“At least six months,” Dr. Morgan agreed. She indicated the pile of bones that were all that was left of a young life, shaking her head sadly. “I wish I could tell you more. She was somewhere between the ages of eighteen and thirty, I’d say. Again—the pelvis is intact enough to know that. We’ll keep trying—we’ll do everything that we can forensically.”
They thanked the doctor and left the morgue.
Outside, Michael Flannery spoke up. “I think that whoever killed Francine Renault twelve years ago got a taste for murder—and liked it. I think that whoever it is has been killing all these years. Maybe slowly at first, fewer victims. I’m not a profiler, but I’ve taken plenty of classes with the FBI—and I’m sure that you have, too. He’s speeding up—for years, he was fine killing once a year. Now—or in the last year—he’s felt the need becoming greater and greater.”
“It is a possibility,” Brock said. “Michael, it is possible, too, that whoever killed Francine did so because she was really unlikable and made someone crack—and that these two dead women we’ve found have nothing to do with Francine’s death. And that the kidnappings aren’t associated, either.”
Rachel shook her head. “You’re playing devil’s advocate, Brock.”
He was. Brock didn’t know why—maybe just too much pointed to the Frampton Ranch and Resort, and he didn’t really want it to be involved. Despite what had happened, he had a lot of good memories from his time there.
They now had the bones of two women killed within the past year. Three women were still missing. He’d barely had a chance to scratch the surface of what was going on.
“Come on, Brock. I’ve been chasing this for twelve years,” Flannery said. “I did something I came to learn the hard way simply wasn’t right—and now I’m chasing the results of my mistake.”
“It wasn’t your mistake. You weren’t high enough on the food chain back then to insist that the case not just remain open, but that it continue to be investigated with intensity,” Brock said. “But say your theory is right. If the killer is at large, then the killer hanged Francine and stabbed Peter Moore to death to make it appear like a suicide and provide a fall guy. That may have been where the killer decided stabbing afforded a greater satisfaction than watching someone strangle to death.”
“Where they got a taste for blood,” Flannery agreed.
“And you think it’s someone who was or is still involved with the Frampton ranch,” Brock said.
Rachel watched them both. “Honestly, Nils Hartford was a bona fide jerk—but I don’t believe he was a killer,” she said, though neither of them had accused Nils. “He... I mean, he and I were never going to make it, but we did become friends. When his family lost all their money, he admitted to me that he loved restaurants and he loved the ranch and that he believed Fred might give him a chance. And as to Mark... Mark was just a kid.”
“Kids have been known to be lethal,” Flannery reminded her.
“Fred Bentley?” Brock asked, looking at Rachel. “He wasn’t a bad guy to work for—and I think he was well liked by the guests. He’s still holding on to his position.”
“And he’d oversee any laundry sent out by the hotel,” Rachel said.
“If not Bentley...and you’re right about the Hartford boys...”
“That leaves Donald Glass himself,” Brock said.
Donald Glass—who was married. Who, it had been rumored, had been indulging in an affair with Francine Renault.
A man who had acquired quite a reputation for womanizing through the years.
But would a man brilliant enough to have doubled a significant family fortune have been foolish enough to commit murder on his own property—and leave clues that could lead back to him?
“Time to head back,” Brock said. “I say we casually interview all of our suspects. Let them in a little on our fear that the three missing women are dead—and that there is, indeed, a serial killer on the loose.”
“Can you get someone at your headquarters tracing the movements of our key possible suspects at the ranch?” Flannery asked Brock. “FDLE is good—but your people have the nation covered.”
“Of course,” Brock said. He hesitated. “I haven’t spoken with Glass that much, but he expressed pleasure that we chose his place as a base. Of course, it’s possible that such a man thinks of himself as invincible. Above the rest. But still, I’d say there’s another major question that needs to be answered.”
“What’s that?” Flannery asked.
“Where are the missing women? There are no bodies. Of course, it’s difficult for police when adults disappear—they have the right to do so, and often they have just gone off. But the woods were searched. Bodies weren’t found. If it’s Glass committing these crimes—or someone else at the Frampton property or someone not involved there at all—he might be taking the women somewhere. Keeping them—until he kills them. If we can find that place...maybe we can still save a few lives.”
“And maybe we’re all barking up the wrong tree,” Rachel said. “And if we concentrate too hard in the wrong direction...well, there go our careers.”
“We have to put that thought on hold—big thing now is to find the truth and hope that we can find the missing women. Alive,” Brock said. “Agreed?”
Rachel winced. “Right, right. Agreed.”
“Agreed. Oh, hell, yeah, agreed,” Flannery said.
Brock didn’t like what he was coming to believe more and more as a certainty.
A killer was thriving at the Frampton Ranch and Resort.
And Maura was there.
A beautiful young woman who had a history with the ranch.
A perfect possible victim.
Ripe for the taking.
Except that he wouldn’t allow it. God help him, he’d never allow it.
He had found her again; he would die before he lost her this time.
Chapter Six
Maura and Angie wrapped up at the pool. Out in the back of the main house and nestled by the two wing additions, the pool was surrounded by a redbrick patio. While the many umbrellas and lounge chairs placed about the pool were modern and offered comfort and convenience, the brick that had been set artfully around managed somehow to add a historic touch that made it an exceptional area.
Maura didn’t have to appear on camera; she took several videos of the pool itself and then several with Angie and Marie Glass seated together, sipping cold cocktails, with Marie talking about the installation of the pool twenty years earlier and how carefully they had thought about the comfort of their guests.
A young couple had come out while Maura was filming the water with the palms and other foliage in the background. They’d been happy to sign waivers and be part of the video—laughing as they splashed each other in the water.
When Maura’s cell rang, she was so absorbed in detail that she almost ignored it—then she remembered that she and Brock had made a pact and quickly excused herself to answer the phone, leaving Angie and Marie to sit together chatting—just enjoying the loveliness of the pool and one another’s company. It was evident that Marie did admire Angie very much. The two women almost looked like a pair of sisters or cousins sitting there, chatting away about the adults around them.
Maura turned her back and gave her attention to the call.
Brock sounded tense—he reminded her to stay with Angie and in a group at all times.
“I won’t be leaving here,” she assured him. “I’m with Angie and Marie. We’re going to go film the restaurants and then the library. We’ll probably record in Angie’s suite. Are you heading back?”
He was, he told her.
She smiled and set her phone down and looked at Angie and Marie, who were watching her, waiting politely for her to finish her call.
“Onward—to the restaurant,” she said.
“Perfect. They won’t o
pen for lunch for another twenty minutes,” Marie said. “We can show all the tables and will let Nils describe some of our special culinary achievements.”
“Yes. Perfect,” Maura said.
“Oh, yes, that will be wonderful—we’ll have the daily specials, and Nils can serve them. First, Maura can take the restaurant empty, and then some of the food—it’s going to be great!” Angie said, always enthusiastic.
Angie and Marie went ahead of Maura; she collected her bag and the camera and expressed her appreciation to the young couple again.
They thanked her—they couldn’t wait to send their friends to Angie’s web channel when the video was posted.
Maura hurried after Marie and Angie.
The restaurant was pristine when they went in—set for lunch with shimmering water glasses and wineglasses and snowy white tablecloths. The old mantel and fireplace and the large paned windows created a charming atmosphere along with all that glitter. Angie did a voice-over while she scanned the restaurant.
Nils stood just behind Maura; that made her uneasy, but she wasn’t alone in the restaurant, she was with Marie and Angie, and a dozen cooks and waitstaff lingered just in the kitchen. She knew that she was fine.
She wondered if Nils made her nervous because she did suspect him of something, or...
If she was just nervous because she didn’t like anyone at her back.
When Nils touched her on the shoulder, she almost jumped. “Sorry, sorry!” he said quickly. “I don’t want to mess this up—if I do something wrong, you’ll tell me, right? You’ll give me a chance to do it over?”
“Nils, this is digital. We can do things as many times as you want, but I believe what we’re trying for is very spontaneous, natural—just an easy appreciation for what the resort offers.”
“Okay, okay—thank you, Maura,” he said.
She smiled. “Sure.”
Marie was going to sit with Angie. Before she could, there was a tap on the still-locked door. “Let me just tell them we’ll open in a few minutes, right at twelve,” Nils said.
Angie and Marie took a seat at a circular table for two right by a side window.
But Nils didn’t come back alone.
Donald Glass, elegantly dressed in one of his typical suits and tall and dignified—as always—arrived with him.
“I’d thought it would be good if I popped into one of these videos Marie thinks will be such a thing. If you don’t mind. Darling,” he told Marie, “would you mind? I think I speak about our wine list with the most enthusiasm.”
“No, darling, of course, you must sit in,” Marie said.
She rose, giving up her seat. “I’d have thought you might want to do the library,” she said. “You do love the library so.”
He grinned. “Yes, I’m proud of my libraries. But even then...good wine is a passion.”
“Okay, dear.”
Maura thought that Marie seemed hurt, but she really didn’t show anything at all. She smiled graciously, telling Nils, “They’ll need the menus and wine lists.”
“Already there, Mrs. Glass, already there,” Nils said.
“Okay, then,” Maura said. “In five, four...” She finished the count silently with her fingers.
“Angie Parsons here, and I’m still at the Frampton Ranch and Resort. After a day at the oh-so-beautiful pool—and before a night at the incredible historic walk—there’s nothing like a truly world-class dinner. And I’m thrilled to be here with Donald Glass, owner of this property and many more, and—perhaps naturally—a magnificent wine connoisseur, as well.”
“Thank you so much, Angie. Marie and I are delighted to have you here. I do love wine, and while we have Mr. Fred Bentley, one of finest hotel managers in the state, and Nils Hartford, an extraordinary restaurateur, manning the helm, no wine is purchased or served without my approval.” He went on to produce the list, explaining his choices—and certainly saying more in a few words than Maura would ever know, or even understand, about wine.
But the video was perfect on the first take.
Nils came in as they discussed the menu. He spoke about the excellence of their broad range of menu choices. He suggested that Angie enjoy one of their fresh mahi-mahi preparations, and that Donald order the beef Wellington. That way they could indulge in bites of each other’s food.
He might have been nervous, but he did perfectly.
“And now we really have to open the restaurant,” he said.
Donald Glass smiled and nodded. “No special stops—we run a tight ship. But, of course, that will be fine, right, Maura?”
“That will be fine. I can avoid other tables, not to worry,” she said.
But people were excited when they noted that something was going on.
Many had been at the campfire when she had filmed.
They wanted to be involved.
As she spoke to other diners pouring in, Maura knew that Marie Glass was watching her. She turned to her.
“Is that okay?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, lovely,” Marie said. She glanced back at Donald, chatting away still with Angie at the table.
They were laughing together. Angie was her ever-charming self—flirtatious. She basically couldn’t help it. Glass was enamored of her.
Marie looked back at Maura, her eyes impassive. “Indeed, please, if others wish to sign your waivers, it will certainly add on. Hopefully the food will come out quickly for my husband and Miss Parsons, and we’ll be moving on. I can lock down the library, though, of course, Donald will want to be on the video then, too, as I suggested earlier.”
“Thank you,” Maura told her.
Marie was at her side as she chose a table close by to chat with the guests and diners who arrived—wanting to be on video.
She was startled when she accepted the last waiver and Marie spoke.
But not to her...
Not per se.
She spoke out loud, but it was as if she believed that her words were in her mind.
“And I have always vouched for him. Always,” she murmured.
“Pardon?” Maura said.
“What? Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. I must be thinking out loud.”
She walked away; Maura went to work.
The head chef himself, a new man, but well respected and winner of a cable cook-off show, came out to explain his fusions of herbs and spices with fresh ingredients.
The videos were coming out exceptionally well, Maura thought.
But she couldn’t help remembering the way Donald Glass had sat with Angie—and the way Marie reacted to her husband.
* * *
BROCK WAS PARKING the car when he received a message from his headquarters. He hadn’t contacted Egan. He had gotten in touch with their technical assistance unit and had reported on the remains that had been found, but it was Egan who called.
Egan wanted to know about the body that they had seen that morning; Brock told him their working theory, thinking that Egan might warn them against it.
He didn’t.
Then he put Marty Kim, the support analyst who had been doing extra research for Brock’s case, on the phone.
“I did some deep dives this morning,” Marty told him. “Before coming to the Frampton Ranch and Resort, Nils Hartford was working at a restaurant in Jacksonville, Hatter and Rabbit. Trendy place. He left there for the Frampton resort, but there was a gap between jobs. I found one of the managers willing to talk. Nils resigned—but if he hadn’t, he would have been fired. There was a coworker who complained about sexual harassment. Hartford was managing. The young woman was a waitress. She told the owner that she was afraid of Nils Hartford.”
“Interesting. And do we know if the waitress is still alive and well?”
“Checking that out now,” Marty told him. “I can’t find anything much on Mark Hart
ford. He went to a state university, majored in history and social sciences, came out and went straight to work for Donald Glass.”
“Fred Bentley?”
“He’s been with Glass for nearly twenty years—at the Frampton Ranch and Resort for fifteen of them. Before that, he was working at a big spread that Glass has in Colorado.”
“Anything on Donald Glass himself?”
“Nothing—and volumes. If you believe all the gossip rags, some more reliable than others, Glass has had many affairs through the years. Some of the women kept silent, some of them did not. He has been married to Marie for twenty-five years, and if I were that woman—I’d divorce his ass.” Marty was silent for a minute. Then he added quickly, “Sorry, that wasn’t terribly professional.”
“You’re fine. So...he’s still playing the dog, eh?”
“One suspected affair he enjoyed was reportedly with Francine Renault. That hit a few of the outlets that speculate on celebrities without using their names—avoiding legal consequences. Over the years, he did pay off several women. One accused him of sexual assault—except, when it came to it, she withdrew all charges. There was a settlement. But most of these are confidential legal matters, and without due process and warrants, I can only go so far.”
“Thanks. He’s been spending most of his time and effort down at his property in Florida, right?”
“Oh, he travels. London, New York, Colorado and LA. But yes, most of the time he is in Florida. His trips to other properties tend to be weekends, just twice a year or so.”
“Does Marie go with him?”
“It seems he does those trips alone. But, of course, paper trails can only lead you so far,” Marty reminded him. “I’ll keep searching. I’ll naturally get back to you if I find anything else that might be pertinent to your investigation.”
He’d parked the car. Detectives Flannery and Lawrence had waited for him.
He reported what he’d just learned to them.
Flannery shook his head. “A man with all that Glass has... Could it be possible?”
Tangled Threat ; Suspicious Page 12