to get used to doing.

  * * *

  MAURA WAS HAPPY—and determined. No, she wasn’t an agent. Or a cop of any kind. No—she wasn’t even particularly equipped to defend herself should she need to do so.

  But she was smart and wary and everything else that she had told Brock.

  Like it or not, she had been at the ranch when Francine was killed. And she was here now, and she was a Floridian and these horrible things were happening in her state. Today she would be filming around the estate with Angie and Marie, and she’d be speaking with all those here as much as possible—especially Fred, Marie, maybe Donald and Nils and Mark.

  Her reasoning might be way off. Just because they had all been here twelve years ago and were here now didn’t mean a thing. The solution to Francine’s murder and answers about the girls who were dead and missing now might be elusive. It was sad but true that an alarming percentage of murders went unsolved. She’d read the statistics one time—nearly 40 percent of all homicides in the US went unsolved each year.

  Except on this, while it was in his power, she knew that Brock wouldn’t let go.

  So, in her small way, she would do her best. And maybe that meant going through the library again—finding out everything she could about the Frampton Ranch and Resort—and the people who were here.

  Maura showered, dressed and set out to edit some of her video from the day before. At nine she decided to go down to breakfast; Angie, she knew, would wake up when she was ready and come down seeking coffee.

  Maura took her computer with her, curious to see what various search engines brought up on the ranch. As with most commercial properties, the results showed every travel site on the planet first. And the history of North Central Florida didn’t provide any better results. She didn’t find much that was particularly helpful—nothing she didn’t know already.

  Frustrated, she was about to click over into her email when she noticed a site with the less-than-austere title of Extremely Weird Shit That Might Have Happened.

  Once there, she read about a strange organization that had sprung up in the area in the 1930s. Various local boarding schools and colleges had provided the members—usually rich young men with a proclivity for hedonistic lifestyles. They had created a secret society known as the Sons of Supreme Being, and considered themselves above others, apparently siding with the Nazi cause during World War II, dissolving after the war, but supposedly surfacing now and then in the decades that followed.

  They had been suspected of the disappearance of a young woman in the 1950s, but it had been as difficult for police to prove their complicity as it had been to prove their existence. Members were sworn to secrecy unto death, and in the one case when a young man had admitted to the existence of the society and the possible guilt of the society in the disappearance of the girl, that young man had been found floating in the Saint Johns River.

  “My dear Maura, but you are involved in your work!”

  Startled, Maura looked up. Marie Glass had come to her table. She was standing slightly behind her.

  Maura quickly closed her computer, wondering if Marie had seen what she’d been reading.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Have you been waiting on me long?”

  “No, dear, I just saw the fascination with which you were reading!” Marie said, sliding into the seat across from her. “Today is still a go, right? You and Angie will shoot some of the finer aspects of the resort?”

  “Oh, yes, we’re all set,” Maura said. “Or we will be, once Angie is down.”

  “That’s lovely. I thought we’d start with the pool and patio area, maybe scan the gym so that people can see just how much the resort offers? I know that Angie’s forte lies in a different sort of content—as does yours—but she does have such an appeal online. She reaches a big audience. I can’t help but think it’d be good exposure.”

  “Of course. Whatever you’d like.”

  “It’s lovely that Angie Parsons will use her video channel for us.”

  “She couldn’t wait to come here. She’s fascinated with the resort.”

  “W
ell, her fascination was with the History Tree—” She paused a bit abruptly, then smiled. “I’ve seen some of Angie’s videos and heard her podcasts and I even saw her speak at a bookstore once. The tree does seem right up her alley. And, of course, since it does seem to draw much of our clientele, I do appreciate the tree. Or trees. But... Well, those of us who knew Francine can’t help but take that all with a grain of salt. Anyway...when do you think we’ll be able to get started?”

  “I imagine Angie will be down anytime,” Maura told her. “I don’t want to see you held up, though. Do you want me to call you when she’s had her coffee?”

  “Well, dear, this is my plan for the day, but if you could... Oh, there she is now,” Marie said with pleasure.

  Maura turned toward the entry to the coffee shop. Angie was walking in with Nils Hartford. She was her smiling, bubbling, charming self, talking excitedly.

  She saw Maura sitting with Marie and waved, excused herself to Nils and came over. “Good morning. Mrs. Glass, you are bright and early.”

  Marie slowly arched a silver brow. “If one can call ten in the morning early, Angie, yes, I am bright and early.” Apparently in case her words had been too sharp, she added, “But I’m certainly grateful for your work and ready whenever you are.”

  “Right after one coffee,” Angie said. “One giant coffee!”

  “Wonderful. I’ll just check on the patio area and make sure someone’s darling little rug rat hasn’t made a mess of the place.”

  Marie rose and smiled again, perhaps trying to take the sting from her comment. “At your leisure,” she said and sailed out of the coffee shop.

  Angie made a face and sat. “If America had royalty, she’d be among it. If she hadn’t been born into it, she would have married into it. Oy!”

  “She is a bit...”

  “Snooty?” Angie said.

  Maura shrugged.

  “Kind of strange, don’t you think?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Donald doesn’t seem to be as...well, snooty. Best word I can come up with.”

  “To be honest, I don’t know either of them that well. I mean, I worked for them before, but I was among the young staff—they hardly bothered with us. Fred was our main supervisor at the time.”

  “Along with Francine Renault?” Angie asked.

  “Yep.”

  “And wasn’t your beau kind of like the ranking student employee here?”

  “Yes.”

  Angie smiled and leaned toward her. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What about last night?”

  “What about it?”

  “Oh, you are no fun. Details. Ouch! You can feel the air when you two are close together. I’ll admit—well, I don’t need to admit anything, I frankly told you that I was deeply into him.”

  “Angie, you’re deeply into a lot of people.”

  “True. So I’ve turned my attention to Nils. He is a cutie, too. Maybe even more classically handsome. Not as ruggedly cool—not like fierce, grim law enforcement. But damned cute. And, hmm, we are here a few more days. I do intend to have some fun.”

  “Angie—”

  “Yes, I mean get laid!” Angie laughed at Maura’s reaction. “Too graphic and frank for you? Oh, come on, Maura, you know me.”

  “And I wish you luck in your pursuits. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  “Ah, you see, I shall do as I choose, which is much better than fine.” Angie frowned suddenly. “Where is your law-and-order man?”

  “He’s here working, Angie. He went off—to work.”

  “Well, I suppose we should work, too. Let me grab my coffee.”

  “Great. I’ll run my computer up and grab the camera.”

  Angie didn’t need to get up for her coffee; Nils arrived at their table with a large paper cup.

  “Two sugars, a dash of cream, American coffee with a shot of espresso,” he said, delivering the cup to Angie. Her fingers lingered over his as she accepted the drink.

  “Thank you so much,” Angie said, smiling at him brilliantly. “When we talk about the restaurants, you will be in the video with me, won’t you?”

  “My absolute pleasure,” Nils assured her. He smiled over at Maura. “Morning. I saw you earlier, but you were so involved, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “You can interrupt anytime,” Maura told him. “I was really just web browsing.”

  “Anything in the news—or have Brock or that Detective Flannery made any progress on the missing girls? Or, wow, I keep forgetting—Rachel?”

  “Not that I know about.”

  “Something is going on this morning. There was a discovery just south of the Devil’s Millhopper,” Nils said. “I saw it on the news. Human remains were found. A Scout troop discovered them during a campout.”

  “I—I probably should have started with the news,” Maura said. “I didn’t.” She didn’t tell him that she knew something had been found because Brock had taken off early with Detectives Flannery and Lawrence to investigate. “More human remains. How sad.”

  Angie didn’t seem concerned. “The Devil’s Millhopper?” she asked. “That’s...a cool name. What the hell is it?”

  “A sinkhole,” Maura told her. “Devil’s Millhopper Geological State Park—it’s in Gainesville. It’s a really beautiful place, a limestone sinkhole about 120 feet deep. The park has steps all the way down, a boardwalk—sometimes torn up by storms—and beautiful nature plants and trees and all that.”

  “We need to go there,” Angie said. “How did I miss a sinkhole?”

  “I don’t think it’s haunted. But, hey, who knows? Anything can be haunted, right?” Nils asked. “It’s not all that far from here—a cool place. Hey, I’d love to take you. I have a day off coming up, if you want to go.”

  “I’d love it if you could go with me... We’ll need Maura, of course, for the video,” Angie said.

  “I’d love to go with both of you,” Nils said.

  While Angie smiled back at him, Maura found herself remembering the Nils she had known before—the young man who had thrived on being so superior. She tried to remember if she had noted any of his interactions with Francine. Francine most probably wouldn’t have reacted to any of his behavior.

  Could Francine have angered Nils...and could he, at eighteen, have been capable of murder?

  Ridiculous. He’d been the same age as Brock; they’d all just been kids.

  “Seriously, I love the park, too,” Nils said, looking at Angie and then flashing a quick smile at Maura. “It’s really a pretty place.”

  “Isn’t Florida at sea level? Doesn’t it flood?” Angie asked.

  Nils looked at Maura again and shrugged. For a moment, he just looked like a nice—and attractive—man. One with a sense of humility—something he had once been lacking.

  “Hey, we even have hill country in this area. But honestly, I don’t know. It’s a sinkhole. It has something to do with the earth’s limestone crust or whatever. Geology was never my forte. Hey, we really do have hills in the state—not just giant Mount Trashmores, as we call them. And we have incredible caverns and all kinds of things. Most tourists just want warm water and the beaches, but it’s a peninsula with all kinds of cool stuff. I’ll find a ghost there for you if you want!”

  Angie laughed and even Maura smiled.

  “Great—we’ll set it up,” Angie said.

  Maura quickly stood. “Meet you by the pool,” she told Angie.

  She clutched her computer and ran up both flights of stairs to her room. Housekeeping had already been into her room, she saw.

  It seemed so pristine now. Cold.

  Maybe just because Brock was no longer there.

  She shook her head, impatient with herself. And for a moment, she paused. Being with him again had been so easy, so wo
nderful, so...perfect.

  And she was, perhaps, wrong to dwell so much on one night. Things had torn them apart before.

  She was suddenly afraid that events might just tear them apart again.

  * * *

  “WHEN REMAINS ARE down to what we have here,” Dr. Rita Morgan told them, “it’s almost impossible to pinpoint death to months, much less days and weeks. The bones were found just south of the Devil’s Millhopper, as you know, deep in a pine forest. The area was just outside a clearing where the Scouts set up often, but not in the clearing, and it was only because a boy went out in the middle of the night to avail himself of a tree—no facilities out there, camping is rugged—that he came across them. Of course, the kid screamed and went running back for his leader or one of the dads along on the trip, and the dad called the police and... Well, here we are. The bones were scattered and we’re still missing a few. I believe that all kinds of creatures have been gnawing upon them, but...there are marks—here, there—” she pointed to her findings “—that were not made by teeth. This young woman—we did find the pelvis, so we can say she was female—was stabbed to death. Oh, these are rib bones I’m showing you with the knife marks. I guess you figured that.”

  Brock nodded, as did Michael Flannery and Rachel Lawrence.

  They were all familiar with the human skeletal system.

  “But you think that she was killed sometime in the last year?” Brock asked.

  “The integrity of the bone suggests a year—and a few teeth were left in the skull,” Dr. Morgan explained. “I’m going to say that she was killed sometime between six and twelve months ago. She was most probably buried in a very shallow grave in an area where the constant moisture and soil composition would have caused very quick decay of the soft tissue, and insects and the wildlife would have finished off the rest. We’re still missing a femur and a few small bones. And I’m afraid so many teeth are missing I doubt we’ll ever be able to make an identification. We can pull DNA from the bones and compare to missing persons, but as you know, that will take some time.”

  “She’s not one of the three recently missing women, though, right? We are talking at least six months?” Brock asked.